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giuseppe-yuki · 1 month ago

Text

money, money, money

normal!max verstappen x billionaire!reader

w.c.: 6.8k

warnings: curse words, allusions to sex, RUDE people, sprinkle of angst (?)

summary: you introduce max to the good and bad sides of having money.

a/n: roughly inspired by crazy rich asians- one of my fav movies!!!

photo credits from pinterest :)

it was no secret to the majority of the world that your bloodline was rich- filthy rich. with your father’s side of the family owning the equivalent of half a small country and your mother’s side of the family the owners of several major corporations, you had no lack of paper bills in your bank accounts.

along with your siblings and your cousins, you grew up pampered, only going to your country’s best schools and wearing only the latest fashion. you were picked up by a chauffeur in a personal sleek black bentley and had a team of maids at your beck and call. hell, you were even granted access to a private jet in case you wanted to fly somewhere exotic just for fun!

as a child without a sense of the value of money, you thought all children lived like this. every birthday, you expected only the very best from your parents. on your sixth birthday, your parents closed down disneyland and let the kids rampage throughout the park. for your cousin’s grade school graduation, your aunt bought an entire cruise liner (company) and held a week-long party on the water to celebrate. when your little brother passed his driver’s license, your father bought him a customized ferrari pista (that he might have crashed three days in) as his first car. when christmas came by, your grandma flew in your entire family to her private island in first class, and surprised all the kids with their very own mini play homes in the backyard that were each the size of a small apartment.

slowly, as you matured, you realized how lucky you were. while eating the caviar and champagne at the expensive gala, the homeless were out in the cold, eating the leftover crusts in oily crumpled pizza boxes that they fished out of the trash. each dollar in your bank accounts could go to sick children whose parents couldn’t pay the hospital bills for, and instead, they were going to mega yachts that sat in the monaco bay most of the year. besides, wouldn’t your parents' money run out some time?

it seemed that many of your cousins and siblings didn’t give a fuck. you watched them exponentially abuse their power, blowing through thousands of grands for luxury cars they drove only once and exclusive rooftop parties where they swam in pools of champagne. one by one, you saw them drop out of school and spend every day as the life of the party. once they rapidly grew out of the excuse of being “young, naive, and not knowing better” their reputation to the general public became “spoiled and out-of-touch” with society.

you of course, weren’t totally exempt from this. you had to admit that you occasionally spent a few k on a nice little bag for yourself, or had an occasional trip to bali for some sun. however, you focused much more on your studies and helping others than partying. instead of spending your draining your mother’s company assets, wouldn’t it be better to have your own? why wield a black card embellished with your father’s name in gold when it could be your own name? with your own money, you could also donate huge amounts to people in need- all under your name.

slowly, you built up your own credible business using the knowledge you gained, and it soon skyrocketed into a world-wide profitable company.

even with such success however, all your siblings and cousins laughed at you. running a company? they had chuckled, in their balenciaga suits and miu miu dresses. why do such tedious work when you can just marry into a rich family?

rich family, you scoff, looking at one of your cousins at the yearly family party that your family threw. though she was dressed to the nines, hair done up and jewelry glistening on her neck, she looked absolutely miserable. her husband, that everyone knew she had just married “for the money” stood on the opposite end of the room, flirting unashamedly with a rather uncomfortable looking waiter. that was really funny, considering that your cousin had been bragging about how much her husband loved her at the last function. she had even shoved a picture of her next to a humongous flower bouquet into your face, teasingly stating how “you never had this experience before, huh?”

your brother wasn’t that much different. although he looked rather successful with a big quarter of your mother’s company stocks, you knew that he was in major debt from burning through his bank accounts gambling at casinos around the world. he paraded around the room with his wife, who hung on his arm so proudly, but only because she didn’t know a thing. if you hinted at your brother’s little “problem,” you knew that she would have the divorce papers ready by afternoon the next day.

as the party went on and the alcohol broke down the painstakingly-built facades of your family’s relationships, you began to stop envying their so-called perfect lives. you realized that all they knew about was money. what did they know about love?

love to you was a kind man with blue eyes that crinkled whenever he smiled at you, light brown hair that was oh-so-soft to run through with your hands, and a soothing voice with a twinge of an accent and slight lisp. love smelled like his soft cologne, and tasted like the spiced sweetbreads he would bake on the weekends.

max was the total opposite from the cocky and money-hungry douchebags from your home country that were more attracted to your wallet and family influence, which was what you liked about him. even the way you met him was different. usually, the men would make it all about themselves, trying to impress you with their “achievements” (owning three ferraris is not a keystone achievement, david) or throwing technical jargon at you to sound smart. if you somehow invited them on a second date, they always showed up late and would tear off their clothes the second they got in the house, expecting to get to third base immediately. however, you met max through a friend of a friend at a small party in monaco. he could barely look you in the eyes and stuttered through his sentences, which you found quite refreshing compared to the arrogant guys that you usually encountered. on your first date, he got you some rather wilty looking tulips, but also brought some homemade bread that you swore was the best you ever ate. on the second date, he yapped about all the flags of all the countries he knew, but you didn’t mind because he let you ramble your own interests after. before long, you moved in with him in his apartment on the edge of monaco, and had the honor of calling him your boyfriend.

so now, lying in his arms on his tiny bed, you felt more at home than ever.

the sunlight streams in through the windows above his bed, casting a glow across his face and filtering through his impossibly long eyelashes. you take a minute to admire the angelic scene, before one his cats leaps off of who-knows-where and jumps on his face.

he yelps, and unwinds his arm from around you to softly push who you assume to be sassy away from his head.

you flash a glare at sassy for ruining such a nice moment, before picking her up and attempt to “throw” her off the bed.

unfortunately, max yanks her out of your hands before you are able to.

“hey!” he says in a chastising tone. “be nice to sassy. i’m sure she didn’t mean to.”

max sits up on the bed and gives sassy a few head scratches before placing a kiss on her soft head. sassy meows at you, which you swear is in a mocking tone. across the room, jimmy sprints over and takes a spot next to max, purring for head scratches too, effectively pushing you off the bed.

you didn’t understand how your boyfriend couldn’t see that his cats were literally devils. you were basically subject to their abuse every day (i.e. random ankle attacks, knocking over all you fragile items, unplugging your devices, cat hair in your food, and the worst one, stealing max away from you). scowling, you surrender your rightful spot on the bed and pad into the kitchen in your slippers to start the coffee.

it’s not until both the coffee and breakfast is ready when max finally enters the kitchen, now freshly dressed. the cats scamper around his feet, curling lovingly around his ankles.

“sorry about that, baby.” he says, pulling out his chair and taking a seat in front of his plate of food. “jimmy and sassy just wanted some love.”

you roll your eyes before settling down into your own seat.

he spears a few sausage links and eggs into his mouth before glancing at the clock. eyes widening, he shoves the rest of the food into his mouth and chugs down the hot coffee.

“so sorry, i have to run!” he sputters out, “i’m going to be late to my engineering meeting!”

he dashes to the bedroom to grab his bag before running back into the kitchen to press a kiss to your cheek in goodbye.

“have fun at work too, baby!” he yells before the front door slams closed.

sighing, you finish your plate before washing the dishes in the sink. he was always late for his engineering job at a small office in downtown monaco. max somehow always got to his office in time though, but probably because he raced his little yellow renault clio rs on the streets like he was some type of formula one driver. meanwhile, you had your “work” at home (which typically meant one phone call to your secretary to make sure everything was running smoothly, a quick scroll through your company accounts, and then netflix on the couch).

from the time you met to the time you started dating, you never got to telling max about your family history or your job. it was actually kind of unbelievable that he didn’t notice actually, even when all your clothes were covertly designer and heels were always red bottoms, or when you seemingly traveled out of the country every other weekend for company meetings. however, he never asked, so you never told.

well, that was until he came home that night.

his footsteps echo on the ground as he walks out from the bathroom, but stops before he gets into the kitchen

“hey baby,” he says, tilting his head. “what’s this?”

you stop stirring the pasta sauce, looking back to see your freshly showered boyfriend questioningly glancing at your open macbook on the couch.

you must have forgotten to close out of your company bank account tab. quickly, you throw the spoon aside, slam the laptop shut, and throw it to the side.

“that’s nothing, baby.” you say, rushing back to the kitchen and stirring the bubbling red mixture again.

“oh-kay…” he says, walking up behind you and reaching over to help strain the pasta noodles.

while straining the water out in the sink, he flashes you a quick glance. “was it like…” he whispers quietly. “adult material or something?? is that why you didn’t want me to see it?”

what?

you look back him, an unimpressed look at your face. “adult material, max???” you repeat back at him. “no. i was not watching adult material on my work laptop.”

“okay, whatever you say, baby.” max says, clearly not believing you. clearing his throat, he continues. “so, um… anyways, my coworker george was talking about how he met his boyfriend alex's parents over the weekend, and i realized that i never met your parents before. do you think we can maybe pay them a visit?"

you freeze, halfway sliding out a plate of garlic bread from the oven.

“i- um, don’t think that’s wise, maxie.” you reply quietly.

your boyfriend wrinkles his brow. he stops the plating of the noodles and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“is it…is it because they are assholes?” he asks, looking at you seriously. “cause it’s okay if they are- i understand, because my dad…my dad is not very kind either.”

you can’t help to think about your family in your home country. you could never take your maxie there. they would rip him to shreds, degrading him for being rather plain and destitute compared to them. you would never want to put your boyfriend through your parents, either, who would probably criticize him for wanting to marry you just for the money, even if max didn’t know a goddamn thing about how you earned your funds.

you rub your face. “no, it’s not that.” you sigh, “i- mean- it’s just complicated over there in my home country. i don’t want you to feel pressure or uncomfortable-”

max cuts you off with a hug, and presses a kiss to your cheek. “i really don’t mind, baby. i’d really like to meet the people who made such a kind and beautiful person like you.”

you blush a little at his words. even if you have an uneasy feeling to your stomach, you nod lightly. it can’t be that bad, right?

if you were to take max over to your home country, there was no doubt he would be exposed to your massive fame and influence there. to slowly ease him into the more luxurious side of your life, you first introduce the luxuries of a private jet the day you take off from the airport.

“a private JET???” your boyfriend shrieks, looking at his speciality boarding pass.

hurriedly, you shush him to avoid the glares of other travelers within a yelling distance of you both.

“max, please be quiet.” you hiss into his ear. “yes, it says private jet.”

maneuvering your cart with your lv-branded luggage to the side of the terminal, along with max’s one small carry-on and two pet cages with the reincarnations of the devil inside, you pull out your phone to check the location of the driver who would take you to the separate private-jet entrance.

like magic, he materializes behind you, tapping you on the shoulder.

politely, he takes your horde of luggages and max’s items before politely gesturing towards a massive black lincoln that was definitely not parked there before.

“this way miss,” he says curtly, before reaching forward to open the car door for you.

max, snapping out of his confusion, snaps his hand out first and roughly yanks the door open, and nearly hitting both you and the driver.

“i’ll open the door for my own girlfriend, thanks!” he retorts, glaring suspiciously at the driver, who just shrugs and starts loading the luggage into the back of the car.

when max climbs into the spacious back of the lincoln, you can’t help but giggle into your hand.

“max, you need to relax,” you laugh, placing a calming hand on max’s leg. “he’s my driver. it’s his job to open the door, okay?”

your boyfriend sniffs, pouting a little.

“fine.”

after boarding the jet and ascending safely into the air, you settle into your padded chair. meanwhile, max runs around the jet like a little kid, pointing out the “special features,” much to the amusement of the staff.

“omg, baby, look!” he yells, pointing at a wooden-paneled door behind your chair. “the bathroom is huge!”

you nod, and hum in agreement, sparing a quick glance at max, who was opening and closing the door as if it would change what was behind it.

he then charges toward a cabinet near the middle of the plane, which is stuffed to the brim with your favorite snacks. “wow!” he shouts, before sprinting towards a similar cabinet further down, which you know is the alcohol storage area.

there’s a moment of silence before max steps into view with three gin and tonics and one of your favorite drinks in hand. he carefully sets them down in front of you, batting away a disgruntled-looking bartender who held a half-open bottle of gin that you assumed he was in the middle of pouring when max snatched the bottle away.

you apologize profusely to the bartender while max watches on, straight up chugging his drinks.

“this is wild!!” he whispers, pointing to the cups in front of him.

no more than five minutes after sending the bartender away with a little tip, max has already finished two of his three gin and tonics and was already bounding out of his seat to explore the rest of the plane.

once you hear his exclamations of joy from the back of the plane, you know he has discovered the master bedroom.

before you have a chance to take a sip of your own drink, max basically pounces on you and drags you towards the private bedroom. your boyfriend pushes you onto the soft bed, yells out the door.

“give us a little bit of privacy, okay?” he shouts to no one in particular, before slamming the door shut.

he turns back to your figure lying spread-eagle in the bed, and wiggles his eyebrows.

max is the first one to talk after you both lay on the bed, lips swollen and cheeks red.

“so…?” he says, running a hand down your back.

“so… what?” you ask, looking up at him from your position sprawled on top of him. from your point of view, you could feel the slight rise and fall of his chest, his slightly damp hair, and the way his blue, blue eyes study your face.

“so, when were you going to tell me that you were…like…rich?” he replies.

you maneuver yourself to a sitting position on your boyfriend’s lap, looking him nervously.

“well…” you remark, twiddling your thumbs. this wasn’t the way you thought you were going to break the news to max.

“i grew up more- comfortably in my home country, thanks to my family and their connections. i was lucky to not have to worry about money at all. when i became a little older, i separated myself from the rest of my siblings and cousins to form and take care of my own company. then, on a business trip, i met you and then.. yeah, you know what happens next.”

an awkward silence fills the room, with max digesting the information and you toying with a stray thread from the bedcovers.

your boyfriend opens his mouth slowly.

“a company?” he questions, turning to you. “what company?”

you scramble off the bed for your phone, and type something quick in the search bar. when you find what you are looking for, you rotate the phone towards your boyfriend, the glowing screen reflecting on his features.

it only takes one or two seconds for max to scan and decipher the words on the screen.

“YOU’RE THE CEO OF REDBULL??” max shouts.

when the wheels of your private jet hit the bumpy runway, it was midnight. your pilot’s voice crackles on the intercom, politely notifying you that you have arrived, and are free to disembark whenever you’d like. outside, you can see several workers unloading your luggage, along with jimmy and sassy in their pet carriers.

you turn to max, who was intensely staring at his screen, unmoving. you assume he was still in the middle of his fervent wikipedia dive of you and your family’s entire history that he insisted on learning, once he got over the initial shock.

“max,” you say, nudging him slightly.

he doesn’t budge, eyes trained like an eagle on his screen.

you pull on sweatshirt before nudging him again, this time a little harder. “max, come on, we gotta go.”

he snaps up, and pockets his phone before mock saluting you. “yes, of course, miss ceo! whatever you say!”

you roll your eyes. max was a little extra sometimes.

he trails behind you obediently as you climb down the stairs to get off the plane, and into a sleek black limousine.

before long, you find yourself on the familiar streets and freeways that you used to frequent when you were younger. it feels the slightest bit nostalgic, so different from the streets of monaco that you became used to thanks to max.

you look back to find max tilting his head at you.

“where to now, miss ceo?” he asks in a curious tone.

you smile.

”i know just the place.”

even when it was close to three am, the downtown streets were still packed with people. vendors engulfed the street sides, selling delicious soups and snacks beckoned to people, and little shops with bright signs advertised souvenirs, clothing, stationary, and everything in between. the car inches to a stop when you come upon a familiar old building that you remember visiting often as a child. bright glittery letters on the storefront and windows exclaim, “lombardi ice cream shop.” a line of people streams out the door, an ode to the delicious creamy treats that the shop has been selling for years. god, you could basically taste the ice cream on your tongue already.

you practically leap out of the car, dragging max with you towards the front of the shop. the red bottoms of your heels click against the concrete, turning many heads in the crowd along the sidewalk. you hear gasps of shock and a few whispers of your name along the crowd. they automatically parts like moses and the red sea when you get closer. max hesitates, wide eyed, at the edge of the crowd.

”c’mon,” you laugh, taking his hand and leading him through the people.

an old woman, back hunched with age, waddles out of the kitchen and greets you warmly when you arrive at the counter. without realizing, a warm feeling spreads across your chest. she was basically like a second mother to you, considering you spent your entire childhood frequenting this shop with your cousins and siblings. whenever you visited your home country, you would always make sure to pop by her shop (not that she needed your business- her lines always curled around the block, day and night).

“ahh!! welcome back, honey,” she exclaims, wiping her wrinkled hands on her apron. “you’ve gotten so beautiful!” throwing a glance at a shy max hesitantly hidden behind you, she sends you an eyebrow raise. “ah, and i see you brought a boy back huh?”

you reach over to give the weathered old woman a hug, blushing. “hello, momma lella! yes, this is my boyfriend max.”

max waves a polite hello, one hand still nervously holding yours.

the elderly woman smiles kindly at max, not hiding how she looks him up and down. “well, i approve!” she states, giving you a thumbs up and a wink. “polite and handsome!”

without another word, she grabs the largest size cup and fills it to the brim with creamy chocolate ice cream. sprinkling a good amount of sprinkles and shoving two spoons into the cup, she offers it to you.

“on the house!”

you and max sit on the sidewalk with the cup of ice cream, watching people walk by and cars zoom through the traffic. occasionally, max takes his spoon and shovels a large helping of chocolate ice cream into his mouth.

“you look like you’re really enjoying the ice cream,” you state, noticing the chocolate smeared over the corners of his mouth.

max just smiles at you in the way he always does, with the dimples and the crinkle in his eyes.

suddenly, your moment is ruined when a flash goes off in your face.

max jerks back, rubbing his eyes, not used to the invasive cameras that made up your childhood.

you whip around towards the flash, seeing a small herd of paparazzi smiling wickedly. a rare spotting of you in back in your home country for the first time in years? that was payday for them. a flash of anger shoots through you, causing you to throw your wooden spoon at their expensive cameras. unfortunately, it just bounces off of the arm of a short looking man carrying a heavy duty camera.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you yell, shooing them away from max. “can you just leave us alone for one second?”

bothersome paparazzi like this was common when you grew up in a family rich with drama and money. you recall them camping in front of your house, shutters clicking once they saw a sign of movement. whatever mistake you made, like tripping over a small rock or fighting with your sister over a doll, was publicized and dramatized into unrecognizable stories on gossip magazines that were popular in your home country. it was a pity that this was max’s first introduction to these pests.

you pull max with you as you shove your way roughly through the paparazzi. they deserved it if you accidentally smashed someone’s lens.

max stumbles behind you.

“wha-?” he says, holding the half-empty chocolate ice cream. “where are we going?”

you huff. “away from those wannabe photographers- i hate them so much.”

you flip open your phone to call your chauffeur, but your app notifies you it would take a total of ten minutes for him to weave through traffic to get to you both. in the distance, the paparazzi raise their cameras again, shutters clicking as they photograph your pissed off expression and a dumbfounded max next to you. you can practically see the headlines tomorrow- ‘bratty billionaire back in country!!’

like a godsend, a futuristic-looking car rumbles to life next to you. that will probably get you home and away from these fuckers fast, right? hurriedly, you march over to the disgruntled middle-aged man in the passengers’ seat.

“five million for your car- right now.” you say, dead serious.

the man’s eyes widen comically large.

“five mi-“

you cut him off quickly, seeing the paparazzi darting closer to max, who was still holding the ice cream and eyeing the cameras wearily.

“yes, five million. i’ll mail you the check.”

without another word, the man tosses you the keys and hefts himself out of the car. you leap into the drivers seat just as he gets out, and jam your finger on the window down button to beckon max into the car immediately.

the moment he sits down on the expensive-looking leather seats, you rev the engine and leave the paparazzi behind in the dust.

it’s not until you are halfway back to your penthouse when max finally speaks.

“this is a super nice car,” he states, running his hand against the interior side panels.

you look around, really noticing the detailings of the car. the sides look like they are made with some carbon fiber material, and it seemed like it didn’t even have a door handle- just straps you pull on the corner of the dashboard.

”yeah, i guess so,” you admit. “i just bought this off of that dude back there in order to get away from the damn paparazzi.”

max wrinkles his brows.

“you bought-?? what??? you know this is an aston martin valkyrie, right?”

the next morning, when the sun shines through the skyline windows lining your penthouse, you keep your promise by instructing one of your staff to send the promised check to the random guy on the street (fernando, he said his name was). your boyfriend scrolls idly on his phone next to you, probably scrolling through your family’s lengthy wikipedia page again. his cats stamp around your white bedsheets as if they owned the place. you think about what you both could do today. perhaps visit the children’s hospital? before moving to monaco, you frequented many small hospitals, bringing gifts for the children. it always felt good seeing the sick kids light up with joy. or, you could go shopping, although you did spend a little bit much on the random car yesterday. or-

before you can complete your thought, a familiar ringtone lights up the screen of your phone. your mother’s name lights up your phone, as if taunting you. before you second-guess yourself, you smash your finger into the green ‘answer’ button and place the phone to your ear.

your mother’s voice flows through the speakers, sending a wave of nostalgia throughout your body.

“darling!” the voice hums, “why didn’t you tell me that you were back in your home country? i had to find out over the silly little paparazzi pictures on the newspapers!”

damn it, you think, cursing silently in your head. it seemed that the paparazzi from yesterday night had probably sold your pictures to some trashy gossip magazine that had caught the attention of your mother. that meant that you had to face your family sooner or later.

“hello, mother,” you reply curtly, trying to avoid the topic. “how may i help you?”

your mother tuts through the speakerphone. “oh, your own mother can’t just call to say hello?”

you groan. “no- i mean yes-“

your mother cuts you off, laughing. “i’m kidding, darling. i just wanted to let you know that i’m hosting a party at our estate tomorrow, to celebrate your arrival! you’ve been in monaco for a god-awful long time. your cousins and siblings will be coming too- i’m sure they’ll all excited to see you after your hiatus in monaco!”

you hesitate before responding. your first instinct was to say no, because everybody knew full well that the only reason your cousins and siblings even bothered to show up at these kind of events is to save face and show off their new ridiculously expensive clothing and cars, not to welcome you. however, this also gave you a chance for max to meet your parents, like he wanted back in monaco. it isn’t a hard choice when you agree to meet the next day.

max revs the engine once again as he pulls the valkyrie to stop in front of the valet at the front of your family’s estate.

through the tinted windows of the car, you see one of your snobby cousins, dressed in an jeweled gown, jump at the loud sound and clutch her husband’s arm tighter however, her husband ignores her to get a good look at your aston martin supercar, which makes you laugh. to your surprise, he is not the only one. a few other family members gather around, admiring the hypercar.

in the passenger’s seat, max’s mischievous grin slowly turns into a frown of nervousness as he spots the crowd of people gathering around you both. you know it must look intimidating, meeting your significant other’s family, especially when they had such high expectations of you. you place a kiss on his cheek.

“you ready, maxie?” you ask, patting his shoulder comfortingly.

he nods, before opening the car door.

like the gentleman he is, max quickly hurries over to the passenger’s side of the car to help you out of the car. you gladly take his hand, and step out of the vehicle daintily. straight away, you can hear the confused mutterings and jealous glares of your family members start up, which follow the both of you into the house.

like expected, your childhood home is decorated a little over the top. people mingle under crystal chandeliers around staircases draped with real flowers. from the second living room, music drifts out that sounds suspiciously like martin garrix. a fancy bar is set up a room that was usually the dining room, with a bottle of every single alcohol you can ever think of. the courtyard, usually empty save a few plants, was turned into outdoor buffet bar, complete with a five story cake and massive chocolate fountain.

once inside, max attempts to introduce himself to the first friendly-looking family member that he sees, which happens to be your aunt on your mother’s side. he sticks out his hand, a smile gracing his face.

“hi, my name is max,” he says, “i’m your niece’s boyfriend.”

your aunt nods politely, shaking his hand.

“hello max,” she says, visibly studying him, “what are you, a ceo? businessman? sports star?”

”auntie!” you say, shocked, cutting max off from his response. that rude bitch. although she looked relatively kind from the outside, all she really cared about anyone was their power and money. which was probably why your cousin married a mega popstar that was away half the time. like the rest of your family, money trumped true love. “you can’t just start a conversation like that!”

max shakes his head, “no, no, it’s alright. i’m an engineer.”

“ah,” your aunt says, knowingly. taking a sip of her champagne, she continues, “head engineer, huh? of what company?”

thinking he might have misheard her, max corrects her, “oh- no, not head engineer, just an engineer, like in an office.”

your great-aunt’s friendly demeanor automatically drops.

“just an engineer?” she responds, coldly.

you notice how max’s face falls the slightest bit, before he plasters a fake polite smile on his face. he shuffles uncomfortably, glancing at you, as if saying, did i say something wrong?

before you can say something rather rude to your aunt, a hand clasps your shoulder. turning around, your brother beams at you.

“sister!” he exclaims. “i haven’t seen you in a hot sec. too busy partying in monaco, huh? or doing your silly little business things for redbull?”

he then eyes max, to which he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “who��s this, huh? your boyfriend?”

”yes,” you snap, still a little pissed from your aunt’s rude reaction.

your brother puts his hands up jokingly, in a surrender position. “damn, okay, no need to be defensive.”

he sticks out his hand to your boyfriend, who takes it gladly.

“what’s up, dude,” your brother says, shaking max’s hand. “i saw you pull up with my sister in that sick aston martin valkyrie! you must have some insane connections- the waitlist for that baby is like years long.”

your aunt answers before your boyfriend can.

“there’s no way he could have bought that car- he’s just an office engineer at some company at who knows where,” she says pointedly.

hearing this, your brother’s impressed look turns into a sneer of disdain. he steps back from max in disgust, as if he had just turned into some horrible monster. he chuckles at you.

”wow, sister, you’ve outdone yourself huh? an office engineer?”

your family, slowly becoming aware of something going on, turns towards the scene. a wide-eyed martin garrix turns off the booming music in the back.

you shove your brother further away from max, causing the glass of champagne to spill onto your brother’s designer suit.

“what’s wrong with you?” you exclaim angrily. “at least he has a job, unlike you!”

ignoring the bubbling liquid staining his suit and your enraged expression, he turns toward max, still eyeing him with disgust. “how pathetic, leeching off of my sister’s money as a ceo? ha, you probably used her card to buy that valkyrie, didn’t you?”

next to you, stunned into silence, max’s blue eyes begin to fill with tears.

behind you, your aunt lets out a cackle of laughter, along with a few members of the crowd.

you just about launch yourself at your brother, wanting more than anything to bash his head in.

as if it couldn’t get worse, your mother pushes through the crowd gathered around you both, and grabs your arm before you can make contact with your brother.

“hey!” she yells, yanking you back. “what is going on here?”

your brother grins, pointing at max. “your precious daughter went and got herself a little gold digger boyfriend- and look, he’s crying!”

you glance over to max, heart sinking. like your brother said, he had a tear running down his face, and he shook a little with embarrassment. it reminded you of a story that max once told you, how his father had often upset him as a child when he was forced to do karting. an anger flared inside of you. max had only wanted to be a good boyfriend and introduce himself to your family, but was in turn ridiculed in front of a crowd by your hypocrite brother.

your mother turns to max, then turns to you.

“is this true, darling?” she asks, tilting her head. “does he exploit you for money?”

does max exploit you for money? you can hardly even comprehend the ridiculous sentence. you roughly yank your arm out of your mother’s grasp and march over to max. you lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze.

you turn towards your chuckling brother. he won’t be laughing soon.

“you’re really one to talk, brother! you think you’re hot shit, with a large chunk of mother’s company stocks. well, wouldn't it be a shame if everyone knew that you are in debt from your uncontrollable gambling problem, hmm? i wonder what your wife feels about that?”

you take comfort in the way the smug smile drops from your brother’s face, now replaced with a withering glare. the silent crowd gathered around the scene lets out a gasp, in light of this news. their focus now was trained on your brother instead of max.

“and you!” you exclaim, turning to your aunt. “since you think the word gold digger is so funny, auntie, wouldn’t you like to know how your own daughter is one, huh?”

your aunt jerks back, not used to the crowd’s attention trained on her, along with your harsh words.

”yeah,” you continue, “if you would stop judging people based on their worth in money, you might have been able to see that all she does is spend her husband‘s money on inane things in order to ignore his multiple affairs!”

from the back of the room, you hear your cousin burst into tears while her mother, your aunt, standing in front of you, turns as red as a tomato.

gently, you lead max towards the gilded gold front door. your family gives you judgemental looks as you make your way through the crowd. turning back one last time before you step out, you address the crowd. “don’t think any of you guys are any better. all you lot do is leech off of trust fund money!”

max stays silent all the way to your penthouse, as do you. after a hot shower, you bundle him up in your soft fluffy blankets until he looks the puft marshmallow man. you can’t help but feel terrible. he silently shuffles towards you, which you respond by pulling his head against your chest. jimmy and sassy watch wearily from a distance on the carpet.

you are the first to cut through the silence.

“i am so sorry that my family did that to you, maxie.”

he doesn’t answer, but the new tears that soak your expensive silk pajama set does the answering for him.

you run your hand through his damp strands of light brown hair, and rub his back comfortingly.

he pulls back from your embrace to wipe his eyes briefly.

“why do you love me?” he hiccups, cheeks wet with tears. “like- i have no money, two cats that you hate, and- and- a tiny apartment-“

“max!” you say, cutting him off from his ramblings. “listen to me.”

you look into his watery eyes, eyelashes wet with tears.

”i really don’t care if you lived in a literal dirt hole with no job, or if you were a formula one world champion. i would love you no matter what. i love your blue eyes and your pouty lips and your lisp, and your cologne, and the bread that you bake, and your little apartment and even though it may not seem like it, i love your stupid cats too.“

he chuckles wetly at the last part of your sentence.

you kiss the top of his head.

”you don’t know how much i love you, max emillian verstappen.”

a devious grin slips onto his face. he shoots you a sultry look.

“show me.”

and you do.

later, when max lays asleep on the bed, love bites on his neck, face slightly flushed, and back bare, you get up to fetch your phone.

the person you seek is only a few taps away. he picks up on the second ring, politely greeting you even though it was an ungodly hour. you tell him your request, but he hesitates slightly.

”are you sure-“

you cut your financial advisor off as politely as possible.

“yes, that’s right. i would like to buy the entirety of my mother’s companies and my father’s estates.”

the sounds of pencil scratching paper fills your ears before your financial advisor lets out a sound of approval.

“right away, ma’am!”

a/n: APOLOGIES for my week-long hiatus!! take this fic as an apology... your normal spinoff series! scheduling will resume shortly <3

also let me know if you have a better name for this piece- i was STRUGGLING trying to name this one ;-;

#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf fic #f1 imagine #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #mv1 x y/n #mv1 x reader #mv1 x you #📝

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shotmrmiller · 8 months ago

Text

1.8k of what was supposed to be a drabble, oops. same au as this just different situation.

there he is.

the titan the crowd calls Ghost. a creature who seemed to have crawled out of the abyss itself, rage etched into the very marrow of his bones. scars crisscross his arms, chest, and back— souvenirs of battles both won and lost. no one knows much about him. no real name, no past, no future. blank.

a void.

just like his sunken eyes, the only thing anyone can see from behind the midnight black skull balaclava that clings to his face like a second skin. (does he even remember what he looks like underneath?) he stands in front of the club's owner in ragged clothing: a tattered wifebeater that's been stitched, torn, and re-stitched. his pants have strained seams and patched knees. his boots are high cut, made of worn, scuffed leather with laces in the front, pulled tight. functional.

he's terrifying. most here come to fight for glory, for redemption, for escape. not he, though. reverent whispers claim this is all he knows. that he fights like a cornered, wounded beast, with no discipline nor strategy. just primal hunger and unmatched ferocity.

and that's who your idiotic, egotistical boyfriend wants to fight. granted, he's a pretty damn good boxer. not that you'd know much about that, you're simply parroting what you've heard his coach say. but this isn't boxing. no one here wears a padded helmet, with comfortable gloves and silky shorts. the fellow with the mohawk currently fighting isn't even wearing a mouthguard, for fuck's sake.

there are no fucking rules, no referees, no honor, no mercy.

your shoulders rise up to your ears as you tense at a nasty blow the pretty one you've come to learn is named gaz gives mr. mohawk. it splits his lip instantaneously, crimson dribbling down his chin and onto his barrel chest. he should be in pain, but there's only a glint of madness in those bright blue eyes of his. the crazed smile he gives gaz is all blood-stained teeth.

your boyfriend taps you on your shoulder, making you jump. "i'm gonna go talk to mr. price now that he's no longer busy."

what?

"no! you can't be serious!" the metal chair you were seated on screeches as you shoot up and run after him, feet slipping on the mud-slicked floor. "hey! wait!"

he reaches the tall, burly man(broker?) with the antiquated mutton-chop beard before you do. the tailored suit clings to his large frame, molding to his mountainous shoulders and tapered waist. his polished shoes are pristine, unlike the surface he's standing on that's littered with wager slips and sodden with cheap beer.

"don't. be smart, fight smart. you can't possibly— did you see the way the one with the mohawk took a hit to the face without flinching? he's insane! they all are!" you flick your eyes to mr. price. "no offense."

he chuckles low. "none taken, sweetheart. soap's a vigorous man, is all."

soap. gaz. ghost. they've all got bloody fighting nicknames. meanwhile, the only thing your boyfriend's ever been called is dearie by his elderly neighbor.

"your pretty girl's right. i'd steer clear of the pit. this ain't no place for a sheltered bloke such as yourself." his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, yet it felt like a facade. the evenness of his tone had dread crawling up your spine.

"boss." you squeak at the deep voice that comes from beside you— accent thick on his tongue.

mr. price waves a hand dismissively, the rings that adorn his fingers glinting under the dim light of the overhead lamps. "it's nothin' but a couple a'folk placin' their bets."

the look of unfettered stupidity flashes on your boyfriend's face as he turns his head and realizes just who mr. price was talking to. "if it isn't the masked specter himself."

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. god, your boyfriend came in one piece but he's going to leave in bloody pieces if you don't stop him. "stop," you hiss. "this ridiculous stint of yours is over." as is this sorry excuse of a relationship. he'd been a sweet guy at some point, or maybe you were just blinded by his good looks. "sorry for the bother, mr. price. we'll be taking our leave." tugging on your boyfriend's sleeve, you try to lead him away but he stays anchored in place, posturing like a peacock; chest out, shoulders squared and head held high.

he looks at ghost as he challenges him. "name your price. anything, i can meet."

how he can be so blasé in the presence of this bastion is beyond you. ghost stands tall, his shadow engulfing you whole. you can feel the weight of his presence, a crushing force pressing against your sternum. he doesn't speak; and honestly, he doesn't have to. ghost's silence spoke volumes.

"he's not interested, see? let's just go before we're thrown out on our arses."

but your boyfriend doesn't concede. if anything, it only adds fuel to the fire. "not good enough for you? eh? is that it? think yourself untouchable just because you're king of the underbelly?" he goads.

your cheeks are hot, scalding with embarrassment. he's starting to garner attention from the audience that's supposed to be watching the current fight.

and then ghost breaks said silence. "i don't want your money." his rich voice reverberates through bone and marrow; it rattles your very core. "you didn't work hard for it, i can tell. golden spoon runt."

your boyfriend's eyes ignite with anger. for a moment, you thought he was going to swing on the spot, but then, like a wisp of smoke, it dissipated. his fists unclench, his jaw relaxes. "what do you want, then?" he questions.

ghost tips his head your way as he keeps his gaze on your boyfriend. "her. i win, she's mine."

you should've known your now ex would agree. nothing would keep him from accomplishing his goals of 'putting the big dog down' as he so eloquently put it. now you're firmly sat right next to price on the stands (because you will not be calling him john anytime soon, no matter how many times he corrects you) essentially as his hostage.

"nothing personal, sweetheart. i'm a businessman, after all, and the prize walkin' out the front door would be bad for business. hope you understand."

no, you don't. so you tell him as such.

"tha's alright. simon'll take good care of ya, i promise."

"is there any particular reason you're so cocksure of your simon winning?" you manage to ask, your voice fragile.

he takes a thick inhale of his cigar before answering. "unfortunately for you, i've seen it all— the broken bones, shattered dreams, and—" you watch tendrils of smoke unfurl from his mouth, "adversaries who never walked back out."

spectators have already begun to huddle around the cage, puffing on cheap cigarettes. they all look desperate, eyes gleaming with greed. this time the one collecting wagers is a blonde woman, older in age, with her hair in a low bun and a puffer vest. "that your wife?"

he curls a large hand around my shoulder before twisting to look at— "laswell? no. don't swing tha' way." price gives you a gentle squeeze.

oh. you can feel warmth creeping up your neck. "sorry. didn't mean to- er. i didn't know."

"'s'alrigh'. her wife's nice enough. you'll like 'er.'' her wife? the confusion must've shown because he rumbles out a laugh. "no. it'd be me barkin' up the wrong tree. i—" he tightens the grip on your shoulder, "like whatever's pretty to look at." his words from before resounded in your head.

'your pretty girl's right...'

the heat that'd receded now stung the tips of your ears. whatever words you want to say are lodged in your throat but thankfully, you're saved by the bell. literally.

the rusty thing tolls and the crowd hushes their voices and stills their restless shuffling. first walks in your ex (idiot), looking exactly like what ghost had called him earlier— a golden spoon child. his shorts are glossy, even under the flickering, sickly light that falls over the cage. his boxing gloves are a vibrant red, pristine as if right out of the box. (you don't remember soap getting his pretty face broken by hands with gloves, but whatever.) he looks perfect, like something out of a hollywood movie.

and so out of place.

unlike ghost who's just stepped into the ring— who commands the attention of all within the hazy room. he fits right in with the rats who scurry around in the bowels of the city. he moves like the shadows that cling to the dark corners, his steps silent as whispers. a haunted being— one the world above with its neon signs and bustling crowds has long forgotten— has made his home down here.

ghost bumps his mma gloves with your ex's boxing ones, in a show of surprising sportsmanship.

the bell tolls once again, and the fight begins.

and just as quickly as it began, it ended. you blink, momentarily displaced, because there is no way what just happened is real. there hadn't been no real fight. it'd been one devastating blow to the side of your ex's jaw that ended everything. he hadn't stood a chance. it—

"'s done. sorry, love. but simon's headin' this way to claim his prize." price gives you a sympathetic pat to your back. "i swear it on my life he won't harm a hair on your head."

what?

ghost barrels through the roaring crowd and comes to a stop before you. "you're with me, now. best get used to it." shock blurs your vision, or maybe it's the fact that you've been hoisted up and thrown over a shoulder that did it.

it doesn't matter. the one you came here with is currently lying limp on the stained mat, his mouth hanging open a little awkwardly. is he broken? you're put down on a bench in a large dressing room that has only one tall locker in it with a tiny ghost sticker on the front.

"did you... is he dead?" you ask, pulse quickening.

"no. either dislocated or broke tha' jaw of 'is only."

you sputter when metal clinks on the surface of the wooden table he's currently leaning his weight against. dusters? "you used fucking dusters?"

he turns his head and looks at you, piercing and intense. "you and i both know i didn't need anythin' to knock his teeth down his throat, isn't tha' right, pet? eh?"

his knuckles are calloused and heavily scarred, the little finger bent at an angle even when straight. "don't worry 'bout him, you're with me, now." he shrugs on a plain, black jacket and heads for the door. "try to leave and i'll jus' find you again. don't make this any harder than it has to be."

welcome to the rat king's domain, sweetheart.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you

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typicalopposite · 7 days ago

Note

I have actually never really sent a prompt to anyone . So idk how much to ask for or how to really give one . But I guess some idea of

118 responding to a horrible bar fight and they find Tommy seriously injured. Buck sees the guy who did it at the scene and he gets furious.

Idk if I asked right lol

Here you go <3 I hope you like it!

(gonna kill two birds with one stone here)

Fuck It Friday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard & @nine-one-wanton & @lavenderleahy love you all! thank youuu!

(TW: homophobia and racism)

Buck tries to hide just how many times he pulls his phone out, opens the screen and checks to see if Tommy is typing again. He keeps it down by his leg, turns his back to the rest of the team, even hides out in the bathroom a couple times just to stare at the spot where for such a brief moment Tommy was considering saying something… but then changed his mind.

It’s late and he’s laying on one of the top bunks, eyes fixated on the screen, when Eddie pushes the door open. “Come on Buck…” he sighs. “You gotta give it a rest, man.” Buck tightens his hand around the phone, anticipating Eddie trying to snatch it away again, but he doesn’t. Instead he slumps down to the bottom bunk and goes quiet, leaving Buck alone with that very minimal advice and still no more bubbling.

The bell rings just as Buck is starting to doze off.

A bar fight; a bad one at that. They arrive on the scene and Eddie pulls the ambulance up and parks it right behind the engine. The customers are scattered all around the dirt lot, some talking to each other, some on their phones, some talking with police. Bobby said Athena was the first to arrive, but she’s not outside so Buck assumes she’s in the bar talking to the owner.

One of the bartenders directs them towards a guy sitting hunched over on a bench, holding his face. Eddie goes to him and Buck follows, while Hen and Bobby head inside to where people are saying the more severely injured victim is— or maybe it’s the perpetrator… they aren’t exactly sure what even happened yet. Eddie starts on cleaning the man’s busted brow, and examining the black eye already forming around it. Buck pulls an instant cold compress out and offers it to him for the swelling. All the while the man drunkenly rambles on about how the owner has let the place go to shit… letting just anyone in. Not caring about the patrons who funded them for years with their business.

Buck listens to his hate filled tirade, but only partially, also tuning in to a server who is telling Athena’s new rookie about what happened. How the guy Eddie was working on had antagonized the whole thing. She seems extremely worried about the other guy taking multiple kicks to the stomach and to the head. “He wasn’t even bothering anyone,” she says, voice shaking from crying. “He was just talking to Darlene about—” she pauses and gives a soft tearful laugh. “Well, he kept calling him ‘his Evan’. But he was so sad because he said he wasn’t really his anymore.”

It was as if all the sound around him vanished, and his feet were moving before his brain could register where they were going.

A hand on his chest stopping him from crossing the bar snaps him out of it; it’s Athena. She’s wearing that stern Sergeant Grant look, though it’s fraying around the edges with worry. “Is it him…” Buck starts, looking past her to where Hen is knelt down. Athena purses her lips, furrows her brows… and nods. Buck sucks in a sharp breath and tries to bypass her— he could easily bypass her if he wanted to, but he won’t. He allows her stiffened arm pushing against him to hold him back. “H- How bad is it,” he asks, fighting back against the tears rushing to his eyes.

“He’s pretty banged up, but he’s in good hands,” she gestures back towards where Hen is working feverishly over— over Tommy. Buck feels like he might pass out. Athena moves so she is in his line of view, and his focus is back on her, then gives him a sympathetic look. “Now I need to go out there so I can arrest the man who did this… soon as Eddie is done with him; and I need you to try to stay calm and not do anything… rash.”

Buck clenches his jaw, looking over her once again towards Tommy; he can barely see him for the tables and chairs, and multiple first responders hovering around where he’s sprawled out on the floor.

Athena squeezes his arm and he reluctantly follows her to stand outside. “Just wait here, okay…” she says, before walking over to Eddie and the man who hurt Tommy— his Tommy. He glares over towards them, his blood is boiling. He clenches his jaw tighter, gritting his teeth together.

The guy looks up at Athena as she starts explaining that he has been identified as the perp, and she is arresting him. Before she can begin reading his rights, though, he leaps up— eyes bulging, lips pulled back in snarl, a finger pointing angrily right in Athena’s face. “I’ll be damned if I’m getting arrested for this; for– for doing a public service,” he spits. Athena stares at him, unfazed. “Besides, he attacked me!” The man gestures towards his face.

“He did not!” The server snaps back. Athena offers her a smile, putting a hand up for her to not argue with him.

“I see what he did to you, and after the story I heard— about all the things you were in here ranting and raving about, with your chest puffed out like you're some big man just ‘cause you’re supposedly brave enough to say the all hateful things on your mind— hell, I can’t say I would have blamed him for doing more.”

The man sneered, but stepped back. “Yeah, I figured someone like you would sympathize with someone like that. I guess I might as well chalk this up to being demonized for being the normal one.”

“I’m sure you demonized yourself, all by yourself,” Athena says with an eye roll. She shoves him around and handcuffs him. “And I’m sure you’ll easily demonize yourself among your fellow inmates as well… though I highly doubt you’ll get lucky enough to get the upper hand again.”

She grabs his arm and leads him towards her patrol car, passing Buck while keeping a good distance from him. It doesn’t stop the man from looking over and catching Buck’s name tag. “Buckley…” he says, then chuckles. “As in Evan Buckley…” he throws his head back and fully laughs. “So you’re the one he was in there sniffling over like a poor love sick fa—” Buck is charging at him before he can finish the slur… they can fire him for it; who cares. He is stopped by Eddie, and held back long enough for Athena to get the man in her car.

Eddie loosens his hold and Buck shoves him the rest of the way off, then turns towards the bar. He can hear Eddie calling after him, he just doesn’t care enough to listen to anyone on what they think he should do anymore. Right now he just wants to see Tommy.

“Buck,” Bobby says, moving towards the door as he comes in. Buck walks past him, shying out of the way of the hand reaching for his shoulder. He pushes through the people, and reaches Hen just as they are getting the gurney lifted up onto its wheels.

He sees Tommy.

His shirt has been cut open and dark bruises are covering his torso from the man’s boots. His arm looks broken. His face— Buck sucks in a sharp breath— his face is unrecognizable. He wants to run to him, but he can’t move.

The jolt of the gurney locking into place causes him to stir. He groans and lolls his head to the side. “Easy there, Tommy.” Hen says, gently laying a hand on him so he doesn’t move.

“H- Hen?” Tommy turns his head towards her, but both of his eyes are so swollen and completely shut. “Oh god… Ev— B- Buck… he’s not here, is he? I don’t want him to see this…” His lip trembles and it takes the broken pieces of Buck’s heart and grounds them to dust.

Hen looks at Buck, and Buck shakes his head. “No, he— he was man behind for this one,” she lies. “He’s not here.”

Tommy breathes, it comes out haggard. “I– I’m so stupid, Hen… I- I was so scared and I hurt him. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to; I didn’t want to. ” Hen looks over the gurney at Buck. Buck still can’t move, he can’t speak, he can’t breathe. “I- I need to tell him I’m sorry. I was going to text him but— I can’t do it over a text…”

Hen encourages him to lie still, and save his energy. “You’ll get the chance to tell him Tommy,” she says, flicking her eyes to Buck.

“I– I love him, Hen… I want him back…”

Buck’s heart clenches; it feels like it's being ripped straight out of his chest. “I know you do,” Hen says softly, still looking at Buck. The gurney is taken away, towards the ambulance. Hen lags behind, walking over to Buck. “Well…” she says, offering a smile. “There’s your answer.” She rests her hand on Buck’s back and leads him out of the bar towards the ambulance.

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #fuck it friday #answered asks #thank you bestie! <3

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styxwanderer · 6 months ago

Text

Fateful Encounter |

〖Twisted wonderland〗

[you are an exiled knight of king Hendrik, thrown away by your master as you had disagreed with his method of draining the mines out of magestones belonging to the fae]

TW: torture, implied sexual harrasment [by the human scums of course]

•❅──✧❅✦❅✧───❅•𓆩⟡𓆪•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

"OUCHHH that fucking hurts!"

you had no recollection of what had happened, but you suspect it was king Hendrik dirty play that had you beaten you unconciouss to wake up in a grass covered path surrounded by trees in the dead night. The Dawn knight had warned you about this. the last word you could hear was" if you are so adamant to defend those bandits then you should just go live with them." after years serving as the left hand for that ungrateful tyrannical king this is your payment?

" That jerk! Urgh...Where am i?"

you were in distress, a lady in distress, though that is broken as you decide that it is better if you had looked around and search for help than wailing in self-pity.

Not long you had seen a source of light from a distance. you decided to get closer, Afterall, it is better to die by the sword rather than starvation.

As you went closer and closer you begun to notice a hissing between the trees. You grown aware of your surroundings as you search around.

" HUMAN! state your purpose! How dare you try to sneak into our camp in the dead of the Night!! WAIT! IT"S YOU!! the left hand of that Bastard King! I shall have you dead!"

You raised both your arms up. " Bastard king, I kinda agree with that a tyrant too, well i don't mind, but first let me have some food first, won't you be so kind to give me a last meal?"

" HOW DARE YOU DEMAND FOR A MEAL! YOU---"

" hold on a second, Baur. Look at her clothes. and she is injured"

You had now became aware, you had been stripped out of your armour left with the thin materials used inside of the armour, it too had been ripped from the branches. The logo of king Hendrik kingdom too had been forcefully ripped out of your body cloth leaving a hole on your left arm. You body blotched with black and purple spots you dont doubt you lips were splited and a smear of blood is apparent below your nose. with a topping of a left black eye of course.

" Oh aren't you the general of the right?"

"ugh.. enough with the name, you are king Hendrik famous dog aren't you, state your business.. on second look... heh.. the owner had gotten tired of his dog? what happened did you bark at your master? or did you bite your master?" the general with red stripped hair taunt you.

" Haah.. I wished I had mauled him to the death, then at least he can stop his grabby hand to take whatever he wanted like a spoiled baby."

" hmm.. no that would be a real inconvenient. afterall, we fae had a fair share of grudge toward your stupid king, Human or should i say Dog."

" Okay deal.. so when can i have my meal?"

" HOW DARE YOU ASK LILIA VANROUGE FOR A MEAL?! YOU INSOLENT FOOL!"

" a meal?!?"

" Aa.. well, I rather die with food rather than dying without a last meal, so before you kill me the previous left hand dog of king Hendrik would you be so kind to give me one last meal?"

"YOU!!! ---"

" hahahaha.. you are an intresting one. alright I will grant you, your wish, afterall, I have just finished making the food come come."

"But Lilia, they are a human..."

"don't worry, its their last meal afterall. khufufufu."

"eurgh! HUMAN, WHERE IS YOUR GRATITUTE, GENERAL LILIA HAD GRACEFULLY PREPARE A MEAL FOR YOU!"

" I give thee my deepest gratitude for your never-ending kindness." you performed a half bow with your right hand towards your chest.

You are guided toward the camp as Baur the green-haired guy kept an eye on you, feeling very suspicious of your presence. Meanwhile, Lilia was leading the group.

once you are inside of his camp several soldiers are to rise and hiss at you only to be informed than you are Lilia's esteemed guest making them shocked as they continue to stare at you and your tattered uniform.

you are seated in a big log as Baur sat neck to you armed cross, frowning. You have to say that this guy is quite attractive even when he frowned. You look around the camp to find that the camp is previously owned by the silver fox.

Your attention is diverted as Lilia placed a strange green? brown? goop into a wooden plate and handed towards you.

"Here you go! eat up before I can slice you up!"

" ..... What is this?"

" HOW DARE YOU QUESTIONED SUCH THING! THIS IS LILIA SPECIALITY SOLDIER SOUP!"

" it is filled with nutrition if you must asked. its a tradition for a fae." Lilia smirked

you took a sniff at your bowl reeking of whatever foul thing on the planet, you then take a bite deciding not to be rude to the host and also it is you whom had demanded for food, you need to eat it despite it's appearance, it might be good regarding of its look just like a few dish that you had tried before.

Your mind turned blank as you froze. Once the food had enter your mouth you could feel your gag reflex acting up. Not wanting to spit it out you hold your mouth shut. You could feel your skin turning into a shade of green. your check. you forced yourself to swallow like a good girl you are.

" What is in there?!"

" hmm.. well we have lizard tail and foot, a cow's liver.."

" BLerghhhhhhhh....urp.." you try not to let the spoonful of the goop rise up your throat.

" DO YOU DARE TO OFFEND GENERAL LILIA'S COOKING??!"

You stare at this green haired guy dead in the eye, you had lost your fear for your live. " Is this seriously your traditional food? did you eat this everyday?"

" Quite human! this is very healthy! it is too very convenient!"

" That is true you know, I don't have time to do whatever gourme chef do, this is just enough to feed my troops."

" As beautifulas you faes are you are quite horrible with foods, ah how terrible, I feel so bad for your troops."

" HOW DARE YOU OFFEND GENERAL LILIA!! RAISE YOUR SWORD HUMAN!"

" If you rather die in hunger then be my guess." the general spoke.

" Haaa..." You placed the bowl on top of the log as you look around for wa mound judging by the state of the camp, the previous troop had rushed off in a hurry, there is bound to have unlooted item or burried goods around, afterall most of hendrik's troops are insufferably and idioticly selfish like their master.

"AH there it is.." You walked towards the mould as you started to dig.

" WHAT ARE YOU DOING HUMAN!!"

" Baur Let them be.."

you pulled out a big chunk of pork meat from the ground.

" ....Lilia... i didn't know meat can grow from the ground like that.. Did you human invent whatever this is?!"

" I had no recollection in history of whatever this is. it must be a new invention?"

" HAH! i wished it is, some greasy soldier just decided that they want a whole meat for themselves and hid it here. nothing special at all."

" HAH! AS EXPECTED OF YOU HUMANS! ALWAYS SO GREEDY! EVEN TO YOUR KIND, HAVE THEY NO SHAME?!"

General lilia just sighed. You walked to plants you found around as you picked few leaves and search for salt and pepper around the pouch, since there is bound to be. You started to prepare a skewered pork. Baur who was planning to interfere was stopped by Lilia as he let you do whatever you want.

" All done.." the smell of roasted meat filled the whole camp making the troop's mouth watered.

" Nutricious, convenient, and delicious! Won't you have a try." you picked a stick for yourself and one you handed in the direction of both Baur and Lilia.

" WHO WOULD WANT YOUR FOOD?! for all I know you might've put poison in it."

" Bruh.. I literally cooked right in front of you."

" Hmmm.. Then don't mind if I do.. if I found you to have put strange things into this meal I will have you chopped. we fae have sensitive tongue especially"

" geez you saw me eating this grilled meat too.. I didn't put anything alright! it would be a crime for the food itslef to have been used as a killing method. also do you really have?"

" huh?! what is that supposed to mean?"

" ah no it's just that you have been eating that good for the longest time, so i assumed your tastebuds are dead.... or something."

" Huh?! how brazen of you! it is not that bad." Lilia took the stick form your hand as he tried it.

His tongue instantly boomed with flavour, he stayed quit not wanting to admit that your food had exceeded his food and his expectation.

" not bad.."

" Is it really?"

" I had enough for your whole troops, I don't eat that much, so please have it. That greedy bastard had actually managed to hide that big chunk of meat.. i even have left over" you offered.

" Whoa.. how kind of you." Lilia said as he called on his troop who had been staring at the group for quite some time now, mouth watering.

" Baur you too have some, we will have quite a long journey after all."

" ABSOLUTELY NOT! I rather die than have a food made by humans. I am not hungry at all any way!" He huffed arms still crossing around his large chest.

Suddenly a loud roar boomed. A loud roar from the belly of the green haired soldier

Silence ensue as a hue of pink started to appear on his cheek.

" PFFFTTT... "

You cannot hold your laughter any longer as you laugh out loud. Lilia follows.

" you are hungry right?, have some come one."

" No way!"

You then have a good idea, " Fine! then i can have your portion!!! thank you for the extra food!"

" YOU.. YOU GREEDY LITTLE DOG! fine i will have it! MOVE!"

You laugh as you shoved the skewered pork to his mouth rendering him speechless and you laughing,

" Whose the dog now" you mischievously taunt.

The meat is ripped forcefully from his mouth as he chewed aggressively, " Just watch your back human! I will tear you to death!" he screamed still mouthful as you just chuckled.

" You are quite an interesting human, it's been so long since I had this much fun, rather than have you die, why don't you become our personal cook from no on? he chuckled.

" HUH me?"

" ABSOLUTELY NOT! Lilia!! but she is a human! What if she is sent as a spy for our troops?"

" Then I assign you to keep a close eye on her, simple."

" BUt --- eugh.. Yes, General Lilia."

and from then on your life from a left hand dog of the king had shift and roll and become the personal chef of General Lilia troop, the bane of King Hendrik troops. you had quite enjoyed your new role to be honest, the days are spent with teasing the stiff green haired guy. You had gotten quite close to him as he grew less weary of you overtime. even when he speak so harshly you had realized that Baur had actually cared for you and his troop. especially after that incident.

"OUCHH!" you had managed to trip yourself over a poking branch spraining your ankle.

" Y/N! What happened?!"

" ah it's just i didn't see that branch peeking out.."

" HUMAN! how pathetic a previous knight could go?! tripping over a measly branch?! "

" Hey its covered with leaves I cannot see them."

" HA.. What am I to do with you come!." He crouched down in front of you positioning himself. you are frozen shocked of course.

" HUMAN DONT MAKE ME WAIT!"

" o.. alright..." you are being carried by Baur in piggyback as he lead you back to camp earning a snicker from Lillia of course.

ever since then you had tried your best to show your gratitude towards him by giving him more meat or more food on his portion, when he commented that you are wasting the troops food on him you pushed through convincing him that he needed to have more food fae to reasons that is never disclose of course, a pride of a woman wont ever reveals her secrets Afterall.

You are unaware of the shade of pink that decorated the crocodile man's face. At the end of the day, He too got his own secrets to keep.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

On a normal evening you had found Lilia struggling to apply the wound on his back from the previous clash with the iron clad. You decided to step in.

" Lilia I am coming in." you said as you enter the camp.

"H-hey, What is the meaning of this? i never agreed for you to enter. have you been stalking me?" his top is still on the side and he struggles with the bandage.

" Hahaha what if I am? anyway, please let me address those wounds."

" Haah? as if I need help from a ---"

"Hey I told you I don't need help!" the head strong stubborn fae huffed.

But of course, you hadn't listened taking the bandage out of his hand you grabbed an ointment, smearing it onto his back before wrapping the wound with the bandage.

"All down." he then turned towards you as he pushed you back towards the wooden cart, your escape route blocked. both hands placed on the both side of your face in a kabedon manner. is this how you die? well at least you died in an honorable way.

" How brazen of you? do you know what i can do to you? a man without his shirt to a defenseless little girl."

" huh.. beat me? either way you need to address that wound properly or it will get horribly infected Also i am not a defenseless little girl i got teeth to bite don't i?" you Feigh ignorance.

"Haa.. sometimes I wonder how you managed to reach this age, you got 0 survival skills."

" Hahaha luck I guess?" you shrugged.

Lilia chuckled as he let you go. He was a bat fae, he was always the babysitter, the one taking care of, so it surprised him so when you had taken care of him in return. He then turned around to leave you.

" From now on, I will come to you if I had any other wound, so you better be ready at all time, human." he looked back at you smirking before he left the camp. a tint of red are shading his tipped ears.

" Yes sireee."

You had become Lilia's personal medic, though to his annoyance sometimes you had also assisted other fae in his troop and Baur. making him all annoyed, " her hands should only touch my bare body." Unaware of his feelings.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

The winter is coming, the lake had started to froze. Your tattered fabric uniform had little help to keep you from the cold, but of course, you do not dare to tell a single soul. what would be of you if you had complained you were too cold. All the soldier's clothes are too big on you anyway and you do not want to burden your companion with your unnecessary complains, they got pesky people to remove from harvesting the mountain dry afterall. So you push trough.

Until in the dead end of winter you had woken up shivering as your body shake and teeth clatter. The fire was flickering from the wind and do little to keep you warm, You decided to just take a run to warm yourself up. Before you can properly stand up a large hand had gripped your arm.

" Where do you think you are going y/n" his deep morning voice rang through, thankfully not as loud as his normal voice is.

" Oh me,,, I am going for a run.."

" Hoo... so you are running away?"

" NO.. I was just... warming myself up."

" Is that so.." Baur sit up and pull you back to the ground making you sit still, he pulled and extra uniform as he throws it at you.

" wear that before i changed my mind."

" OHH really?! Thank you so much!" you quickly wear the large piece of garments.

" then I will be going back to sleep." you got back to lay down.

" alright." he scoot over next to your horizontal body.

" uhm..."

" i figured a close body contact would make the hat to circulate around, it would make the both of us warmer, Dont think of futile stuff human! This is just a soldier conduct to take care of each other!."

" Yes and warm each other hohoho."

Unbeknowst to you two, Lilia who had slept in front of you both had been awakened by the shuffling as he saw the scene in front of him. Chucking to himself at the turn of event. Of course, he was going to stalk you if had went on that run and maybe force you down on the ground as he demanded your purpose on running away, but Baur had managed to caught you before he do. He felt upset but at the same time relief because you are now stuck between his fingers unable to leave him or his troop.

" ah to leave me out! such a sad guy I am. I too am very cold." he decided to break.

" Lilia you could join too.." you chuckled

"well don't mind if i do."

Baur huffed as he lay next to you, arm wrapped around your smaller body as you curled into his embrace, with Lilia on your other side spooning you, you are thanking God because not only could you sleep warmly at night you too got to be in the embrace of the hot crocodile man and the bat fae.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

It was a normal day, as you enjoyed your taunts and conversation with your fellow troops, you had been accepted by the troops as their personal chefs, sometimes they even made a request of course not within the ears of Baur since he will give them an earful for being fussy and troubling you though he would never admit. You too had exchange your skill to Lilia and Baur, exchanging tactics with Lilia as you teach them the human way and them the Fae way.

The both of them had found out why you had been exiled to the wilderness, they felt enrage as to what they had done to their dog whomst had just choose to speak their opinion, even in Briar Valley, their princess is not as henious as to not let her subordinate speak their different opinion.

Both are enraged of the previous living conditions. You had been born by a prostitute and were taken to be raised as a soldier, you had managed to rise up to the king's left hand with your own strength and determination and hence your treatment is worse than that of a dog especially with the king himself treating you like his dog. You had told them that sometimes you were summoned to his chambers at night despite having a wife, though you had managed to escape or gain assistance with the kind golden haired man as he covered for you.

That story had enraged the faes, how dare those people had regarded you so lowly despite your achievements, it is simply digusting. How dare those people who are far than worthy of your presence with and a power far lesser than yours decide to grope you and mistreat you. You are a knight, always second to the Knight of dawn, Although you explained that the Knight and his father had been the only person to show kindness towards you no matter the origin of your birth. You had thought of leaving, but they had given you comfortable place to sleep and food, there is fate much worse you thought. The whole conversation had made you wonder of how the knight of dawn is doing with his duty, you hoped your brother well.

Both, Lilia and Baur, had shared a deepen felling towards you, a determined brave girl. You had managed to snuggle yourself comfortable in their hearts. So you have to worry no longer for mistreatment, The fae had deemed themselves your new owner and will treat you accordingly, such a good dog is meant to be showered in praise and gold, not thrown with a rock. Such a rare find you are, an interesting human girl, a gem. The king had let his most precious gem slipped out of his pocket and faes are quite attracted to shiny objects, the king wouldn't mind you them stealing this one will he? Afterall, he had stolen many of their magestones.

Baur surprised you with his patching skill as he sews the holes of your uniform and made them more presentable, he had done that once he found you removing the extra clothe the given you in the morning. When he enquired why you had told him that the clothe are too big and it would hinder your movement. He agreed with your point, but he would not let you dress in tattered uniform for the rest of the journey, so he had you hand over your uniform and changed into his oversized one while he patch your onesie uniformed up. He insisted you keep the cloth of course in case you had felt cold.

Lilia had sometimes assisted you with cooking as well, although it had ended with you pushing him away from the pot so as to not let him put any wierd ingredients into the pot. though you had enjoyed your time cooking as he told you tales of his adventure and his childhood. In return you told him of your past, and goals in life, you had list of stuff you wanted to try such as walking in a garden full of flowers and not those who are filled made from metal. You had shared your distaste with Lilia over their destructive inventions.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

"IRON CLADS!!"

You had gone through your chores and food prep before you heard a shrill of high-pitched hiss. A fae soldier had shouted warning the camp over an incoming siege. you hurriedly abandoned your station picking up a spear given to you to defend yourself. you looked around to see Lilia and Baur now already on their mask as they ordered the troops around as they fought Hendrik's man. In a distance you could see one of the ironclads sneaking up on the crocodile masked guy, preparing to take a blow straight toward the unsuspecting crocodile.

" BAUR! LOOK OUT!" you had shoved Baur's body with yours, pushing him out of the path of danger. only for the danger to be directed to you.

"URGH!" you hurl as you your torso had taken a strong blow, knocking you down as you writhe on the ground.

"Y/N! HOW DARE YOU!" he quickly went after the perpetrator as they ran away, having failed their mission.

"Y/N!" Lilia wanted to check on you but he was preoccupied with his own fights.

More and more iron clads keeps coming by. they are throwing nets to unsuspecting fae or injured ones, You could hear Lilia telling the troop to retreat, Baur trying to get to you but unabled to as you feel a net had wrapped around you as well dragging you closer to the iron clad.

" Y/N!!!" both are trying to get to you defeating the ironclads in his way, but it is for naught as you were pulled towards the troop, they were outnumbered. They watch in desperation as they saw your injured and immobilized body being dragged, helpless to your own fate. and unable to help you, even when you had helped them.

"Hey isn't this the previous left hand knight?! The dog knight?"

" i had thought they died when she ran away from the castle?!"

'Run away? whatt ??' you thought unable to speak.

" she must've sold her body to those fae that must be why she is still alive."

" What a true bitch... must be nice to be able to use her body Hahahaha. We should take this traitorous bitch back of course, we might get a huge sum."

' no...' your consciousness fades as you no matter how you tried to wake up.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

The room was dark and cold, you could feel your hand chained to your back. both your feet and been chained down at the ankle, both with a medium lenght chain connecting to the ground, enabling you to do just a few motion but on the ground nonetheless. You had been put in the castle's dungeon.

" click" the door had opened as you saw both the king and knight of dawn entered. Seeing your frail battered body the knight could only clenched as the king sneered in amusement.

" HO.. so the unfaithful dog had come back to it's owner." He sneered.

Both you and the knight had known that his words are full of bull, you are the one that had been exiled. though you are unable to speak, to tired to even lift a finger.

"ANSWER WHEN YOU ARE SPOKEN TOO!" the king throw a fit as he begun to kick you, stomping on you over and over again, pressing the purple wound on your body.

"Sire.. please, you do need to waste an energy for this one" the knight's eye widened as he tried to find a way to save you from your faith. Ah he is stil as you remembered him to be kind. how kind of you.. brother.

" I would have had away with your body, but unfortunately ofr you, those fae might have left some disease on you, such a shame. Your fair skin are no more, How is it being a toy for those bandits?" he went to grab you by the jaw forcing you to look at him, you are wincing as his grip is crushing your bone.

" But thanks to that, she might have a few information of the fae and their strategy, we should take it out from their mouth, you stil have some use afterall, GUARDS! if i am unable to use your body, then i might as well see it flogged, HAhahahha."

you had been set to be flogged until you had given them any information about the fae. But one thing the king is mistaken about; is that you are a true loyal dog. You would've rather die than to give any information to the king. Their kind had shown you the most kindness and respect towards you than your own. You could see the knight tried to reason with the king to no avail, the stubborn fool is too full of himself afterall.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

It was shameful, to have your uniform thorn at the hands of the knight of dawn in command of the inspecting king. Your scarred back, a memories to your past, were shown to both of them as they begun to carve one after the other,

' Just like old times, you tried to remind yourself. You had been an orphan and a homeless, flogged daily to feed those who share the same fate as you and for yourself. Your skill had been recognized by the father of the knight of dawn, whom had trained you along with his son, Your bond is thicker than those of aristocrat siblings, having been adopted by his father you are technically his sister and he your brother. He was always concerned about you and disapproved the discrimination against you for your origins. He tried his best to dispel these acts but what can one person do? He cannot change other people mind as long as the king himself had treated you as if you are a prostitute, He was furious on his own incompetent, what kind of brother is he, unable to save you from such fate.

He was heartbroken when the new of your disappearance spread, leading to him found out about what the king had done. It sickens him that he had to serve a dirty king such as he, but it hurts his heart more to see you trying to hold in your wailings as you slowly break.

Your eyes had grown to those of a lifeless corpse as you bite your tongue bloody as to not give the satisfaction to the Idiot king.

"Hurry and tell me what they are planning their strategies!" The king who had grown impatient stomp over to your side pulling you by your hair.

You spit a mix of your blood and saliva on to his face, eyebrows furrowed. You would rather die than to sell out your friends like that.

" You bitch ! have it your way! guard bring in the iron rod!"

Your torture was far from over, the night is going to be long for you and your brother who are forced to watch as he watches your face contorted, screeching in pain from the hot iron burning your flesh.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

"Urkk!."

" please my dear y/n, please drink this, it is a healing remedies."

You had lost consciousness as the third iron pressed against your skin burrning your flesh away. you felt a liquid vial being pressed towards your mouth. You frail awake as you tried to get away from the perpetrator like a scared dog.

" Shhh.. Shhh.. it's me.. your brother... please.. i will never harm you."

He went to hug your bruised body, careful with your injuries. Your body laxed as you limped into his hug. you could feel his body trembling as drips of tear fall unto your bare shoulder.

" I am sorry... I am so sorry, dear sister..." he cried. you wished you could pat him on his back but your hands are chained and you are too tired.

" brother.. Please,.... it is not your fault..." you tried to croak out words after word, as to deliver your message.

" I am unable to protect you, it is a duty as your brother, and i have failed... i am sorry.."

He had brought you warm food and the vial of healing potion and had placed your head into his lap as he smeared an ointment to your bruised. Patting your head in reassurance. The two of you conversed just like old time, catching up, afterall it had been months since you last seen your brother. it was nice

" it is time for me to go, dear sister, i was requested to accompany Lady rose this afternoon." he gently lift your head and placed them down on the ground.

With one last look , his heart clenched once more seeing your worn out and battered body. " I will see you tommorow same time. please stay strong sister."

and you are once more alone in the cell.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Days turns to week, and week turned to two, as everything had been a blur to you since you had fade in and out of your consciousness, King Hendrik is relentless, no matter how much your brother had begged, he would come to see you with your brother of the torture he had command his guards to do to you. but no matter how many time he flogged you, how many minutes you are under the water, no matter the beatings that came after and how many hot metal rod being pressed onto your flesh, you had refused to relay any information to the Spoiled king.

Your brother had begged you at, some points,to just let him know whatever he wants to know, but you ignored him, much to his concern and headaches.

You had grown to wish for your death as you refused the vial your brother gives you, begging for him to just let you be, he would have none of your nonsensical blabber of course forcing the vial down your throat. But over time he too had started to think if what he is doing is for himself or yours, beating himself for not being able to help you at all.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

"My king!"

In the dead evening during one of your torture time, a soldier came barging in and whispered something to the king.

" WHAT?!! Knight you come with me! And you continue to pry information out of her, if she still had refused by dawn, cut of her tongue and present her severed head to me, a dog's head might work as a decoration." much to your brother's distressed as he stares as you with concern filling his eyes as to communicate with you before leaving, begrudgingly to follow the king.

You tried to listen to your surrounding to figured out what is happening, but all for naught as all is drowned by your screaming voice. The guards had continued to mercilessly torture your body with the metal iron, sometimes deciding to beat your body with the hot piping iron instead of just pressing it onto your exposed skin.

Is this how you will die? you haven't finished your goal yet, you haven't told Lilia how you love his kindness and that you are grateful of the day he had allowed you to join his camp, You haven't told Baur on how much you loved his passion for justice and reciprocate his kindness towards you, As bad as it sounds both of the fae had found a place in your heart as well, but it is bound to never make its way to the light of day as you were about to die. The thought had riddled your thought throughout your torture, tear stinging your eyes both from the pain and your thoughts. You could see the dusk revel into dawn, as the sun slowly raised up from its hiding place.

you had surrendered yourself to death and had chosen to die in an honorable way. If they are going to kill me then i would rather go down with my pride rather than begged for my life.

"Heh, would you look at the time, such as sad time for you, it's time to get that fiesty tongue of yours chopped of hahaha." he taunts as he grabbed a tonsil to pry your tongue from the cave of your mouth, it hurts.

he raised his knife up high as to chop your tongue.

Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts..

You brace for the impact as you clenched your eyes shut..

But it never came..

"Y/N!!"

you saw a flash of green as you felt the knife dropped as the head of the guards too roll on the ground letting you tongue go from the tonsil. Confussing you, eyes wideded, you tried to move your head but you are unable to as you are too tired so you fall immobilized to the ground.

You felt a hand reach under your head gently lifting you up and turning you around to face him. His normally stern eyes grew teary as he cradles you in him arm placing his head to your shoulder.

"Lilia..?"

" They will pay for what they did. I will make sure of it. They will pay a hundredth times over!" His hand now cupped your face gently, snapped his watery eyes turn deadly as he furrowed his eyebrows. his expression riddled with anger as he turned to slashed the chains bounding your hands and feet using his magearm before he princess carry your bruised and weak body in his arms, resting your had to his shoulder. The smell of a burning fleash assulting his nostrils

" STOP RIGHT THER--" the poor guards were chopped into pieces by the merciless fae and his last bit of patience towards humanity has left his own soul.

The fate was shared to many other soldier standing on his way until you had felt the breeze of the dawn, finally out of your confinement after many days. You took a deep breath.

Baur upon seeing the two of you rushed towards Lilia and upon closer inspection he saw the extent of your injuries. the boisterous man had left speechless and in shock as he too become riddled with rage.

"How.. dare them.. HOw dare theyyy!!! this kingdom is out to be blown to dust! this is Unforgivable!"

He gently went over you as to inspect, Lilia handing you towards Baur. grunting as your tattered back is moved around.

" It's time for us to go home now." Lilia who had caress your cheek once more turned to grab his large magearm and readied himself to plunge to bawttle once more, making way for hima dn his troop to go as he had claimed back his prize, his gem.

The king having heard of the news forced more guards to secure around the castle to prevent you from escaping. Your brother wished you a safe journey as he thanked the fae silently in hid breathe, feeling tears of relief starting to water his eyes behind this mask.

Baur tried as gently as he could not to cause further harm as he cradled you, tears were threatening to spill from his teary eyes. But he shall do that later once you are safe and secured, now he needs to focus on bringing you to a safe place and maintainning you alive.

The blood lost had made you drowsy as you surrender yourself to the Crocodile fae's embrace.

" c'mon y/n Hold on a bit longer, we are near.."

" Pleasee.. don't sleep now. DONT YOU DARE FALL ASLEEP HUMAN!!"

His tears are flowing freely as he fastened his pace towards the camp before your weak body had grown still. He is now filled with rage and concern so does lilia as they make haste towards the camp to give you emergency medic care, They had given you emergency first aid, but they could only work as much as they could.

Your eyes are growing heavy and heavier.

" Lilia! we must make haste!!" he raced through the forest faster than he had ever ran, The Other fae had also catch up.

"Y/N STAY AWAKW! AS YOUR COMMANDER I COMMAND YOU TO STAY AWAKE!"

" y/n.."

"Y/NN!!!"

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

The birds are chirping loudly as the drip of the waterfall is loud and clear.

A ray of light assaulting your eyes as you pried them open. On your right you had seen the tired bat fae sleeping soundfully beside you, and to your right the green-haired crocodile man fusing and sorting out ingredients, You had seen the blood-soaked towel in the watter filled bowl beside you. You saw your body had been covered by bandages as you are wearing an unfamiliar clothes. you shuffled around.

The green-haired man was alerted as he rushed to your side abandoning his previous job.

"Y/N!!! Lilia!! Y/n had woken up!!."

"y/n.. Y/N!." Lilia was startled awake.

you tried to sit down but their hands had swiftly prop you back down. Baur handing a glass of water to Lilia as he feed you gently.

feeling no longer parched you spoke.

"How long have i been asleep?"

" around a week."

" A week?! no wonder i was so thirsty you licked your lips."

Lilia sigh " Do you know how worried i am? must you come tattered everytime i meet you? and whats with your nonchalant attitude?"

" DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH LILIA AND I ARE CONCERNED ABOUT YOU! WE LOOK AFTER YOU DAY AND NIGHT AND YET... and yet you wouldn't wake up..." The green haired guy seems to abandoned his strict personality as his eyes watered, Cradling you into his embrace once more.

" We thought we had lost you..." he cried.

" im sorry." you placed your hands as you rubbed his back, Lilia too joined the hug, He might seem calm and uncaring but with how much grip he had on you, you thought otherwise.

" Geez how troublesome this pet is, i should get you a collar so you don't jump into danger on the first sight of it."

" MIGHT BE FOR THE BEST."

"ahahaha.. i'm sorry." you to had felt tears falling from your eyes as you clung to them. Of course you do not know how serious Lilia is with his previous comment. You had missed this. You thank whatever diety is there that had allow your fate to rekindle with your friend, Enabing you to experience this once more.

" I am home."

" welcome home"

"Welcome home.."

[6885 words]

<< The End >>

[ i made this because bruv the hotness and handsomeness of Sebek's grandpapa and lilia younger days are freaking blinding me and playing with my heaed!! EVEN TO MY FUCKING DREAMSS HAA?! also this is also for those who had the same resentment towards their shitty boss or those who had mistreated you, Let General lilia and Baur zigvolt nurse you back and be the cure towards that rage and depression. hope you enjoy this one, darlings!]

( :̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:𓆩♡𓆪:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

[ Here a bandage just for you]

#ツイステッドワンダーランド #twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #baur zigvolt #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #twst baul #general lilia #a heal fic #cure of depression #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fanfic #twst x reader #MY LOVE IS MINE MINE MINE #GRANDPAPA BE HOT AS HECC

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red-riding-wood · 11 months ago

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Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly.

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined.

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room.

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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dejwrld · 1 year ago

Text

⤷‧₊˚ driver roll up the partition, please.

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, written with black reader in mind, established relationship between reader and shiu kong (engaged), gangster!shiu, fingering, usage of spit, praise kink (good girl), pet names (doll,sweetie), exhibitionism (kinda), mentions of illegal activities, mentions of reader being a wedding planner, reader calls shiu by his firt name once, mentions of other jjk characters (mainly toji), not proofread at all sorry, standalone one shot for debt, | mdni, other creations

The two of you have been so busy that even your shared expensive loft apartment felt as if it was brand new and no one lived there. On some nights, the two of you had no energy left in your tank to do anything but crash in bed, wake up and repeat the previous day's routine. Shiu doing whatever illegal activity he had on his agenda. Then you probably planning a wedding that wasn't yours. You were planning a wedding between some lawyer's daughter and this actor. Granted, the demands the couple wanted were a bit much (requesting gold silverware for guests to eat with)—the check looked wonderfully in your bank account. So, your own planning for your wedding was put on the back burner until further notice.

This date night though, you were grateful for. You missed the quality time with your fiancé. You missed him coming inside your office with lunch and you two ate together until work tugged you out of that romantic bubble. You missed him picking you up instead of one of the many private drivers that worked under him. Obviously, you missed the lingering touches of his hands touched by sin caressing random parts of your body. From the small of your back to your feet when they were prompted in his lap after a long day of dealing with bridezillas.

"I have reservations at that restaurant you always wanted to go to." Shiu comments to break you out of the sudden trace of your own thoughts.

"How? They're booked for the rest of the year. Not even one of my clients could get a reservation for her engagement dinner." You broke your gaze from looking out the tinted windows of the car you were in to catch Shiu's reaction.

His lips curve into a smirk before sinking further into the leather seats behind his body. "Doll, you know I have connections. Perhaps the owner owes me a flavor or something." His lips curve into a smile that you couldn't quite read.

Your eyes playfully roll at him before speaking, "If I find out that restaurant is just there to clean dirty money for you, I'm going to kick your ass."

His arm snakes around your body—completely displaying his love language of physical touch. His fingers tap at plush thighs in the rhythm of the song that hummed out the car's speaker. You couldn't believe how much of a charm, the man had on. Simply putting his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him in the back of this car caused goosebumps to flutter upon your brown skin. And he knew this. You could sense his smirk as you glanced ahead humming along to the song on the radio.

Your tongue ghosts over your lips before you feel Shiu lean over to kiss your neck. The scent of his Sauvage Dior cologne swirled up your nostrils causing you to feel intoxicated for him. Your thighs clasp together tightly in the heat of the moment before you nudge him away lightly due to the driver having a clear view of the two of you.

"Kong Si-woo, don't start it!" You warned while shooting him a look.

"He's not paying attention to us—" His words were cut off as the partition of the car was rolled up as if Shiu gave him a cue to do that.

"See, doll. He doesn't care." Shiu's voice comes off as a childish whine before he's back kissing your neck. You even can hear him inhale sharply taking in the scent of your expensive flowery perfume that he adored.

His hand reaches in between your thighs to spread them apart. Now it was you who was inhaling sharply to anticipate what was to come. Your teeth nibble on your lower lip muffling a moan when you felt his fingers rub you through the black thong you wore.

Through the sheer fabric of the Versace dress you wore, your nipples hardened at the feeling of Shiu's hands rubbing your pussy through your panties. Your hips roll just a bit to feel a bit more friction, but a little desperate enough for it to be like you're riding his hand.

With your panties pushed to the side and your leg propped on Shiu's thigh to give him more excess to your pussy. Even though he already knew how wet you were, he brings his index and middle up to his mouth coating it with his saliva.

The pad of his fingers rubs at your clit and instantly sends a shock upon your body causing your legs to clasp shut. Shiu kisses his teeth before prying your thighs back off.

"Come on beautiful, you're soaked and eager for just my fingers." He peppers your jawline and neck with kisses before he tries again to fulfill his need for you—even if that is simply wanting you to cum on his hand.

His fingers rub at your wet folds before his index and middle finger sinks themselves inside you. His fingers immediately curl inside you tapping at that spot that causes your toes to bend in the expensive high heels you wore for the evening. Your body arches off the leather seats and your mouth gasps apart to let out a moan. Like a little sinner, your thighs spread apart further because you wanted more—you craved more.

You knew your Shiu was smirking at your actions before he gave you exactly what you wanted. That's the thing you loved about Shiu. You were pretty sure that he got more off at the thought and actions of you being pleased than actually ensuring he get a nut.

With his fingers knuckles deep inside of your pussy that was causing a mess on the black leather interior of the car, he removes his fingers just in time to see you let out a long drag of his name. His fingers rub at your clit in a slow circular motion to tease you because he adores seeing tears of satisfaction pool upon your lash line and the only thing you can call out is his name.

"Shiu, I'm going to—" Your voice cracks in desperation.

But he knew where this was heading. He knew your body so well that he knew you were unraveling like a fresh pack of yarn. Shiu inserts his fingers again, this time it's three and the pace is much quicker. The sound of his hand slapping against your scorching skin echoed upon the back of the car and drowned the sound of the music.

"Shit." You cursed closing your eyes tight in anticipation of your orgasm. You felt like you were on a rollercoaster and just any second as you were sitting at the top, it would drop down quickly.

"Look at me lovely," Shiu says and you couldn't look at him.

You felt so embarrassed as you were almost cumming on his fingers. The majority of the blood in your face felt like it rushed to your cheeks to make them feel so hot. Your eyes were blurred with tears of pleasure that decorated your lash line like the expensive lash extension set you just got done. Your body felt like it would explode any second and if you looked at Shiu's handsome face—oh boy were going to be a cumming mess in the backseat of this car.

Shiu's finger moves your face to look at him and you fall in love again. As the explosive feeling of your orgasm crashed into you like a reckless car accident, the look that Shiu gave you—you've seen it so many times. When you first met at Nanami's engagement party some months ago—once again you were working that day, but he still made it his mission to leave with your number. The same look when you went on your first date. The same look when you made love for the first time as if you two were the only ones on the planet. When he got on one knee in the middle of your office after a late night of work and sharing many takeout entrees. This look was engraved in the back of your mind because you were so in love.

"That's it, let it all out." His soaked fingers remove themselves from your pulsing cunt to rub at your clit steadily to get you through your orgasm. "That's my girl. Good girl."

Your body vibrates against him while you whimper out his name repeatedly like a sweet tune. Your chest heaves upward and downward as you were trying to tug yourself down the floating cloud your body was on. Shiu places a kiss on the side of your temple before he's searching for napkins to clean up the mess that you made in the backseat.

"Joon, could you just take us home for the evening. My lovely fiancé here suddenly got very tired." Shiu said after pressing the button for the partition to be put down.

"You're going have to ask for another favor from that restaurant owner for another reservation," You pointed out while fixing your underwear and dress.

"Sweetie, I'll do anything to ensure you're happy. Even if that means going to that fuckin' restaurant." He flashes you a smile that you can't help but return.

You truly did love this man.

┍━━━━━━━♡♡♡━━━━━━━┑ dedication. @maydayaisha + @honeybleed ┕━━━━━━━♡♡♡━━━━━━━┙

#shiu kong x reader #shiu kong smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #anime smut #female reader #black reader #x black reader #jjk x black reader #angelshub #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 2 months ago

Note

pspspspspsps here kitty kitty kitty (Joking,... now you laugh) ....

Italian, Fem!Reader, that had traveled briefly to the village, to sell some books, movies, and whatnot -- just to grant the vilagers some sense of like.. the outside world? If that makes sense?

Reader, having already timed their escape, decides to go to that peculiar house up on the hill, across the bridge, before their departure, -- maybe the residents, who, Reader thought, was an old couple, or a very wealthy woman, .. maybe even one of those trust-fund families.. yes! Reader BET that the inhabitant of a place so grand would spend a pretty penny on some foreign knowledge.. maybe, Reader could even upsell. Yes! That would be enough to pay off Readers risky carriage fees.. (nervous laughter)

Reader, ignoring all darkness, all red flags and blatant signs of danger, because, well, Reader is very oblivious, and very optimistic, -- and, well, they barely know English, so, .. how would Reader know what the villagers say about the owner of said.. Oh-so large mansion? Pfft. As if.

'Oh.. its getting dark. Jeez, the trees sure do make this place gloomy!' 'Uhhhh.. why do i have a blaring sense of discomfort, nausea, unease, and a will of fright that makes my stomach churn with instinct to yeet myself the opposite direction? Oh, man, i knew i shouldnt have eaten that un-refrigerated fruit!'

Angie, if i remember that dollies name correctly, answers .. takes one look at Reader, in all of their 'Italian-beauty-standard-fitting', 'italian-book-carrying', 'Donna-language-speaking' glory (Donna language speaking because.. Italian. That was also a joke. Plz laugh), and immidiately, with that screechy voice calls Donna over

Donna fucking FAAAWNNNSSS over everything Reader has, buys their entire stock, then, out of pure gushy-ness, of how nostalgic, and amazing, and flavourful (meaning, how much stuff that Donna was desperately searching for, Reader has in stock) Readers 'for-sales' are, that she, spur-in-the-moment, ushurs Reader inside, makes them tea and whatnot,

well.. so much for Readers plan of escape. Poor bus-maid Reader hired, they thought, as they sat awkwardly beside the lady in black, veiled thickly, who was talking in Italian, since, well, Reader has little to no knowledge of english. Atleast shes also Italian. Thats nice. Wait.. why does Reader feel their cheeks heating up? Gosh, darn it, Reader has read (aha) far too many romance books.

Make it so that, since Reader, who, now, cant escape the Village, since their little plans of flight had been SPOILEDD!! (reference. Chuckles) they stay with Donna, then, after awhile, after teaching Donna everything they know about Italy, and get really comftorable with her, and sees her without her veil on accident, and cooks traditionally, does fucking .. house chores, because, well, they're an unpaying guest in a strangers home, they both start catchin' feelsies and all that sweet stuff. I'll leave the deciding of when and how to you! How generous of me!

(No smut, please. Aroace look'enne for sum intimate, not-so-intimate love. Aha. Joke again. Just a little giggle, please 😨)

Hope ya have an amazing day!! Yes, i know im too descriptive, im just awesome like that. Much apreesh, Anon. 💗

(p.s, thank u blusy 🫂🫂🫂 virtual hugs from italy. ciao bbg.. or.. bbb.. i dont .. i dunno)

Yesss!!!! Well, that was quite long request, but it was funny to write!!! Thank you for sending it and for your funny words!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language(s) mistakes!!!!

Foreign Business

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Italian! Reader

Warnings: fluff, Donna being Donna

Word count: 8,585

Summary: Should you leave that gloomy village?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!!

“17:30, do you hear me?” the young woman driving the small bus said.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, picking up your stuff.

“I don't think it will… How do you say… take long,” you murmured with an innocent smile, taking out your suitcase as best you could, letting it fall into the snow.

“Hey, stranger,” the girl said, with a gloomy look. “You have to pay me now.”

“Cosa? No, I'll pay you when I get back,” you said with a frown, crossing your arms.

“I'm leaving,” the girl whispered, starting the vehicle again.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey! No, no, no…” you said comically running towards the small bus. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Look stranger, it's clear that you have no idea of what’s going on in this place, right?” the driver asked, with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head and smiled innocently.

“Hey, I was invited,” you protested confused, giving up and taking out your wallet.

“Who has invited you?” she wanted to know.

“I have a relative in this country who is also a businessman,” you explained, putting on your coat because of the cold. “He says he is known as… The Duke.”

The girl looked at you curiously, but finally shook her head.

“No idea…” she murmured. “Besides, that doesn’t matter to me. My job is to bring you here and take you back to Bucharest. If for… Well, for whatever reason you don’t come back, I’ll be left without my money, do you understand?”

“Why wouldn’t I come back?” you asked nervously, looking down the hill, where the old village stood in a frozen mist. “I'm just going to sell my stuff and…”

“You bore me,” the driver sighed, with a mocking laugh that made you burn with rage. “Just pay me now, spaghetti.”

“Mm, politeness is not your best virtue, is it?” you murmured, wishing to say other things, other not-so-elegant words.

After all, that stupid girl was your only transportation in that place in the middle of nowhere… You should control your desire to insult her with all your might.

“I'd rather be rude than stupid,” the young woman laughed, extending her hand for you to give her the money you were holding, squeezing it tightly.

“Ugh, here, your money,” you grumbled, getting a satisfied look from the driver, who turned off the engine, reclining her seat and picking up a magazine.

“A pleasure doing business with you, spaghetti...” she sighed with a sinister laugh.

You, without her seeing you, made fun of her, angrily picking up your suitcase and walking towards the path where you had met with the Duke.

“Stupida...” you hissed, shaking your head, observing the landscape around you.

The trip had been exhausting. Dodging the mountains, those snowy landscapes had taken you too much time, but, that seemingly remote place had a special charm that made it worth it.

You were always a saleswoman, descendant of a family of merchants that expanded throughout old Europe decades ago. Sell, buy, repeat… That was your way of life. Trading in the villages of your country, Italy, was something simple for you, perhaps too simple.

The lack of interest of people in the modern world for something as simple as books, films, or any element of culture, had caused your business to falter, and you had no more than four clients in your area.

You always believed in tradition, in following the family legacy, even when circumstances were not in your favour. You could say that you were also a bit stubborn. Your family branched out to all possible places, places like France, Germany, Spain…

They all seemed to be haunted by the same curse, the same lack of interest in a good book, in knowledge itself.

But there was one place, a place where the tentacles of your family had arrived to stay for a long time, a place where the past lived, where present and future seemed not to exist at all.

A distant relative, the Duke, was for you the luckiest member of the family. Not even your parents knew how long that man had been in that village, in Romania. There were even rumors that he never came, that he never left, he had always existed.

Nonsense and legends in your opinion.

What you did know was that in that place, there were some business opportunities.

You had heard many things about the Duke, about the place where he worked. Apart from old superstitions and legends of witches and vampires, things you didn't believe in, you had heard that the people of the place lived completely oblivious to the outside world.

A unique opportunity. How much would a person pay to know what the world around them was like?

You didn't really care much about the reasons, those strange rumors. You didn't even wonder why that village seemed to be frozen in time. The only thing you thought about when you got on that plane was business.

“Qui...” you sighed when you reached that meeting point the Duke marked.

Without having anything else to do but wait, you sorted your merchandise while you studied the snowy forest that surrounded you, trying to decipher the old wooden signs that indicated illegible directions.

“Re-Reser-Reservoir...” you stammered, removing the snow from one of those signs, looking around. “Un bacino idrico?” you asked, scratching your head. “Mm, interessante...”

Yes, maybe if you finished soon you could do some sightseeing and, above all, you could see the enormous castle that seemed to guard the village.

The minutes passed, you couldn't tell if quickly or slowly. Nothing, there was no sign of the Duke. You might not have known what he looked like, but… In reality, you hadn't seen anyone pass by that path.

The cold began to mix with impatience, making you shiver.

“Ah!” you shrieked when, out of nowhere, a flock of black crows appeared, passing over you, close, too close.

Those black birds seemed like an evil omen, but you were too eager to know that place to realize it. Simply, with a proud cough, you stood up from your crouched position, shaking the snow off your dress.

“Uccelli…” you growled furiously, watching how that flock of crows moved away with sinister sounds.

Checking that your merchandise was still intact, you closed your suitcase, crossing your arms, slowly losing patience.

As you sighed for the umpteenth time, you realized that maybe you were in the wrong place. Asking wouldn't do any good, and besides, there was no one you could ask.

“Mm?” you muttered when you noticed something different among your stuff, a sealed envelope that you could swear wasn't there before.

Looking around confused, thinking no way those crows left that envelope, you slowly picked it up, opening it with a frown. As you began to read, you looked nervously at that forest again. It was a letter for you, in the middle of nowhere.

Dear (Y/N)

I'm afraid something unexpected has come up. It prevents me from attending to you, even though I was certainly looking forward for us to meet. I suppose that, since you are my family, to trade in the village on your own won't be a problem for you.

I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

PS: A word of advice, listen to what the villagers tell you, I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse. Please take care of yourself.

Duke

There was no doubt about it, that letter had arrived there by magic. The idea of messenger crows seemed less and less crazy. But the reality was overwhelming: you were alone in that unknown place.

You had two options: You could take your suitcase, walk back in your tracks and go to the bus, writing yet another failure in your diary, a very expensive one. On the other hand, you could ignore those chills, that feeling of being where you shouldn't be and do what you had come to do.

I wouldn't want the wolves to devour you, or anything worse…

That warning seemed like an irony, a little joke that was surely common to all outsiders like you. Well, it's not like it was a place where there could be wolves but… That wasn't the disturbing thing. What could be worse than being savagely devoured by those beasts?

Curiosity or cowardice, that was your dilemma.

With a thoughtful sigh, you looked at those two possible paths, imagining that, under each of them, there was a line of text that told you which page to go to, like those adventure books that offered several possibilities, some of them fatal ones.

You always fantasized too much thanks to those books. Maybe if you had been as rational as the protagonists of those great adventures, you would have considered your possibilities better.

Shrugging, not wanting to have wasted your money on a fruitless trip, you didn’t listen to the Duke's letter. After all, your job was to talk to people, you didn't need his help, or so you thought.

The castle was increasingly imposing as you approached. It was fascinating, a place from a novel, full of possibilities. Surely when you returned home and read one of those books, you would imagine that gloomy and mysterious landscape.

The glances traveled to your eyes passively. These villagers were definitely strange, they seemed to either fear you, or wish you away, you weren't sure.

Unfortunately, your eagerness to offer knowledge to these poor souls was unsuccessful.

Muttering things you didn't quite understand, in an English that was practically incomprehensible to you, which, on the other hand, was bad luck, since you didn't fully master the language either, each one of the doors of those old cabins closed in your face.

“Hey, I haven't even said my name!” you protested after the tenth disinterested grunt from one of the inhabitants of that place. “Cazzo…”

The door opened again and a young woman with an apologetic look appeared.

“Forgive my father. He doesn't trust outsiders,” the young woman said. Well, at least she spoke to you. “My name is Elena.”

“Sono (Y/N),” you said politely, shaking your hand with the young woman's, who frowned upon hearing you speak that way.

“It's clear that you're not a villager,” the girl joked, closing the door.

“No, I'm Italian,” you said, with a business smile that you had already rehearsed.

The young Elena nodded curiously, glancing at your suitcase.

“Are you a merchant?” she asked, pointing at your merchandise.

You nodded slowly.

“Yes, I've come on behalf of a relative... His name is, or he calls himself... Duke,” you explained with a trembling voice. Your nerves couldn't fail you. At least you had managed to talk to someone.

“The Duke?” the girl asked, with a surprised look. “Wow, I didn't know he had a family.”

“Yes, but he seems to be the only one who is successful,” you murmured jokingly, pronouncing the words in the best way possible. “Well... Elena, right? Are you interested in something?”

“No, I'm sorry. I'm afraid we have everything we need,” she said, shaking her head with a kind smile. “My father says that books are a waste of time.”

“Sciocchezze,” you sighed with a mischievous smile, showing her a vinyl record. “What about music? It's the sound of the soul.”

“No, no, I... I'm afraid we don't need anything like that,” Elena shook her head again.

“Oh, great,” you said, letting your smile fade at the thought that you couldn't even get enough money to recoup the investment of the trip.

“Don't be offended, just…” the young woman said, gesturing with her hands to emphasize her apology. “… We just work to live, that's, that's all we do, anything else would be entertainment.”

“Oh,” you said curiously, arching your eyebrows.

“But, um…” the girl said, looking around. “Maybe, maybe I know someone who might be interested.”

“Do you?” you asked.

Elena nodded, briefly pointing to a large house that stood out from the orchards.

“Luiza has always been a very cultured woman, and she is very kind. Maybe she would want to listen to you,” the young woman explained, in a kind tone. You blinked, looking at the indicated place, and smiled. “She lives up there, in the orchards.”

“Elena!” A loud voice was heard inside the cabin and the girl shuddered.

“I'm coming, father!” Elena shrieked, with another apologetic look. “Sorry, (Y/N), but…”

“Oh, of course, there is no… Pro-problem,” you said nervous about the impatience of that unpleasant man. “Luiza… Okay. Ciao!”

At least that girl helped you not to lose hope.

Elena wasn't lying, that Luiza seemed a bit different from the rest of the villagers, kinder, smarter, with an understandable English... It seems that you interested her enough to invite you into her house.

“Wait there, I'll make tea,” she said kindly, indicating that you sit at a table where a man seemed to be sharpening a knife with a distrustful look. After a few tense seconds, the man left his task, looking at you with distrust.

“So you're a merchant...” he whispered, tilting his head and crossing his arms.

“Yes,” you answered, with that well-rehearsed smile.

“And an outsider...” he whispered, with a sinister smile. “Luiza says you are related to the Duke...”

“That's right,” you said, without losing your merchant composure.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“Wow, I didn't know the fat man had a family,” the man said, with the same surprise in his voice as the young woman before. “Where are you from?”

“Italy,” you said proudly, ignoring those dark eyes, which hardened when they heard you answer.

“Italy, you say?” he asked, leaning a little towards you, narrowing his eyes. “You say you're related to the Duke?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, confused by that change in attitude.

“Mm, are you sure you're related to the merchant?” he asked suspiciously, making you nervous. “Hey, maybe by any chance you know...”

“Ahem,” Luiza interrupted, serving you the cup of tea. “Marcus.”

“What? I'm just asking, the girl says she's Italian,” the man, her husband, apparently, protested. “You and I know who…”

“Marcus,” Luiza said, with a firmer tone. The man shook his head, sighing in defeat. “Don't scare the poor girl.”

“Bah, if she's not scared yet, she must be brave, or stupid,” Marcus commented, laughing amused. You made an effort to smile at that little joke, smelling the delicious aroma of tea.

“Okay, (Y/N), unlike my husband, I’m interested in those foreign items… Do you have any opera records?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” you said, as if coming out of a confused thought, opening your suitcase and putting on a display of everything you had.

Well, you did manage to sell a few things. You would always be grateful to that woman, the only kind woman in that place, apart from the young girl, of course. But even with that partial success, you didn't have enough to feel like you had succeeded.

If that woman had bought you something, nobody was telling you that there couldn't be more Luizas in that place. You just had to find them.

You were ready to leave that house, when a small book caught your attention. It looked like a book full of old photographs of the village. You approached it with curiosity while Luiza kindly opened the door for you.

“Um, sorry, but... Can I take a look?” you asked, pointing at the book. The woman looked at her husband and he shrugged, making a vague gesture of farewell.

“Of course...” the woman sighed, faking a smile. You returned it gratefully, starting to turn the pages of that album. “This village is an old one.”

“I see,” you commented nodding, turning pages and pages full of snowy landscapes. “My family had told me about this place, but... Well, not much. What is this?” you asked, pointing to a kind of square guarded by four large statues.

“Those are the… The four founders of the village,” Luiza explained. “The Dimitrescu family, owner of the castle; the Moreau family, owner of the lake lands; the Heisenberg family who owned a metal factory on the outskirts of the village, and the… The Beneviento family, the doll makers.”

“Oh,” you sighed interested, not even hearing the names very well, you were more attentive to those old photographs. “Does anyone live in the castle? I'd like to visit it.”

“Um, no, I…” the woman stammered, making you frown. “I don't think you should go near it, (Y/N).”

“Isn't it open to the public? What a pity,” you said with a disappointed voice.

Luiza made a strange gesture, shaking her head.

“Young lady, take some advice from me,” the woman said, speaking in a very low tone, approaching you with a hand on your shoulder. “You must leave this place.”

“Why?” you asked, confused, looking away at another of the photographs, one with a beautiful mansion, guarded by a waterfall.

It quickly caught your attention, even making you ignore the kind woman's warning words.

“Because…” Luiza sighed, with a broken tone, as if she were afraid of something. “It's not the best place for an outsider.”

“Oh, yeah, well,” you said, amused, gesturing with your hand. “I have people skills. That's not a problem. Tell me, is this house in the village?”

“Oh, that house…” Luiza murmured, looking at the same photograph.

“It's impressive,” you said curious. “Does anyone live there?” you insisted, running your hand over the drawing of what looked like a symbol, one with a moon and a sun.

“It's, it's far from here,” the woman commented, closing the album and subtly pushing you towards the exit. “Listen to me, don't go near that place. It's very dangerous.”

You shook your head with wide eyes, pulling your suitcase.

“Everything here seems very dangerous,” you commented with a low voice and a frown. The woman put on a sad look, caressing your cheek in a strange way.

“Go away, (Y/N), go away before the shadows invade you,” Luiza whispered, turning her back on you and closing the door softly, leaving you petrified on the floor.

“Cosa diavolo non va?” you asked yourself with a strange grimace, slowly moving away from the house.

Ignoring these strange warnings, you walked aimlessly through the village, looking for someone who wasn't afraid of your presence, or who wouldn't bow their head, ignoring your greeting.

Tired from your erratic walk, you decided to lean against a stone sculpture, in the middle of another snowy square. Failure loomed in your thoughts, in your mind, wondering if perhaps with the Duke present, things would have been different.

You looked at your watch and sighed, it was still early to leave, and even more so when you had barely sold four things. You had to make an effort, either that, or try another nearby village.

The crows flew above you like a bad omen that you couldn't interpret. The sky was dark, gloomy.

Don't let the shadows invade you...

Luiza's words echoed in your ears, words you didn't know how to interpret, or rather, that you didn't want to interpret. You were in a different country, in a different culture, lost in that snowy, sinister village. Even though you believed that nothing could go wrong, a bad feeling began to haunt you.

Yes, maybe it was time to leave.

You stood up with a defeated gasp, shaking your head, depressed by your ridiculous failure. But, you had barely taken two steps when something caught your attention.

In front of you was a wooden door, a kind of fence that separated a private property. Above the frame, there was a symbol, one that you remembered having seen before: that moon and that sun.

Your mind was left thinking. Yes, surely that would be the way to the waterfall house. It had to be. Luiza warned you to not get too close but… Curiosity was calling you.

Okay, it wasn't a huge castle but… Still, that mansion couldn't belong to just any villager. The curious relationship of wealth, bigger houses and kindness that you found in the village made you think that maybe someone rich lived there, a person or family with enough money to think about leisure or wisdom.

“Mm,” you murmured curiously, approaching that place, looking at that symbol closely. The door was open. You almost thought you heard whispers that encouraged you to enter that dark path.

You swallowed when a cold breeze came out of that darkness. Your body trembled for no reason, but your mind was blinded by greed. You couldn't miss that opportunity to know what or who was on the other side, who lived in that place.

The sunlight illuminated the path you had to follow with increasingly less intense rays. Slowly, you followed that luminous advice, entering through the wooden door, walking towards the unknown.

It didn't seem like a very strange place, or so you thought. The trees seemed sad, that place seemed devoured by time. Strange objects hung from the almost rotten branches, which you passed by without flinching.

You simply kept your mind busy, like a danger blocking mechanism that seemed to alert your subconscious. Instead of worrying, when you saw that those things hanging from the trees were dolls, you simply whistled, making your way through the branches with a slow walk.

You passed an old wooden bridge, one that said: go away in all possible languages. You were never good at interpreting those words, those screams from your mind that demanded your attention.

The sunlight diminished as you walked, it was getting dark. The branches of the trees drew disturbing shadows that surrounded a pair of ruined cabins.

“Brr,” you shivered when you saw those wooden claws stalking you.

The smile never left your face, but your body began to notice the symptoms of that inner fear; a dizziness, a feeling of heaviness in your stomach... All of these were physical signs that seemed to want to stop you in your tracks.

You even thought that the tea or the fruit you ate at Luiza's had upset your stomach. No, you didn't see the danger in any way, or rather, you didn't want to see it.

Finally you reached a clearing, where a mound showed a sinister grave you didn't want to approach. Your stupidity and your desire for wealth were so strong that you thought it was perhaps a simple decoration.

“Un ascensore...” you murmured when you reached a red door, surely the entrance to that curious mansion.

Biting your lip, you rubbed your hands entering those metal bars. Of course, whoever lived in that place had to have a lot of money, and, above all, a great desire to spend it. You fantasized about what you were going to find: a rich family? A widow, perhaps? A wealthy man? Maybe one of the founders of the village’s descendants? It didn't matter who it was, but you could smell money from miles away.

When you got out of the elevator, the sight in front of you forced you to stop. There was that house, that huge house with a beautiful waterfall next to it.

“If this doesn't work, I'm leaving the business,” you said, rehearsing in your head the phrases to say to the inhabitant of that place, greetings, smiles, all your charms.

The sound of the falling water relaxed you, although you didn't know why you were even nervous. The word danger whispered in your mind like a premonition or intuition, but you let the waterfall completely eclipse it. The beauty of that place couldn't entail any danger, you were convinced.

You cleared your throat as you approached the door, slowly climbing the steps. At the moment, there was nothing that matched Luiza's warnings, nothing, until, before you could knock on the door, it opened with an ominous creak.

“Um, hello?” you asked, seeing how, in front of you, there was nothing but a beautiful wooden room, with a rocking chair that moved by itself. “Ciao...” you repeated in a lower voice.

There didn't seem to be anyone in that place and you sighed, relaxing your shoulders and looking around.

“Oh!” you squealed in fear when you looked down, where, what looked like a ventriloquist's doll was standing looking at you. “Oh... Cazzo... What...” you said upset. “Good... Good trick...”

Smiling, thinking that, like the gravestones in the clearing, this was just a joke, you crouched down curiously, looking at that puppet.

“Hello?” you repeated, standing up again and ignoring the doll, which, perhaps because of the accumulated fatigue, you thought was following you with its gaze.

“Down here, stupid!” a high-pitched screech scared you again, making you fall backwards, tripping and crashing your body against the hard stone of the porch.

But neither the pain of the fall nor the fright were the worst. Yes, you were not dreaming, if it was a joke, it was the best one you had ever seen.

That doll, that damn doll moved, moved its articulated mouth, laughing out loud.

“Who are you?” the puppet asked, approaching your collapsed body. You backed away scared, crawling until you reached those small steps.

“Ahhh! Una bambola parlante!” you shrieked in fear, standing up as quickly as possible with your hands in front of your body.

“Who are you calling a talking doll, you silly, silly?” the puppet asked.

No, there was no doubt. There were no strings, no ventriloquist, it was alive.

“Ah, io, io… What?” you stammered nervously, shaking your head, blinking hard to make what was undoubtedly a hallucination go away. It didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, can you repeat that?” the doll said, approaching with a comical step. “What did you just say?”

“Cosa?” you asked, grabbing your suitcase, ready to run away. “Sorry, I… No, no… What?”

“You called me a talking doll,” it said, crossing its arms.

You nodded confused.

“I'm, I'm, I'm sorry... No, no...” you stammered, still shocked and scared by the impossibility of that old toy. It couldn't move, it just couldn't.

“Who are you?” it asked again. “Why do you know Italian?”

“I-I-I'm Italian,” you stammered, shaking your head.

The doll tilted its head curiously, looking you up and down.

“You're a long way from home, you silly Italian,” the doll commented in a mocking tone.

You blinked again, scratching the back of your neck, searching all over the doll for the mechanism that was supposed to make it behave like that. You didn't find it.

“I-I'm a merchant,” you said with a broken voice. The doll nodded, walking towards you quickly, climbing up your dress. It was too close, you couldn't move.

“Merchant?” it asked again, looking at you as if it was reading your soul. “What do you sell?”

“I sell… I sell… Books and… Vinyl and… Movies…” you explained when the doll finally got off your body, without taking those cold eyes off you.

“Books and movies?” the puppet asked.

You, nervous, still scared, nodded erratically.

“Do you have Italian stuff?”

“S-Sure I have,” you whispered in a small voice.

“Mm,” the doll murmured turning around, but looking at you several times before disappearing into the darkness of the mansion. “Donna, Donna! You have to see this, come, come!”

“Donna?” you asked yourself, gathering enough courage to walk back to the door, where, after a few seconds, the sound of heels approached.

In front of you was a woman, a woman dressed completely in black, with a veil covering her face. She had a stoic pose, she emanated danger, and even more so when you saw that she was holding the doll in her arms.

Even if she was the most experienced ventriloquist in the world, she could never have done that, it was simply impossible.

“She's pretty, huh, Donna?” the doll said, nudging the lady, who sighed tiredly. “An Italian beauty knocking on your door, not even in your dreams could you imagine something like that.”

“Angie…” A hoarse, dark voice came out of that black veil while the woman lowered the doll to the floor. It laughed amusedly, staring at you again.

“Um, well…” you murmured confused, with your gaze fixed on that black veil, on those invisible eyes that you knew were watching you. “H-Hello…”

There was no answer. The lady didn't even seem to be bothered by your words.

“Um… I'm… I'm (Y/N),” you said, putting fear aside and politely extending your hand towards her, who looked at it briefly, without returning your greeting. “No? Okay… Well…”

“I'm Angie!” the doll shrieked, grabbing your hand instead of its owner and shaking it roughly. “Nice to scare you!”

“H-Hello… Suppongo…” you whispered, still confused but, mysteriously, more relaxed.

“Forgive her, she doesn’t like to talk,” the doll explained, pointing at its owner in a mocking way. “Shall I tell you a secret? She's Italian too.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, looking at the lady, who nodded briefly. “Che strana coincidenza…”

“Perché strana?” that hoarse voice asked again, the voice of that mysterious lady.

“Oh, well…” you said embarrassed, of course, that doll hadn't lied to you. “No, it's nothing…”

“Che vuoi?” the lady in black asked again, her tone lighter, but reflected impatience.

“I'm, I'm a merchant,” you said again, trying to smile, making a superhuman effort to make that strange situation stop being so strange.

After all, she was the inhabitant of that place, and she was also Italian. The business seemed to call you…

“She sells a lot of things, Donna!” the doll shrieked, pointing at you. “Things you like!”

“Mm,” the woman in black murmured, looking over your shoulder at the merchandise. “Me li può mostrare?”

“Oh, sure, sure…” you said nervously, heading towards your suitcase and opening it on the floor, closely followed by that strange doll, which didn't seem to want to leave you alone.

“Look, Donna, your favorite record!” the doll squealed, rummaging through the merchandise without any kind of hesitation, under your watchful gaze, and hers.

The lady took that vinyl, observing it carefully. You almost thought you heard a slight laugh coming out of that veil.

“È, it's a special edition,” you murmured when you saw how interested she seemed to be. “You, you know… Come prima… Più di prima…” you sang in a timid and horrible way.

The veiled lady looked up with a sigh.

“Are you also a singer?” she asked with a weak, whispering voice.

You laughed nervously shaking your head, with your cheeks slightly blushed.

“No… The truth is, I’m not… Although, although they've always told me that I have a beautiful voice,” you said timidly, looking sideways as Angie rummaged through the books.

“Mm,” the lady murmured with disinterest, looking at the vinyl again.

“Donna, Donna! Nonna's favorite book!” the doll squealed, handing her one of your books in perfect condition. “Look, look, this one isn't broken!”

“I have that one on sale… If, if you're interested… Donna, right?” you said with your voice cracked by nerves, playing with your sweaty hands.

“Donna? Lady Beneviento for you, silly!” the doll snapped at you, in a haughty tone.

“Beneviento?” you asked involuntarily, knowing that you had heard that name somewhere.

Of course you heard it. Like a whisper of help, your mind recalled Luiza's words, those that explained to you the families who had founded the village. Of course, that Donna Beneviento was an important person in that place. Despite everything strange, your greed took precedence, she seemed truly interested in what you were selling.

The mysterious woman nodded slowly, leafing through that book with curiosity.

“I’m sorry, Lady Beneviento,” you said elegantly, lowering your head. You knew she was not an ordinary villager and therefore, you could not treat her as such.

“Vieni,” she whispered, gesturing for you to enter the house.

You nodded nervously, closing your suitcase and pulling it into the mansion, with an extra weight. That living doll had climbed on top of it, swinging its legs in a playful way.

“Hey, do you mind?” you said nervously. The doll, obviously, shook her head.

You groaned, still in disbelief, and when you looked again you saw something strange.

There was a portrait, a portrait hanging on the wall of the stairs. On it, there was a woman, a really beautiful, gorgeous woman with a pale face, serious eyes and black hair. Next to her, there was that puppet, the Angie doll. Would she be the lady?

Lady Beneviento cleared her throat, getting your attention, letting you know through her non-verbal language, that she didn't want you to look at that portrait. You decided to be good and obey.

“Sit down, I'll make some tea and we'll talk business,” the woman whispered, pointing to a cozy corner of that house.

“Sure... Yes, um... Thank you,” you said with a kind smile.

The woman in black looked at you for an almost awkward moment and then turned around, walking slowly towards a hallway. You followed her with your eyes until she disappeared.

It was a strange situation indeed. Perhaps you should have listened better to your survival instincts.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lady returned, serving you a cup of tea with an elegant gesture and sitting in front of you.

“Grazie…” you whispered with a grateful smile, blowing on the steaming liquid. “Truth be told, I didn't expect to find someone who spoke my language… I've never been good with English.”

“You seem to speak it quite well,” she commented, with a regal pose, barely moving, not letting anyone see for a moment what that black veil was hiding.

“I have no choice, I guess,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Do you trade all over Europe?” she asked curiously as you opened your suitcase again, your hands shaking.

You weren’t there to chat. You had gone to do business. You couldn’t forget that.

“No, I… Well, I used to trade only in Italy,” you explained with a sad smile.

“Where in Italy are you from?” she asked again as Angie, with the suitcase open again, rubbed her wooden hands, rummaging through your stuff with an evil laugh.

You looked back at the lady, a bit confused.

“Da che parte d’Italia vieni?” the lady repeated with a slightly darker voice. “Nord, sud…?”

“Oh, yes, Well… I was born in the city of… This may seem like a joke to you but… I’m from the city of Benevento,” you said with a shy smile.

You didn’t want her to think you were laughing at her. It was just a stupid coincidence.

“Mm, why would I think it's a joke?” she asked, with a tired sigh.

“Well, because of your… Your last name… It's quite similar, isn't it?” you said with a fake smile. “Are you from around there?”

“No,” the lady answered dryly, without bothering to shake her head. “I was born here.”

“Oh, okay…” you murmured, glancing at the doll, who was shuffling through your books. “Hey, um… be careful…” you said to the doll, who made a mocking gesture, imitating your voice in an unpleasant way. “Hey, la, la bambola…”

“Angie”

“Yes, Angie…” you repeated with a frown. “Why is she alive?”

“That's none of your business,” she said, with a cold voice, one that ran through your nerves, putting them on alert again.

“O-Okay, sorry,” you murmured, looking down.

“Do you have Italian movies?” she asked after a tense moment, one that you took advantage of to hide your embarrassment in the teacup. “Film.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course…” you said nervously, reaching for the suitcase, rummaging through your messy things due to the Angie doll, who protested with a grunt at your hand. “I have a lot of these.”

“Mm?” the lady murmured, looking at the cover confused, opening it and taking out the disc. “What is this?”

“A, a movie,” you said, clearing your throat. “A DVD.”

“DVD…” she whispered, looking at her reflection in that shiny disc, visibly confused. You couldn't believe she didn't know it. That village was definitely stopped in time. “I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand you.”

“Um, well…” you said, scratching the back of your neck, wondering how you were going to explain that to this mysterious woman. She didn't seem to be joking, at all.

“Hey, it's like a mirror!” Angie squealed, climbing onto her owner's lap and comically looking at herself in the disc, turning it curiously. “I want one, Donna, I want one!”

“Ugh, va bene…” the lady whispered, putting the DVD back in its place and handing it to the doll, who jumped victoriously. “It's still not what I'm looking for.”

“What… What are you looking for?” you asked, flashing your fake saleswoman smile again.

“Don't you have any 28mm rolls?” the woman wanted to know.

You nodded confused.

“Yes… But, but they are, they are special, I mean, I mean… They are… They are molto costose, you know… They are, they are almost museum relics,” you said, taking a metal box out of the suitcase and opening it, displaying its contents.

“Fine, I want them,” she murmured, nodding and snatching the box from your hands. “Money is not a problem.”

Well, that phrase fostered a more sincere smile on your face.

“Va bene… It is…” you said nervously, taking out a notebook in which you wrote down your sales.

“I'm not finished,” she interrupted you, leaving the box on the floor. “I also want those books.”

“Those? Which ones?” you asked confused by her vague description.

“All of them,” the lady said abruptly, leaving you glued to the seat. “I've been asking the Duke for that classic novel collection for a long time.”

“The Duke? Oh, well, I'm related to him,” you said smiling, taking the books out of the suitcase and leaving them on the table.

“You?!” Angie asked in a shrill voice, getting too close to you again. “Come on! You don't look like that fat greasy guy!”

“Fat greasy guy?” you asked amused. “Well, I don't really know him, but it seems that in this village you do it quite well.”

“Oh, yes, he's a scammer!” Angie shrieked laughing amused. “Isn't he, Donna?”

“Mm…” the lady nodded, distracted by the books.

That scared you.

“Oh, I… I'm not like him. I'm always fair with prices and… Cazzo, don't think I'm trying to rip you off or anything like that… Cazzo.”

“Do you mind stopping talking like that? I don't like rude girls,” Donna snapped at you, with a dangerous, annoyed tone.

“I'm, I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, I'm not used to being understood,” you explained with a different blush, one that was accentuated when a shy laugh came out of her veil.

“It was just a joke,” she said amused, more relaxed, surely fascinated by that collection of books she was looking for so much. “Do you want some more tea?”

“Oh, yes, per favore,” you said, extending your cup towards the teapot, with a calm smile.

“I still don't know what a girl like you is doing in a place like this...” she whispered after a moment of calm silence, one that served to, little by little, get you used to that sinister atmosphere, and that doll.

“It's a long story...” you sighed, leaning back on the old sofa.

“I have time,” she said, with the same tone as you. “I'm sure you'll appreciate having a chat in your native language, right?”

“S-Sure…”

As if you had suddenly forgotten what you were doing there, or how much time you had left to leave, you began to chat calmly with that strange woman.

At first she seemed gloomy, reluctant to hold any kind of conversation but… As you explained everything that led you to the village, your concerns, your goals… Well, her attitude relaxed quite a bit.

The short, dry sentences turned into a soft voice, into shy laughs from time to time. It seemed that she had gained some confidence with you, or so that living doll hinted. After your hectic trip through Romania, a chat in your language effectively lifted your spirits, it was almost like feeling at home.

On the other hand, that erratic behavior of the lady in black never ceased to surprise you. Like the rest of the villagers, she seemed not to understand or comprehend very well the outside world, the time in which you lived.

To your surprise, she had never even set foot on Italy. Yes, her family came from there, but, incredibly, Donna had never been there. But that was not the only thing that was curious, so were the words that claimed she had never left the village.

It might seem that this woman, with money, with power, from an important family, had little or no interest in traveling, in leaving this sinister time capsule.

But that was not the case. Her words were full of sadness, her sighs, that nostalgia with which she listened attentively to your words... It seemed as if deep down she wanted to leave, as if, for some reason, her stay in the village was some kind of condemnation for her.

The mansion grew darker as time went by as you talked, sharing impressions, tastes, hobbies… It was almost as if you had just met a friend, a friend with an interesting voice, with a beautiful body, with a subtle but intoxicating lavender perfume…

Your cheeks betrayed those erratic thoughts about the lady in black and you shook your head several times.

You, a cultured girl, a fan of romance novels, always tended to idealize that kind of situations. You didn't want to believe in love at first sight, but you certainly didn't know what it felt like, if it was even possible.

No, no, no, no�� You couldn't think about that, despite how attractive Lady Beneviento was to you. Everything had an end, and sooner than you would have liked, yours came.

Sighing, finishing your last cup of tea, you looked at the clock and almost choked.

“Oh, cazzo!” you said hurriedly, getting up from the sofa. “5 o'clock, if I don't hurry…”

“What's wrong?” the lady in black asked, getting up too, playing nervously with her hands.

“I'd love to stay and chat but… If I don't make it to that stupida’s bus, she will leave without me and…” you explained, gathering that was left in your suitcase. Donna had bought almost everything without thinking about it.

“Are you going to leave?” she asked in a whisper, with a voice that, at least to you, seemed sad.

You looked at her and nodded with a polite smile, extending your hand towards her, a hand that, this time, she shook briefly.

Damn, her hands were very soft…

“It's been nice meeting you, Donna,” you said kindly, turning around to walk towards the hall.

“Are you going to let her just leave? Silly Donna…” you heard the doll whisper in an indiscreet manner.

“W-Wait, wait a moment,” the nervous lady said, running to meet you, making her veil move, inducing your mischievous eyes to look at what was underneath. “D-Do you really have to go?”

“Yes,” you said with a confused look, totally innocent.

“W-Wait, I… I…” she murmured, approaching slowly. “It's dangerous to go out at night.”

“Hey, can someone explain to me what it is that scares you so much about this place? And why are there living dolls?” you asked with an impatient tone, remembering each of the villagers' warnings.

“I'll explain everything to you, but, but only if you stay with me a little longer, just a little longer,” the lady said, in a tone that sounded curiously desperate. “Per favore…”

“Please, please!” the doll repeated in a shrill tone.

“Um…” you stammered, unable to find an answer, a desire to stay that you knew existed. But that village had already given you so much trouble, you wanted to leave, but at the same time, you didn't.

Damn senseless crush… How can you even know if you really liked that woman?

“Okay,” you said, letting your words speak for themselves, sighing as you looked at your wristwatch, knowing that, even if you ran, you wouldn't make it to the bus on time. “Hai un telefono?”

The lady nodded, pointing to a small table.

You walked slowly past her, checking how, in a disturbing way, the doll and owner followed you with their gaze.

“Irina?” you asked when someone finally answered, after a few tense moments.

“Oh spaghetti, it's you!” the driver of the bus screamed. She seemed agitated, as if she was running away from something, or so you sensed, there was too much interference. “You have to… Help me! Wolves… Monsters…! Call the… Lice!”

“Cosa? I don't understand you, are you okay?” you asked with a frown, that stupid girl seemed to be in danger.

“No…! No…! Mother Miranda!”

After those screams, the call was interrupted, leaving you disoriented. Seeing you like that, Donna approached, taking the phone from your hand and hanging it slowly, as if somehow those screams hadn't surprised her.

“It seems that there are some connection problems,” Angie mocked, laughing, but stopping when the lady suddenly looked at her, as if she had said something she shouldn't. “Oops…”

“I think she wanted me to call the police… Who is Mother Miranda?” you asked confused, with your heart racing.

“She’s the leader of this village,” Donna murmured, with a somber voice. “But don't worry, she won't hurt you, I won't allow it.”

“Hurt? Um, hey, Donna, I think, I think Irina was in trouble,” you said nervously, focused on finding out what had happened.

“You'll be in trouble if you go out at night, silly! You have to stay here!” Angie yelled at you, pointing comically at the floor.

“Oh, no, no, I don't want to disturb you,” you said with a trembling voice.

Your intuition wasn't wrong at all, but... In that house, you didn't seem to be in danger.

“You're not disturbing me, I like your company,” Donna said, with her hands in front of her body, with an elegant posture, unfazed by what seemed to be the death of the bus girl. “Do you want...? Do you want to cook something for dinner?”

“Oh, um, yes, dinner... Um...” you said confused, nodding without really knowing why. “Va...Va bene...”

As if you had forgotten what had happened, as if that call hadn't taken place, you went down to that dark basement with the lady in black and started cooking. It was a fun, entertaining time.

You both shared your own recipes, your special ways of doing things. Your mind had forgotten about going home, it had forgotten where you wanted to go, why you wanted to leave. The only thing you knew was that you wanted to stay with that dark Italian Lady. You wanted to talk to her, laugh with her.

Yes, you started to believe in love at first sight, you had no doubt that it existed, you were experiencing it.

Day and night began to dance before your eyes, the sun and the moon. How long had you been there? You didn't know. Had it been days, weeks, months? You weren't sure.

Cooking, reading, watching those movies… Any excuse was good enough to forget about your problems, to forget you had a place to go back to.

Maybe darkness had invaded you but… You had become addicted to her, to Donna Beneviento, to that strange woman and her doll, to her voice, her words, her laughter… To the lavender of her perfume…

“Sale,” Donna said, extending her hand so you could give her the jar she needed while, like so many days, like so many times, you cooked with her.

A curious routine, cooking, cleaning, sewing… Something that your own conscience used as payment for being a guest who didn't pay for her stay but… Were you really a guest? What were you?

“I've never seen anyone making pasta,” you said curiously, leaning your elbow on the counter. Donna laughed amused, shaking her head. “Well, my grandmother usually…”

“You say I'm like your grandmother?” she joked, kneading calmly.

“No, not at all,” you said, amused, looking hypnotically at that curious dough. “I buy it ready-made, it's easier and faster that way.”

“Chi va piano…”

“Va lontano…” you finished, smiling again, with that damn blush on your cheeks. “It's true, you're right, Donna.”

She glanced at you briefly, giving you another of her beautiful laughs. You were so dazed that nothing mattered anymore, only waking up in that guest room again, only going downstairs to share moments with her, only her, only Donna mattered to you.

“Wait, let me help you,” you said, picking up one of the flour sacks and putting it on the counter with a loud thud, raising a thick cloud of white dust. “Cazzo! Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

The lady coughed, brushing the flour away with her hand, clearing her vision. It could be a comedian or a dangerous one, you didn't quite know. Her little apron was unable to stop all the flour, which landed on Lady Beneviento, including her veil.

“Tutto bene?” you asked timidly, brushing the dust out of your hair.

“Sì,” the woman in black murmured, accidentally removing her veil, shaking it in front of your wide-open eyes.

When she realized the mistake she had made, the mistake of showing you her face, she gasped nervously, shaking her head.

You stood petrified, admiring every inch of her beauty, a hidden one, one that you only sensed and you had just confirmed. No, a stupid scar couldn't be that important, it wasn't capable of hiding anything, of overcoming her beauty.

“Non… Non…” she whispered, turning around and covering her face with her hands. “Non guardami!”

“Donna, wait, wait…” you said nervously, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t, don't cover yourself, You are… Sei bellisima…”

“No, no, no…” she repeated, nervously, pushing away your comforting hand. “Sei una bugiarda!”

“I'm not lying, Donna, really, I…” you said, trying to reason with those incipient sobs, with the trembling of her body.

“Now you'll want to leave… You'll make me hurt you!” she shrieked, completely out of control. You shook your head, ignoring that dangerous last sentence.

“Shh,” you whispered softly, turning her around, taking advantage of a slight moment of weakness. “I won't leave, I like being here.”

“No… Non é vero…” she said, moving away from your gaze.

You snatched the veil from her so she couldn't put it back on and, without thinking, you launched yourself at her lips, kissing them fiercely, just as you had wanted to do for a long time, you didn't know how long.

“Donna…” you sighed when you pulled away from the kiss, a messy kiss that she had a hard time joining.

Finally she did, caressing your cheeks, mouth agape by that sudden reaction, one that she was apparently also waiting for.

“You have come into my life like a savior, like a light that has passed through the darkness…” she whispered, kissing you again, losing that fear, that cowardice, the fear of being discovered, of you seeing her wounded face.

What Lady Beneviento didn’t expect, is that you would feel something for her.

“Per favore…Non partire…Rimani con me…Per sempre…” she murmured while your lips caressed each other, while the warmth of that unexpected love slowly passed through your body, until it reached your heart.

“Per sempre…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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targaryen-dynasty · 1 year ago

Text

BUMP START.

Part 2 of The Devil You Know

Biker!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

What was supposed to be a quiet start into the day ended with a surprising question... and a lot of surprising feelings.

WORDS: 2.6 K

WARNINGS: just some sexual tension, some teasing, some somewhat cocky Aemond Targaryen

NOTES: I know I've written this, but reader definitely is stronger than me when it comes to Aemond, tbh.💀 Aemond is confident and self-assured, but not in an asshole kind of way. He has different sides to him, but you‘ll get to know some of them throughout this series.

It was 9:30 am sharp when you pulled into the parking lot in front of the Choppers, your father’s old Jeep Wrangler coming to a stop with a whole lot of difficulties, the squealing brakes announcing your arrival. While you were incredibly grateful for him providing you with the car in the first place, you would've not minded taking out his motorcycle instead–except for the fact that you don’t know how to drive one, and that your father’s motorcycle is far too big and heavy for you.

Just the thought of feeling a bit more connected to the place, the bar and the people visiting it was what made you want it in the first place, knowing being a biker yourself would secure you a permanent spot with the Savage Dragons. But you and your family struggled to make ends meet, so, getting your own motorcycle, and the license on top, were the last things on your list.

In front of the bar stood several motorcycles, but the most striking one among them was a sleek black Harley-Davidson Fat Bob 114. You had heard rumors of whom it belonged to, and wondered what had happened the previous night for its owner to leave his bike behind, standing in the open in the midst of busy King’s Landing.

Your keychain fell to the ground as you closed the heavy front door behind you, and the silence of the empty bar was pierced by a tired groan. You picked them up at lightning speed and put the individual keys between your fingers, ready to jab an assailant at any given moment.

“Who’s there?” you asked, putting on the most threatening tone you could muster while prowling around the empty tables. It was then, as you reached the bar and turned on the lights, that you spotted a flash of silver on one of the corner benches in the back of Choppers. And then you spotted the leather jacket hanging over one of the chairs, a golden, three-headed dragon shimmering on the back of it. There’s no way, you thought to yourself, rubbing your palms to prepare yourself for the inevitable meeting with Dracarys’ ominous and unofficial president, Aemond.

The man grumbled and stretched his ridiculously long legs, protruding far over the edge of the bench. “It’s me.” And with no oldschool rock thrumming in the background, his voice sounded even smoother.

He looked absolutely whacked, and from the way he rubbed his eyes–yes, eyes, the eyepatch rested on the table next to him–it seemed as if he didn’t have a comfortable night.

“What are you doing here?” You moved to stand behind the counter, feeling more comfortable with something solid between you to grant you some sense of safety alone with a stranger in an empty bar.

“Gods,” he groaned, “how late is it?” Aemond pulled out his phone and glanced at the black screen while still lying on his back. It was obvious his phone had died, because he sighed and slammed it on the table before craning his neck to look at the clock hanging at the wall behind you. The bar was naturally dimly lit, and with him being in the far back, you couldn’t see his face properly. “Fuck, it’s way too early.”

You scoffed, and filled the sink with hot water, cleaning the glasses that had piled up the counter. “Got drunk after I left, and no one to bring you home?” you asked, though there was a certain snappiness to your tone–at least snappier than initially intended. You blamed it on him interrupting the only quiet hours you would get all day with your shift starting in two hours, while deep down your nervousness certainly played into it, too.

Aemond rose from his spot with a dry chuckle at your attitude. He fixed his disheveled hair, and since your eyes flickered over his frame from his shoes up to his hands, you quickly averted them the moment you spotted the eyepatch dangling loosely between his slender fingers, which meant his supposedly sapphire eye was uncovered.

Even though someone missing an eye was something completely natural and normal, it still felt eerily intimate to you. Perhaps, he was still half asleep, not fully aware that you haven’t seen his missing eye before, or perhaps he just didn’t care. Something in you tried to resist the urge to look up at him, to gawk at his eye, and it felt as if your whole body was frozen in place with him creeping closer to you.

Your face was titled down with your eyes fixed on the sink, being extra careful to scrub every glass spotless in order to not meet his eyes, and Aemond seemingly became aware of what you were doing. A deeply buried part of him was grateful, because it meant he got to spend just a few more minutes without being judged for his condition openly, but you didn’t strike him as someone so judging, and he was certain Jace and Luke had told you about the prosthetic. But he also wanted to see how long you could keep it up, especially with him being right in front of you. He smirked to himself, and sat down on one of the bar stools.

“Some ass cut the fuel line of my motorcycle,” he replied.

Aemond leaned over the counter, fetching one of the cleaned glasses, and poured himself a tap beer as if he’d done that plenty of times before. The instinct to swat his hands away, just like you had done with Baela’s multiple times in the past, was big, but you withstood it. However, you gauged at his hands, memorizing the veins that ran along their backs, decorated with tattoos, and disappearing under the long sleeves of his black shirt.

You raised your brows, seeming unconvinced. “And Aegon didn’t want you to ride shotgun?”

He took a swig of his beer. “I have to put up with Aegon all day long. It’s kinda nice to have a night all to yourself. Just told Jason to pick me up in the morning.”

“And how would you have gotten out of here today?”

Aemond slightly tilted his head, one eyebrow cocked in a smug manner. “I know about the spare key taped under the counter right…,” he trailed off and leaned forwards over the counter, coming dangerously close as he reached next to you, nimble fingers curling beneath the countertop to retrieve said spare key, “... here.”

While his movements and proximity choked the air out of your lungs, you felt unable to move and merely processed what he had done when he presented you the key, captured between his index and middle finger. You snatched it from him, ignoring the goosebumps that littered over your skin as you touched him, and put it right back where it came from.

“And you prefer to sleep in your uncle’s bar, on one of the most uncomfortable corner benches to ever exist, just to have a few hours without your brother?”

“Exactly,” he said, keeping his eyes on you, whereas you hadn’t directly looked at his face once, “it’s nice to spend a night and a morning all alone before a damn long shift at the shop.”

The thoughts of his missing eye were pushed to the back of your mind at his statement, your head tilting up with your eyes narrowed to look at him. Yours slightly traced over his chiseled features, and when you eventually spotted the sapphire blue prosthetic eye, you couldn’t say that you weren’t a bit disappointed. “So, you’re telling me you both work, huh, like, getting your hands dirty and all?” It was more of a teasing question, though a hint of disbelief lingered in your tone.

While his breath caught in his throat when your eyes finally met, clearly anticipating the usual stuttering, the flushed face and neck, the not knowing where to look and, worst of all, even apologizing for looking at him, he was laser-focused to spot any signs of disgust or repulsion on your features. When nothing of the matters above followed, he was pleasantly surprised. But he was able to notice something else flickering in your eyes–something that came close to fascination.

“Getting our hands dirty, and everything that comes with it, sweets,” the nickname slipped past his lips with such ease once the shock of your first eye contact passed. You knew it merely was the payback for your previous teasing, and yet you blushed. It was repulsive when his brother said it, despite Aegon being easy on the eyes and carrying quite the charisma, but it sounded ten times better when it came from Aemond.

“Just joking,” he was quick to add, obviously not wanting to push the limits. “We work at the Lannister’s shop, mostly fixing the motorcycles, but I could certainly get some cars to drive, too.”

Inappropriate thoughts clouded your mind. Visions of a sweaty Aemond, grunting and groaning at a particularly hard task, covered with a few streaks of oil and a thin sheen of sweat that not only accentuated his tattoos, but also highlighted his muscles and veins. You had bitten your bottom lip, only pulled out of your thoughts at the dull thud of Aemond putting his almost emptied pint back on the countertop. Your cheeks lit up in embarrassment as you noticed what had happened, trying to get your mind off it by taking care of the glassware.

Once the glasses were stored in the cabinet, you slightly bowed forwards and gripped the edges of the counter, meeting Aemond’s eyes. Only then you noticed the slight color difference in his healthy eye and the prosthetic. The right one was more of a steel blue, whereas the left one indeed was colored in a sapphire blue. From the way Jace and Luke had told it, you fully expected a real sapphire to be popped into the socket, though the one he now wore definitely had more charm. A very faint scar ran from his cheek up to his forehead, barely noticeable without looking closely.

You could’ve sworn you’d seen him squirm under your gaze. Just slightly.

“I’d have to see that myself to believe you and Aegon are actually working for your money,” you noted, an amused tone laced within your voice.

Aemond chuckled, still somewhat baffled by your bold staring, “feel free to drop by whenever you feel like it. I’ll be at the shop at least until 6pm today… and every other day, too.”

Grabbing a rag, you wetted it and came back from behind the counter to start wiping down the tables. The awkward tension between you two had vanished into thin air rather quickly, and you actually found him to be one of the very few people you could have pleasant conversations with.

Aemond turned in his seat and watched your every move just like he had done the night before. Instead of the skirt, you wore skinny jeans this time around, and they did nothing to hide your curves. Perhaps he had to put the eyepatch over his healthy eye to stop himself from staring at you like a bitch in heat.

“I wouldn’t have thought that your brother’s quite a handful,” you stated, not bothering to look at him from over your shoulder. You had a feeling you’d catch him staring if you did, and you weren’t sure if you could handle that without wanting to jump his bones right then and there.

“Aegon is many things, and when he’s not a handful, he’s a menace.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about that.”

“Sure you did,” came his reply, a strange edge you couldn’t assign to it.

You think nothing of it, mind still lingering on the stupid excuse he had given about sleeping in the bar, and you had to bite the insides of your cheeks to stop your lips from curling into a grin, yet the ‘mhmm’ you made could even be heard by him.

A few empty glasses Cregan clearly had missed the night before were balanced in your hand as you walked back towards the bar, but instead of walking around it, you approached the vacant space next to Aemond, placing the glasses on the countertop. You felt his eye on you, and in your peripheral vision you saw him watching you. Again, or still.

You half turned to face him, a tilt of your head exposing your neck while your eyes took him in for a few seconds, examining his chiseled jaw, the way his lips had curled into a confident smile, his nose, and how his eye couldn’t seem to choose between your lips and eyes. “What?”

“You ever go out with any of your customers?”

Your eyes widened for a moment, but relaxed just as quick. You leaned against the counter, your upper body bowing towards him a bit.

“I don’t particularly like going out with men that don’t even bother to ask my name,” you quipped.

You were able to spot the exact moment the sting of reaction settled in, his smile faltering ever so slightly before returning to the way it was before, the hurt apparent. You felt bad that he obviously didn’t get your teasing, and your mind raced with something to lighten the mood again, not wanting to ruin your chances with him. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek, and dragged his eye from your lips, to your cleavage and eventually up to your eyes.

“Well, what’s your name?”

You released a puff of air, but still told him your name and brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear as you did so.

“So, I take this as a yes then?” Aemond asked, the arched eyebrow indicating he was searching for your reassurance.

Without thinking about it, you brushed your fingertips over his thigh, seemingly contemplating his question. He shifted in his seat, tensing up, which you took as the cue to pull your hand away as fast as it got there.

You bit your bottom lip. “I’m working tonight. Come by and ask me again.”

It took a moment for the weight of those words to set in, allowing you to take a step back from him to disappear behind the bar again. As he scoffed and pushed his silver hair back, you were near fainting, clutching the edge of the counter for support while you leaned on it.

In the pregnant pause between you both, you heard the distant honking of a car, indicating that his ride was there.

“Guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said, bringing the pint up to his lips to drown the rest of it, before he thrummed his fingers on the countertop and rose from his seat. Your face dulled, having enjoyed the easy banter and flirting perhaps a bit too much.

The cheeky wink he sent you came out of the blue, and was the last blow to catch any words that might have left your lips in your throat. He walked towards the corner bench in the far right and fetched his leather jacket, putting it on. It accentuated the natural broadness of his shoulders, the gold of the three-headed dragon on the back and the greenish-golden flames around it complementing the silver of his hair.

As much as you enjoyed seeing him leave, you also loathed it.

With the door handle already in hand, Aemond opened the door but stopped in his tracks right away. “Y/N?” Hearing your name leave his lips was like music to your ears, and you wondered how it would sound spoken in a completely different manner… and an entirely different situation.

You tilted your head up from your spot behind the sink to meet his eyes, raising your eyebrows.

“See you tonight.” While he left the Choppers to meet his friends outside, you were left with a pounding heart and an aching between your legs, forced to swallow the lump in your throat that formed at the thoughts of your upcoming shift.

TDYK Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @sophie-looks-at-stuff @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @janejenny666 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @rhaenyrarp @melsunshine @docmartinis @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens

You know the drill: bold means I couldn’t tag you.

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thesharktanksdriver · 2 years ago

Text

The Spider’s web (platonic)

You used to be an average kid, one who went about their day without so much as a care in the world

Granted, you were being raised by your elderly aunt and uncle, and you were somewhat of a science wiz but other than that yeah pretty normal

Until a radioactive spider bitt you after you and your uncle got into an accident which ended up with you as the survivor

And that lead you becoming a web-slinging vigilante known as spider

Ok scratch that maybe you weren’t so normal after all but to be fair no one was in Gotham

During the day you were a teenager who went to school, made some extra cash on the side to support your aunt after your uncle’s death

But at night you dawn your suit and sling across the city helping as best you could

Unlike Batman or his figurative family you help out in smaller ways

You help by bringing people home safely, handing out umbrella when it’s raining, saving cats out of trees, stopping some petty crime and giving the criminals a talk to find out why they needed to do said crime, helping firefighters ect

You still saved quite a few people but you also focused on making others happy

Since something as small as a wave of kind gesture of a stranger can improve someone’s day significantly

You also focus on helping those who are committing petty crime since you know it’s usually out of desperation

And desperation is a big thing in Gotham unfortunately

Your a more friendly figure compared to the Batman, bright colours and an expressive mask that makes you more approachable

Along with that your quite vocal, saying hi to passersby’s as you swing past or offering high fives

Also a lot of quips, like a lot. plus jokes thrown to make people laugh

Your swinging webs dissolve after a set period of time so by morning their gone thus no complaints from business owners about it

Whilst Batman and his team look out for Gotham as a conglomerate you look out for the little guy

Pitching in to areas when the other vigilantes of the night can’t get to

It’s actually quite fun and no matter how tired an beat up you are from stopping a minor scuffle it’s worth it to you

The bruises and black eyes serving as metals to your meddling in making sure someone didn’t get shanked

Gordon is the only cop you trust and actively report to him about cops that are taking advantage of their power

You have a little camera on your suit making filming encounters much easier along with the fact you sometimes take photos for fun

And use some of those photos for money…you spend a lot more than you probably should do you sometimes sell photos to newspapers

Anyways, you leave the clips of certain cops for him to see and review

Which also makes most cops not really like you but they don’t really like Batman either so it’s not like your the only one

He’s pretty friendly with you but you can also tell he’s worries

Like real worried

It’s basically obvious to everyone your a kid despite how you try to deepen your voice a bit

He knows he can’t really stop you so he does his best to give you tips and pats on the back for your work

He swears that when he hears about you on the news he gets more grey hairs

Or when you show up at his window donuts in hand with a nasty bruise on your jaw

Listen he doesn’t care you “have a weird healing factor” your getting a patch for that

Barbara laughs when he grumbles that he now has a new kid to look after

You don’t admit it but he reminds you a lot of your uncle and it makes you feel nostalgic

On long nights for Gordon you like to swing by (hah get it) and leave him some coffee and donuts

He appreciates it but wishes you’d let him pay you back

Another thing Gordon doesn’t know is that when your uncle died he was the cop that comforted you back at the station

While all the others worked he took the time to help you

Which is something you’d never forget

So to pay the favour back in some sense you do your best to help him as well

But he doesn’t have to know your reasoning…yet

You sometimes leave little notes for him with doodles of yourself that have motivational messages

Batman asks him about you since he has really had to time to actually talk to you but Gordon tells him your a good kid

But your probably too stubborn to stop doing what your doing

Gordon really appreciates what you do even if it’s not taking down super villains

You go out of your way to make others happy and make the streets a little more safe

Plus you seemed focused on rehabilitation and helping people who do crime as a last option for survival

He’s actually met quite a few people you’ve talked to and helped get back on their feet

Probably had a little notebook where he puts all your doodle notes

Whenever you leave his office he tells you to stay safe and that you’d doing good out there

You always give him a thumbs out before back flipping out his window

Despite how many times you do it he looks out to make sure your ok

Barbara meets you one day when she stopped by to make sure her dad was ok and found you and him talking

When she came in you jumped to the ceiling and they just watched you for a minute before laughing

Honestly Barbara is really fun and cool

Whenever she stops by her dad’s office she kinda silently hopes your there cause your a ray of sunshine

She appreciates your work a lot and it never ceases to make her smile when she offhandedly hear people talk about your deeds

Definitely teases her dad a lot lol

Sometimes like Gordon you leave little notes for her on her wheelchair

You both develop so many inside jokes that Gordon can only scratch his head at

She leaves you snacks like granola bars and smoothies for her dad to give you

Like her dad she’s concerned but moreso about how your doing this without anyone else to help you

Sure your activities aren’t taking down and making enemies with super powered villains but all you needed is one bad encounter and your down

And it worries her how you don’t seem to care about yourself and put others happiness on pedestal

Like helping others matters but so does helping yourself

As oracle she sometimes hacks stuff to give you little hints or tricks for you to use

These have probably saved you from getting an infection from leaving your wounds unbothered due to your “it’ll heal” mentality

She’s kinda silently curious what your abilities allow you to do. Like she knows you can climb walls and you have some type of healing factor but she wonders if there’s more

So y’all make a game out of it and every week she guesses one possible ability you have and you answer her

Like her dad she knows your too stubborn to stop

You have too much of a big heart to not help people, your the one person who doesn’t stand down no matter the punches thrown your way

It’s an admirable trait but also dangerous

You geek out with her over tech and when you get your own popsicle

Sure that popsicle doesn’t look the greatest but your amazed anyways over the smallest stuff like that

It makes her heart swell when you talk about how happy you felt when you found out you had fanart!

It’s normal for hero’s to have that but your just so flabbergasted that someone went through the effort of drawing you

It reminds her once again that your a kid in all of this

One day she’s asks why you haven’t met Batman yet and you tell her why

That your kinda scared of him considering Gotham isn’t the friendliest to meta humans

And consider you now have powers your part of that crowd

Plus you just want to help in ways Batman usually can’t

She’s understanding to this and makes note to tell Bruce

At this point she probably knows your identity but only by accident

She never brings that up though

Content with just letting you go on in peace without you worrying about her accidentally spilling the info to someone

Her heart will explode if you ever mention how batgirl was one of your favourite hero’s growing up

Bane is the first real villain who kinda takes an interest in you from seeing you firsthand one day

So he has he men track you down and bring you to him

And then he finds out that you know most of them already and just willingly followed them?

Yeah turns out you already knew a lot of his men cause you’ve helped a handful of them with stuff like car troubles and making sure the neighborhoods a few live in are safer

And also inadvertently convincing some of them to get a better job instead of committing crime and they took that as become a full on henchman

Your a bit disappointed but Bane is a fair boss so it somewhat makes up for the fact their still in the crime business

Meanwhile bane is kinda confused cause your a kid??

Like sure he fights Robin but even then he goes somewhat easy and they have Batman as a mentor

Your just a fucking kid on their own doing this?!?

Dear god this man is so concerned

Even more so when you try to deepen your voice and then it cracks and there’s an awkward silence afterwards

Oh and then they hear your stomach grumble

You get a full on meal from them giving you some of their lunches plus some extra snacks

Your such a good kid and he’s like real worried that one day someone will take advantage of that

So he kinda begins training you, well not full on training but giving you some pointers

Like better stances or how to throw a better punch

He finds it really funny how expressive you are with your mask and how your tiny compared to him

He quickly catches on that you seemingly have enhanced senses and strength cause almost no one can beat him in a fight let alone a young teenager (it was more of a playful fight but point still stands)

You once offhandedly mention that you have to care for your elderly aunt by accident and he’s now packing you some extra food and slips some money into there as well

Probably knows he can figure out your identity real quick but doesn’t make the effort since he’d rather you go to him yourself if/when your ready

Is this what being a parent is like? (Yes, yes it is Bane)

He helps improve your suit and gives suggestions on what material would be better

Nearly has a heart attack when you one day show up to his base with a stab wound

Sure it’s healing but like what the fuck?!

His men kinda tease him for being a mother hen

He can’t help it though cause he’s always had a soft spot for kids and knowing your out there possibly getting hurt makes his uneasy

When you talk about science he finds himself happy cause your clearly passionate about the subject

Probably compliments you about your knowledge and pats you on the shoulder

He gives you nicknames in Spanish but his favourite is “pequeña araña” which means little spider

If you already know Spanish he’s 100% talking to you in it but if you don’t then he’s kinda teaching you by accident

For the love of god please say that your suit is properly insulated cause he’s gonna get grey hairs if he knows that your going out in Gotham during the winter freezing your ass off

Same for summer as well cause he knows that being in a head to toe bodysuit in the heat isn’t good

You met deadshot through his daughter Zoe by complete accident

Like you were swinging past some apartments while she was doing some homework she was stuck on and spotted you

And then she called out and you quickly ended up helping her with that homework

And that kinda became a weekly tradition where you’d just stop by on every Saturday to check her work and help her if she was stuck

During one of these he walks in as your perched near her window helping her with a math equation

He’s kinda confused for a minute until Zoe waves him over and says that you’d been her tutor for the past month

After that he kinda tracks you down on his own time as your having a burger on a building and talks to you

He thanks you and also asks why your doing the whole vigilante business as such a young age

You don’t tell him the full story but just enough where he gets a good picture as to why

Zoe becomes one of your fans and he has to say that it’s a lot better than her liking Batman or one of his robins lol

You still help her with homework but now you also show up to talk to her and her dad

She likes to brag to her father about how if she did good on her next test that you promised to make her a hoodie that resembles you suit

When he’s out on “jobs” he asks for you to check up on her and make sure she’s ok

more concerned than he lets on

When he gets put on the suicide squad he gets real upset if Amanda Waller even mentions you

Sometimes if you see him you like to him a wave which he gives back with a small smile

You have the honour of being one of the only heroes he likes

He likes that you stick up for the small guy, that your the “neighborhood hero” instead of the Gotham hero

Has definitely saved you numerous times without you even knowing

Feels old when you call him “mr.shot” even more so if you do something like backflip off a building

Like he subconsciously knows your ok but his dad senses are screaming at him and rushes over to the edge to see if your ok

He finds it really nice when you walk people home to make sure they feel safe

It’s a small thing but something a lot of people in Gotham appreciate since the streets at night aren’t the safest

You buy knock-off merch of heroes and give it out to kids but save the merch of you for his daughter

He now had a little keychain that he keeps on his person of your mask in inverted colours

It makes him chuckle quite a bit

No one dares put out a hit on you cause of him and Deathstroke

Speaking of which Deathstroke sought you out from seeing you one day whist in civilian clothes

You piqued his interest so when you were one day just swing around he was able to catch you by surprise even with your spidy-senses

Only for you to catch him off guard by how your somehow able to throw him off you like he was nothing

And then web him to a wall

Now you’ve really piqued his interest

Meanwhile your freaking out across from him and he’s just laughing and then congratulates you on getting the better of him

Que confusion

Oh yeah beforehand he quickly found out who you were

Yeah…not fun when he then brings that up

But anyways

Slade takes to basically full on training you cause he sees your potential

It’s weird at first but it quickly becomes routine for him to randomly drop by and give you lessons

It’s actually really useful especially since he also helps you hone your skills even more

Not to mention that he also helps you keep your identity a better secrets cause in his words “kid it’s honestly a miracle that the entire city hasn’t found out, your at least better than superman and his disguise”

At some point after a “exam” with him and you win he gifts you a completely upgraded suit as a gift

Your left confused but he just shrugs it off saying that you’d lived up to his expectations so you deserve something for that

Now your suit has proper heating! And it’s waterproof unlike before

He’s honestly not sure how you survived this long in your suit so he’s at least happy the new one he gifted you a better

Plus now you have extending spider arms that are super cool

Now you can more effectively hold up debris when saving people!

(Not their intended use but he supposes that you do you)

One thing he can’t fix is how trusting you are of others

Cause he’s tried countless times to teach you not to do that but your head it to thick for even his vastly worded criticism to break

Unlike him and Nightwing he’s had a very different dynamic with you Aka gruff dad and ray of Sunshine child

Aka the “someone will die” “of fun!”

He feels so old when your doing flips and every fucking acrobatic known to man

Like when Nightwing does it he feels a bit of his age but with you it’s worse

Rose jokes that your an honorary sibling now which makes you giggle as he standing behind y’all all stoic and such

Both swear they’ve never seen you without a smile or quippy remark despite having a broken rib

That’s why their surprised when you sometimes get a bit solemn or seem to hold an untold sadness in your eyes now more than ever

He doesn’t pry like he did when initially finding out your identity but he’s definitely worried

Mr.Freeze is someone you go out on your own to find after hearing how he was trying to find a cure for his wife’s illness

Your Aunt in her old age had been getting worse and you could tell she was gaining something that wasn’t an ordinary Illness

All hospitals you went to said they couldn’t do anything so you went to him instead

Which he certainly didn’t really expect

Like sure he’s heard of you but to suddenly had a teenage knock at his frost covered window to his lab at midnight is kinda unexpected

He’s guarded and ice cold as his name implies but seems to warm up once you mention your situation

How you didn’t know what to do, and that the hospitals turn her away for her older age or say that nothing was wrong when you knew it was

Your just a kid, one who is doing their best despite circumstances

And he from then on he knew couldn’t turn you away especially with how Nora wouldn’t want that

He finds your company to be nice especially once hearing that your brand of heroism is done to help out the average citizens of Gotham in their day to day lives

Your a change in his routine and life that he needs, someone to be a small bit of light in the ever encompassing darkness that fills his life

You help him as well in the lab, putting your science wiz knowledge to the test as you do your best to help

He enjoys the company quite a bit

Especially as you leave little notes (as usual) for him to find with little puns

He chuckles at all of them despite hot corny they are

As time goes on he sees the crack in your resolve though as his tests go nowhere

You push yourself though, to the limit to try and find something, anything

But it’s all for nought

There are times you fall asleep in full costume at his lab, he always places a blanket around your shoulders

Never once having the temptation to pull up the mask

He can tell your already going through the stages of grief before you even get the call that she’s gone

Just a feeling in your gut that it’s getting worse as you increase your work

And then it happens

That dreaded call that he can remember so vividly from his own when Nora had almost passed

Your silent, dead silent

And then like a gust of wind your off

He can only hear your soft sobs as you exit through a window and off into the night

He can only hope you’ll be ok, that you’ll turn out different from him in the grief that’s consuming you

Because unlike him your a ray of sun that the world needs compared to his somber moonlight

You end up crying on a rooftop

Shaky breaths ranking your form as you sob

But then you hear a scream from an alleyway which makes you pause

You pull your mask down and swing down to help

A woman pushed to the ground and two men standing over her loomingly

Their easy to take down but you got stabbed pretty badly in the side

You focus on her though, helping her up despite your limp and talking her through the anxiety attack she was having

You walk her home, blood dripping down though you do your best to hide it

Your voice hoarse from crying as you do your best to make her smile

And as she closes that door and you return to that rooftop you find that your vision is getting blurry and black dots dot the edges if your eyesight

You don’t have the strength to get up despite how hard you try

Because you have to

Cause as spider no matter how hard you get pushed down you always get up

Someone looms over you with an outstretched hand

You grab theirs and they hoist you up

You feel as if your in good hands

#platonic #dc x reader #mr freeze x reader #deathstroke x reader #Slade Wilson x reader #Barbara Gordon x reader

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jokeringcutio · 6 months ago

Text

"Almost Kidnapped" - BLACK PHONE & FNAF CROSSOVER - READER INSERT (GRABBER X READER (and implied your boss William Afton having an eye on you) [ 2/?]

AN: Enjoy your Sunday 🥳 As I am known to do, I might just start a few drabbles in this setting because I love it. Might follow up on this [ This is a nice job ].

Summary: You have a narrow escape. ( 'You're working at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place for William Afton and Mr. Henry, and Albert Shaw (aka the infamous kidnapper known as The Grabber) regularly performs as a magician at parties').

Fandoms: Five Nights at Freddy's, The Black Phone | Rating: Mature? Warnings: Talk about arousal (but quite politely), Reader almost gets kidnapped. Older man/younger woman, Only implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber(Albert Shaw) x Reader, Flirting with murderers? Not betaread. [ Support x ]

"Five minutes, no more," Erica's voice cut through the cacophony of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place. “I’ll cover for you.”

Gratefully, you nodded, muscles uncoiling as you slipped out the back door, hoping your boss wouldn’t notice your short absence. But it had been such a hectic day. The pizza place was stuffy and crowded, with multiple parties held at once. And Freddy’s was short of staff, leaving you with Justin and Erica. Lucy was ill, Jax was abroad, and Mike and El were at a wedding. Thank goodness you had Erica by your side or you wouldn’t survive the day at all.

Especially with the way your boss, Mr. Afton, kept looking in your direction with that stern gaze. As if he saw something that disturbed him. You had checked your uniform several times, made sure there was nothing stuck between your teeth, and all of that. Whatever made him look at you that way, it was unnerving you and you needed a breather.

The second you stepped outside and the hot summer air brushed past your cheeks, you realized you were not alone. A black van was parked in the parking lot in front of you. Its owner was busy loading the van. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Today’s performer hadn’t left the premises yet, it seemed.

Not many people came around the back; only staff or suppliers. Well, both staff and supplier then, you thought amused.

You curiously watched as Albert Shaw tried to stack cardboard boxes inside the van. He was still dressed in his magician’s clothes. Black flared pants clung to his legs, a top hat perched atop a head with a face painted ghostly white. Red peeked from beneath his black shirt, a silent scream against the somber attire.

He looked pretty hot… for an old man.

Okay, you had to shake that thought away. You knew you and Mr. Shaw had some kind of flirty thing going on – although granted, it could just be mostly in your head. Something along the lines of wishful thinking and so on… But having such thoughts about him would only make things awkward. You needed to clear your mind before you approached him. Will those dirty thoughts away.

Which was pretty hard as you watched him bent forward and caught a good glimpse of the tight fabric stretching around his thighs and... You quickly glanced away and swallowed. Hard.

This was ridiculous. You were already incredibly itching down below, but who could blame you? You’d been focusing on little details like this the entire afternoon. You’d last seen him only half an hour ago or so, when he was giving his last show. He’d been performing all afternoon. The way he captivated the room and made children smile had something magical. Perhaps it was only fitting that he performed as a magician. But still… There was something about this man.

You just couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. Your gaze traveled to see how he lifted one of the boxes. His unclad forearms tensed, his muscles and veins showed, and you bit your lip. Yep, definitely appealing. The man looked like he was a lot stronger than anyone would give him credit for. You wondered if he worked out.

But what was he stacking in there? You knew he had been the entertainer this afternoon, but Mr. Afton and Mr. Henry bought a lot of their party supplies from him too. Was he taking empty boxes back with him? They shouldn’t be heavy. So what was he doing?

You curiously peeked around the average-sized man, catching a glimpse of stacked boxes and brown paper bags now that the backdoors were open and the interior of the van was exposed. Then he shifted until he blocked your view.

Albert Shaw bent forward a little, clearly putting some of his magical equipment inside the van before he straightened his spine and turned around. When he saw you, he flashed you a smile.

“If I had known I had an audience I would have put on a better show,” he greeted you in that low and gravelly voice of his. Did he smoke, you wondered? You’d never seen him do it. But how else could he sound this animalistic, this raw?

The white makeup cracked as his smile broadened. Sunglasses hid his grey eyes, leaving you to guess the expression that lay within them. Your pulse quickened.

“I’m just here to catch some fresh air,” you truthfully replied. And did you just stammer? You didn’t, right?

“Getting a little heated, sweetheart?” he murmured, and by the gods… that did things to you. It was almost as if he knew how he affected you.

“Trying to escape the chaos for a moment,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, eyes tracing the contours of his frame, the sinewy strength of his arms. "Your performance earlier today was... mesmerizing."

He chuckled, a sound that rumbled from deep within his chest. "I try to please my… audience," the way he said that last word sounded sinful, as if he implied something erotic.

You bit your lip. "Well, you're very good at what you do," you said, stepping closer, the gravel crunching beneath your shoes.

"Need a hand unloading?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, an offer to linger in his presence, to be closer to him. Something about him was attracting you like a magnet.

"Already done," Shaw said, gesturing towards the back of his van. The doors stood open like dark wings, and you peered inside, drawn by curiosity. You saw the boxes he’d placed inside, the brown paper bags. The sight of several black helium balloons bobbing against the roof of the van caught your attention.

"Black ballons?" You asked curiously, a smile playing on your lips. He usually supplied colorful ones to Afton and Henry.

"Part of the act," Shaw replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

You smiled at him before looking inside once more, admiring the balloons when something metallic clattered to the ground from his grasp.

"Oops," he muttered, a clumsy interlude to his usual grace.

Instinctively, you bent to retrieve it, your fingers brushing the cool metal. It was a silver bracelet, engraved with arcane symbols. His bracelet, you recognized with a start. He always seemed to wear it, just like the rings on his fingers – which you hadn’t studied to see if he was married or not… of course not.

You were weighing the bracelet in your hand when something tickled your senses; a prickling warning that made the hairs on your neck stand.

In a swift motion, you turned back to him, thrusting the bracelet at him with both hands and surprising yourself when you noticed this simple gesture seemed to increase the space between you. It made him take a step back. You hadn’t felt him coming.

“Oh, I forgot,” you started, exclaiming it a little too happily to cover your fear.

Albert Shaw stood momentarily frozen, a canister in his grip, aimed at you. You could see the way his jaw twitched, as if you had caught him during something sinister. Your heart thudded against your ribs, each beat screaming for you to flee, to scream. But no. Surely, you must be mistaken. You’d play this the clever way, distract him, puzzle him. Surely you were misinterpreting things. He was just loading his van. The canister must have fallen out or something.

“Your card,” you said, scrambling your brain for words. You searched for his gaze behind the glasses, your breath steady, betraying none of the terror that surged through your veins. He was close enough that you could see the faintest quiver in his hands and smell the sharp tang of chemicals coming from the canister.

"I’m so sorry, Mr. Shaw," you said. You tilted your head, feigning innocence.

Albert Shaw's composure cracked, the corners of his lips started to tremble as he tried to maintain a small smile. The canister disappeared behind him, his arm hooked as he hid the item behind his back as casually as he could muster. But you had seen it, and you had felt the danger. The fact that he hid the item now only raised your suspicion even more. What had he wanted to do with that thing? Drug you?

"I seem to have lost your business card and I was wondering…” you bit your lip, faking shyness. You wanted to take a step back but didn’t dare to move. The air between you was thick with tension, as if one wrong move could mean the end – of what, you didn’t know. Surely you were just paranoid. Surely, the man hired to perform at kids parties wouldn’t try and hurt you.

But still… it felt off.

Putting your hands behind your back, you looked at him through your lashes as you murmured gently if he could perhaps give you another card. Yeah, that’s it. Fake ignorance. Flatter him. Flirt a little. What harm could it do?

It seemed to work as his breath hitched in his throat, his chest rising as his lips parted in a stuttered yet silent sigh. You thought you could see his nostrils flare as he tried to compose himself.

"Of course," he said, a low murmur that sounded bittersweet. He reached into his van, movements deliberate – but you still caught sight of how he placed the canister out of view, in a corner behind the door. Now you could no longer see it and attempt to read the label. You could only guess what it had been filled with.

He fumbled with his bracelet, putting it back on smoothly before he pulled out a card with his name and number on it. Then he offered it to you with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. Calloused fingertips brushed gently past yours as he pressed the card into your hands. A current of electricity snapping between you, dangerous and undeniable.

"Thanks, Mr. Shaw," you said, pocketing the card without looking, your eyes never leaving the abyss of his sunglasses. You deliberately mentioned his name, hoping it would disarm him and put any nefarious thoughts out of his head.

Well, depending on the nature of those nefarious thoughts.

He stood close to you. So close that you could feel the heat of his body, a wall of warmth as he leaned in close to point at the details on the card.

“In case you ever need me to liven up a party,” he murmured, voice dark and deep. His breath skimmed your ear as he murmured instructions on how to reach him, voice low and rough, like dragging stones across velvet. "Call anytime."

"Will do." You pocketed the lie along with the card, stepping back, distance a frail shield.

"I think more than five minutes have passed,” you said, hesitating. You tried to search his eyes through the glasses but they remained hidden from you. All you saw was Shaw’s crooked smile.

"I’m afraid it has,” he agreed, warmth bleeding through his tone, a contrast to the chill that had crawled into your bones when you’d been on your knees to retrieve his bracelet for him. A bracelet that seemed to be clasped quite securely around his forearm, you noticed. How had he lost it anyway?

"Got to head back," you said, stepping away and flashing a small smile to signal you were ending the conversation. Get out of here, your mind screamed. Don’t be silly, another voice inside your head whispered. Why would Mr. Shaw harm you? Everyone knew who he was. He was a well-known face around Freddy’s. “Break's over."

You turned to leave but then froze when you felt a hand upon the small of your back. He touched you. He actually touched you. A gentle but firm touch, and for a moment you thought you would die. That this was it. That he would drag you into his van and slam the door closed, taking you away from your job and the life you had once known.

But nothing like that happened. His touch was heavy but gentle. Not in a harmful way. Not in a way to pull you aside. It was a guiding touch, protective almost, leading you to the safety of the backdoor.

He walked with you. The sound of his footsteps on the gravel first and then on the pavement as you neared the threshold kept you distracted. Up this close, you could smell his heady scent, a mixture of cologne and sweat. You heard his breathing, low and ragged. You felt his touch searing through the fabric of your uniform.

His hand tightened against your spine, fingers pressing deep enough to claim. A silent message carved into your skin.

Your lips parted, astonished, confused.

Then he released you, as if surrendering something precious.

"Until next time.”

The words were a whispered promise, a low grumble heavy with implications and sentiment – but loud enough for you to hear.

“Bye, Mr. Shaw,” you said, hesitating. You didn’t want to give him a promise of meeting him again, although you were certain you would see him more often as he regularly performed here.

But what nonsense were you thinking?

You halted at the door, flashing him a final smile while you watched him take a step back into the sunlight and out of the shadow of the building. The paint on his face was a blinding white and you had to squint your eyes a little when you studied him.

He seemed harmless. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling you had when you picked up his bracelet and handed it back to him. The feeling that something really bad was going to happen.

You closed the door.

Had you averted danger? Or had your senses been wrong?

AN: Well? Have you averted danger? Let me know.

#albert shaw x reader #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #albert shaw x you #black phone fanfiction #crossover drabble #crossover #five nights ar freddy's #William Afton is your hot but grumpy boss #Albert Shaw is the kidnapping magician who has an eye on you

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juvenillia · 1 year ago

Text

~ tangled series ~ part 2

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

summary: Simon needs some distraction after Johnny is away on a mission for a longer time. So he finds him a casual ons, but just like his partner before he found something different and things become even more complicated.

a/n: Welcome back to part 2 of the tangled series. This time I got a bit carried away but I hope you like it. So yeah still porn with plot, but this time more plot.

cw/tw: suggestive content, pure smut , bi!Soap, bi!Ghost, Ghoap, flirting, petnames, piv, unprotected sex, fingering, drinking, open relationship/situationship, catcalling,

worcount: 5.5k

》Masterlist《》 Read on AO3 《》Master Post《

Everything turned out to be easier with Johnny at his side. Sure, as hell, that missions became somehow more strained. Simon always wanted to protect all his teammates, no matter the fact that he knew fairly well that every one of the 141 were extremely capable of their tasks. Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing even one of them. And as soon as Johnny and him reached an agreement on their relationship terms, Simon became more restless considering the thought of getting the Scot injured. Everyone he ever let get close to him had to follow the sad fate of dying sooner than expected. Always too soon. Maybe that was the reason that Ghost didn’t accept on a serious relationship with him. Maybe that’s why they sorted things out and agreed on a kind of ‘friends with benefits situationship’, with no strings attached. Even if they were more attached than both actually saw.

That’s also the reason he wasn’t feeling alright. He felt more anxious, more at edge lately. Usually, he would drop by that specific Scot to keep his demons at bay. Simon could simply search out for his presence to make himself feel better, but since Soap needed to head out three weeks ago, there was simply no possibility to do so. The radio silence only exacerbated the tension and his nightmares. He couldn’t stay relaxed on leave when he didn’t know how his not-boyfriend was doing right now. What if Simon could change something about the situation? No, Price wanted him to rest after the last operation that took way longer than it was planned.

Maybe all that lead him to this situation. He was seated at a bar he frequented a lot of times when on leave. It wasn’t too far away from the base, just in case. He booked a hotel nearby because drinking and driving is irresponsible. And just like this he spent the nights in the ‘Downunder’. A pub that was run by Steven. Steven was a bit older than him, the owner, and bartender. He did know a lot about good whisky’s, always had a joke at hand, and most important he granted Simon his peace. He could sit there the whole night, listening to talks from strangers, sometimes some good live music, and just sit in silence. Sure, he got approached by some woman and dudes, mostly asking him about the mask, the black skull balaclava he always wore. But most of the times it was calm, and he could drown his thoughts with alcohol, and the best about it, nobody knew him here. Sure, there were some regulars that remembered his mask, but they went after their business and left the Brit alone. Nobody knew his name, or what he was doing for a living.

It was a usual Saturday when he found himself in these familiar surroundings. His glance was on the screen of his phone as he sat at the bar. Pinned on the little last seen status from Johnny that still told him a date about three weeks ago. A deep sigh left his throat. “Tough night?” an unfamiliar voice dragged his attention up. It wasn’t the usual bearded man greeting him behind the bar, it was a younger woman wearing a gentle smile, just polishing a whisky glass. His brows furrowed at the sight, what earned him a quite chuckle from you. “Stevie had a family emergency, so he asked me to fill in for tonight.” You simply placed the glass in front of him. Simon only nodded, somehow annoyed for need to get used to a new person, especially while he was in such an unsettled mood right now. “So, Dalmore Port or Craigellachie?” You placed your palm flat on the wooden counter, next to the still empty glass.

Simon tilted his head slightly and his brows arched even more. “Dalmore Port,” he answered stern, as you turned on your heel with a sweet hum to pull out the bottle and pour him a good glass of the desired drink.

“Not quite the chatter, huh?” you said while shoving the glass over in front of him, your soft smile never leaving your features.

He pulled his mask up only the slightest to reveal the perfect shaped jawline covered in a subtle stubble. Only high enough that the glass could meet his lips, as he shook his head no. “What a shame. Usually, people that sit at the bar are up to talks. But that’s your loss then,” you chimed teasingly throwing him a wink, as you turned your attention to another customer approaching the bar. Simon watched your every movement and something about you got him hooked. The way you talked so melodic, the way you gracefully moved along the bar to prepare the desired drinks. Maybe it wasn’t that bad that Steven wasn’t here. Maybe you were a fresh breeze of distraction for his mind.

From time to time, you tried to start an easy chat with him, but he only shortcut the answers. Somehow distant, still not so fond of the getting to know you part. Still, your features never even faltered a bit, like a natural beam of sunshine. Simon started to ask himself, how a fragile, soft, and pretty figure like you could work in such a place. Stevie entrusted you with the place he called his second child, but what would happen if things escalated? You wouldn’t be able to handle a bar fight, so Simon made sure to spend the whole night here. Just in case, and definitely not for any other reason than that. He knew better than that. Did he though?

That way it was already about one in the morning when the band packed up and left the bar and most of the customers left with them. Only a biker squad at one of the larger tables, something that looked like a bachelor party of some businessmen at another table and some random lonely dudes were left. Simon was one of them. That’s when the bachelor party demanded a larger order for shots and beers and asked if you’d bring them over. The pure nature you were you agreed on it. Nothing unusual to be honest. So, you grabbed a tablet and placed everything on it and made your way over the table. It was the very first time Simon were able to get a concrete look at your whole statue. A pair of black skinny jeans paired with a tight turtleneck that left nothing to the imagination. The little apron wrapped around your waist hugged your curves perfectly fine, as you swayed your hips naturally while walking over the table. Eventually Simon drowned his drink at the sight, before quickly adjusting his mask again.

As you crossed the table from the biker squad, one of the bulky tattooed men whistled after you. It made Simon’s jaw clench, but you just turned gracefully around, not spilling even a drop of liquor in the turn. “I know you like what you see, no need to remind me, Marcus,” you chimed while turning back to your actual direction. Simon’s jaw was still locked. You bend down to the table from the already quite drunken bachelor party and placed the glasses around for each member, before straightening up again. “There you go.” You still wore that same sweet smile.

Just as you turned once more to head back to the bar as one of those men took grip of your wrist. “Why don’t cha stay here, sweetheart.” One of them whined while pulling you back. Tension built in the back of Simon’s muscles, as he watched the scene. Preparing himself to step in.

A sigh left your throat as you tried to keep the happy face up. “Feeling honored, but I still have other customers to serve,” you stated soft. Not moving an inch.

“Nah, they can rot. Stay here.” He pulled you closer that you needed to bend over again, being on eyelevel with the drunken man.

That was the moment when Simon stood up from his place. Eyes glaring at the situation in front of him. But before he stepped in, he noticed the sudden change in your voice. “Sit,” you ordered with such a stoic voice that the man in front of you loosen the grip around your wrist and you straightened your back once more. Such an unexpected tone for your sunshine nature. Simon didn’t know if your order was aimed at him, but he also didn’t realize that the guy from earlier, Marcus was his name, also stood up. Who now slowly sat down again. Simon still stood there, not averting his gaze from you. Your posture was different to before, tense but not frightened. “Listen hun…” Your arms folded over your chest. “I don’t care who you think you are, but you’re nothing more than a cockroach here. If you get on my nerves, you��ll be escorted and not in the way you’d like to.” Your voice was so cold. The man in front of you only gulped. A mischievous grin growing on your lips, your hand slowly moved alongside your curves. “Besides, that’s nothing you could ever afford,” you remarked with more cockiness laying in your tone, before heading back to the bar again.

Simon sat back at his place before you returned. “Impressive…” he stated as he still watched every move you made. It earned him a soft chuckle, as you once more winked at him.

“Maybe I just wanted to impress you.” With that statement he felt his cheeks burn. He was really glad that his mask was neatly in place, but still, he couldn’t suppress a low laugh escaping his throat. You reminded him so much of something he missed too much. Just a bit softer, a bit more elegant but as much of a tease and flirt as the Scot.

The rest of the night went on without any more incidents. All customers left the bar sometime after, and that’s how Simon found himself in the cold and dark night in front of the pub. It took you about forty-five minutes to close and clean up. During those forty-five minutes he could’ve walked away, he could’ve simply decided to leave. And still he found himself leaned against a streetlamp, as he decided to insist to walk you home. Making sure you’d arrive save at home. It was an urge he couldn’t fight. He ignited a fag and waited those minutes until he recognized your figure. A smile crept on your face as you took notice of him.

You slowly approached him. “No Mrs. waiting for you?” you asked jokingly while closing your jacket.

“Nah.” That’s the first time he gave some information about him away. His mouth was quicker than his mind. Your intoxicating smile made it hard for him to contain himself, the alcohol rushing through his veins did the rest. His answer made your smile grew.

“I see.” You reached out to steal the fag from his grip to take a drag yourself. The smile never leaving your features as you could feel his intense glance onto you. Eventually you could witness a low growl escaping his throat before he shook his mind clear.

“So, what’s the plan mysterious stranger?” You teased while exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “You gonna drag me to an alley and kill me?” You passed the cigarette back to him and the corner of his lips tugged up.

“Thought ‘f walking ya home, to prevent that exact incident.” He took another drag of the cigarette and could feel a slight burn in his abdomen as he tasted your sweet lip balm on the cigarette.

“A true gentleman, huh?” You grinned “Or a serial killer.”

“Up to ya to find out.” Now it was his time to tease, and it only ignited something within you.

“Good then that I don’t actual live here.” You winked at him as you started to walk into the direction of your temporally home. Simon trailed close behind.

You walked in completely silence, somehow you were too tense to speak right now. He indeed made you nervous now. It wasn’t like you never brought someone over after a long shift or hooked up with someone in a bar. It wasn’t that regular, only guys that somehow really caught your attention. What didn’t happen so often. But this masked man had something on him, that pulled you under his spell. Something you didn’t feel so often. Rounding a few corners before your stood in front of a not so cozy motel. He insisted to guide you up to your door, and you didn’t argue. How could you when his eyes already burned themselves into your brain.

That way you found yourself in front of the door to your room. “Thanks. Mind to tell me your name, that I can show my gratitude?” You smiled while facing him. Looking in those deep dark orbs his eyes were. He didn’t answer, instead he placed his index finger and thumb under your chin to tilt it up only the slightest. His eyes never leaving yours. The breath got caught into your throat while your lips slightly parted.

Usually he would pull back, call it a night, and give in to his demons. But not tonight. Tonight, he found a soul that could distract him as much as only Johnny could. And he needed that. It was selfish, it was something he didn’t like to do. But what could possibly go wrong? Nothing? Johnny himself did hook up with a girl at some time in their relationship – no situationship. They were okay with it, so why shouldn’t Simon for once have something good for himself.

He stepped forward, invading your personal space while leaning in. His glance still pinned onto yours. “No names,” he breathed out, while his free hand pulled at the hem of his mask. Once more only the slightest to reveal his lips. His eyes checking onto your glance, only to look for hint of hesitation.

“That comes at a price.” Your lips were formed into a smile as you closed the gap. He didn’t care about a price to pay, right now he only wanted this, he wanted you. His grip on your chin tightened as his other hand found your back to pull you closer to deepen the kiss. The sensation in his guts literally burning himself as he tasted your lips, while he already felt his pants tighten. It wasn’t a rough, sloppy kiss, but so passionate. It left you breathless as you parted to open the door. You walked backwards, eyes never leaving the intense glance from the behemoth of a man in front of you. He kicked the door shut as he followed you in.

Both of you removed your jackets as it turned too hot in here anyways. And in an instant, he was back on you. His calloused hands gripping on your waist while you clung around his neck. Slightly slipping under the mask to feel some strains of his hair, while your kisses turned more heated. Until you caught his lower lips between your teeth, and he let out a deep groan that sent shivers down your spine. Back was the grin full of mischief on your lips.

“Mask stays on, I suppose,” you teased while pulling away from him. Slowly walking over to the bed and pulling your turtleneck over your head to reveal your upper body, left only in an all-black laced bra.

“Affirmative,” he stated trailing behind you. A slight giggle run over your lips as you sat on the bed. Reaching out to him to pull him on top of you as you laid down. He followed your lead without hesitation. He was huge, you could feel the bulge in his trousers brushed over your sensitive spot as he leaned down to let his tongue slip into your mouth. You let out a moan at his demanding movements as his hands roamed down your body. His beefy hands felt so rough against your soft skin, and still it was a feeling you somehow missed a lot. He couldn’t help himself but started to grind his hips against your clothed crotch. “’m gonna take ma time with ya.” His hot breath brushed over your skin as he leaned down to place open mouthed kisses along your neck. Your hands found his brawn shoulders as your nails dig in.

Another deep moan escaped your throat as he suddenly stopped. You looked with lust blown pupils and a raised pair brow at him. His lips curled up in a cocky smile. He pulled his hoodie over his head, without disturbing the mask, which stayed magically neatly in place. Just to reveal a tight compression shirt, that clung to his toned body just perfectly. Revealing a tattoo sleeve at one arm and some scars across his skin. One of his hands cupped your breast, when you could hear his deep voice once more. “Ya know the traffic light system.” His hands squeezed your breast as the other took grip of your hip. You nodded eagerly. “Use ya words, luv,” he teased with his thumb along your waistband.

“Green keep going. Yellow break. Red stop.”, Your breath hitched in the back of your lungs as you felt your body filling with anticipation.

“Good gurl,” he praised, his eyes trailing down your body as he licked over his lips at the sight.

As he fumbled with your trousers to free you, you got a good sight of his hardened member that would await you later. You raised your hips to make it easier for him to took them off, and instant of lowering them again, he pressed your legs up, placing his mouth onto your panties. It earned him another sweet moan. He was way too turned on from the way you reacted to him as he held your legs in place.

“So wet f’ me already.” He pulled your panties aside to let his tongue run through your folds, while one of his fingers circled around your hole.

“Fuck,” you cried out and he once more stopped.

He placed another finger next to your hole, let them get soaked with your liquid. “Color, luv,” he said with such an endearing and at the same time demanding tone, it made your hips thrust.

“Green.” You quickly answered to finally feel the needed friction. And without hesitation he pushed inside while his mouth started to suck at your clit. It made your back arch. It was ridiculous how fast a familiar burn built up in your stomach. The combination of his sucking and his fingers pushing and curling inside you already brought you so close.

Your hands wandering down to grip onto his hair, but you only found the fabric of his mask. “Nuhuh. Be a good gurl f’ me.” It made you moan out as he stopped his movement again. Edging you when you were already out of breath. From the grin he wore you assumed he know fairly well what he did to you. You nodded, as your hands trailed to the sides of you gripping on the sheets. “Better,” he said while he placed his mouth onto you again. “Taste so bloody fuckin’ delicious,” he moaned against your clit while he added another of his beefy fingers to your insides. He could feel how your whole body trembled and how your walls started to clench around his digits. “Cum f’ me, luv.” he groaned while the pace of his digits picked up. And just as he demanded you did, without hesitation. His fingers slowed down as he guided you through your first orgasm. “Gonna be a long bloody night,” he said while sitting back, sucking his fingers clean from your cum. Letting your legs down as you caught your breath.

The now free hand stroked over his clothed cock, that already started twitching at the delicate sight in front of him. You sit carefully up to face him properly. A smile planted on your face. A smile full of mischief. “I hope so,” you stated while moving to sit on your knees. Fumbling with his belt. He instantly pulled you into a deep kiss again and you could taste yourself on his tongue. His mask was soaked in your liquids as much as your panties. A little souvenir you’d grant him. Something he was already grateful for, because he literal could grow addicted to your scent, to your taste. Something he wouldn’t let happen, but right now it was alright. Right now, in the heat of the moment he let it happen and enjoyed it.

Kneeling before him on the mattress you reached out to free his cock, distracted from the dizzying kisses he continued to assault you with. When he finally sprang free you leant down to take him in your mouth, only to startle as he laid down, tugging you with him. His strong arms maneuvering you to sit backwards on his face, letting you brace your hands against his abdomen as he mouthed at your cunt. Licking the drops of pre up from his glossy tip made the behemoth of a man moan deeply beneath you. He instantly started to eat you out once more as you carefully placed your lips around his length. Taking in as much as your throat granted you. Gagging a few times, what only made his member twitch and his mouth groan against your sensitive spot. It didn’t take long until you started to grind yourself over his mouth.

His hands firmly placed onto your ass, squeezing it all so often while one of his fingers circled around the hole that wasn’t occupied by his mouth. He only pulled away for a second when you already spoke up. “Green, god damn.”Before taking his dick back into your throat. Your reaction made him laugh, before he returned to his task. Completely ruining his face with your cum. It was the second time when he pushed you over the edge so effortlessly, it made tears build up in the corner of your eyes from pure pleasure. You needed more; you needed him.

You turned around to place you above his dripping cock, but before you could lower yourself, he switched places with you. Manhandling you like you weighted nothing, and he was between your legs on top of you. “ ‘m not finished with ya.,” he growled while his mouth found yours again. Wiggling his trousers completely of him when his length brushed over your folds.

“Need that. Please,” you whined as the desperate demand in you grew higher. The deep chuckle could be heard once more.

“Such a needy pretty thing.” He let his hard cock once more slide over your cunt. “Ya think ya ready to take me.” One of his hands stroke over your hair, that was slightly dump from the sweat.

You nodded, before you remembered what he wanted to hear. “Green,” you said with a smile. And he looked down at you. His eyes filled with so much lust but at the same time there was adoration hidden behind the darkness of his pupils.

He placed a soft kiss onto your forehead. “That’s ma gurl,” he praised while his teeth locked around your earlobe. He slowly pushed the tip inside and immediately could feel your back arch. He kept him steady on top of you, not lowering himself completely. “Gonna ruin ya f’ any other man out there,” he committed as he pushed deeper and deeper. You whined out at his thickness. “Hush. Ya can take it. I know it.” His soft tone with the lustful deep voice sent you into an addictive haze.

It took him some time to button out, and as soon as you adjusted and gave him another green light he started with an unforgettable pace. “That’s it, luv.” His hands were still on your head, keeping you to face him while he thrusted inside you until you started to see stars. You felt so god damn full and good. The room filled with the lewd sounds of skin smacking against each other combined with his sweet praises. You didn’t know how long it took till you felt his thrusts grew sloppy; you didn’t know how many more orgasms he pulled out of you until then. But the moment came, and you could feel how his body started to give in. Clinging onto yours for the sake of his own life.

That’s when you started to trace lazy circled around his neck. “Just let go,” you said softly with the rest of energy your body held. “Cum inside of me, darling.” Your voice pushing him closer, as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Arms slung around you, holding you steady as his thrusts grew slower, but deeper than before. Pushing the spongy spot inside of you. Completely overstimulated you didn’t know if you could just come another time, but it didn’t matter to you. “I wanna feel it.” You assured him one more time, before he completely let go and painted your walls with his cum. Your head falling further back into the pillow as you felt his release.

He collapsed onto you, while your hands stroked over his sweaty body. He needed to pull out, still he couldn’t bring himself to. It was too comfortable, too warm. He could still feel your walls clenching around him. Your voice was the only thing that made him pull back. “Yellow, darling. I think I can’t take anymore.” Your words were filled with so much endearment. It let his stomach turn as he started to clean you and himself up. Not caring about anything, before collapsing onto bed once more.

His head laying onto your bare chest, while his hand took grip around your waist. ”Ya did so good f’ me, luv”. You placed a kiss onto the sweaty fabric of his balaclava.

“Thank you, mysterious stranger.” You giggled when he couldn’t suppress a small laugh. Why did it feel so good and familiar? It was what scared him a bit, but as soon as darkness washed over his sight, he couldn’t care about it anymore. After three weeks he finally found some peace and rest again. Laying here in your arms, where no nightmare could bring him any harm. He was safe.

Simon wasn’t used to one night stands, well not to those ones where he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Usually, he would stay awake till his hook up fell asleep to sneak out of the apartment. But with you? He couldn’t leave. So just like that he woke up the next morning, or better said late afternoon. He couldn’t remember when he slept this long, apart from the time the both of you went to sleep anyway. The scent of freshly brewed coffee woke him up. You stood into the little kitchenette, only a fresh pair of panties and an oversized hoodie.

“Good mornin’ darling,” you chimed while bringing a coffee over to him. As he took the mug, he realized how fucked up this whole situation was. What was if that lead to something wrong? Something he couldn’t provide you with. Something that he swore to Johnny he couldn’t agree on. You could literally see the turns in his head, and just placed another kiss on the stained mask. “Don’t worry. This can stay a casual fling between two strangers,” you cooed with a soft giggle, and he nodded.

Still, when he arrived at his hotel later that day, his head hurt as much as his heart ached. Not because of the alcohol, nor because of the guilt he slept with you. It was of the fact that something in him wanted it to be more. Just like Simon wanted it to be more with Johnny than just a casual fling. But he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t corrupt you into the mess his life was. And he wouldn’t break Johnny’s heart. With you it was easier. He would always hold tight to that night in his memory. Especially when he didn’t have so many memories to think back in happiness. But he hadn’t to face you again, he didn’t even know your name. He could easily return to his life. With this mental note he spent the last few days of his leave alone in a hotel room with the sheer memory of your breathtaking smile and that intoxicating scent, and how good this one would mix with the scent of his beloved Scot.

It was now about two months ago when things settled again. Johnny came back together with their Captain, and everything was alright. Simon’s mind could finally calm down. Even if his dreams often sent him back to that night with you. But right now, there were more important things to do. Price got back with an injury that didn’t allow him to get back to work. So, Ghost had to fill in his position for some time. Nothing he wasn’t used to. But what he wasn’t used to is when this time passed the four-week mark and the three members of the 141 started to worry about their Captain. So, Kyle reached out to him to ask about his status and was somehow surprised when John did invite the three men over for a dinner at his home. Just to catch up about the important things and plan a bit ahead.

That’s how Simon pulled the car into a driveway of a cozy looking home. The drive to their Captain home was filled with heavy assumptions from Kyle and Johnny how he would live, if there would be kids running around and stuff like that. But they had lost all their assumptions as soon as the door opened and they saw a weak looking John, a cast around his left arm and a loop to hold it steady in place. “Come on in boys,” he said while guiding them into a warm living room which also served as dining room. Everyone took a place at the table and soon the three were kind of confused, because the table was prepared for five people, not only for the four of them.

“Is Kate coming?” Kyle asked with a teasing tone, as he took the chair at the head of the table. Simon and Johnny sat down next to each other at the window side, while John sat next to an empty chair, who only shook his head no.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he sighed a bit tense.

Simon pulled out some papers and maps as they chatted a bit about some reports and the last operations until they heard a door open another time. John tilted his head into the direction of the sound. “Need a helping a hand, sunshine?”

“One doesn’t quite do the job.” A muffled female voice echoed through the hallway.

“I have six more to lend now,” he said jokingly as the steps grew louder. The anticipation within the boys only growing. But the image in front of them let their blood run cold. Never had they expected the sight of you walking over to the dining table with your usual sweet smile. Simon could feel a rope lacing around his throat as he was unable to breath. Kyle blinked in utter confusion as you bend over John's shoulder and greeted the men in front of you.

“You’re a bad host John. Not even offering them drinks?” You punched his healthy shoulder playfully. Johnny could’ve sworn he needed to throw up. He never thought he would be able to see you again. The chances were so low, and he was sure if the fates were in his favor, he would be thrilled about it, but now he was only nauseous. Your glance wandered over the table and sigh left your throat. “John…” You straightened, and he mirrored your concerned filled face. “You promised me, no work tonight.”

“Yeah, sunny, you’re right.” The smile growing back on your face as your glance trailed over the boys. “We put it away, right boys?”, the be said men only nodded tense as you winked at them.

“So, three whiskeys, I suppose?” You ruffled through John’s short hair teasingly. Before turning back to the head of the table. “And a beer?” A mischievous smile on your lips before you turned on your heel to get said drinks.

The boys only stared after you, mouths slightly agape. “Stop it.” John had to clear his throat to drag them back into the here and now. Kyle and Johnny only exchanged some quick glances, as Simon sat there in completely silence, his glance still pinned onto you from the corner of his eyes. Nobody thought that things got to be this tangled, but right now, they eventually started to regret a few things, because you were right. Things always had a price.

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kibumkim · 2 months ago

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rappaccini · 5 months ago

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semi-disorganized thoughts on the politics of gwen stacy, as they relate to race and privilege.

alright i've had this thing in the drafts for a minute, and i just want it Out There.

in general when it comes to the major female characters in peter's life, there's room to play around with their interpretations and race.

cindy moon has to be korean and glory grant has to be black because it's written into their characters

mj and betty can be anything, and have been racebent with great success.

felicia hardy can be a lot of things, but some should probably be avoided because if you write it wrong it could turn out offensive.

liz allan has been racebent... but she honestly works better as a white woman given how her character represents the waspy background peter initially wants to enter (mcu liz allan's a weird one, given the vulture twist. since homecoming borrows so much from miles, and tiana toomes was likely inspired by her, mcu liz reads like more of a first draft of tiana than a liz depiction).

gwen... hasn't really been racebent anywhere (unless you count gabi/gabriel o'hara and gayatri singh). and that follows, because she falls more in line with liz allan; this is a character whose whiteness-- or at least, her access to institutional privilege and status as part of that subset of women within society that are considered desirable, protectable and worthy of putting on a pedestal-- is very important.

this is too disorganized to write into like. a proper essay. so have some bulletpoints.

her background:

little is known about gwen-616's family background, apart from that she has relatives on her father's side who live in london (but it's not clear if they're literally british or they're just expats), and her mom's from a german background.

(spiderverse spider-gwen is specifically irish-american)

she had a christian, most likely catholic, background.

gwen-617's father was a cop who met her musician mother at a peace protest, and gwen-65's father is specifically a former street gang member who, like 617, met gwen's artistic mother during a conflict with the police. he helped her police captain father resolve the situation. soon after they became a couple, and he became a cop. so spider-gwen's dad is specifically part of that phenomenon of poor men becoming cops to raise their economic status, and gwen in general is usually the product of a family where law enforcement is considered a tradition (and so is marrying law enforcement; her mother and grandmother both did it).

she isn't generationally wealthy or new-rich. her family is comfortably middle- to upper-middle-class and achieved that status before gwen was born. she grew up without having to worry about money-- with the exception of tuition.

when gwen's mother dies (in 616 it's an unspecified illness; in 65, who knows), there's no mention of medical debt. so the family could afford it, or whatever helen had, they were lucky that it didn't wipe out the family finances.

gwen and her father live in a nice but not luxurious apartment. (and spider-gwen lives in a dated two-story house in peter's middle-class forest hills suburb)

gwen went to standard high, a prestigious prep school where she was classmates with the children of the city's best architects, physicians, business owners and billionaires. since her household's single-income (even before helen stacy died, she was a housewife), and they don't have any generational wealth, she would've had to have been on a scholarship to afford that tuition.

at that school, she's a popular honors student who wins class president, is best friends with the richest boy at school, dates the star quarterback, and laps up all the fancy college scholarships. and when she arrives at college, she leads a group of kids in freezing peter out like a high school mean girl, because he isn't giving her enough attention. so even though gwen wasn't rich, she was comfortably at the top of the high school hierarchy, and maybe even a bit of a bully. to say the quiet part out loud, if gwen had been a woc, everybody would've been giving her shit for needing a scholarship to afford to attend and she would never have gotten that level of acceptance.

she's a scholarship student (again!) at empire state university, where she's a top student in a stem major.

however-- that empire state scholarship isn't framed as a make-it-or-break-it achievement. when gwen's chasing it in high school, she doesn't say she can't enroll if she doesn't get it. so most likely, she could still afford college; she'd have just had a shitload of loans.

(gwen-65 goes to peter's public high school. she gets a scholarship to empire state too, but that's strictly a bullshit handwave of ~your superhero connection got you this made-up scholarship for interdimensional exchange students so you can go here~ that means nothing. for all intents and purposes she's a dropout.)

gwen stacy isn't a wasp, but she's white, anglo-saxon (or irish) and christian, so she's close enough to it to rub elbows with them. she isn't rich, but she knows how to fit in with rich people, and rich people let her get away with it. and she's one strategic marriage or career move away from getting into that social circle.

... her name literally means "white" in welsh.

her appearance:

the one trait that stays consistent throughout all her depictions, moreso than her personality or family background-- and the one trait a lot of men people bother to remember about her-- is that she's a blonde. and blondeness tends to be associated largely with whiteness.

gwen's largely regarded as the 'nice, tame good girl' ... even though in canon, she's a night owl who has a vicious temper, goes out partying often, juggles multiple suitors and is sexually forward. people keep fucking forgetting all that, because something about the way gwen looks makes people keep defaulting to 'innocent.' -- it's that she's a blonde (specifically, a blonde being juxtaposed with a fiery redhead), and people are applying stereotypes about blonde girls being uptight and delicate to gwen.

gwen's a beauty queen. what kind of physical attractiveness do beauty pageants tend to reward?

even the gwens who aren't beauty queens are still regarded as extremely attractive. including spider-gwen, who puts no effort into her appearance, keeps finding herself the target of romantic and sexual attention. this girl is consistently at the top of whatever her society's beauty standard hierarchy is. (and we know that standard more often than not tends to center whiteness.)

spider-gwen's costume? white.

her politics:

gwen's father is vaguely on the left (if he weren't, sam bullit gloating about how captain stacy's daughter endorsing him is an ultraown to the libs wouldn't make sense), but she's... not.

rich boys and men in uniform -- soldiers, cops, football players, (unknowingly, superheroes) -- are the type of guy she prefers to pursue romantically (... likely taking cues from her mother and grandmother, who both married cops). flash thompson goes to fucking vietnam and she thinks it's such a turn-on that she slips him some tongue at the airport right in front of her boyfriend.

she's annoyed and unsympathetic when vietnam war protesters disrupt her education. i don't know if gwen's just that serious about her education or if she genuinely thinks the war's okay, but it's not looking good!

she earnestly participates in her local elections-- and though she ultimately votes and campaigns for the progressive, she does seriously consider publicly endorsing the racist republican with fascist leanings.

she dislikes vigilantes and trusts the police.

she uses "my dad's a cop" as an excuse to get out of being punished and a threat to people she dislikes.

gwen's most prominent relationship was with peter, but she was going out with harry and flash casually at the same time and had dated plenty of guys in high school; she's by no means a blushing virgin who's loyal to Only One Man. gwen has options, and she pursues them.

she and peter had an implicitly sexual relationship, and she and darius leclerc were at least hitting second or third base, so gwen's cool with premarital sex. she consumes porn and even likes messing around in public (fooling around with darius at the public library; even asking peter if he wants to go to an adult theater to watch dirty movies).

gwen references betty friedan and the women's lib movement, and she's a female stem major in the 1960s, so she's a feminist and probably had no intentions of being a housewife... but her feminism starts and ends with herself.

even gwen-1610, the counterculture rocker chick who hates cops, jocks and bullies, and has casual sex, has this personality largely as a response towards her mother leaving her family. it's not that she's political or liberated, it's that she's raging against her parents and acting out to get a reaction. she hasn't applied her sense of disenfranchisement to anyone beyond herself. she's that kind of white punk.

the default gwen stacy is a white feminist who believes in and supports institutional power because she's always benefited from it, occasionally balks against it but only when it affects her, and she's naive at best and indifferent at worst to the ways it could hurt marginalized people -- specifically black people.

the elephant in the room

(... walk with me: given that the stacys get up close and personal with "spider-man" when hobie brown is wearing the costume to help peter throw off suspicion that it's him, and the textually racist sam bullit, a former cop, considers him public enemy #1 in the same issue where his blatantly racist policies are raised... there's a non-zero chance that the police-- including gwen's dad-- during the early 70s, think spider-man is a black guy and that assumption of his race is a contributing factor to their distrust of him. and gwen... agrees.)

look gwen-616 isn't beating the allegations. she was on the fence about voting for a racist cop, she backs the blue, she hates protests, she hates a vigilante that she has good reason to believe is a black guy. the way she's simply... never around randy robertson unless she's with peter, and surrounds herself with only white friends, is also telling too. it's all adding up to gwen being racist.

and the more that modern writers try to slap a band-aid over og gwen's issues with black people, the more visible they get.

gwen-616's relationship with her high school sweetheart darius and earth-8's alternate spider-gwen marrying a miles morales paint a very clear picture that gwen, in her default state, is the kind of white girl who would date or marry a black guy... but only the kind of black guy who's disconnected from his community and assimilating into greater white society to access wealth and power (miles-8, who mysteriously left his family, friends and world forever to live on a world where he's rich and famous), or who has already done this (darius, big man on campus at the rich kid school and son of multimillionaires), and she will make no effort to understand his perspective and stick up for him and his community.

in the case of darius, gwen-616's investigation into a crime lord gets darius's dad into a situation that gets him killed, apologizes for failing him... and proceeds to stan for a racist republican two years later. retconning a romance with darius into her story means gwen learned nothing from that experience and her apology wasn't sincere.

gwen-8 in particular is the kind of white woman who'd marry a black man and have children with him... and make no effort to make sure their biracial kids are connected to the black community they're a part of. (miles's people are nowhere to be found on earth-8-- no presence, no mention, no photos on the wall, nothing. but gwen's half-black kids have photos with their white cop grandpa. that says a lot. and the fact that miles-8 doesn't even seem connected to his community suggests that quality made him even more appealing to gwen-8.)

even spiderverse spider-gwen represents this to her miles, whose interest in her is directly tied to his desire to ditch his dimension for the spider-society, and to leave brooklyn for princeton; atsv miles wants to pull a miles-8.

-> she unintentionally leads him into a situation where he comes under attack for reasons that are racially-coded by her peer group and she doesn't stick up for him. yes, she realizes she made a mistake and resolves to make it up to him, acknowledges that miles's community is important to him, that she has no right to remove him from them, and vows to help him protect them (which is more than gwen-616 ever does for darius or gwen-8 does for her miles)... but he still sees her as that easy way up the social ladder.

-> and gwen returns the favor. she prefers a heteronormative romance with the middle-class straight boy with a nice family who's bound for an ivy league and a bright future, who she barely knows, over the poor queer homeless punk boy who she has a stronger connection with. assimilation into a society (not even hers; any will do) ultimately matters more to her than the actual depth of the relationship. rio and jeff were right to doubt gwen's intentions, because they weren't sincere; deep down, gwen isn't here for miles, she's here for the stable family, accepting community and bright future he has and she thinks if she's his girlfriend, she can obtain those things by association.

-> which, in context: spiderverse spider-gwen's spent six-ish months as a homeless queer runaway who thinks she'll die a violent death at a young age. it follows that she'd badly want a stable situation, and be willing to throw herself at a boy to get it. her motive isn't climbing the social ladder, it's avoiding being shaken off of it. like with comics-spider-gwen, when spiderverse gwen feels adrift and in need of belonging, she goes looking for a romantic relationship with a straight boy who's palatable to society as a survival strategy. she's not desperately in love, she's desperately comphetting.

-> the narrative framing that romance as "look at how different and brave and boundary-breaking we're being!" even though it's fundamentally not, as this is still ultimately the male lead getting a romance plot with the female character who was only placed in the movies to be his future girlfriend, (especially in comparison to what she could have with hobie) positions spiderverse-gwen as... the kind of white girl who rebels against her conservative parents and the status quo she hates by getting a black boyfriend instead of addressing the actual societal problems that are harming her.

especially when you consider miguel is symbolically her foster father (his design and george stacy's are very similar, he has a dead daughter whose name starts with a g, he intervenes in gwen and george's confrontation right as george makes a move to disown her, he's introduced alongside jess, who gwen asks to 'adopt her' and who serves as her mother figure). gwen bringing miles to the society reads like a white girl bringing her black boyfriend home to piss off her conservative dad. and gwen goes looking for miles to further rebel against him.

-> to be fair, gwen's willing to show up for her black boyfriend and his community, which is more than what most of those girls do. and atsv makes a point of showing that gwen seeks a mentor in jess drew and friends in hobie and pav-- they're establishing that gwen is simply the kind of white girl who's drawn to people of color, black people especially, even when romance isn't on the table.

-> but she's still ultimately using miles as a band-aid over insecurities he cannot help her with, she still aims to assimilate into the system instead of finding a way to escape it, and she still won't be an ally until she thinks she can get a boyfriend out of it.

(... can we please unpack how spiderverse gwen has been spending every day with jessica drew and especially spider-punk for months... and yet a couple hours with miles, and the idea that maybe she can date him if she shapes up a little, are what radicalize her in the end? okay babe. i see.)

which makes (comics-)gwen-65's subtextual interest in hobie brown and glory grant, who are queer black punks, all the more interesting; the gwen stacy who's a fully-actualized hero is drawn to people of color as well, and to queer black love interests who won't conform, and not-so-coincidentally learns all on her own to look out for their interests without any expectation of a romantic reward for doing so. her love interests don't lead her to activism, her activism leads her towards her love interests.

-> and as comics-spider-gwen starts to regress in her progress, her romantic interests have switched to harry-and-em jay, and then just em jay. (or that she's probably about to be paired up with miles, the guy who ends up with her supposedly-future-self, gwen-8, who takes far more after gwen-616 in her treatment of black characters. in other words, being with miles will make gwen regress into a much crappier person... because she's using him to get that same comphet security as spiderverse gwen.). not a coincidence.

her status in the narrative (to others)

gwen's role in peter's love interest hierarchy is similar to liz allan's: both are part of love triangles peter faces where he has to choose between an aspirational girlfriend who can give him what he wants materially but doesn't bring out the best in him (gwen and liz) and a girlfriend who cannot give him a gain in status but is in tune with his emotions (mj and betty).

-> in high school, peter (who's strapped for cash and starts his origin story as far more selfish, sexist and profit-driven) is drawn to liz's beauty and wealth, but ends up being pulled towards betty, who is working-class.

-> in college, peter is drawn to gwen's beauty, her stable future as a scientist, and a relationship with her means being accepted by her police chief father (... and therefore, spider-man being accepted by the law enforcement of the city at large)-- or mj, the unpredictable girl who juggles a half dozen jobs to chase a creative passion, and comes from a middle-class background just like his.

-> a relationship with gwen, through her social position, represents entrance into upper-middle-class prosperity, stable white-collar employment, and acceptance into the class that the status quo (the legal system and the cops) will protect. who are the people who tend to occupy this position in society. who do the cops protect. white people.

her role in the spider-man canon as the tragic helpless victimized love interest who's deified after her death... but whose death is never meaningfully prevented from happening again. (how many murdered girls are turned into symbols after their death, as the actual causes of their murders remain unaddressed? what do those girls tend to look like?)

this status relies on her whiteness. if gwen stacy were not a pretty blonde white girl, her murder would've been forgotten quickly because it wouldn't have been considered shocking or tragic, or worthy of obsessing over for decades.

and she wouldn't have been peter's love interest-- or even in the story at all-- if she were not white, because she was created in 1965.

spider-gwen, whose existence is a response to and condemnation of gwen stacy's fridging and reduction to the status of dead girlfriend on a pedestal, would never have been created in the first place if gwen weren't white.

if gwen hadn't been white, miles would never have been shipped with her in the first place because 1) spider-gwen wouldn't have existed. and 2) even if she did somehow, brian michael bendis loves swirl ships. he'd have passed right over her if she weren't white.

and gwen's importance in the spider-man canon [which she only has because she's white] is the entire reason comics miles is interested in her. he's literally told by the universe that the world where he gets the greatest institutional power and acceptance is the world where he has a blonde, blue-eyed white wife with a famous name and some not-so-coincidentally blonde, blue-eyed ambiguous-looking kids.

spiderverse miles is first attracted to her because he feels alone after leaving his community for the first time, and she makes him feel like he belongs at the visions, where he [and the audience] assume she's top of the social hierarchy; the same thing happens again at the spider-society, and both are part of atsv's greater metaphor about how those places are representative of a white-centric society. if gwen were not a white girl, the metaphor would instantly change.

miles likes gwen for multiple reasons (mostly that she's pretty and has powers, and spiderverse miles at least admires her intelligence and competence and enjoys her company), but given that he barely spent any time with her, the biggest one that nobody talks about is that she's a white girl, and he thinks he can speedrun his way to the status and acceptance he wants through a relationship with her. that's remained consistent between the comics and animated movies. the connection is literally skin-deep.

and out of universe... look, there's a reason that gwen and miles keep getting shipbait covers even when they had one regrettable makeout session eight years ago, have never actually dated, are interested in other people, and miles in particular largely dates nonwhite girls. there's a reason that the idea of gwiles has gotten more marketing than the reality of the relationship with a black girl that miles has been in for years. there's a reason editorial won't stop pushing gwen as a love interest, and won't even bother to try with tiana, and that's because they've already decided that the black girl isn't a commercial enough love interest for a mass audience, the white girl is... and that dating her will make miles more marketable too (... because aside from giving people a self-insert, if he has a white girlfriend, his stories will still center white people, and he'll have to prioritize their feelings). no surprise whatsoever that the first time miles made it to the movies, the white writers gave him a white love interest.

gwen's whiteness is the thing that gwiles stans like the most about her. putting aside how most of them have no clue who gwen is on her own and don't even know what her personality's like because her appearance is the most important thing to them, just watch how they talk about miles's other girlfriends and try to count the racist and sexist microaggressions.

and look at the way gwiles stans either completely ignore miles's blackness and how it informs his character or their relationship... or insist that white-ass gwen stacy would somehow speak perfect puerto rican spanish, be able to do miles's hair, and seamlessly fit into his community with no misunderstandings or friction. even spiderverse fans ignore their movie's own canon actually addressing those issues.

either they want the aesthetic image of an interracial relationship without any engagement with the actual challenges of being in an interracial relationship, or they want miles to date a blonde blue-eyed white girl who behaves like an afrolatina girl. okay. i see.

… even look at the way gwemj shippers blatantly ignore that em jay is already in a relationship with glory grant, or that gwen had a crush on her too. not a coincidence that the white f/f ship is getting favored over the interracial ones.

her overall plotline

is that of a privileged white woman who has faith in the system, slowly being failed by it until it kills her.

she's a star student studying to be a scientist, but she's consistently only valued by all her friends for her looks. the reason her boyfriend noticed her in the first place is because she's pretty, and she's valued more for her appearance and politeness than her scientific aptitude or her status as peter's intellectual equal; the only time we ever see her on page is when she's socializing, instead of in the lab. her father cares more about who she's dating than how her grades are. even her professor turns out to be only giving gwen special attention because he wants to fuck her, and he's so obsessed with her that he keeps cloning her after her death for that reason.

she trusts the cops to protect her, but they consistently don't.

she reaches out to a politician who's her dad's old police force friend for protection, but realizes he's only using her.

she trusts her boyfriend to be honest with her, but he never has been since the day they met. she believes she's in control of her relationship with him, but she never was.

her father, both the chief of police and the literal patriarch of her family, dies and leaves her completely alone.

she's ultimately murdered by her friend's dad*, and is put in a position to be murdered because her boyfriend won't be honest with her about the danger he's putting her in yet won't let her go when she makes it clear that she wants out of that situation bad enough to flee the country.

her murder itself strips her of all agency: she's so drugged she has no idea she's even being killed, and all retcons about how awake she was are more about her ~realizing her boyfriend was a hero~ than realizing she's about to die or that she's been lied to by said boyfriend.

*and depending on if you retcon a certain hated plotline or not, gwen's murderer, a wealthy and powerful middle-aged man who is her close friend's dad, may have coerced her, a teenager, into sex (which may have been her first time) and impregnated her. and her murder may in part be a coverup for that crime. look sins past was retconned because its the Fucking Worst, but this is how canon treats her and there are still fans and writers who hold a plotline that is so clearly a sexual assault against her.

(and then her murderer... never really gets punished for it. norman isn't killed, doesn't go to jail, even gets a redemption arc or two. and peter's off making out with her best friend a few issues later, never tries particularly hard to bring gwen back when dozens of other people are resurrected all the time, and whenever she's cloned, it's agreed that those clones don't count and aren't worth preserving. there is no justice for gwen's murder and everyone agrees that we don't need to bring her back anyway but we sure as hell will obsess over how tragic her death is. they like her better dead because if she's alive, they don't have full control over her anymore.)

she's failed by everyone and everything she trusts and cares about. specifically all the white men. her male friends, her boyfriend, her teacher, her father, his coworkers at the police station, her friend's father.

(... and the only people who have not failed her, and have even stuck up for or supported her are mj, sally green, aunt may, hobie brown, and darius leclerc. women and people of color.)

and maybe most importantly: she never gets an opportunity to process any of this or make a choice about it. because she's dead. and every time she's resurrected, it's only to fluff the ego of the guy who got her killed before being quickly killed off again. it's been like this for fifty years and it just doesn't stop.

-> gwen 6160, a version of gwen who gets to grow up to full adulthood and does so without spider-man triggering the collapse of the system around her-- and therefore, gwen still believes in it-- even goes so far as to become co-ceo of oscorp, and marry harry osborn-- a white billionaire who literally has the leader of their totalitarian oligarchal society on call. she has her doubts about the way things are and wants the system to change, but believes she specifically is superior enough to solve things with no consultation or oversight. this character's being primed to either have that arrogance lead to her death or a descent into supervillainy.

-> even spider-gwen has to unlearn her specifically white feminist politics. she needs to have the concept of gentrification being bad explained to her. she initially behaves like a rogue cop and her killing of peter parker is framed as an act of police brutality. the entire point of her initial comics run is gwen realizing that the police, the legal system, the media and society are corrupt and that she has to change her mindset if she's going to be a worthy protector of her city. she has to unlearn girlboss feminism, does so by listening to people of color, and refuses to take advantage of her privilege even when not doing so could get her killed-- when she's incarcerated, she receives a reduced sentence in part because of the optics of a girl with a 'good background' being locked up and she's offered a fully commuted sentence in exchange for becoming a government agent. which she refuses. the origin story of spider-gwen is all about radicalization. i can't get over how smart her creator was for doing that.

-> and as spider-gwen has since regressed back into white feminism, to the point where she's been explicitly called a "girlboss" on-panel, she starts palling around with her dimension's cops again and has not-so-coincidentally begun favoring only her white friends-- first harry and em jay, then only em jay (who she starts to have romantic tension with... even though em jay is already in a relationship with a black girl). and now she's abandoning the world she spent years learning to be a better ally to entirely for an easier one where she has fewer responsibilities and is in closer proximity to the important men who treat her like a romantic object.

the missed potential of gwen stacy's plotline all boils down to lack of agency. she needs to live so she can realize how she's been failed, and decide what to do about it.

if she concludes that the system is bad for her and stands up against it, she stands a chance at breaking the cycle, surviving and becoming a hero, like ghost-spider.

if she doubles down on supporting it, it will corrupt her into a villain.... and probably kill her once she's not useful to it alive anymore.

to bring the subject of this ramble home: the payoff we're waiting for in gwen's narrative is about how a white woman responds to realizing the system she's been raised to trust and uphold is corrupt and broken. you have to reckon with your privilege, how you've been lied to, how the power you thought you had doesn't actually exist, how your special position near the top of the hierarchy has nothing to do with how special you are and everything to do with keeping you close so the people with actual power can use you to replicate the system through another generation, the authority figures in your life are actually useless or harmful and the people you've been taught to fear and push away are actually more like you than the more powerful people you want to identify with. and then you choose to help undo that system to liberate yourself and the other people it's hurting... or you keep believing the lie because you'd rather keep the few privileges it does allow you, become complicit in its continuation and it still eats you up when it's done using you.

spider-gwen already passed this test and become a hero (but may fail it if she ends up with miles). gwen-6160 has failed and become villainous. gwen-616 has never gotten to take it, so her fate's still up in the air.

anyway politically speaking, from right to left, the main gwens go: 6160/hickman ultimate (knowingly complicit in the shadiest shit), 616/original (wobbling on the fence until she loses her balance and gets impaled by it), 1610/bendis ultimate (edgelord who occasionally stumbles onto the right idea), 65b/spiderverse (she's a little confused but she's got the spirit. dump miles and you've got it.), 65a/spider-gwen (the actual radical, pre-spiderverse synergy).

#spider gwen meta #gwen stacy 616 #gwen stacy 6160 #gwen stacy 1610 #gwen stacy #gwiles

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