#had to get the new york flavor

[wandaslovey]

ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

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you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable—hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

tag list:

@poppyshuman @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123 @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha

[wonderjanga]

Cardboard.

Billy has a lot of free time on his hands. He doesn’t go to school, his job as the Whiz Kid doesn’t take more than a couple hours, and he has no parental supervision. So what does he do with his time? He gets crafty.

Billy: *making something with cardboard, sitting on the steps of the rundown apartment building he lives in*

Crackhead: *also sitting on the steps, yapping about whatever to Billy*

Billy: *listening to him as he works*

Ms. Bambi: *also also sitting on the steps, but next to Billy to make sure he doesn’t get kidnapped or something by the crackhead. Is also smoking*

Crackhead: *pauses mid story to look “What’re you making there, kiddo?” *eyes the cardboard*

Billy: “A Gucci bag.” *super focused on making the bag out of cardboard. Is using a rusty pocketknife to make details too*

*silence*

Crackhead: *bursts out laughing*

Billy: *looks up from his work* “Wha- What’re you laughing at?!???”

Ms. Bambi: *stifling laughs* “Bill, you’re not actually making a Gucci bag, are you?”

Billy: “So what if I am?! I’m gonna make it, I’m gonna sell it for 50 dollars, and then I’m gonna have food money for the week.”

Crackhead and Ms. Bambi: *shares a look before looking at Billy, holding back more laughter* “Kid…”

Billy: “What?! You don’t believe me? Trust me! I’ll come back with my money and then I’ll rub it in your faces!” *storms off with his cardboard*

Crackhead: “Sure, kid. Sure!”

Later…

Billy: *putting the finishing touches on his cardboard bag with some paints he found in a dumpster* “Alright… Done!” *lets it dry for a bit*

Even More Later…

Billy: *throws the bag in his pocket dimension when he thinks it’s done and heads outside and transforms into Marvel*

Marvel: *flies to New York and then detransforms in an alleyway*

Billy: *pulls the bag out of his pocket dimension and sits on the side of the road, advertising his bag to people who pass by*

Passerby: “What a cute bag! How much is it?”

Billy: *perks up* “50 dollars, ma’am.”

Passerby: “Fifty dollars… Hmm…” *fishes through her purse* “Darn it. I only have two twenties-”

Billy: “That’s fine!” *grabs the money from her and hands the bag to her* “Thanks a lot, ma’am!” *runs off*

Later, when he saw the crackhead again, he did a money spread on his arm. Though it was kinda pathetic because he only had two bills. It got his point across:

Crackhead: *completely bewildered* “You actually sold it?!??”

Also, Billy had no idea he was counterfeiting and therefore committing a crime.

Then, there was another time Billy got bored enough. It was during the summer when he was sweating his butt off in his little apartment. It was then the idea came to him. Sunglasses. Whenever the window was shining light right into his eyes? Sunglasses. Whenever the sun was too bright outside? Sunglasses. Looking classy? Sunglasses. They were the perfect solution in Billy’s bored, mind. So he got to work, making them, with cardboard of course. He used some tacks to keep the pieces together and he used some cut up, colored film he found in the back of a store for the lenses.

Safe to say Billy was proud of himself for making it. They looked good in his unprofessional opinion!

Unfortunately though, he couldn’t see through the film he used for the lenses. Major bummer but whatever. He just chose the wear the sunglasses on his head like a fashion accessory.

Billy: *just finished up with his broadcast and happens to pass by Mr. Morris*

Mr. Morris: “Billy, are those sunglasses on your head?”

Billy: “Yeah?”

Mr. Morris: “Wha… Where did you get them?”

Billy: “I made them.”

Mr. Morris: “They’re… Really, really nice.” *sounds like he’s struggling to say it, but is happy to see Billy being a kid*

Billy: *blinding smile* “Thanks!”

Then, there was another time Billy got bored. This was during the winter and he was freezing so badly he swore he was turning into a Billy flavored popsicle. So, he decided to make a shelter inside of his shelter. That’s right folks. He, with the help of Cap, made a cardboard house in his little apartment.

Billy: “Freddy you should definitely come over. I have the coolest thing at my place.”

Freddy: “What is it?”

Billy: “You’ll see.”

Freddy: “Cryptic. I like that.”

Later…

Billy: “Tada!” *does jazz hands as he gestures to the cardboard house*

Freddy: “Is that a house?”

Billy: “Yeah!”

Freddy: “Wha… Wha… It even has windows!” *points the windows* (The windows are made of the same film that was used for the sunglasses)

Billy: “Yeah!!”

Freddy: “This is awesome!”

Billy: “Yeah!!!”

They proceeded to mess around in the cardboard house for the rest of the day. They’re like 9 years old in this, guys. Let them be kiddos.

Then there’s the rainy seasons. Billy doesn’t have an umbrella so he might as well make one, or a couple. He has to remake it every time it gets wet. See, he found a metal cane he uses as the handle. He only really remakes the part that actually blocks rain.

Billy: *steps into Whiz Radio with his cardboard umbrella*

Coworker: “Is that your umbrella?” *sounds concerned*

Billy: “Yes…?”

Coworker: “Do you not have an actual umbrella?”

Billy: “This is my actual umbrella.”

Coworker: “Huh.” *slightly dumbfounded*

When Billy was done with his show, that coworker went up to him and gave him an actual umbrella. Like one of those clear ones.

Then, there was the cardboard statue of tawny. Billy made the tiger pose for hours.

Billy: “Tawny, I’ve told you already. You’ve gotta stay still!”

Tawky Tawny: “Yes, yes.” *rolls eyes*

When Billy was done, he looked so proud to present it to Tawny. The tiger keeps it in a safe place at all times. Well, until that fateful day, at least.

Billy: “You sat on it?!”

Tawky Tawny: “Yes, my apologies.” *hangs head in shame*

Billy: *stares* “Tawny, it’s fine. I’m honestly just happy you actually kept it.” *smile*

[bamfkeeper]

You make Kurt so incredibly nervous...he wants to ask you out so badly.

Kurt asking you to go on a date or to be his partner would be so precious and I cannot be convinced otherwise. Side note, Krakoa Kurt is one of my favs ever <3

Warnings: None, gender neutral reader, unedited

WC: 1.5k

Kurt was so nervous.

Ever since your arrival to Krakoa, he couldn't keep his eyes off of you. He so desperately wanted to talk to you, but he couldn't come up with anything to say. His nerves made his tail twitch and thrash behind him while he fiddled with his fingers. He wondered if maybe you'd be the first to talk to him, then he could maybe start talking more at ease.

He did try his best...a group of mutants including himself and you were walking through one of the parks in New York, part of some mission to find a lost mutant. You had been so focused, your eyes scanning the park for said mutant when Kurt got the idea to bring you a sweet treat. He remembered you mentioning your favorite flavor of ice cream and there was a cart conveniently located down the sidewalk.

He walked over and eagerly scanned the cart to see if the flavor you liked was there, and sure enough, it was. He asked for a serving of it and as he waited, he felt someone from behind him step on his tail. He jerked up, making a loud noise and in his jerky movements, he ended up tripping over his own feet and falling right into the cart. Ice cream went everywhere.

Your attention was drawn after he cried out in surprise, and you saw him fall back into the ice cream cart, sinking down in the soft serve and one of the buckets comedically fell on his head. Your eyes widened and you went over to him, "Kurt! Oh my god...are you okay?" you asked, pulling the bucket off his head as more ice cream fell over him.

He shook from the chill and he looked up at you, his eyes wide and his face burned with embarrassment. "J-Ja! I am alright! I did that on purpose to make the children laugh!" he insisted, standing up, then slipping and falling over again. You caught his arm and prevented him from falling all the way on his ass, and he managed to get his feet under him.

"D-Danke..." he muttered, feeling a little shy and completely humiliated that you saw him so clumsy. "Ach...I should clean up..." he whispered back softly and he disappeared in a cloud of smoke before you could say anything else.

After that, he felt too embarrassed to show his face for a few days. He just couldn't believe you saw him fall into ice cream like that. He groaned in bed, a pillow over his face as he let out a string of German frustration. He tossed the pillow to the side and huffed, sitting up. He needed to do something better, something that would make you forget about his clumsiness.

Flowers were his first instinct, but was that too cliché? Did you even like flowers? Would you think that's a sweet gesture? Or were you more into sweets? He didn't want to think about sweets after the ice cream incident...

Maybe something else. A more thoughtful gesture. Dinner? Classic, but was it too boring? Was he just overthinking this??

Another whine escaped his lips, you turned him into putty. He felt his mind was swarming with thoughts and he had no clue what to do. How could he approach you and just...say hello? No, he couldn't do that. How would he even form the words?

This wasn't just butterflies in his belly, he felt like he had a swarm of them, a migration trapped in his stomach and kept twisting around like a tornado. He felt his hands shake and his tail wouldn't stop twitching.

He watched you interact with other mutants from across the room, pouting to himself that it wasn't him you were talking to. He had no one to blame but himself, he wasn't brave enough to approach you just yet. He had no right to feel jealous...he hadn't even said a single word-

"Kurt?" your voice filled his ears suddenly, snapping him from his envious thoughts. His eyes darted at you and he stiffened, you were right in front of him. Your smile was so sweet, it didn't seem like you were even thinking about what happened the last time you saw him.

"Ah...l-liebling." he stuttered out, sitting up and fixing his posture. His tail wrapped around his ankle and he stared at you for far too long.

"Uh, Kurt?" you repeated slowly, giving him an odd look before you smiled again. "Did all that ice cream freeze your brain?" You teased lightly, watching him shift in a flustered manner. "I'm kidding, it was funny, but I'm glad you're alright," you reassured, not wanting him to feel bad about it. If it were you, you'd sure as hell feel embarrassed too.

He nodded slowly, giving a nervous smile. "Ah, danke...I admit that was not my most graceful moment..." he trailed off and cleared his throat. Kurt tried to avoid looking at you, he couldn't keep his eyes on you for more than a second without feeling like he was being shocked all over. You were absolutely breathtaking to him, you were so kind...even when he was a fool.

You saw him shift and he seemed uncomfortable, so you touched his arm lightly. "Are you okay? You've been acting a little funny since the other day." At your touch, Kurt almost whined and he pulled back enough to disappear again, teleporting away as his nerves skyrocketed.

"Ach, verdammt!" he whined to himself and held his face in his hands, "I cannot keep doing this..." he mumbled into his palms, feeling like such an idiot for making a fool of himself a second time. You had such power over him and you had no idea.

This time, he'd do everything right. He stood off to the side, watching you walk your normal routine, he held a bundle of wildflowers tightly in his tail. He didn't know what flower you liked, the fool he was, he was too nervous to ask or spy on you to see if it ever came up in conversation. But the flowers that grew in Krakoa were lovely, he figured you'd like them?

When you got close he took a deep breath. 'No more foolishness,' Kurt thought to himself, feeling more confident and determined. He teleported down to you, luckily he didn't startle you, he almost expected it with the dumb luck he's had lately. "Guten Morgen, liebling." Kurt greeted in the calmest voice he could muster. You were stopped in your tracks and you smiled back at him.

"Good morning, Kurt. What brings you here?" You asked casually, your head tilted slightly with interest. You obviously noticed him lingering around where you were, you just didn't know why he was.

Kurt shifted and he stood back up fully, his tail curling around and he took the flowers in his hand. They were bundled together loosely with ribbon, and he handed them to you quickly, "Wouldyougooutwithme?" he asked faster than you could understand, swallowing as his face heated up. His arms shook as he kept them extended with the flower bundle in hand.

You blinked, you had only heard a jumble of words, not really a full sentence. "Er...what was that?" you asked, looking at the flowers in his hands. "Those are so pretty," you commented and took them from him, momentarily distracted from his nervous question. He watched with relief as you appeared to like the flowers, bringing the colorful bundle up and smelling them.

"Oh, I asked..." Kurt took a deep breath, this was his one chance to do it right. He didn't want to mess up again, and with a trembling voice he asked again. "If you would go out with me...like...a date? W-We can do whatever you want! Dinner, walk, dessert..." he muttered that last part, "But whatever you want to do! I just...I like you. A lot."

With his admission, it was your turn to blush. You gave him a little grin, and you lowered the flowers, "Oh, Kurt...yes, yes of course I would. I like you too," you admitted, your voice a little softer as you stepped closer.

"A lot." you added, pecking his cheek. "And I am totally okay with no dessert if you need to recover from the ice cream." A soft chuckle left your lips with your words, and his cheeks darkened, a bashful smile spread on his face and he scratched the back of his neck.

"Ah...too kind liebling..." His tail swished behind him, shyly moving and wrapping loosely around your calf. "So...how about dinner?" Kurt inquired, "I can make you a delicious meal from my homeland, I promise it's worth trying."

The thought of tasting food from where he came from was intriguing and special, you thought that sounded perfect. A way to spend time with him and know him better. You looked up at him, his adorable face still tinted with a light violet hue from his nerves.

"I'd like that."

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover Images: Way of X #1 (2021); Way of X #4 (2021); Way of X #1 (2021)

[ajortga]

sweet

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: after filming, jenna decides to relax for some coffee, not expecting to meet you and fall in love with girl that makes her knees weak.

word count: 1.9k+

read the next parts here! : part 2 part 3

Jenna can remember meeting you like it was yesterday.

At a coffee shop, not too far from the scream set in New York City.

She roamed around, it was evening, the sun was going to set soon, Jenna could tell the way the sky slightly became yellow, getting the slightest pink.

Jenna liked sunsets.

She had just finished filming for a scene, her headphones were on and she needed some fresh air. 

Her noise cancellation was on, walking the streets as she felt her stomach rumble quietly, she was hungry.

She looked around for a place to snack as she looked around, a famous pizzeria was definitely not what she needed.

She turned a corner and she saw a place that was made out of caramel bricks, plants neatly outside with vines hanging from head to toe, she could see the warm welcoming presence on the inside, lanterns hung from the ceiling.

She didn’t really like coffee.

It was so bitter the first time she tried it, of course she didn't know (till recently) that she ordered black coffee with no sugar or creme and almost choked it out.

So she stopped, if anything it added less sleep along with her insomnia.

But she went anyway, the vibe felt comforting. Plus there had to be more than just bitter coffee.

She pushed the door open, a small ding being heard.

Then she could smell the soft scent of coffee and fresh pastries lingering, she felt her hands cold, but her gaze shifts up, and she can feel her whole body warm, like a cozy fire, suddenly, she felt nothing but a daze of love shock.

Her eyes meet your figure, your hair was in a messy bun, a ruffled beige apron tucked around your body over a blouse, pouring creamer in a latte cup, a flower design being made as you traced the coffee with soft hands.

Your focused eyes shift from the cup to her, she can see a small glow in your warmth, they soften as you smile, waving. Softly, but loud enough to hear over her headphones, you saying, “Welcome!” 

She can feel her lips twitch into a smile, tucking her scarf beneath the nape of her neck, it was already warm enough here.

She looked up at the menu, so much to choose from.. And so many flavors.

She bit her lip, in thought as she was stuck, there was a lot.

But so much coffee, she may have not liked coffee the best, but coffee with this many flavors could change her mind.

She was there for a long moment, until you spoke up, you were in front of her, thinking she was going to order, she was standing in front of the cashier after all.

“Trouble choosing what you want?” You ask, tilting your head.

That took her out of her trance, taking her headphones off and wrapping them around her neck. She finally realized where she was standing, in front of the damn register.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I can be kind of clueless when I have headphones on, uh, um. Oh yes, I’m not so sure what to get, I’ve never been here.”

You give her a smile, and she can swear she feels her legs wobble, she could drown in those eyes. So pretty..

“Don’t apologize, please. Don’t worry, it’s okay not knowing what you want, to be honest I think you would like a drink. I think you would like our french vanilla or pumpkin spice latte.. With a sprinkle of cinnamon. How does that sound? This is just my recommendation, I could be wrong, but I think I can read what people should get pretty well! They end up liking it. Don’t count on me though,” You breathe with a little laugh. You sound adorable when you laugh. Your lips are perfect. Kissable.

She feels something she hasn’t felt in so long, butterflies. 

You were so sweet, something about you made her not want to tell you she didn't like caffeine or the taste. 

You just called her love, if anything the color of love was on her cheeks.

“I.. Um.. Yes, I’ll take that. Can you mix those?…”She was going to say your name but didn’t know it, looking down at your name tag, Y/N/L/N. “Uh.. Oh Y/N."

“Of course I can! One french vanilla spice coming up! Anything else you would like? Our pastries just came out of the oven if you’re in the mood for that.”

You were pretty. Unlike any other stranger she'd see on the street before.

Jenna looked at the display, her hand pointing to where her eyes landed, “I’ll take one of your strawberry croissants, I never tried that.”

“You never had these? These are perfectly sweet and soft! They’re my favorite. That’ll be $8.13 please.”

She grabbed her card and swiped it, and you smiled, “Thank you Jenna, give me 5 minutes or so.” You looked at the name of her card.

You look at the names of her customers from their card, how cute. You definitely wanted her. (Or so her delusional brain thought.)

After a few minutes of sitting down and lost in her thoughts from the music, (possibly staring at you preparing her drink the whole time,) she hears you call her name in the distance.

Something about your voice had the slightest softness, she never loved someone calling her her name more than now. Y/N/L/N. Your name is pretty. It'll be even prettier when your last name is hers when you're married-

She walked up to you and you handed her a light brown tray, with her latte in a cup, the design with a pumpkin with a small heart on it, and her powdered strawberry croissant. 

“Thank you.” She whispers, taking it gently and going back.

She sits down in the corner of the room, a booth with a pumpkin decoration and vinyls hung, she could see the steam fogging in front of her and just realizes how cold it really is.

She smells cinnamon, a small whiff of it.

She likes the smell of cinnamon. It reminds her of her childhood home on Christmas when snickerdoodles were being made.

She smells vanilla too.

She likes vanilla. She likes vanilla more than chocolate.

Her hands lifts the mug to her lips and drinks.

Immediately she feels the warmth seep through her like a gentle river, she hums at the taste.

The vanilla battles the strong bitterness of the coffee, leaving the smallest trail behind.

The pumpkin spice, she can taste it in the cream, it reminds her of fall.

It tastes comforting. It tastes like the feel of a steamy creamy soup that you have when it’s pouring rain outside. 

It makes her feel soothed. Cozy. Like she’s in her own Gilmore Girls show herself. 

Her lips press to the mug for the second time, sipping it again and it tastes so good. It’s not too sweet nor bitter. It tastes perfect. It warmed her whole body up, even with the freezing temperature.

She places the mug down on the wooden coaster, she’s never had a strawberry croissant before. 

And when she has a taste, she wants to buy the whole shop. Why has she never heard of this before?

There's a sweet fluffy cream in the middle, she can feel powdered sugar coating her lips as she licks them. 

It tasted sweet. It was light and delicious, the custard complimenting the sweetened strawberry. Who knew bread could pair with such. 

“Is it okay for you?””

She turns around and sees you, it seems like the rest of the customers had to go out before the pouring rain began to crash harder.

“It was more than okay, it was so good. I need that recipe,” Jenna jokes, making you laugh.

“The croissant is my grandma’s recipe. I remember she  made it when I first started baking in the kitchen. She thought it was so good that she had to put it on this cafe’s menu. For the latte on the other hand, you just have to know balance and what tastes right.”

Jenna’s slim hands waved a 5 dollar bill in the air, in which you immediately shook your head. 

“Take it,” she giggles.

“No, it’s yours.”

"No."

"Yes."

"If you keep it I'll give you my number."

... That was tempting for you.

“I wasn’t a big fan of caffeine in general. It was always too bitter or too sweet. I think it ruined the experience for me to try anymore. Take this as a word that I’ll be coming often,” she gave you a sweet smile, giving you a piece of paper on top of the money.

You looked at her with, a small grin forming on your face as you looked up, “You win. Thank you. look forward to you being a regular. I'll make your coffee extra lovely and sweet next time," you said with a wink that made Jenna blush.

Jenna’s smile never faltered as she left the coffee shop, seeing your number on her phone as she placed it in her back pocket. But as she tried to slide it in, it seemed a bit cramped as she took out the piece of paper that was blocking it. 

A five dollar bill. The five dollar bill she gave you.

She sighed, shaking her head with a small laugh, you were a smartass sliding the money she gave you back into her pocket without her knowing.

She folded it in her hands, looking back at the coffee shop, wanting to give it back and run so you couldn’t do anything. But as she looked back she could see the fairy lights on the sign dimming, your face behind the glass. You gave her a small playful wink as you flipped the sign to closed, your breath blew on the glass, putting a small heart on the fogginess and walked away.

Something in Jenna made her heart flutter, wanting to go to the coffee shop every day. Every. Single. Day.

But why? When she goes to restaurants she doesn’t seem excited to come again.

She could feel her cheeks heating up as she realized it was because of you. She wanted to come because of you and see your face, to see you giving her that smile or calling her name, to hear your voice as you talked to her, to see your pretty eyes glance down to her lips every once a while once again.

4:25pm

maybe y/n: sweet seeing you today, hope you didn't mind some money back, this is all i need :)

4:28pm

jenna: ooh. getting sweet already? hmmm, you're sneaky! maybe i'll pay you another visit tomorrow. (you reacted with 💗)

maybe y/n: aww, for me?

jenna: i wouldn't count on ittt but maybe it's a 50/50

4:30pm

maybe y/n: i don't think a customer would ask for someones phone number as an agreement?

..

4:35pm

jenna: you got me there

maybe y/n: i know i did jen :p

maybe y/n: don't get ahold of yourself, i still have to know you better ml

jenna: then tomorrow is set.

maybe y/n: tomorrow it issss (jenna reacted with a 😗)

She covered her face and let out a small groan as she came home, her back hitting the mattress as she looked up at the ceiling. She could feel a small grin forming on her face as her eyes sparkled, her nose scrunching.

She liked the girl who lay behind the mug of coffee.

She liked you.

-

a/n: wanted to take a small break on requests, i think i should focus on thinking of my ideas instead of doing request one by one from my inboxes, if that makes sense. requests are soon!

i'm not sure if i'll take some because sometimes these requests don't have any of my ideas in mind so it's hard to write something that feels good<3. enjoy this cute long ish drabble that i made a few months back but never finished<3

[rosenclaws]

So imagine- Leopold x Michelin Star chef reader who shares his adoration for food- and everyone knows the way to a mans heart is through his stomach so readers love language is gift giving/cooking/baking. Just had to share this idea with someone cuz i was immediately freaking out over him after watching the movie🫣 and i ❤️cooking. (id cook for him any-day)

warnings: fluff

wc: 1.2k

a/n: Okay I know nothing about cooking so i apologize if its not accurate but this was such a cute idea and I really hope you like it <3

"This place is amazing Leopold trust me." Kate says happily as Leopold and Charlie walk behind her. The restaurant was fancy. The atmosphere was dim but held an elegance as they were promptly seated.

"How did you manage to get us a reservation?" Charlie rips off a piece of bread and pops it into his mouth.

"My old college friend ended up going to culinary school and now they're the head chef for this very restaurant." Kate says proudly. Also you promised a free meal if they came to test out your new creations. But she left that part out.

Leopold was ecstatic. Now this was real food. The first course was incredible. Simple but plated so perfectly and the flavors danced together in his mouth. The main course was utterly divine. He couldn't stop raving about it to both Kate and Charlie and by the time dessert came he was pretty full. Still he couldn't pass up chocolate cake now could he.

"Kate!" You smile as you finally catch a break in the kitchen. Only because the restaurant is now closed but a break is a break.

"It's so good to see you." You reach over and give her a hug.

"Charlie! It's been forever." You greet him with a warm smile.

"And.." You trail off as you see the man sitting next to Charlie. He's as handsome as ever. A bright smile and to your surprise he stands as you look at him.

"Are you the chef who made our meal today?" He's got an accent too. You nod wordlessly and he bows in appreciation.

"Oh there's no need for that." You wave him off but he doesn't sit.

"The meal was extraordinary. You're an absolute culinary genius." He compliments. You feel yourself start to fluster as you thank him. You aren't used to someone be so interested in food like this.

"Yeah it was really good." Charlie adds on. You smile and thank him too. That's the reaction you're more accustomed to.

Both of them make your heart happy but this strange man has a way with words and a deep appreciation for the culinary arts it seems.

"Leopold, pleasure to meet you." He take your hand and kisses your knuckles.

Smiling as he meets your eyes. You take your hand away and rub your thumb over where he kissed. His lips felt so nice.

"Well, I have to get back but I would love to cook for you guys again." You say to all three of them but keep your eyes on Leopold.

"Dinner at my place?" Kate offers her apartment and you quickly accept.

Waving goodbye to the three of them as you steal another look at Leopold. He's so handsome, so well spoken, and such an appreciation for food. You were already planning the meal for dinner in your head, hoping to impress him even more.

-

It didn't take long for you and Leopold to become friends. You brought fresh bread to Kate's to find that he was staying there and after that well, you visited often.

When you were at work you were crafting new ideas and Leopold was your taste tester. He spent hours with you in the kitchen Marveling at your skill and creativity. He even became your little sous chef. He listened to your every direction and you could see the glimmer in his eyes when a dish was done. It was nice getting to share something like this with him.

While you cooked you talked a lot. Telling him about your life, your hobbies, your dreams. He told you about his childhood, where his love for food came, and his favorite things about modern day New York.

Even though you had just met him, it felt like you had known him for a long time. You were practicing pastries next you were dead set on adding Macarons to your menu. Leopold had so graciously volunteered to help.

"Almost done?" You were in the process of perfecting the right flavors of french buttercream while Leo whipped the meringue.

You looked up to see him whisking. His brows were furrowed in concentration as his hair bounced slightly from his movements. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and despite his best efforts, he had meringue on his face and clothes.

"Just about." His arms flex as he continues to whip and you can't tear your eyes away. He looks up and smiles warmly at you.

"Oh! Taste this." You take a spoonful of buttercream and without thinking bring it to his lips.

Standing close as you gently place your hand on his arm. He looks taken back at first and you realize what you've done. Still he takes a taste, groaning in satisfaction at how lovely the taste is. You set the spoon down but stay close to him. His mixing has gotten slower as he reaches the right consistency.

"Delicious as always." Leopold says.

"You have some buttercream on your face." He points out with a playful smile. You wipe your hands on your cheeks as he laughs.

"Did I get it?" You ask, suddenly feeling a little shy under his gaze.

"Not quite darling," He lifts his hand and gently wipes buttercream from the corner of your lips.

"There." He whispers. He can't take his eyes off of you and you don't want him to.

"Leo..." You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you lean closer to him.

"Yes" He gently caresses your face as you smile nervously, praying you haven't misread the signs.

"Kiss me." He doesn't hesitate to fulfill your wish.

Cupping your face as he leans in for a kiss. Lips so soft, so gentle yet it he's taking your breath away at the same time. Your lips move in sync as your hands rest on his shoulders. His other arm snakes around your to your back, pulling you close as he deepens the kiss.

When you finally pull apart you're left standing there in awe, a dopey smile on his face as you brush your lips with your fingers. Almost in disbelief of what just happened. You lick your lips as you taste the buttercream from earlier.

"Sweet." You say and Leo grins.

"Not as sweet as you." You try and hide the smile that forms on your lips but fail miserably.

"We should really finish these." You say looking at the mess of your kitchen.

"Yes we should, but afterwards perhaps you would join me for dinner? Allow me to show you how much I've learned." He offers, a hopeful look in his eyes.

"You want to cook for me?" You sound surprised because you are. No one ever wants to do that for you anymore and the gesture makes your heart soar.

"If you would let me. I cannot promise it will be as delicious as your cooking but, I will try." God he could serve you burnt toast and you'd be happy.

"Anything you make will be perfect." You swear you see a faint blush creep up his neck as he grabs a piping bag.

He hands it to you and looks at the bowl of meringue. You work together seamlessly, matching each others movements and getting work done with ease. You can't help but steal glances at each other. There's no one you'd rather have by your side. In the kitchen and in your life. And Leopold feels the exact same way.

You make a note to cook Kate her favorite meal. Anything to thank the woman who brought you two together. Hell you'd make her a thousand meals.

As long as Leo was by your side to help.

[ihavethedreamies]

Oh, Baby-Girl | Bang Chan

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5.5k

Pairing: Bang Chan x Tall!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Mafia AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Mentions of Guns (Mob/Mafia type stuff), Bodyguard! Chan, Mob Boss Daughter! Reader, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! & M! Receiving), Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Spanking, Daddy Kink (it is Bang Chan after all), Unprotected Sex (Not Recommended), Big Dick! Chan

Author's Note: Oh no, what is this? I couldn't have possibly wrote this since I am working so diligently on packing. Well, as long as it's here…

There is just something about the choreography for Chk Chk Boom that did something to me, I'm sure many of you agree.

P.S. If you haven't read my stuff before, or much of it, you might not notice, but the rest of you have probably figured out I got a bit of a face-fucking fascination. Thanks for getting to know me.

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

Being a mob boss’s wife isn’t nearly as fun and glamorous as the movies and shows (and TikTok) make it out to be. However, being the mob boss's daughter? A bit of a different story. You were protected from the violence and crime, but still got to reap the rewards. Fancy clothes, expensive jewelry, a nice car, and a bodyguard as well. Despite never being able to see him, you knew you were well protected as you walked down the streets of New York, spending all of your papa's corrupt money. A few designer shopping bags hung in the crook of your elbow over your cropped jacket, fur lining the ends of the sleeves and lapels. Faux of course, you might be the daughter of a criminal, but you weren't a monster. The thin heels of your over-the-knee (also faux) leather boots clicked on the sidewalk as you tapped away on your phone with your thumb. People moved out of your way as you walked, you just had the aura of 'fuck around and find out'. The gum in your mouth smacked as you chewed, sneering at a child who didn't move out of the way fast enough. Your eye roll was hidden behind your Versace sunglasses, but your down-turned lip covered in dark red lipstick was still obvious. Your stiletto acrylic nails were the same dark red and clicked against your phone as you scrolled through your search results. Despite how you looked and dressed, you still preferred to shop sales. That gave you more bang for your buck, since your father did limit your money some. As you passed an overly full trash can, you plucked the gum from your mouth and onto the pile. It had lost all its flavor… Approaching the next store, you were about to enter when you suddenly felt something instinctual rise up in you. You halted, people scurrying around you still, and with your natural height paired with six-inch pumps, you still stood a head above a lot of the passersby. You felt vulnerable for some reason and huffed in frustration, shoving the door open to the boutique you had stopped in front of. It wasn't your original destination, but you instantly felt safer being inside. It wasn't anywhere close to the first time your ingrained sense of danger had kicked in, and it wouldn't be the last. You know there was at least one bodyguard tailing you even if you never saw him, but that didn't mean the shelter of a store wasn't welcome.

"Welcome." One of the employees calling out snapped you out of your trance, having been looking out the window at the street. You turned and gave her a forced smile and removed your sunglasses. Deciding to look around while you were in the shop, you admired some of the items, but none of them were up to your standard, but that lingering feeling…lingered. Picking up a pair of shoes to look over, you looked out the window more, trying to see if you could pick out anyone lurking outside. Nope. Pressing your lips together, you sighed and moved to leave. Stepping back onto the street, you looked around again, trying to be subtle, almost like you were looking for a cab. Still not seeing anything that stuck out, you moved on and toward your actual destination. You were hit with an even greater sense of doom as you heard the screech of car tires in the distance and you spun around to see a black SUV hurdling down the street, unusually empty for New York. Like it was in slow motion, as the vehicle approached, the window rolled down and a gloved hand stuck out, a Glock in his hand.

"Shit!" You moved to duck behind a parked sedan, and you yelped when your heel snapped as you dove for cover. Your ankle twisted and your tights ripped, but you got behind the vehicle as you heard the gunshots. People around you screamed, and you scrambled to hit the emergency button on your phone, but… It was shattered. It must have hit the sidewalk harder than you did.

"Fuck!" You shoved the device into your purse, and you watched as people ran and screamed. Getting up just enough to peer through the blown-out window of the car you hid behind, your ankle protested, and you fell back down, catching yourself with your hand.

"Did you get her?" You heard a gruff voice shout followed by, "No!" Then, through the running pedestrians, a huge man appeared, a gun in his hand. He was right down the sidewalk, and you were right in view. Before you even had the chance to pray, a figure stepped between you and the assailant. You couldn't see since he was in your way, but you heard his gun go off and watched the goon fall from between the legs of your savior. He had to have been the bodyguard that your father told you was constantly at your tail. The man groaned and cursed, the same SUV coming to help haul him away, clutching as his knee. Sirens grew closer and you tried to get up, pushing on your scraped hand. You winced again, at least three of your nails on that hand were broken, a fourth cracked, and your heel was ruined. It would have been way too awkward to try and stand with just one pump, so you took off your other one.

"Here." The man who saved you had an accent, you couldn't quite place it in the moment. His leather-gloved hands grabbed your forearms and he more or less yanked you up. When you stood before him, he was…short. About an inch or two shorter than you…with your heels off. He was also really fucking hot. It was clear he was a bit shocked at the height difference as well since he had never been so close to you. Was he the guy always guarding you? You guessed it didn't matter if he was shorter if he was protecting you from afar. He shoved his pistol in the back of his pants, and you watched his white t-shirt struggle across his muscular chest as he did so.

"You okay, love?" Australian, it was definitely an Australian accent. And it was also really fucking hot.

"Y-Yes." You finally answered and you jerked to grab your bags, but he was grabbing them along with your purse before you could get close.

"Can you walk?" He nodded at your bare feet, and you stood on one of them, rolling your twisted ankle to test it. Putting weight back on it, "I can manage." He then started to lead you into the nearest alley as the police cruisers grew closer. At least you had stockings on as you meandered through the not exactly clean back alleys, and he finally brought you to another big black SUV parked behind some bakery.

"Here." He opened the passenger door, and you climbed in as he threw your bags in the back. You sat, shaking still as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Sh-should I be up front?" Your voice was also shaking still, and he started the vehicle.

"The windows are tinted, but we'll be quick."

"Quick? Where are we going?" Your father's building was a good twenty minutes away, let alone the house on the outskirts of the city.

"Closest place is mine."

"Y-you are my bodyguard, right?" You just realized that even though he saved you, that didn't mean it was his job. The man huffed and wrangled his leather jacket off, tossing it in the back as well. The clean lines of your father's crest were tattooed into his bicep, and you slumped in the seat.

"What's your name?"

"Chan."

"Just Chan?"

"Yep." It seemed he had been waiting for you to buckle up, because he reached around you to grab the still unfastened belt, doing it for you. He smelled really fucking good too and your head swam. The spike of adrenaline seemed to get all parts of your body worked up, but you forced the wave of arousal down. It was not the time nor place for any of that. The ride to his place was quiet, thankfully, because if he talked more, you would be a goner. Trying not to be obvious, you would look to the side to stare at him. His side profile was immaculate, strong nose and jaw line, full lips.

"So…are you…?" You didn't know how to word your question without sounding rude.

"Korean." He knew where you were going, and you let out a small 'ah' of understanding. Your father didn't get along with the Yakuza nor the Chinese mafia, so Korean made sense. Korean-Australian at that…right?

"Australia?" You wanted to make sure, not great at picking out the different British-origin accents.

"Yep."

"Am I annoying you?" He sagged at your question and shook his head.

"No, love, just trying to keep an eye out." He pointedly looked in the rear-view mirror and you let out a quiet apology. The silence made since then.

"Put your sunglasses on." Chan nodded at the item in your hand, and you did so, pointedly looking out the window as he pulled up to the security gate of his building's parking garage. Getting in without any comments from the guard, he parked in what you assumed was his designated spot. The guard got out and opened your door for you, giving you his hand for assistance. You grunted when you landed wrong on your still upset angle and he caught you, making your chest press to his.

"S-sorry." You flinched back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and he smiled gently.

"It's okay, Miss (Y/N)." Fuck, if you're already attracted to a guy with an accent, don't EVER let him say your name. As he was out of view to get your bags you mouthed an exaggerated 'oh my god' and quickly shut your mouth when he shut the back door. He led you toward the entrance door for the building, staying slow to accommodate your slight limp. Getting in the elevator, you still kept your sunglasses on just in case, though the building seemed pretty secure. That didn't mean the security watching the cameras were always completely trustworthy though. Enough money can convince most people of anything. You exhaled tiredly as you stopped by his door and Chan pressed the code into the number pad and it pinged. He held the front door open for you and you entered, hobbling down the entry hall. It was a nice place and you wondered how much your father paid him to watch you nearly 24/7. Or…

"So, are you my guard a lot?"

"During the day." So, yes.

"How long?"

"Hm…about three years."

"Ah." That was a pretty long time. So, he probably knew a lot about you, and you had never seen him before in your life.

"Oh! I need to call papa…" You rummaged through your purse that he had set on the coffee table. As you sat on the couch, you then remembered that your phone was broken.

"I'll handle it, love." Chan set your shopping bags and your shoes down as well and you had totally forgotten about your heels. When did he grab them too?

"I need to call a few others as well, if you want something to eat you can rummage through the kitchen." He nodded toward the other room behind where you sat and you nodded as he went down the other hallway, deeper into the apartment. You took the chance to look around and you wondered if he was ever there. Well, if he watched you all day for three years, he probably wasn't. The decoration was simple, almost like it was a hotel room rather than a living space, but it was nice. Maybe his bedroom was more personal? Hearing his muffled voice from further in, you stood and meandered to the kitchen like he suggested. Opening the fridge, there was more than you expected since the rest of the apartment was barren. Nothing stuck out though, but you noticed an object was in the oven despite it being off. You knew exactly what it was. Opening the oven, you grabbed the pizza box and opened it as your mouth watered. You weren't sure if the pizza was your favorite because you had it all the time (it was a front for your father's shenanigans) or if you genuinely liked it. Holding the day-old slice, you chewed absentmindedly, snooping through the rest of Chan's kitchen. He had a little wine display on the counter, and you pulled one of the bottles out to look at the label. You snorted, of course he had your family's vintage. Maybe he got a discount? At least you knew you liked it. Holding the slice in your mouth as you reached for a wine glass in the cupboard, you had to get on your tip toes to reach one. Could he normally reach them? There was dust on the glass, and you pondered if he ever used them.

"Sorry I don't use those glasses often." His voice startled you, but you kept a firm grip on the glass then set it down.

"That's fine… Do you just…drink from it?" You easily and expertly pulled the cork out with your bare hands since it was sticking out enough and he blinked at the ease with which you did so. Just because you were the daughter of a mob boss and didn't fight yourself, didn't mean you weren't strong. Your father made sure if it came to it, you could punch a guy's teeth out just as well as any bodyguard. That didn't help with guns, mind you.

"Uh, no," he huffed an airy laugh, it was actually kind of cute, "I just use a normal glass." He went to the cupboard next to the one you had been in and grabbed a square-shaped cup that looked like it was more for whiskey than wine.

"Are you doing okay, love?" He leaned against the counter as you poured yourself a glass after giving him some.

"I guess. My ankle kind of hurts still." You easily balanced on one leg, lifting the other foot to roll the joint around, testing its pain level.

"Just because I've never met you face to face doesn't mean I don't know you. Are you okay?" He pressed and you flinched to look at him. It wasn't…creepy perse, just, odd. You sighed, taking a sip, your hand still shaking a bit.

"Y-yeah. I mean, I've been around guns and stuff, but… I myself have never been shot at, you know?"

"I do, actually." He smiled cheekily and you sighed in mock annoyance.

"Well, it’s a little unfair that you seem to know me so well and I have no knowledge of you." You walked around the island and back toward the living room, sitting in relief on the couch. You crossed your leg over the other, injured ankle dangling in the air. Chan sat down next to you, leg up on the cushion so he could face you, toned arm resting on the back of the sofa. You felt his eyes linger on your tight-clad legs, your leather short-shorts showing most of your thighs. His gaze stopped at the tear in the supposedly tear-proof pantyhose, then snapped his head up like he just got startled awake. The man knew you knew he was ogling your legs and the tips of ears turned red as he cleared his throat. How was such a handsome man so cute?

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you get to be my bodyguard?"

"I had no mafia ties before. I guess that was a good thing. I was more or less scouted to be a bodyguard when I was a bouncer at some penthouse night club. It seems some of your dad's guys saw I was good, and I got offered way more money than any other job. They doubled it when I took the spot as your personal bodyguard."

"I see. Where did you learn to shoot so well?"

"I started at the shooting range when I was in college with my friends. I got better through work and your father made sure I was an expert before he put his baby girl's life in my hands."

"Hm, you obviously don't know me that well." You picked on a very small detail, wondering if he would know what it was.

"Hm, not his baby girl, his little kitten."

"Oh, maybe you do know me well then?"

"Quiz me, baby-girl." The way he said it was so different than two seconds prior. His tone deepened with it and a smug look settled casually on his face. You couldn't help but watch his throat move as he swallowed a sip of wine and you took a sip yourself, then set the glass down.

"What is my favorite color?"

"Red. Something else."

"Brand?"

"Prada. Something real (Y/N)." Chan leaned further into the cushion. You were right at eye level, and you wondered…

"Does it bother you I'm taller?" You changed the subject so fast he nearly got whiplash. You genuinely were curious. You were tall for a woman anyway, let alone when you did wear heels, and some guys didn't care for it.

"Height doesn't play into what matters, baby-girl." His slightly cryptic answer intrigued you, but you moved back to the previous topic.

"What's my favorite book and why?" He sighed, huffing a laugh at your shift back.

"You tell people it's 1984 because of the psychological implications behind it, but your favorite is actually Dragon Rider because it got you into fantasy. You read it eight times in elementary school, and you have a signed copy." Chan grinned at your bewildered expression. Once again, in any other situation that would be creepy as hell that he knew, but three years of observation would key him in.

"Okay, smart guy," you picked your glass back up, slinging your legs up under you on the couch, facing him.

"Why do I currently not have a boyfriend?" That was something you couldn't just say, it had to be observed.

"You hate romance. Flowers, chocolates, a fancy meal. You hate it, but because you like fancy clothes and jewelry, men think you lean that way. You'd prefer a movie date at home or going horseback riding." Shit, that was a little creepy. More so that he knew you so well, it was like he could see into your head, that kind of creepy. Not that he was a creep. Chan nearly cackled as he giggled at your bewildered expression, and you whined. Why was he that cute?

"Why are you that cute?" You accidentally spoke your thoughts aloud and you immediately froze, since he did too.

"I'm cute?" He managed to get out after you both sputtered for a few seconds.

"W-well, I mean-"

"I'm cute?" The simple inflection change completely shifted the meaning of his question.

"You think I'm cute?" You whispered and he set his own glass down, then took yours so he could do the same. He shifted down the cushion, so his knee touched yours. Chan leaned in and you clenched your jaw to remain strong. Don't kiss him, don't kiss him, don't kiss him.

"Baby-girl, if I didn't do you really think I would still be watching you ten hours a day, every day?" Oh. That was a good point. Chan crooked a brow, waiting for an answer or something, don't kiss him.

"You want to kiss me that bad?" he finally asked, and you jolted back, eyes leaving his mouth and shooting up to his eyes.

"What?! No?" Your voice cracked and he pressed his pretty lips together, so he didn't laugh at you.

"So, you don't want me to?"

"I never said that-" He caught you. Literally. You had tried to reel back so you could get off the couch, but his hand grabbed your wrist. It was gentle, but tight enough that he could yank you back to him, and he swallowed the squeak he pulled out of you. Your body melted, all the tension from the earlier attack as well as the sexual kind that had been quickly taking your body over, left. The kiss grew from a low heat to a full inferno rapidly. Your jacket was shed, then your necklaces and bracelets, and as his tongue crept into your mouth, you clawed at his shirt. Your fingers unevenly scratched at his skin through the fabric since about half of them were broken. You both panted when he pulled back. He slightly shoved you down so your back hit the cushion and he sat up more on his knees and you watched with glee as his shirt came off. Fucking hell, he was perfect.

"Oh my god." You gasped and his smug grin twitched briefly in bashfulness, but he composed himself.

"Let me see you, baby-girl." He easily held himself up over you as his body nestled above yours, his strong jean-clad thigh jammed between your mostly bare legs. He kissed you again as his fingers easily plucked the buttons of your shirt open and he pulled you up by the shirt. As you sat up, you yanked the shirt out of where it was tucked into your shorts and then tossed it away before falling back. The micro-fiber was a much nicer feeling than what could have been cold leather. You shivered when his calloused hands ran over the smooth and soft skin of your sides and tummy. His nose ran over your collar bone, and he nuzzled the swell of your breasts where they sat in your plain nude bra. If you knew you were going to get fucked that night, you would have worn something much sexier.

"Don't worry, it's coming off anyway." It was like he could read your mind and you yiped in shock as he unfastened the front latch so quickly it was like he did it telepathically.

"You wear them with a front latch because you can't reach around your back from when you hurt your shoulder in middle school." He really did know you well. You just blinked but then Chan forced a mewl from you as his strong thigh pressed hard into your covered mound.

"Focus, baby-girl." His voice had lowered even further, and it made you shiver. Strong hands gripped your ass over your shorts, pulling your hips to grind on his leg as his mouth met yours again. You whimpered through the kiss, goosebumps raising on your skin as the button of your shorts easily slipped open, the zipper was pulled down, and then your pants were soaring through the air somewhere you cared not.

"These are already torn…" He justified as he grabbed the hem of your pantyhose and easily ripped them to literal shreds. Chan let the remnants fall to the floor and you felt your slick through your panties against your bare thighs. At least your panties were a cute lacey purple and not just plain nude.

"You're absolutely stunning." He praised, hand running up your thigh so he could hitch it against his hip. Chan rolled his hips, and you squealed at the large bulge in his pants pressing to your barely covered cunt. If he felt that big through jeans, what the hell was he hiding? He chuckled where your hips jumped to get another brush of friction, reaching into his back pocket. As he pulled the foil package from his pants you snatched it from him.

"Planning this?" You tried to tease him, but his gaze darkened.

"Oh, baby-girl, I've wanted to fuck you for two years now." The man declared. You turned the packet over to look at the label, making a mental note at the size, then you looked at him coyly.

"You clean?"

"Yes?"

"Good." You tossed it behind your shoulder, then grabbed his belt loop, pulling him to you as you sat up. You smirked up at him, head tipped back so you could look him in the eye.

"Can you really feel me like you want through a rubber?" He swallowed hard, all that confidence from before seemingly to leave, then rushed back.

"Not even fucking close." He admitted, pushing you back down and starting to lay open mouth kisses against your neck. He sucked hard, his teeth nibbling the flesh and you shuddered with a delighted whine.

"We can put my pill to the test." You teased and he groaned, kissing down your chest. His mouth sealed over your nipple as he wrestled his jeans off and you exhaled in bliss as his fingers rubbed at your folds through the fabric still covering them.

"You care about these?" He snapped the hem of the undergarment. You did, but you really wanted to watch him tear them up more.

"Nope." You popped the 'p' and the lace ripped and joined your other items of clothing somewhere behind him. You yelped when his hands grabbed your waist and shoved you up the sectional, so he had room to lay on his stomach. Before you got the chance to prop yourself up on your elbows, his tongue ran up the folds of your pussy and his nose brushed your clit.

"Fuck!" You tossed your head back, body twitching as he decided to bury his tongue inside you. He groaned at your taste, hands roughly grabbing the backs of your thighs. He rolled you back, holding your legs apart and up as he mouthed at you like a man starved. Your little mewls and squeaks flew out between heaving breaths, and you felt his grip tighten, knowing he would leave bruises. When he let go of your left leg, he made sure you rested it on the back of the couch, and then his finger pressed into your twitching cunt.

"You’re drippin’." He chuckled, then added another finger and your whole body seized. Expertly, he crooked his fingers up, the ends pressing against your cervix and with a final lick to your clit, you came. He eagerly helped you ride out your high, then cleaned his fingers off with his tongue as you panted for air. Your forearm was slung over your eyes as you came back to earth, and you only moved your arm to watch as he removed his final garment. You hadn't even got a chance to look at him in just his boxers, but there he stood in absolute glory. His cock stood proud, arching up toward his toned stomach and you heaved yourself up so you could see him better.

"Oh~" You giggled, wrapping your fingers around his cock and he groaned at the feeling. You bit your lip, eyes meeting his giddily, then you swallowed the tip, whining at salt of his pre.

"(Y/N), baby-girl~" He tossed his head back as you took more of him into your mouth. He was thick, your jaw protesting a bit, and you still had a good few inches to go when the head hit the back of your throat. Your eyes flicked to his again, and you made sure to watch his face and you kept going, only gagging slightly as your nose pressed to his groin.

"Oh, fuck." He nearly whimpered, hands gripping your hair, then loosened his grip. He groaned as you bobbed your head, breath harshly moving through your nose as his cock filled and left your throat. His hips jumped and the sudden movement made you gag a bit harder, but it made your cunt clench as well.

"Shit, sorry!" He panicked, but you pulled off slowly, giving him your best boba eyes.

"Wanna keep going?" You hoped your intention was clear and he didn't even hesitate. The hands still in your hair pulled you back onto his cock and you sat like a good girl as the fat head of Chan's dick battered your throat. Your eyes rolled back, loving not just his rough movements, but the pretty noises leaving his mouth.

"Hm, you want me to cum down your throat, baby-girl?" Chan's hips jerked unevenly, and you could feel his dick pulse on your tongue. You hummed and nearly wiggled with glee as he pressed your nose hard against his lower stomach and painted your throat white. You eagerly swallowed each pump and drop, and he mumbled something about wondering why he waited so long to have you. Only half-softened, he pulled out of your mouth, and you licked the rest off his release of your lips. You didn't even get the chance to give him a smug grin before you were flipped over onto your stomach, and he heaved your hips up.

"Tell me if I do something wrong." His comment seemed odd, but it seemed he really did know you well. You gasped a moan as his hand smacked your ass, the skin stinging, and he could see your empty cunt clench around nothing.

"You want daddy's cock?" His thumb ran through the slick of your folds, and you trembled. There was a very specific reason you only called your father 'papa'. You only wished you had found Chan sooner to actually put it into practice.

"Fuck, yes, daddy!" You squealed in joy, hiccupping when his other hand slapped your other ass cheek.

"Get ready, then baby-girl." You were ready mentally, but your pussy wasn't. Your cunt burned as he buried his fat cock into you with one thrust. You reveled in the sting, craved it, and your already tight walls clenched around him hard. Even if he wasn't fucking you from behind, you were sure he was long enough to fill you completely, the tip nestled tight against your cervix.

"Fucking hell." You sighed, nails digging into the thick fabric of the couch. He let you get used to the stretch, but you just wanted him to move, you were even getting antsy.

"Move, please." Your wiggled were stopped with a hard spank. You yelped.

"Daddy, please." You corrected and he ran his thumb over the reddening skin.

"Sure thing, love." Your cunt tried desperately to keep his cock inside, and a few drops of your wet landed on the couch. Your breath left you when his hips snapped, fucking back into you hard and fast, his pace not letting you catch it back. He loved the little mewls and grunts he was literally fucking out of you. Your cheek was pressed to the cushion, drool already pooling from the corner of your mouth. He had waited too long to take you, he decided, and he was going to make up for the lost time.

"Ch-chan, fuck!" Your orgasm was cresting fast, a familiar burn rising with your orgasm. Spank!

"Fuck, daddy, I'm gonna-" Your breath shuddered as your orgasm hit and he slowed his pace some, grinding his cock into you as your pussy spasmed.

"Oh, baby-girl~!" He groaned as your cunt squirted even more slick onto his groin and balls, even both of your thighs. You slumped after what seemed like minutes and heaved for air, but he wasn't anywhere close to done. Your near scream as he started to pummel his hips against your ass again went straight to his head. He leaned over you, hands near your shoulders. Normally, he was used to leaning over a girl quite a bit, but his hands fell to the sides of your shoulders rather than your head, your body just as long as his, legs even longer. Despite the small height difference (in your favor), you felt small under him, he had broad shoulders and thick muscles, and an even thicker cock. The hard and deep thrusts turned shallow, his dick barely leaving your cunt but battering it at the same time, bringing you up to and over another orgasm fast.

"So deep, daddy~" You nearly cheered, and he found your weakness. He pressed his hips into yours, barely moving them and you gasped, a fourth orgasm already approaching. He felt your walls clench harder and you felt your pussy start to sting, but you needed to fall apart again. It was too much for him then, your raw heat and gummy walls begging him to pump you full.

"Gotta test that pill." He mumbled, then groaned as he finally fell over as well. The sticky heat of his cum filling you, so much it spurted out from around where your bodies met, pushed you over the edge as well. Your head swam from the force of your final orgasm, stars dotting your vision. As he panted for air over you, he watched your eyes flutter; you were wiped out.

"I'll let you sleep over, baby-girl. Gotta rest for when I fuck you stupid tomorrow morning."

Master-Master List

Stray Kids Master List

[little-lost-lamb]

The Sting of Envy Pt. 2

CW: GN!MC, hurt/comfort, angst, occult practice, fluff, Demons Being Overall Taller Than Humans On Average, Mention of Israeli food, and - of course - jealousy. Please let me know if there is anything I didn't think to add!

<- Part 1

I want to thank everyone for their support of my first part! I've been out of the writing game for a long time, and it really helped motive me to continue!

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Beelzebub 

Beelzebub tells anyone who asks that his favorite food is cheeseburgers, but this is not quite true. His favorite food is your cooking. So when you keep serving him warm, fresh-baked bread and crispy spinach salad topped with handpicked flowers and nuts and creamy, piping hot wild mushroom risotto and seconds and thirds and FOURTHS, he is in the Celestial Realm. He supposed the menu was carefully thought out, showcasing ingredients locally in season for the spring. He loved human realm food. It reminded him of you, and not just because it’s native the human realm - human cuisine had the capacity for both the sinful and the divine. Just like you. And so, the meal had him nearly moaning in ecstasy against his spoon.

“This is incredible, MC.” Solomon says, meticulously scooping a perfectly balanced bite of rice, cheese, mushroom, and chive. “This is even better than the risotto we had in that little place in Rome. What was that place called?” Solomon looks at you and thoroughly cleans the risotto off his spoon with his mouth. You laugh.

“Solomon, no, no way! That stuff was next level!”

Solomon shrugs before going in for another bite off his plate. “I’m telling you, yours is better.”

“When were you in Rome?” Lucifer inquires, cocking his head with interest. “When did you have the time?”

“Couple Tuesdays ago, I think.” Solomon muffled between bites while Barbatos shot him a look that told him to chew before speaking. Solomon shrugged it off. “Sometimes when we feel like eating out, we’ll go wherever the cuisine strikes our fancy. MC takes me to this Israeli restaurant in New York City about every other week!”

Beel’s brow furrows as he goes in for another bite. It sounds like before you left, what you and he used to do together. Schedule permitting, you were always down to take him wherever his stomach led him. Hell’s Kitchen for the third time that week? Sure! That brand new place with the deep fried vampire bats on sticks? You bet! They restocked flame-charred bone flavored ice cream at the stand down the street from RAD? You might even be willing to skip Chaos Theory to go with him! 

Your foodie dates were one of his all-time favorite things you did together.

“Pfft. You know I can’t do teleportations that big or that frequently yet. You take me.”

Like how Beel would take you all over town, farther if they had some spare time, to try all that the demon realm had to offer. You couldn’t always eat it, you didn’t always like it, but you were always down to try demon cuisine. Try new things in general. He loved that about you.

“Agree to disagree.” Solomon leaned a little closer to you. “I just appreciate you escorting me on so many dates.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I’m just in it for the falafel.” 

Solomon chuckles and smiles fondly at you. He gently tucks a pesky piece of hair behind your ear, keeping it from flying into your mouth with your bread. “Try the hamin next time. I think you’ll like it.”

The heat rose in Beel cheeks, and he subtly sighed out some of his frustration through his nostrils. He glances briefly over to Belphie, and they communicate something to each other with their eyes. Finally, Beel puts his spoon down and Belphie shrugs, picking up another bite with his own.

“I’m done.” Beel says softly.

Not full. Never full. Done.

After everyone has finished with ample time for conversation, you shuffle back to the kitchen to get the desserts. You had prepared an assortment of fresh berries and cream with honey cakes. 

“Beel! Can you help me carry this?” You shout, and you lean casually against the counter to wait for him.

“Carry what?” Beel walks in to help and looks around for the heavy item only for his eyes to fall on the light-weight desserts. “Just…need some extra hands?” Beel asks as he reaches for the dish, but you stop him with a hand on his.

“Are you okay? You didn’t eat much.” You look up into his face, recognizing sadness in it. 

“I ate 5 or 6 plates.”

You raise an eyebrow. Beel sighs, gently reaching for your hand and holding it firmly in his own to ground himself.

“You don’t…like the food here more than in the devildom, do you?”

Your brows furrow with concern. “You…know I do. Most of it won’t kill me.”

Beelzebub shakes his head quickly. “My fault, bad question. New question: do you enjoy…” Beel’s voice cracks ever so slightly. “Do you like eating with Solomon more? You know…than me?”

Yours eyes widen in horror and your heart cracks. All you can think to do is throw yourself into his enormous frame. You bury your face into the soft fabric of the shirt before turning your head to speak, still resting your cheek against his quickly-thumping chest. 

“You’re upset because you and I go out on foodie tours and stuff too, right? It’s our thing.”

“It’s our thing.” Beel answered, wrapping his arms around you firmly. You feel the point of his chin rest against the top of your head.

“And it will always be our thing. Solomon and I eat out so often out of necessity. I don’t always have the energy to focus on planning and making our meals, and the man can’t cook, Beel. Then the human realm's food will kill me.”

You got a smile out of Beel on that one.

“But with you, we go out, and we shove things I once couldn’t even conceptualize down my gullet. You show me fun and fantastical foods I wouldn’t try on my own. That I couldn’t try. We don’t have that stuff here. It’s an experience. You are an experience. And you’re my favorite.”

You lean back just a little, separating only enough to see a wide grin and misty eyes. You reach over and stick your clean finger into the bowl of cream before smearing it playfully on Beel’s lips. 

“Oops!” You exclaim, smearing it on his lips. You raise up and squish the cream against Beels lips with your own. You hear a dreamy sigh from him before he pulls away and licks his lips. A giddy giggle escapes his creamy mouth. He reaches for the cream too, except he takes a thick glob and smears it from your cheek, across your mouth, and down your neck. 

“Oops.”

He starts with your neck.

Belphegor

They said to make himself at home, so he will, thank you very much. Now where was MC’s bed?

He passes the bathroom and opens the knob to a door nearby, figuring this was probably it, and he pushes it open with the subtle crack of the doorframe. He is immediately punished with a wave of Solomon’s scent - a musky mix of exotic spice and  incense smoke. Yours was thickly mixed into the sorcerers, the fusion of smells emanating from one bed in the center of the room. 

No. 

Belphie suddenly feels the irritated flick of his tail and the weight of his horns that have appeared against his will on his body. Shove it down, Belphegor.

He peels himself from the glue that binds his feet to the doorway and steps hesitantly into the room. The room reeks of Solomon, and not just from his scent. Glistening suncatchers whimsically dangle from the ceiling, one wall is adorned with old, dusty books from floor to ceiling, magical trinkets rest precariously on the edges of drawers, nightstands, and any other surface, and plants large and small sprout from the pots scattered around the room. There are countless empty mugs he has forgotten to bring back down to the kitchen shoved onto any previously vacant surface.

Belphie’s attention moves from one piece of junk to the next before focusing on the bed itself. It looked to be what the humans call a “full sized” bed, big enough for two humans to fit, though Belphie figures it’s only as big as he and Beel’s beds back home. Must be a tight squeeze for two. The fluffy blankets are crumpled disproportionately to one side while the other side is draped primarily with just the sheet. He presses a palm into the mattress and it sinks less readily than Belphie would like in a nest. He pictured the two of you picking it out together. 

“Now, MC,” Solomon would say in his smarmy tone, “It’s best to have a mattress that is somewhat firm. It deters one from oversleeping, and it will be good for your spine in the long run. Trust me, I know from experience that you’ll wish you had taken better care of your bones when you’re old.”

Belphie groans at the thought before dipping down into the side that smells most like you. Your scent is thick and fresh, as if you had slept there just last night. Belphie snarls and immediately jumps up, the propulsion of the springs hastening his movement.

I bet he doesn’t even take the time to nestle into their pillows Belphie thought to himself as he glared daggers at the side that smelled more like Solomon. To inhale their pheromones and feel enveloped their scent and appreciate it. 

Since you left, it wasn’t uncommon to catch even Lucifer resting in your bed on occasion. They were all guilty of it. It still retained your scent, and the brothers found that comforting late at night when they cannot escape their respective longing for you. Recently, though, the aroma has begun dissipating, a combination of time and the brothers’ own smells erasing your scent clinging to the fabrics. Belphie had been excited to take a few moments at least to dive into your sheets and smother himself with your scent. He could bring it home with him and savor it for at least a week if he didn’t wash his jacket. He could cling to the hoodie he wears tonight during his slumber and pretend you were still there with him, nestled against his body and in his bed. But it turns out the scent of your bed was contaminated.

Fortunately for his sanity, he didn’t smell certain hormones or fluids or anything to indicate any funny business happened between the two of you in these sheets. That’s for the best. If Belphie had been hit with the scent of lust mixed with the scents of the two of you, he thinks he would have vomited directly on your comforter.

“Did you find my bed? I knew you’d go looking for it.” You tease, clutching the rail as you stare innocently at him from the stairs. 

“Uhm. Yeah. I found it.” Belphie turns to face you from the room, and his eyes motion to the bed in front of him. He makes no attempt to hide the displeasure on his face. Surprise answers it on your own.

“Nope, that’s Solomon’s room.”

“I can smell you, MC.” Belphie’s eyes narrow as he  replies, pointing to the side piled with blankets, “You sleep on the left.”

“I hang out on the left.” You say, climbing the last few steps and joining him in Solomon’s room, “but I don’t sleep here, not usually anyway. I pass out sometimes, but we just watch shows and play games here a lot.” 

You point casually at the TV shoddily hung on Solomon’s wall opposite the bed. Wires poke haphazardly out the bottom and trail their way to a couple of consoles buried in junk beneath.

“There’s this cartoon I’ve been obsessed with recently that makes me think of you, actually. It’s about these kids who are cute little animals, and they go to camp on a magical island. It’s so soft and cozy and comforting…I keep falling asleep when I turn it on. I wish I could watch it with you. Maybe next time I’m in the demon realm, we can set it up in the attic.”

You pap on his bicep and signal him to follow you, flowing from Belphie’s side, out Solomon’s door, and to a second door Belphie had yet to open. 

Oh.

As you push the door in, a current of your sweet smell crashes like a wave over Belphie’s face. Your scent is like an intoxicating mixture of coffee, books, whiskey, and sugar all mixed together. You smell like home. A contented smile forms and he makes his way to you, careful to seal Solomon’s scent away with the bedroom door on his way out. 

You’re suddenly thrusted into a brief whirlwind of confusion as you’re grappled by Belphie, knocked off your feet and plopped down unharmed into the comfort of your bed. Your bed is the opposite of Solomon's: soft, fluffy, warm, and oozing with you smells. Belphie raises himself up to gaze at you lovingly before playfully nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling deeply. He releases his breath with a satisfied sigh and melts himself into you. 

“Much better.”

He peppers your cheek with soft, sleepy kisses until he has you a grinning, giggling mess. 

“Let’s take a nap until dinner is ready. Barbatos can finish the rest.”

Barbatos

This was not part of Barbatos’ plan, but he could reassess and regroup. After all, this was only temporary. He would assure that.

Step 1: Serve Lord Diavolo to the best of his ability while he brings about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: Assure the swift and successful coronation of Lord Diavolo. King Diavolo. 

Step 3: With King Diavolo’s rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, any dissension against angels or humans in the devildom would not be tolerated. The streets of the demon realm would be safer - safer for you to reside in the devildom permanently.

Step 4: With the realm made a better place for you, you live with him, in his care, for the rest of your days. He thought perhaps an emerald in the ring would be best, accented with black diamonds. He had not yet decided whether silver or gold would look best for your band, but he was more than happy to admire you for as long as it took to decide what best suited your coloration.

For now, however, his face remains unwaveringly pleasant as he silently makes note of the dusty floorboards and spattered kitchen counters. He knows Solomon. Solomon doesn’t clean. Not to Barbatos’ standards for your living accommodations, anyway. He watches silently for a few moments as you work alone in your kitchen, smaller than he thought you deserved to have access to. It would have bothered him that Solomon offered no help had Barbatos not also known  he would have rendered each and every item on the menu inedible. All your hard work ruined.

You see him because he allows you to see him. While his presence would ordinarily be welcomed, today your cheeks flush in shame.

“Listen, I know it’s not the cleanest.” You shyly return your attention to the onion you skillfully chop against the cutting board. “I haven’t really had the time to deep clean, not with lessons and work and preparing for the party and…” You trail off, exhaustion lacing your voice. Your eyes seem misty.

“Please, MC, allow me to help. Do the mushrooms still need to be sliced?” Without waiting for an answer, Barbatos swiftly saunters over, scoops the mushrooms off the counter beside you, and drops them gently on the counter in front of himself. One mushroom considers bouncing off the counter, but decides it wouldn’t dare under Barbatos’ watchful eye. You realize your face must betray your emotion.

“Barbatos, I’m fine, really. It’s just the onion.” You point to the onion with your chef knife, and you plead, “you are my guest. I won’t make you work.”

“I am your friend.” He responds, his face focused on the task in front of him as he reaches for the utility knife in your set. He begins quickly and expertly chopping the mushrooms into perfect, uniform slices. “And you are overwhelmed. Your home is dirty because Solomon does not help you with cleaning like he should, yes?”

You remain silent for a moment, considering if you should out Solomon for not doing his share. Barbatos does not allow you to refute it.

“It has been centuries,” Barbatos interjects your thoughts before you can argue. “but Solomon was once royalty. He is independent now, yes, but he never learned how to clean as he should. I fear he is slipping back into the comfort of being taken care of without taking care of you in return.”

You look up at him, and for a moment, you think you see the flash of a scowl before his expression is once again carefully moderated. You had seen it because he had allowed you to see it.

“And of course,” he continued, “you must be doing all of the cooking as well. If he had any part in it, you would certainly be dead by this point.” He finally glanced us at you, his lip curling ever so slightly into a playful smirk. 

The joke catches you off guard and you honk out a laugh.

“One time,” you say through your laughter “I caught him trying to clean the bathroom with bleach and ammonium. Unreal. The man is a master alchemist, and yet he accidentally makes mustard gas in the toilet!”

Barbatos laughs earnestly along and shakes his head. He finishes the last mushroom with a flourish and plops the pieces into a bowl, ready for their future use. He turns around and leans his tall frame against your small counter, assessing your space for a few moments. 

“If I were Solomon,” he mused, almost to himself, “I would ensure your accommodations were immaculate. I would prepare you healthy, delicious meals. Perhaps I would allow you to join me in the kitchen, if only for us to spend the time together. And I see your garden needs attention. I would gladly serve you tea made from those rose petals there once I had finished with the pruning.” He speaks wistfully.

You chuckle. “It does sound nice to be taken care of every once in a while. What with the brothers and Solomon, I can be spread pretty thin. Not a lot left to take care of myself, you know?”

“Perhaps one day, I’ll have the pleasure of doing it for you.” Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush. You look up at him, and he gives you a knowing glance. You hated when he did this. You always wonder: is he teasing, or does he know?

“I have not looked into your future if that is what you are wondering…though I admit, I have considered it once or twice.” You turn to face him fully, the surprise evident on your face. Barbatos chuckles and looks you right in the eyes. “It would ruin the sweet surprise. It will happen because I will make it happen. Your current arrangement is temporary, I assure you.”

Before you can comprehend what is happening, the soft fabric of his gloves are against your cheeks, the warmth of his hands permeating through. He leans in slowly and lovingly plants a petal-soft kiss on the tip of your nose. He holds himself there a moment. You hold your breath until he lets go.

“Now, what do we do with these mushrooms?”

Diavolo

“Yeah, I’ve been doing well!” Lie. “It’s kind of nice to be home, you know?” Lie. “It’s refreshing to be around my own species again.” That one was presented as a joke, but it was still, factually, a lie. Did you usually lie this much? Diavolo hadn’t noticed if you had. And he would have noticed.

It was ultimately his fault, and he understood that. The devildom was under his rule, and had his whims overtaken him, he could have ordered you to stay. It just wasn’t time. Not yet. There was still so much work to be done.

Step 1: Bring about the integration and unity of the three realms.

Step 2: His swift and successful coronation.

Step 3: With his rule solidified and the King’s word absolute, no one would dare go against him when he appoints you as Human Ambassador to the demon realm. With such an important position within the new government system, so much as a finger lifted against you would be treason in his book. He would make the realm safe for you.

Step 4: Argue to the council that it is a political marriage. 

That’s the dream that keeps Diavolo going, anyway. His golden orbs lift from the mushrooms he unceremoniously shoves to the side of his plate (subtly, so he didn’t hurt your feelings, of course) over to Barbatos, who watches you with a genuine smile as you speak. What were you saying? Something about a stray cat? Back down to the mushrooms.

He knew the likelihood of this plan succeeding was low - just a dream to keep him working at his goal of unification. What will probably happen is that he will have a spouse chosen for him. Someone he might not yet know, whoever the council sees as the most advantageous choice. Likely a female, as is tradition. Likely traditionally pretty, the boring kind of pretty. Barbatos would intervene only enough to ensure he doesn’t dislike his appointed queen. Maybe Diavolo would even grow to love them one day. But it isn’t what he wants. Who he wants. He would be expected to produce a line of heirs - full-blood demon heirs - and cambion mutts just wouldn’t do. Not his words, of course. That’s what the tabloids said the last time the two of you were seen in public together. They called you his concubinatus. The writer of the article is longer there. No one knows where they are now except Barbatos.

“There's not really anything preventing MC from marrying me, right? Since we’re both humans and all." Solomon’s words echo in Diavolo’s mind, his smug grin still burned into the back of Diavolo’s retinas. The brothers had been more than willing to marry you into the devildom, but Diavolo had not allowed it. If anyone was going to marry you in, it was going to be him. He knew the likelihood of your union going smoothly was slim, but it would not stop him from trying. He was not above monopolizing you. He was the demon lord, not the lord of selflessness. But you were out of his hands here and settled in Solomon’s. He couldn’t stand it.

“Do you think you’ll ever get married, MC?” He later asks you casually as he helps you prepare the bonfire. Barbatos had half-heartedly attempted to dissuade him, as his suit could get dirty, but Diavolo insisted. He hadn’t gotten any alone time with you today, and he likely wouldn’t see you again for a while. He didn’t care about some frivolous suit. You drop the stick you’re holding, but it tumbles into the fire pit, so you figure you can leave it be. 

“Where did that come from?” Your flushed face is camouflaged well by the fading sunset. You quickly grab another bundle to continue building the fire. Diavolo casually swirls the wine in his goblet and peers in, probably inspecting some aspect of the wine that you have no eye for. The sunset hides his own flush from the alcohol. He remained silent, expecting an answer.

“U-Uhm. I suppose that depends on if I find the right person.” You fumble with a few sticks in your grasp before dumping them beside the fire. You crouch down and begin strategically arranging the sticks around lumps of kindling. 

Truth.

“Could you…” Perhaps he shouldn’t ask you this. He’s admittedly afraid of the answer. “...see yourself marrying Solomon?”

“What?”

Silence.

“I…” You thought for a moment, laughed, and shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

LIE. 

Diavolo expertly shoots the rest of his wine like it wasn’t at least half a goblet.

“We aren’t together or anything, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. You aren’t being very subtle, you know.” You tease.

This was true.

“I guess I could see marrying Solomon if things didn’t work out, but…there’s someone I have my eye on.” You shove some dry grass between the logs, trying to hide behind your task.

True. 

“I don’t see how it would work. I don’t think I would be anywhere near his radar, but…” Perhaps it’s the sunset, perhaps it’s the wine swimming around in your blood, but you felt a bit bold. You look up, directly into his eyes, slightly luminous in the encroaching darkness of the night. “...The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Oh shit, wait, what? Are you coming on to him? Right now?

“Do…I know this person?” Perhaps it’s the wine he just downed, but he too is feeling bold. The corner of his lip quivers ever so slightly in the attempt to hide a grin threatening to spread across his face, just in case he’s wrong. But he doesn’t think so. 

“You do.” You stand up and dust your hand off on your pants.

Truth.

He tries to bite his lip to keep his face in line, but his lip rolls beneath his fangs and the corners of his eyes crinkle. The way you’re looking at him, there’s no way he’s misinterpreting it. You take a shy step closer, your eyes flit from his eyes to his fangs and quickly back up.

“Is it…me?” Diavolo asks playfully, now inches from your face.

“No.” You shrug. You casually toss a few more sticks into the fire pit.

With a snap of his fingers, the fire is lit. It roars to life and lights up your faces, your goofy grins and reddened cheeks on full display. The warmth of the blaze is matched only by the warmth of Diavolo’s arms snaking around your waist. 

“Liar.”

His mouth envelops yours in an instant.

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@dokidokidemons, @ourfinalisation

[torturedtypewritersdept]

of canyons + wildflowers - pt. one

✯ pairing:

ex!cowboy!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

it's time to head home to Montana

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, mentions of Montana, nostalgia, heartbreak, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, mentions of gunshot wounds (not rafe), etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

This isn’t your scene – well, it was at one point in time. But, it’s not now. Not anymore. The barstool you are perched on is rickety. It compliments the aged wood floors beneath you well. You’re shocked really, because you were sure all traces of life outside of the city were left behind when you packed up your car and fled from Montana. It’s been so long since you’ve been in a situation like this, remnants of home littered around you. It feels foreign, like a life you were meant to live but didn’t. You were almost positive that New York didn’t have dive bars, yet, here you were; in one. You cursed Danica, thinking about how she practically threatened to kill you if you wasted one more minute on your hometown sweetheart, whose name you’d never reveal to her. This version of you is what she knew; an act on your part that was purposeful in an attempt to erase the girl you used to be – the girl that only he could know. She’d never know the girl that he knew or the pain that was left in his wake. You’re not sure why she’d been so obsessed with finding you someone to have casual sex with. But she was. So, she did what she does best – she held her metaphorical loaded gun to your head and forced you onto Tinder; somewhere you swore you’d never be because it was fucking beneath you. You take a sip of the apple flavored beer in your hands, waiting for prince charming, hoping he wasn’t going to be a raging cunt. You’d had enough of that, you didn’t need more exposure to it. You almost don’t hear his voice over the music, but when you do, you turn quickly away with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Tall, dark, and handsome – that’s what he is, drenched in work clothes and a cowboy hat. For someone who didn’t know you pre-city, pre-business meetings, pre-college, she sure pulled this nightmarish trick out of her magician’s hat. For the normal broad, it’s a dream come true. But, for you, it’s quite frankly the worst scenario you could’ve possibly dreamed up. Because Patrick from New York isn’t your Rafe from Montana. He never could be because no one can mimic that kind of charisma – the kind that emulates blowing wind that knocks you off your horse, yet, somehow keeps you coming back for more. Nope, no one could ever be him and even if they could, you’re not interested. But, Patrick is easy on the eyes, that doesn’t get past you. Nor, does his sickly sweet southern drawl or attempt to have one. You can’t tell if he’s a real cowboy or not, or if he’s trying to emulate being a big fish in the small pond of New York – pretending to be something he’s not in an attempt to create an edge for himself. That’s what you’re trying to convince yourself of when he grabs your elbow and speaks again. 

“Well, howdy darlin’ – are you with me?” 

He questions, wondering if you are the girl that he’d been speaking with on the other end of the phone. That girl, she seemed to be pretty gungho to meet him, but as he approaches you and drinks you in, he’s not so sure that you’re her. 

“I’m y/n.” 

You smile warmly, though a bit dejected. 

“Patrick.” 

He replied, his smile assaulting you like molasses on your tongue. It’s not fair how smooth he feels against your skin when he speaks. It should create butterflies in your tummy, but it doesn’t. Instead, all you can think of is blue eyes and the purple hues of a Montana skyline and a horse named bronco. It makes you miss home, miss him; to have a stranger this eerily similar to him in your vicinity. You know Patrick can’t win the great war between your heart and Rafe mother fucking Cameron – no one can. Many have tried and no one has ever succeeded. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think I need to go home.” 

You said, kindly. 

“Am I that bad looking?” 

He replies with a smirk and a deep chuckle. It’s something Rafe would say, you notate on the invisible pen pad in your brain. You almost smile, but you don’t, your face instead sporting a furrowed brow at his insinuation that you need to find him cheeky. 

“Patrick – it’s Patrick right?” 

You ask and his smile lines seem to retreat back toward his lips, the fullness of his cheeks that are adorned with a five o’clock shadow is dissipating before your very eyes. He nods at your question after pondering on it for a moment. 

“I’ll spare you the ‘it’s not you, it’s me' speech. It’ll save us both some embarrassment, just know that it really is me and no matter how inviting and warm you seem, nothing will change that.” 

He smiles at you again. This time it’s confusing – the way he wears his smirk almost earnestly. 

“So, what’s his name then?” 

He asks, tucking a stray hair away from your eyes that were now cast down toward the beer in your hands. Your eyes almost pop out of your skull as your gaze shot up toward his chiseled jaw. Shock littered your features as this total stranger saw right through you. 

“What?” 

You asked, mouth agape. 

“You heard me darlin’ – what’s his name?” 

He asks again and you chuckle dryly. 

“Rafe. Rafe Cameron.” 

You whisper in what you think is a voice only loud enough for you to hear. But, you’re wrong. Patrick hears you and he nods, his hand coming to the small of your back. 

“I hope it works out with Rafe, sweet girl. But, he’s a loser for letting you go.” 

You chuckle at his remark, brought out of the conversation you’re in as your phone rings – Dad littering your screen. 

“Excuse me, I’ve gotta take this. It’s my dad.” 

You mutter, pushing through the crowd and answering the phone as you exit the doors, the crisp autumn new york air hitting your skin. 

“Hey, daddy. What’s up?” 

You ask, as the ringing stops. 

“Hey, sweetheart. How’s your night?” 

He asks with a quiver in his voice. 

“You saved me from a bad date, actually. What’s wrong? You sound funny.” 

You ask, unsure why you’re so unnerved by his tone.

“listen, baby — you need to come home.” 

He states and immediately you know that something has gone morbidly wrong. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as you wait for the blow of his news. 

“What is it? Is it mom? O-or the horses? Does the ranch need money? What’s wrong daddy?” 

You can’t see it, but he’s smiling tearfully at your incessant questioning. You – always the worrier; his sweet girl. It guts him to tell you the truth.  

“It’s your brother, baby. He was shot. It’s touch and go right now. We don’t know if he’s going to make it. Just – just come home, baby.” 

You're gutted by the revelation. Yet, somehow you knew, like only a twin can. You weren’t aware of the home you were referring to when you had previously spoken to Patrick about leaving. But, now you are. 

Montana is no longer in the rearview mirror. That’s the last thing you think about before you frantically hail a cab to the airport with no thoughts of retrieving any of your belongings from your apartment. Getting to your brother, the only thing driving you.

TAGLIST:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt

[stxrr-strxckk]

"Trust me darling, I'm not the man you think I am." part  II

Work rivals to lovers with Carmen Berzatto. (read part I here!!)

Pairing: Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x fem!reader

Synopsis: Maybe Carmy's work crush isn't as one sided as he thought...

Any warnings?: Not very proofread writing, cursing, and some innuendos

What's that on the record player?: Pretty girls make graves; The smiths

The only thing Carmy thinks about when walking into the kitchen is himself. Things like how he's going to smoke everyone in that damn kitchen like they were a pack of cigs on a smoke break. He'd make sure they knew he was the best, and there was nothing they could do about it. He was a man on a mission, laser focused on whatever he had to cook for that night. Nothing could get in his way.

Except you.

You, with the loud mouth and messy station and attitude like no other. If you weren't somehow royally fucking up another one of Carmy's dishes or moods, it was because you two were in a screaming match in the back of the kitchen.

So of course it's natural of him to be watching your every move, making sure that whatever the hell is going on in that brain, that it doesn't fuck up his routine like it has so many goddamn times in the past.

Right?

Yes, it's perfectly normal for him to spend every minute of his job, the one he worked so hard to get, ignoring everything but you. Hey, he's just being prepared. How else to make sure you're not getting in the way of his perfectly planned out station?

But lately? Carmen was beginning to realize his staring was a bit more than just a precaution.

God, ever since that fucking lamb he couldn't keep his eyes off you. That memory lived rent free in his mind 24/7, and he found his consciousness drifting there every free second he had.

Especially with what happened with the mint jelly.

"What about the mint jelly?" Carmy felt a little jolt go through his body. The look on your face, so innocent and pure. Something in him wanted to ruin it, make you feel the sin that covered his body. The hope in your eyes and the smile threatening to curve onto your gorgeous lips was enough for him to give in to your demands.

"Fuck, really? Yeah. Fuck. Let's do this." He could feel himself smiling, and you soon return the favor. How could you not? Carmen rarely smiled, but when he did? You had to admit, it was adorable. There was a child-like, naive charm about that grin. He was like a little kid again, and you just wanted to hug him in that moment.

"Great! Yeah, let's uh, let's go over here, and you can show me how to do this. Properly." God, were you really being nice to Carmen Berzatto? Fuck, what kind of demon had possessed you tonight?

You follow Carmy as he shuffles towards your station once again. He grabs the pan holding your runny jelly, grabbing a nearby spoon to taste. You feel heat rush to your cheeks. It was embarassing, really. Here was probably the best chef in all of New York-and he was taking time out of his shift to help you make a fucking jelly.

As he takes the spoon in his mouth, Carmy can feel his eyes widen. While yes, the consistency was off- it was barely even jelly, anymore, the taste was there. And it wasn't even half bad.

"Mmm," he savors the flavor, and you look at him anxiously. "That," he points to the pan. "is good shit."

"Really?" you let out a sigh of relief, and Carmy nods. The look on your face makes him want to smile again. Your bright eyes and wide smile have him thinking one thing: cute.

"Yeah, uh, I mean- it's not perfect. Definitely not perfect. Like, it's all runny and shit- and that's-that's not good. But the flavor is spot on. It's- it's fire." he replies, wiping the corner of his mouth on his sleeve before setting down the spoon.

"Thanks." you say awkwardly, gazing down at the floor. You hate to admit you're scared to meet his piercing blue gaze.

"Damn." Carmy says, placing his hands on his hips. "At least I know why they haven't fired you yet."

And just like that, Old Carmy's back.

"What do you mean, why they haven't fired me yet?" You inquire, looking up at him with slight annoyance. "Are you questioning my ability?"

"What? Oh fuck- no. No. Not at all." he stammers, trying to recover. "I just meant that- while the taste is good, the presentation is sloppy, which isn't- it's not what most restaurants want. So it's like, surprising if you haven't tasted the food that you're still around. But- but I tasted the food, and- you know what, I guess I was wrong."

"Wow, Carmen Berzatto admitting he's wrong? That's shocking, considering how fucking stubborn you are." you retort. Thank god, you were beginning to get worried that maybe you were a total asshole to this guy for no reason. But nope, you were right. Carmen's a dick.

"I- how am I stubborn? How? Give me one- one fucking example of me being stubborn. I fuckin' dare you." he raises his voice, and you take a step towards him.

"Gee, let me think. How about every fuckin' day, not taking any suggestions from anyone because you think we're all fucking below you?"

"Okay, okay- first of all, I don't think you're below me-"

"Then how come you never take anything I say seriously? It's like-"

"Don't fuckin' interrupt me, I'm trying to explain myself- if you'd let me-"

"Hey, maybe I wouldn't be interrupting you if you fucking listened to me every once in a while-"

"Maybe I'd listen if you had good ideas-"

"What, like your ideas are better than mine?"

"You know what, yeah! And my dishes are too, bitch!"

"The fuck are you saying about my dishes? You saying I'm a bad chef?"

"Actually- yeah! Yeah, I am saying that! You're a bad chef! You. Are. A. Bad-"

"Oh fuck off, Carmy!"

"Make me! Fuckin-"

"Last time I checked, this was MY station! So how about you leave me the fuck alone, Carmen?"

"I'm only over here 'cause you needed my help so goddamn badly! That lamb was fucking so raw I could hear it fuckin' bleatin' still!"

"I didn't ASK you to help! You just fuckin- sauntered over like some macho man-"

Ah, classic Carmen. Back to bickering with everyone he knew. Especially you. The other chefs start to gather around, watching your argument with the bastard. You two were leaned so close together, faces inches from the other's as you two screamed at each other.

"...Yeah, I said it, and I fucking meant it! And I'll say it again! You're a fuckin'-"

"HEY!"

Your voice fell silent, as well as Carmen's. The group of chef's surrounding you two turned, revealing a head chef who didn't look too pleased.

"Back to work everyone. This is a kitchen, not a preschool. Leave the fights for the playground."

That seemed to end it, and the crowd dispersed. You stared at where the crowd once stood, but Carmy snapped you back to reality.

"Back alley. Now."

You followed him, confused. Why were you going to the alley? To argue more? Or maybe he had something else planned. You shivered at the thought of him pushing you up against the brick wall, trapping you between his strong arms and doing whatever he wanted to you. You wish you didn't enjoy the idea.

As you left the kitchen, coat in hand, cold night air greeted your skin. It was accompanied by the smell of smoke. Carmy leaned against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his lips and a lighter in his right hand.

He glanced over at you, and raised his eyebrows. "Cig?" he offered the pack to you, and you shook your head.

"Smoking kills, you know." You shiver, and he shrugs.

"Why do you think I do it?"

"God, that was a stupid ass line." you laugh, rubbing your arms to try and warm them up. Curse these New York winters. You looked towards Carmy again, wondering the hell he could survive without a jacket on in his freezing weather.

"You cold?" he asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"No shit, sherlock. Great observation."

He chuckles, seemingly a lot more cooled down thanks to the nicotine.

You two sit in silence for a minute, before he speaks again.

"I got a coat, you want it?"

You freeze, contemplating both your shock and your answer. Why was he being so nice? Carmy's usually the biggest asshole in New York, maybe even the united states. But here he is, offering you his coat like it's some kind of first date? Fuck, it's kinda sweet.

You nod, teeth chattering. You figure no harm done; it was either this or freeze to death on the streets of New York. Carmy takes a final puff of his cigarette, before dropping it and putting it out with his shoe. He heads back inside, returning with a heavy winter jacket. He puts it around your shoulders, and you start to feel warmer.

"Thanks." you say. He doesn't reply, enjoying the background noise of the busy New York streets. You decide this is as good a time as ever to cool down, let off some steam. You had to admit, it did get heated in there. You regretted some of the things you said, but there was no way in hell you'd admit that to him.

"Sorry I called you a bitch."

"What?" you laugh. There's no way Carmen Berzatto just apologized. He never apologizes for anything, but now he's saying sorry to you? Of all people, you?

"I said I'm sorry I called you a bitch. Wasn't cool on my end."

"... Apology accepted." you reply awkwardly, trying not to smile. It was oddly sweet of him to actually say sorry for once. "Sorry I said you were an asshole."

"Nothing I haven't heard before." he shrugged. "Plus, you weren't wrong. I was being an asshole."

"Glad you noticed." a laugh escapes your throat. Carmy feels himself blush, but maybe it's just the cold biting at his cheeks.

"So, should we head back inside?" you offered. "I don't know about you, but I'm freezing to death."

"Yeah, sure." he agrees. "You go first, I'm gonna wait out here a bit longer." he adds, watching as you rush back inside, to the heated kitchen.

"Fuck..." is all he manages to say, staring up at the dark sky. It started snowing, he noted. There was already some piled around from the last few days, but this one seemed different. This was one to enjoy. This was one for friends, for family, for lovers.

He wished you'd stayed out here with him.

A/n: Chapter 2 of my work rivals fic is DONE! Hope y'all like it, I'm pretty invested in this series. Tell me if you've got any ideas on what should happen next! Remember to reblog, like, follow, and send in requests! XX, Starr!

Wordcount: 1,885

[fbfh]

Had to take this to the professional 🫡

We need more dad tony stark content (literally anything you got)

Literally starving

Thank you 😌

thank you for giving me more excuses to talk about this. Tony is such a good fucking dad in general, but he's especially great when you get sick. if you're in new york, he probably notices cause you're not up as early as usual. idk where this came from, but I can hear him clear as day walking into your room and smoothing your hair to wake you up, saying

"Hey pumpkin, sun's out." you only grunt in response, but it's not your usual sassy I don't wanna wake up grunt. It sounds softer, like you actually can't get up yet.

"You feeling okay?" before you can answer, he's totally on it. "jarvis, run a vital scan."

He rolls you over onto your back so he can look at you. you look... pale. you don't have the usual vibrance to your skin, it's gray and faded. you look like if you weren't lying down, you'd pass out. Your eyes are puffy and watery, your lips are chapped. You're not yourself. While Jarvis runs a diagnostic scan on your vitals, Tony also gets to work. he carefully sticks a microneedling patch on your arm to check your blood - something Strange helped him whip up, among many other ways to monitor your health without all that clunky invasive hospital equipment - as Jarvis gives him the low down.

"Elevated body temperature of 101.3 degrees fahrenheit, swelling of the sinuses, elevated white blood count..." Jarvis rambles on and on while describing your simptoms, only interrupted by an agressive coughing fit.

"And a rather nasty productive cough."

You look up at him and try not to get teary, you know crying will just make you feel more dehydrated and achy.

"Dad... I don't feel good..."

He looks down at you so warmly, and with so much love.

"I know, kid."

He stands up, determined to do everything he can to kick this cold in record time.

"Alright, your schedule for the week is cleared." He cuts you off as you object. "Ah-bup-bup-bup. I don't want to hear it. You are officially on bedrest until further notice. Jarvis, order out for some of that soup we like, some cough drops, and popsicles."

He looks down at you.

"You want ice cream? What am I saying, of course you want ice cream. Jarvis, throw in a few pints of Stark raving hazelnuts and bunny tracks."

He grabs the remote for your tv, putting on your favorite movie and has dum-e wheel you in a box of tissues. He grabs some vaseline and cold medicine, along with a fresh cold water and your favorite flavor of sports drink.

"Now. I want you to lay back, I want you to stay cool, and I want you to get some rest. And you're a Stark, so staying cool should be no problem." He gives you a kiss on the forehead, then stands up to move all his work to stuff he can do at home, and tell Pepper to cancel or reschedule the rest so he can spend the rest of the day watching movies and tv shows with you between naps. You can hear him muttering to himself as he calls Steven over to come check on you. If you weren't so tired, you'd find it funny that the only person your dad trusts to be your family doctor is also a wizard.

"Can stop aliens from invading earth, I can make an arc reactor that can fit in the palm of my hand, how have we not cracked this cold and flu season thing yet?" he mutters, making a mental note to discuss it with the rest of the Avengers at the next team meeting. you drift off to sleep feeling a lot better than you did when you woke up, and thinking about debrief folders titled Avengers v. Rhinovirus.

[solomon-revisited]

my copy has finally arrived... sixteen old songs from my earnest friends

THE CORONER'S GAMBIT LINER NOTES

TRANSCRIPT:

HE was a guy from California who'd fallen in love with a woman from Iowa. She was working at a water testing lab. They lived in a very small house whose pipes froze every winter. The landlord would come by and put space heaters under the sink. Years later, they retained the memory of the water coming back on - the sudden sound of the shower, the rush from the sink. They slept on a foam mattress in the bedroom in the summer, and on the couch in the living room in the winter, since the house did not have central heating, rendering the bedroom essentially uninhabitable from December through March.

They were not really the kind of people to plan things: they had fun when and where they could on an austere budget. The ice skates they bought used from Play It Again Sports made for fun Christmas mornings on West Indian Creek in Nevada, one town over from where they lived. He learned to cook, and to bake: they didn't go out to eat, because there really wasn't any place to go out and eat, though on occasion they would get a pizza from Casey's, because their town had a Casey's. Under the right circumstances a gas station pizza can be just the thing, and they sometimes found themselves in those circumstances.

He made music which was slowly reaching a wider audience. If he played in New York or Chicago as many as a hundred people might show up. He was idly entertaining the idea of becoming ambitious about it: as a child, he'd been pretty pretentious, and although he was working hard to shake most of that off, a little pretension isn't a bad thing in an artist. Just as a seasoning, as a little extra flavor here or there.

One summer he took a job as a harvest help at the Farmers Cooperative Exchange down the street from the very small house where the pipes froze in winter: getting the corn and soybeans into the grain elevator and into a big Morton building where the beans formed giant mountains, which he sometimes had to climb to knock down the peaks. If you don't knock down the peaks the beans get too hot and might rot. The job didn't pay much, and he wasn't good at it, but during slow stretches he would write song lyrics on scraps of paper or in a small notebook, and when he got home from work and washed off the crop dust, he'd set the lyrics to music. "Elijah" was written like this. So was "The Alphonse Mambo."

He took a Greyhound bus to Omaha to record some of the songs, so that the album would have a nice varied feel to it, but he got very sick, which is not an uncommon thing to have happen after a Greyhound ride, and only a few songs came out the way he wanted. He kept those, and then they got married and moved to Ames because the City of Colo had purchased their home from that landlord and intended to knock it down, which they did do, he affirmed years later: and in Ames he put the album together, and then later they moved to North Carolina and a whole lot of other things happened, too, but the main thing is that this album is a document of a time when two young people in love hadn't yet located the spot on the current that would carry them to their destination, twenty-five years later, parents of two beautiful children, worlds away from Colo, the place where, for better or worse, as the saying goes, all this really began.

Dedicated to my wife, Lalitree, and to the City of Colo, Iowa.

This is the original text of the paper bag that housed the first edition of this album. I am leaving it intact rather than revising it. Stage Bidet's moment comes ever closer: let the people tremble in fear.

Elijah, Baboon, Horseradish Road, Onions, and the Alphonse Mambo recorded in Omaha with Simon Joyner, Chris Deden, Lonnie Methe, Brad Smith, John Kotchen, Steve Micek, and Pat Oakes. All of them are owed money and are to be treated with deference and respect. Five of the remaining songs were recorded at Main St. in Colo, which is a small town in Iowa, and the rest were recorded two blocks north of Emma McCarthy Lee Park in Ames, which is a considerably larger town half and hour west of Colo. Though happy circumstances currently have the Mountain Goats claiming Ames, we continue to straight up represent Colo and will put the slap down on anyone who disrespects it. Transfer and levels by Bob Durkee at FBE in Pomona, California, with Joel Huschle attending. As a result of some regrettable but inevitable conversations that took place during the transfer, Bob, Joel, and the Mountain Goats have formed a new, super-powerful punk rock machine called Stage Bidet, and we urge you to watch for us and clear us a wide berth whenever we're in your town. Instead of thanking all the people I always thank to whom I say, collectively and with no less sincerity: thanks. I am just going to spend the time left us here addressing an absent friend. Rozz: I wish you hadn't've gone and killed yourself. Though I hadn't seen or spoken with you in eight years since that night when, as far as I can tell from the reports I was later able to piece together, you tried, not without reason, to strangle the life out of me out there on the landing of Damien's apartment and I probably never would have ever seen you again anyway, it was still hard to hear that you were gone. All your friends had been predicting your death since the early eighties, and no-one could bear the thought of you growing old, but none of that did anything to soften the blow when I heard. I don't really believe that the dead see or hear what we do out here in the realm of corruptible things and I don't imagine that the anyone reads the scribblings on the backs of album jackets to them, either, so I am really only addressing a memory. To that memory I say: I thought of you now and then when I was writing these songs. I don't suppose they'd do much for you, but I thought of you all the same. All your friends miss you in some way, a little or a lot. The rumors about your final hours are dismal and tawdry: I am sure they would please you immensely. For your sake, I hope that the Christians were wrong and that you were right about whether the faithless are destined for eternal torment. In the event that you are a ghost and are wandering the earth moaning and rattling chains, I moved to Iowa from California four or five years ago, stop by any time. Have a seat on the couch until I get home from work. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator, or to the whiskey and sake on top of it. Make yourself right at home.

Album cover design by Tom Hart

[astermath]

nemesis

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: you made carmen’s life hell in culinary school, except you had no idea. now he finds out you run a restaurant in Chicago, and he’s confronted with the emotions he projected onto you.

word count: 2.9K

notes: kinda got inspired by the lyric "I'm the sweetest girl in town so why are you so mean?" by lana del rey but this was prompted by this ask!!! anyway this starts off in carmy's culinary school era and then goes to somewhere around the start of S1. this will def get a part two!!

♡ LANDING PAGE ♡

warnings: cursing, slight mention of suicidal thoughts, angst

comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content! 

You were like the average person's depiction of an angel.

You were so incredibly good at what you did, excelling in every class they got, you were unanimously liked by everyone, always helping out your peers and taste testing, and for all he knew you probably fucking rescued baby polar bears in your spare time too.

You were perfect.

And he couldn't stand it.

Always saying good morning to him, with that sickeningly sweet smile, soft hands easily preparing the dishes he struggled to perfect. And that wasn't even the worst part. Because the teachers loved you too.

"Such an interesting spin on the use of this ingredient."

"I can tell you've really perfected this technique."

"What a unique combination of flavors..."

And they were right. Of course they were right, it's like you were a machine crafted in some kind of lab to outcook him in every way possible.

And it was stupid to be jealous, to almost hate you over it, because he was excelling too. But you were excelling more. His praise seemed worthless compared to yours, and he couldn't even dream of making the kind of connections you seemed to make with the other students.

So he grew to resent you. Even when he went to go work in New York, he couldn't shake the image of you standing in the corner of his kitchen, humming softly while chopping vegetables as you received all the praise he longed for. Some would say his hatred bordered on obsession, he would tell them it’s none of their fucking business.

Over the years, he’d managed to at least slightly shake the image of you in his kitchen, though at his lowest points, he couldn’t help but think of you. Of course Mikey was his primary motivation, but he couldn’t help but feel like possibly surpassing your success spurred him on too. But then again, what success? For all he knew, you quit cooking altogether, he hadn’t heard from you since he left for New York. That was, up until a few days ago.

It had been so busy already, and Carmen was spent trying to keep up with the pace of this business running on its last legs. He groaned into his hands, before going back to chopping tomatoes for his sauce. 

“Hi! Can I just get a braised beef sandwich to go?”

Your voice made him flinch. He almost cut into his finger, that honey dripping sweet familiar voice sending a jolt of anxiety over his entire body. No way, no fucking way you were here, in Chicago, in the Beef of all places. He thought he must have hallucinated it, stressed out of his mind from the intense lunch rush they’d just had. But he had to know, he had to find out if you were there, setting foot in his establishment.

So he turned his head to peer over to the counter, and there you were.

Angel of the academy.

Arch nemesis of his nightmares.

Ordering a sandwich from his run down restaurant.

You barely looked any different, and the sight of your smile made his stomach drop. Or flutter. It did something to his stomach at least.

He was just going to let you leave, pretend like he imagined it so he could continue to live his life and believe you were out there pursuing anything besides cooking. But he couldn’t. He had to know, something deep inside him forced him to put his knife down and walk to the counter as you were heading to the door, and call out your name in questioning.

You turned, and when your eyes met he remembered how uncomfortable your eyes made him. How they’d make his face get hot, stutter, think about every mistake he’s made, like he was having an allergic reaction to your eye contact. 

“Carmen?” Your voice was soft, unsure, as if you were coaxing a wild animal out of its cage.

Richie looked at Carmen, confused as all hell as to why his colleague was having a nervous staring contest with this random customer. “You know this chick or somethin’?” 

He voluntarily ignored Richie’s question, getting from behind the counter and walking up to you. A part of him wanted to bolt, slam the door and tell the others to kick you out. Luckily for him, he’d become the more confrontational type recently. 

“Holy shit, it is you!” A bright smile adorned your face, and he swore you were about to go in for a hug when you moved your arms, only to awkwardly cross them when he pulled away a bit. “What are you uh... Doin’ around here?” A stupid question, you were aware, but anything to make conversation with your long lost classmate.

The question made Carmen tense up. Although it was obvious he worked there, the Beef was not... In its prime condition, to say the least. He was a bit embarrassed to admit he owned it, but he wasn’t about to lie to you and make even more of a fool out of him in the long run.

“Makin’ sandwiches.” He sighed, looking down at his shoes for a moment, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. “So uh, what about you?”

“Ah, I run my own place like 25 minutes away from here.” 

Ugh.

Of course you fucking did. Of course you, star student that you are, owned your own restaurant in Chicago. He bet it was running so well too, and you didn’t have to worry about half the shit he dealt with on a daily basis.

“Ah, wait, here,” You reached into your purse and pulled out a business card, handing it to him. “We’ve been up and running for only a few months, but it’s going pretty well!” You clutched your hands together, excitedly awaiting his response. 

“Cool, cool...” He held the card, carefully reading over every letter. Sunrise diner... Huh. “A breakfast place?”

“You got it!” You chuckled, slightly nervous as you moved back and forth on your heels. You hadn’t seen Carmen in ages, and besides the added tattoos, he truly hadn’t changed that much. He’d matured, surely, but his demeanor remained the same. Curt, bold, something distrusting about it.

“If you want, you could uh... Stop by, maybe?” You fidgeted with the sleeve of your jacket.

Your question made him look up from the card, and a million answers ran through his mind. Did he want to? On one hand, he felt like if he spent any more time with you, he’d start feeling like even more of a failure than he already did. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be bad to scope out the competition, and who knows, maybe the place was shit, and he could sleep at night knowing at least both of your restaurants weren’t doing well. 

“Sure, why not.” He shoved the card into his back pocket, crossing his arms. “I’m kinda swamped right now, but I’ll let you know. Maybe this weekend or something.”

“Sure, yeah, totally! My contact info’s on the card!” Your excitement almost made him distrust you even more. Were you planning something? Was this part of some elaborate scheme to drive his business into the ground? Either way, he’d find out sooner or later.

“See you around!” You waved him goodbye, heading outside as he stood there, no reply as the last thing that was heard was the jingly of the bell above the door. 

Carmen took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before turning back around, seeing Richie lean against the counter with a shit eating grin. “Ex girlfriend?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

“Fuck off cousin.” 

God, he wished you were just an ex girlfriend. 

You were his biggest competition. 

Usually when Carmen was up this early, it was to get some preparations done for the restaurant, or if he just hadn’t slept at all during the night.

But now he stood in front of your restaurant, and fuck, he had to admit, it looked good.

From what he could see from outside, the place had a very cozy feel to it. The theme was a mix of a 50′s diner and a casual breakfast spot, and from what he could tell so far, there was no lack of customers either. But that didn’t say much, maybe they were paid actors, right?

He entered and made eye contact with the barista behind the counter who offered him a warm “welcome” and a smile, before looking to the side and waving at someone in the kitchen. Not long after, you walked out, bright smile plastered over your face. He always wondered how you could be so energetic this early in the morning.

“Hey,” he said, hands in his pockets, “nice place.”

“Aw, thanks Carmy!” Your chest warmed at the compliment. “Saved a seat just for you, just follow me.”

He was seated in a booth just for him, and he had to admit, he liked this setup. He could eat his food in peace at least. The vintage feel of the leather cushioning of the benches was pleasant, and the jazz music playing made for a pleasant atmosphere. He’d almost say he would visit a place like this outside of work hours, if you weren’t the one running it.

He looked over the menu, noticing a wide array of breakfast sandwiches, pastries, milkshakes, and the usual coffee arrangement. Nothing too crazy, though he secretly wished he could have chosen something difficult for you to make.

He ordered an eggs benedict sandwich with smoked salmon, a coffee, and a cherry danish. Should be a pretty good test to the culinary quality of the place, he thought.

A waiter came by to drop off his food soon after, and he hated to admit his mouth watered at the sight of it. Everything looked so fresh, and the plating was very pretty too. But cuisine isn’t about how stuff looks, if it was, the Beef would have never existed, that was for sure.

He dug in with his knife and fork, and started eating. He sat through his entire meal in complete silence, simply going through the motions of enjoying a normal breakfast. The barista watched him with careful eyes, as if he was Gordon Ramsey and they were a shitty bakery on the verge of bankruptcy.

He put down his fork, taking a deep breath. 

It was fucking delicious. 

And every moment he’d spent enjoying it made him angrier and angrier.

So he got up, seemingly in a bit of a hurry, and stormed outside, the door hitting the wall with a loud thud when he exited.

You watched it happen from the doorway to the kitchen, face painted with worry.

“Carmen! Carmen wait!” You started to catch up with him as he walked over to the parking. He didn’t like it, you thought, no, he hated it, he hated it so much he couldn’t even dignify you with a moment of feedback. 

Carmen’s face ran red as he could practically hear the blood rushing around his ears, hands starting to reach for his pack of cigarettes as you approached behind him. 

“Please, just tell me what was wrong, I-I’ll change it, I can make you something new, off the menu, w-whatever you want, I--”

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up!?” He turned around, yelling loud enough to have you frozen in your tracks. His pack of cigarettes was squeezed tightly in his hand, crumpling the cardboard packaging under his grip. 

You felt the paralyzing effect of his loud and furious voice, a cold sweat running over your body now. Before you could even open your mouth to say anything else, he stepped closer, and you didn’t even have the guts to back away.

“Every day in culinary school, you made my life hell! The one thing I have ever fucking excelled at, been noticed at, felt like I should have been alive for, you overtook me in!” His ears rang, and any noise besides his own yelling was muffled. 

“You, with your perfect knife skills, endless patience, and your little angel fucking face, always at the back of my heels, the corner of my damn kitchen, making me feel inferior! And then-- then I finally get away from you, think I’ve got some direction in my life, feel a sliver of confidence in my abilities, and what do you fucking do!?” He points at you, finger just an inch away from poking into your sternum. 

“You enter my city, my restaurant, and just come and remind me about how much better you’re doing! Because you love to make me feel like I’m worthless, liked I’m always 5 steps behind, don’t you?” He furrows his brows. “Tell me! Tell me that’s why you’re here, because you want to shit on my work, and make me feel worthless!”

You can feel his hot breath on your face, and your knees start to feel weak. You open your mouth, and the tears that had long been building in your eyes start to roll down your cheeks. The first noise that comes out of your mouth is barely half a word, strangled between the knot in your vocal cords that had formed out of fear. You swallow, and finally manage to speak up.

“Carmen, I-I’m... I’m so sorry...” You sob.

The person you’d looked up to since day one of culinary school thought of you as a bully. And you had no clue.

You knew Carmen didn’t like you, but you never knew he hated you this much. You’d noticed the tension in his jaw as you received good critiques, the strengthening grip on his tools when you got close to his station, the lack of eye content he provided when you did briefly talk. Just as much as you noticed his amazing instinct for flavor profiles, his ability to improvise, his insatiable urge to keep going. 

It inspired you. So you kept going too. Even though deep down, you’d wish he acknowledged your work.

And now he did, he finally did, but not in the way you’d always hoped for. The man you’d always admired, who was awarded Chef of the Year the same year you considered giving up entirely, was currently inches away from your face, watching you cry.

His expression softened just a bit, and the surrounding sound of cars passing by and distant jazz music finally came back to him. You were sorry. So sorry. You looked like it too, hands clutching the fabric of your apron, shaking slightly, cheeks stained with tears. Shit. Shit, he’d really messed up.

“I-I didn’t... I didn’t know, I swear, I never meant to, I was just--” Your voice broke between sentences, “I was trying to keep going, keep holding on, and you were so... You inspired me, y-you’re...” You swallowed, looking to the side, afraid to face his scowl. “You’re the reason I settled in Chicago. I wanted to-- to work with you, or for you.”

You remembered trying to reach him, but he’d changed numbers, and with his severe lack of social media, trying to find him was damn near impossible. By the time you were ready to start cooking again, the year you heard he won Chef of the Year, you found out he was based in Chicago. You searched online, but to no avail. You figured your best shot was to try and start something in the city, and pray to whatever god would answer that maybe you’d cross paths again.

He stood still, head still reeling and processing what you were saying. This was new information for him, and that changed... A lot. You, the person he’d spent like half of his career trying to catch up to, admired him. He’d almost think you were lying if it wasn’t for the tears streaming down your face, he started to realize just how badly he’d acted out just now.

“I--” He started, taking a step back to get out of your personal space. “Fuck, I should-- I should go.” 

You stood there, arms crossed, enveloping yourself and avoiding his eyes like a wounded animal. And the best thing he knew how to do at the moment, was flee the scene. He sucked at his emotions, hell, he could barely even handle his own, how was he going to help you after just cussing you out.

So he backed away, leaving to the nearest metro station to get out, leaving you alone outside. 

Carmen got home that same day, back against the door as he sat on the floor of his apartment. He felt horrible, like there was a gaping hole in his chest, and he imagined you felt about a hundred times worse. He couldn’t believe what he did, all because he projected this horrible false narrative onto you, stemming from his own self hatred. 

He sighed shakily, pulling out his phone and calling his older sister, Natalie.

“Hey, what’s up Carmy?”

“Hey Sugar-- uhm-- so you remember--”

“Are you okay?” She questioned, clearly worried at the shakiness of his voice.

“I’m fine, I promise, please can you just-- just send me the info for the therapy thing. Please.” He sighed. “I’m uh... I’m startin’ to believe I might actually need it.”

A pause remained for a moment, and he almost thought she hung up.

“...Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar   @spr3id   @deadandstill   @777iii  

[teecupangel]

Been holding a thought on my brain for too long abt putting Desmond in Situations: have you watched Dimension 20's The Unsleeping City? At least s1. Bc 1) watch it, it's so good & 2) I specifically in this situation think abt Bad Weather being the normal version of the bar in Broadway that Kingston & Misty go to. Pre-canon Desmond seeing past the Umbral Arcana & getting involved in magic shenanigans..... Yeah.

You know his latent Eagle Vision is peeling out & seeing the magic shit happening in New York City. You KNOWWWWW. Please tell me one of your followers has been thinking this too.

I have good news for you, nonny, because I have just started watching Dimension 20 this year but I am a slow watcher so I’ve only gotten as far as the first 3 episodes of Unsleeping City season 2 (atm, I think my fav D20 moment is with the Bad Kids’ “Spring Break, I believe in you!” XD). I’m one of those few people who’s pathway to D&D and TTRPG is Oxventure→No Rolls Barred/Chaotic Neutral→Mystery Quest so I am absolutely late to the party XD

Anyway, for this one, we need to do a bit of housekeeping.

I’m basing this on the title of the opening theme New York 2006 because I think that’s the year Season 1 was set (feel free to correct me though)

This means that Desmond would be 19 at that point and we can push it that he’s already working in Bad Weather.

Now, I like the idea that Bad Weather is the normal version of the bar that Kingston and Misty goes to but, may I suggest an alternative?

An earlier possible way to add Desmond to all these shenanigans is to make Bad Weather one of the bars Sofia and Kugrash go to for their ‘hairy baby free drinks scam’.

Towards the end, maybe the last bar they go to, Desmond walks up to Sofia and requested that they leave because the big rat pet she had would make other customers uncomfortable.

Sofia and Kugrash are already drunk at this moment but they hear Desmond call Kugrash a rat and are like “you can see him???”.

Kugrash immediately remembers Desmond as one of the homeless kids he helped when Desmond first moved into the city and had clocked him as ‘strange’ because there was something about him that felt... not exactly magical but almost magical-adjacent.

This ends with Sofia and Kugrash inviting Desmond to their new party as a recruit (with Sofia thinking both (1) this boy needs someone in his life to take care of him and now I’m trying not to cry because my cheating (as far as she knows) husband and I never had kids and (2) maybe he and Pete can get along as newbies with me)

And that is how our Intrepid Heroes managed to recruit an Assassin Rogue who may or may not multiclass to Gloom Stalker in a different playstyle to Liam Wilhelmina.

.

Unorganized Notes:

This is a Desmond who doesn’t know about his destiny or his ancestors but his training on the Farm is so ingrained into him that it makes him a Rogue.

Because of his lack of knowledge, we can argue that he could turn into a Thief Rogue instead of Assassin in this one because he had never assassinated anyone before.

In terms of playstyle, he’d actually be more a close combat attacker that uses some kind of switchknife with sneak attack being part of 'bonus action: hide -> main action: sneak attack')

Another suggestion I have is for Desmond to subclass as Phantom, more because of ‘Whisper of the Dead’ where every short or long rest, he can gain one skill or tool proficiency and the flavor text describes it as one of the ghostly presence shares its knowledge to the user. Desmond has no idea what this means because this is pre-canon but this is actually his ancestors managing to create a link to him in some form thanks to the Umbral Arcana mixing with his ‘destiny’.

If you want Desmond to be given the illusion of choice and not be a Rogue, we can make him a Warlock ‘worshiping’ an unknown Fathomless. In this setup, they don’t know who Desmond’s patron is and Desmond himself just shrugs because he can do magic so that’s nice. Part of his deal is that he receives messages from his patron in the form of texts on his phone. They all come from an unknown number he can’t call and the texts are always like ‘The Scholar is pleased with your desire to learn about the history of this place’ or ‘The Prophet is worried of your health and asks that you requests your companions for a rest’ or ‘The Hunter suggests you still find a weapon even if you are using magic’ and this is some weird shit even for Kingston because it seems like Desmond has multiple patrons or maybe even an entire pantheon of unknown gods/beings.

Abstergo is going to be so fucked in this one because, by the time they try to kidnap Desmond, he’d probably be around level 10~12 and maybe even living with Pete in his apartment.

And yes. Desmond absolutely knows Ricky as Mister March as well XD

[notthatmultifandomwhore]

Finding Leopold *request from @boomveronika

Warnings: stranger in apartment (do NOT let strangers into your apartment), fluff

It was a peaceful, dark night. Well, so peaceful as it can be in the middle of New York City. I was walking in the middle of Central Park, my usual routine on week nights. The lights of surrounding building lit up the park, and the crowd of angry New Yorkers pasting by added a flavor to my day that was unique to New York. 

I usually head home around this time, but something was telling me to keep walking. So I did. I kept walking around until I sensed something strange. Usually I don't pay much attention to the people around me unless I'm in danger, but I noticed a tall man who was wearing an outfit of royalty, which was obviously very out of place in New York, which was rare to see since, well, it's New York. I tried to not pay him any mind, but he looked as confused as a paperclip in a produce aisle. I headed to head in his direction, and noticed he kept asking people something, but everyone ignored him. As I walked past him, he put his hand on my shoulder, trying to grab someone's attention, and that's when I made eye contact with him. And as I did, it seemed like the world stopped.

Even though this man was giving off a strange vibe, his eyes seemed so soft. He had a beautiful pair of hazel eyes that I have only seen in a dream. They were breath taking. A second later, the world kept spinning.

"I beg your pardon, madame. May I ask what year it is?" He asked frantically.

"It's 2024." I replied, still in awe. He grew pale as if he had seen a ghost, but I also got a sense that he felt the same spark as I did. But he still seemed confused.

"No no no, this can't be." He walked away in the opposite direction as I was going, but something told me to follow him. So I did. 

His legs were much longer as mine, but I tried my best to keep up. A few minutes later, I found him stopped him at a cross walked. He continued to cross as a car almost hit him, but the driver slammed on his brakes.

"I beg your pardon." The man says to the driver. He then came back to the end of the crosswalk where I stood. He saw me again and came up to me and grabbed my arms in his big, warm hands. 

"Madame, I must request assistance. I have no idea where I am." He says. Once again, I'm in awe. I never feel the need to listen to a complete stranger, let alone someone who may be drunk, high, crazy, or all of the above, yet something about this man was different. 

"What is your name?" I asked the man.

"Leopold Alexis Elijah Walker Thomas Gareth Mountbatten." He responded. Even though the answer didn't really convince me that he wasnt crazy, the fact that he didn't slur or burp while saying his name was impressive to me. 

"Leopold. That's a very interesting name." I said.

"Yes, I was named after my father. But as I previously stated, I am in need of assistance! I must find a telegraph."

"I have a old phone at my apartment. I would let you use my cell phone, but it's dead." As I said it, his face grew with more confusion. 

"What is a cell phone?" In my mind, I thought that this man may actually be crazy if he didn't know what a cell phone is. But once again, something told me to help him, so I did.

"We'll get you help sir. Come on, Ill let you use my phone." I took his hand so I can guide him through the crazy streets of New York to my crappy apartment. His hand was so warm and tender. I grew nervous this very attractive, crazy man. Thank God I cleaned up early today, so else I'd be horrified.

We went up the stairs of my apartment building cause the elevator was broken. Once we got there, the man seemed less nervous, but he still seemed very confused. As we entered my apartment, he checked out everything. I know I shouldn't have strangers in my apartment, but he seemed...safe.

"I must say, I am beholden by your act of kindness." He says as he looks through your apartment.

"It's no problem. You seem very confused. Where are you from?"

"England, I am the 3rd Duke of Albany." I looked at him with shared confusion. 

"Right. Well, the phone is over there." I pointed to the wall. He walked up in it, and picked up the receiver. It looked he didn't know how to use it.

"Marvelous. Is this Bell's talking telegram? I have seen a prototype at last year's fair." He said.

"Wow. Well, feel free to use it and I will be making something to eat in the kitchen." I walked away even more confused. Why am I helping this man? And why am I so attracted to him?! 

I went into the kitchen to heat up a frozen meal, when I noticed him following me. 

"May I ask why you are alone in this mansion?" He asked. I giggled.

"I wish this was a mansion. This is just an apartment. A bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom."

"Well, no matter what this is considered, I still wonder why a lady like yourself is alone in this... apartment."

"Well, I don't what a boyfriend and I don't expect to have one anytime soon."

"I see. I am truly sorry if I have offended you in anyway." He came closer to me as he apologized. 

"It's alright. Well, I think it would be good for you to find your way home."

"Well, that's the thing, madame, I simply can't. My home is in a different year."

"I see. And what year would that be, Leopold?" I asked, playing along.

"1876." He stated. All of a sudden, I got goosebumps. As crazy as it sounds, I kind of believed him. I have seen countless movies like Back To The Future where people time travel, I just thought it was a myth. I stood there in awe as I absorbed my thoughts. And all of a sudden, I asked.

"Do you need a place to sleep tonight? I only have a bed that we'd share, but I don't think it's safe for you to wonder around tonight."

"I'd be honored." 

"Ok, stay here. Don't move!" I ran to my bedroom to make sure it looked okay and to move anything embarrassing into my closet. Then, I went into the kitchen to see him fiddling with my air fryer. 

"I have never seen anything like this before." He shared. I giggled at his cluelessness.

"Come on, you should get some rest and I'll tell you about everything tomorrow." I once again grabbed his hand and led him to my room. At this point, I am using any excuse to hold his hand. I opened the bedroom door, and led him inside.

"Sorry it's a little messy"

"Quite the contrary." I blushed a little and I'm not sure why. 

"Um, I don't know if you have other clothes, but I have some old men's clothes from a old friend of mine that you can wear. They should fit." I went to my closet to grab a T-shirt and sweatpants for him. I came back to him admiring my art on the wall.

"This is astonishing." He said. He looked in my eyes and I felt a feeling I have never felt. Like I wanted to kiss him and be in his arms. But I tried to keep my composure. 

"Oh thanks. Um, here's your clothes. The bathrooms that way."

"Thank you." He walked out to the bathroom. I ran quickly to my vanity to make sure I didn't look wild. I fixed my hair and made sure there was nothing in my face. A few minutes later, he came back in the clothes with his clothes folded ever so neated in his arms. He set them down on a chair in my room, and stood as if he didn't know what to do.

"Well, I would like to retire on the floor to prioritize your comfort." He said.

"Oh no, it's fine. There's plenty of room in my bed. Plus, it's super comfortable." I say as I lay down in the bed, shaking in my boots by the fact that an attractive man is in my room.

"Very well." He then goes on the other side of my bed and unfolded the comforter and laid in the bed and placed the comforter on him neatly. He laid on his back and closed his eyes. "Goodnight"

"Goodnight" I say back as I climb under the comforter and lay on my side. I'm so nervous as I feel the heat of his body behind me. It makes me feel things I've never felt before. Girls in my high school would always talk about crushs, but this feels like more than a crush. I then feel him move to his side behind me. It feels as if I turn around, we'd be face to face. I wait a few minutes, and pretend as if I'm asleep, and turn around to see if I'm right. Sure enough, we were face to face, and his eyes were open, looking straight into mine. I freeze.

"I must say, I must give you something in return for your kind gesture." I feel a moment of boldness.

"How about a kiss?" I say, half joking.

"Very well." He then slowly places his hand on the side of my face, brushing of strands of hair that were covering part of my face, and slowly leaned forward. I stayed frozen, still in shock that a man is in my bed, let alone about to kiss me. Suddenly, our lips connect. And it wasn't just a peck or anything too ranchy. It was perfect. His lips slowly moved with mine and sent tiny shocks within me, as if our souls were connecting. It felt magical. The kiss lasted a few minutes, then he pulled away. He then looked into my eyes. 

"I must say, I thought from the very second I saw you that we were soulmates. And I think this kiss has just proved my theory." He then kissed my forehead ever so softly. "Goodnight." 

I stayed frozen, wondering what the hell just happened. "Goodnight."

I turned on my side again, and he wrapped his arms around me from behind. I know I should've have let him into my apartment, but maybe he's right. Maybe we are meant to be.

[alice-after-dark]

A Dark Web Romance (Concept)

Just a fun concept that has been sitting in my drafts for a while.

@hiemaldesirae hope you feel better :)

TW for violence, abusive relationships, vaguely implied sexual abuse, cannibalism, gore, murder, implied NSFT, and other canon-typical triggers. Contains abusive StaticMoth.

Vincent Haynes, who goes by the online name "Vox," is an elite hacker who makes his money on the Dark Web doing jobs for the worst of the worst. It is through this work that he becomes acquainted with a user known as TheRadioDemon, a cannibalistic serial killer who hosts a podcast. Vox has never missed a show since discovering him and has developed a crush on the man. Sure, he may not have any interest in which parts of the human body are best suited for a stew, but he is more than willing to listen to that gorgeous voice explain it to him in graphic detail while he carves said flesh off his screaming victim.

When the host expresses difficulty with his website, Vox jumps at the opportunity and soon the two are exchanging private messages daily, even long after the problem has been fixed.

One day months later he meets Alastor Bourreau, a new resident in their apartment complex who has moved into the apartment across from Vox. Hailing from New Orleans, he has come to New York City for a change of scenery, a "change of flavor" as he puts it.

There is something...familiar about the man, but Vox can't put his finger on it.

Vox and Alastor become fast friends, something Vox's boyfriend, a jealous and unstable pimp named Valentino, does not approve of. Their relationship began after Valentino hired Vox to do some work for his snuff website and now Vox is trapped in Valentino's never ending cycle of love-bombing and abuse. He is too scared to leave the pimp, knowing full well that Valentino could have him killed if he wanted to.

He expresses these fears to TheRadioDemon during their nightly chat after a particularly bad fight that leaves Vox with two broken ribs and a sprained wrist.

And suddenly Valentino stops calling him. He stops showing up at his apartment unannounced over some perceived slight or another. He stops contacting him altogether. It's strange and confusing and Vox doesn't know what to make of it. Valentino won't answer his calls. In fact, they all go straight to voicemail until finally the inbox is full and he can't leave any more.

He decides Valentino is probably on another one of his binges and that he'll hear from him eventually.

But he doesn't. What he gets instead is a link to a livestream sent to him from TheRadioDemon. That's...strange. TheRadioDemon has never been a visual person, always sticking to his podcast format. Still, he clicks on it without hesitation.

Front and center is Valentino.

The man is strapped into a medical chair with his chest cut wide open. Vox can see the rise and fall of the man's lungs. A message pops into his inbox.

Do you like it, darling? He broke your ribs, so I took his. I also took the liberty of removing that foul tongue of his.

Another message.

What should I take next?

Vox already knows what he wants before the question even comes.

Cut off his fucking dick.

It's three hours before the video ends, the main chat alight with suggestions and comments. The video goes dark every time TheRadioDemon acts, broadcasting Valentino's agonized gurgles and wails and cutting back on to reveal the new damage done. Vox says no more, simply sits back and watches the show.

He is only half watching Valentino though. Instead, his gaze is constantly being drawn to the small red fawn plush sitting on the metal table, starkly innocent beside the bloodied instruments of torture and placed so purposefully.

He knows that plush. He bought that plush.

Moments after stream ends finds him in front of Alastor's door. He's barely had time to knock when it opens and he is yanked inside and subsequently slammed up against the door and kissed.

"I was so hoping you'd catch on," Alastor mumbles against his lips. "I've had my eyes on you ever since you first tuned into my broadcast. I could hardly contain myself when I finally found you. You looked so delicious."

Vox isn't sure if he means that literally or figuratively and he doesn't care. It might be both. It's probably both. He's okay with that.

[romanshomeonwattpad]

Girl in New York | 6

pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au!

”__"= Y/N

masterslist | next chapter | last chapter

sypnosis - you overhear Art’s friends talking shit about you.

warnings - angst, none

author s note - hope you guys enjoy, i have two more chapters planned after this. let me know how ya’ll feel about this story so far!

word count - 2k

© elliotsblunt 2024. do not repost, modify, or translate.

You snatched Art’s sucker from his mouth. It was warm on your tongue, earning a look of pure irritation. “It tastes sweeter when it’s yours.”

Apparently he was a super genius at math, so Art offered to help you tutor for your upcoming math final. Although you denied his assistance, he initiated, and you couldn’t turn down spending more time with him. It was peculiar. Around him, you were able to act like your true self. A tiny part of you hoped he felt the same.

Birds chirped above as the wind gently blew his hair away from his blue hues. The cherry flavor slowly dissolved into your tongue, Art snatching the lollipop back from you and popping it back into his mouth. A giggle left your lips, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he chuckled.

He was sat on the bench, whilst your bum was placed on the table. Art looked up at you before taking the sucker out and sipping his coffee. “You should put your hair up more often.”

Your cheeks grew hot, “I look like an egg with my hair up.”

“I kinda see it, actually.”

“Stop,” you snatch his pop, sticking it back into your mouth. His smile twitched at your action, but then grew.

“Your parents are sweet.”

“My dad thinks you’re a good looking dude—and my mom won’t stop talking about how cute your girlfriend is,” Art studied you as you continued to speak, sitting up from the table and standing onto your feet.

“She even said ‘you should be more like her __’. Less revealing and more polite.”

“It’s an act. As soon as we’re alone, she gets high on coke and complains about every single person she meets. She said you were a lousy slut that count through a straight shot—and something else..”

Strikes of irritation hit you. “Art….what the fuck?”

“You flirt with me right in front of her, _ _. I can’t blame her for not exactly liking you.”

You scoff, “So what? I’m a lousy slut? I thought you said I was yours?”

You made sure to emphasize the last few words in a mocking tone, causing Art to grind his jaw. He stood up as well. “Chill, _ _. You know people say shit when they’re…”

Right. It was meaningless sex talk.

It never mattered to you. What anyone said or thought about you. But when it came to Art—maybe it did. You both had an understanding. He wasn’t supposed to judge you. You weren’t a saint, but agreeing with her calling you a lousy slut ticked you off. He acted as if it didn’t take two to tango. Perhaps this whole infatuation you had for him was one sided. Now you weren’t saying you liked him, but maybe…..

……maybe you were interested.

“So you wouldn’t care if I slept with other guys?”

Something shifted in the air. Art was far away. Physically, he was standing right in front of you. A foot away from one another. But emotionally, he was miles out. You stared at him, still holding the sucker in your hand. For some reason you were clutching it.

He wasn’t looking at you, keeping his eyes on the ground. The leaves were brittle and broken due to the season—pavement cracked from constantly being walked on for years. Kids giggled in the background, contrasting to the dim atmosphere that was created between the both of you.

“Art?”

“I heard you. And no, I wouldn’t.”

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t stop your lips from moving. Usually when you grew angry, you brain vomitted. “Cool. I’m actually thinking about hooking up with this one dude.” 

Art pressed his lips together, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Wear protection. Wouldn’t want you to catch anything.”

“You think so highly of me, Art. Who’s to say I haven’t been fucking some dude already?”

His eyes darkened. He then shrugged his shoulders.

“In that case, how about we tag team you? Show you how we treat real bitches.” His tone was frustrated and rough. He had never used it before.

You tossed the sucker onto the ground, stepping on it before sending him a nasty look. Art clenched his jaw as he watched you turn around and storm off.

hey. its _ _.

i can’t make it to practice this week.

Art responded almost immediately.

That’s fine.

After that, a couple days passed without anything eventful happening. You focused on your final exams, and ended up doing pretty well on the math one. Art helping you out seemed to make a major impact on your grade. As for the rest of your classes, you managed to pass. Your parents were pleased so that’s what mattered.

On a random Tuesday, one of your classmates—Gen, asked to grab boba with you. Your favorite shop was down the street, so you offered to meet her. You decided to walk, strolling through the busy streets of your neighborhood. Ice began to freeze over the poles, snow beginning to fall during the night and reach up to being a foot tall. But you absolutely adored it. In any situation, you’d rather be too cold than hot.

Hands stuffed into the pockets of your black leather jacket, you texted Gen that you arrived. She said that she was going to be a half hour late because of traffic. You replied that it was no worries and you’ll order your drinks beforehand since it was pretty packed.

As you stepped into line, you earned a few stares so you decided to go onto your phone. But then you heard a familiar voice a few spaces ahead of you. “She practically throws herself at Art. I think it would be the best choice if he just canceled their lessons and booted her trashy ass to the curb.”

You froze in place. Tiffany….was talking about you…to who?

At your favorite fucking boba shop.

And the things she was saying….

Who the fuck did she think she is?

An unfamiliar male voice sounded. “Sounds like fatherless behavior. He’s probably an immigrant running a hotel or something.”

Your blood ran cold. Fists balling at your sides, you tried your best to keep calm. Whenever someone had thrown a nasty curse or two at you, it was whatever. You didn’t really care about yourself, nor what others thought about you. But when it came to your family, war was always an option. And seeing as Tiffany seemed to ‘ love ‘ your parents, showed how right Art had been.

She was fake.

“Could explain the way she acts. I mean—you should’ve seen what her mother wear wearing. It looked like she shopped at the McDonald’s down the stre—“

Your patience had snapped.

Stepping out of line, your heart beat thudded in your ears as your chest raced with anger. It all happened so fast. You heard laughter before interrupting their dick fest. “What did you just say?”

You had it in the bag. Confrontation was never a problem for you. Whenever you had something on your mind, nothing could’ve gotten in your way to make sure that person learned not to fuck with you. Whether it was a three hundred pound man built from pure muscle, or a 6 foot 3 famous basketball player. If they pissed you off, they were in for it.

So you opened your mouth, ready to curse Tiffany Barbie Bitch out. Some dude with ginger hair and beady little green eyes looked at you with a surprised look, but you didn’t pay him any mind. The blonde haired girl widened her eyes, a crimson blush covering her cheeks. “_ _. Um, hey.”

Even though that cunt had been the one to initially piss you off, that wasn’t the icing on the cake.

No.

What rubbed salt into the would was the fact that Art was also standing right there, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

It was as if time had frozen. His eyes bored into yours, fists shaking at his sides as the flesh turned white from the brutal grip. Art’s face flushed.

You froze.

It was as if the lump in your throat grew with every second. Your palms were soaked with sweat. Everything began to hit you all at once. You’re family were laughing stock to his friends. You knew Art was incredibly talented and maintained a better lifestyle than you…and was more fortunate—but you told him your family situation that in confidence.

He wasn’t your friend. He was your fuck buddy. Well, was. The only thing he was after this was dead to you.

Art didn’t give a flying fuck about you.

“Your parents are sweet.”

Fucking dick that can’t last ten seconds.

“Least you got to hear the truth,” Tiffany shrugged her shoulders, earning a snicker from the random ginger beside Art.

You narrowed your eyes. The nerve she had on her. If you hadn’t been fucking her boyfriend—you would’ve broke her crooked nose.

You looked at Art. His eyes were trained on the ground, body stiff as a statue.

He didn’t say anything.

So you left.

Fuck Art Donaldson.

He was fucking dead to you.

You ended up re-scheduling with your classmate. A week had passed without a call or text from Art. You had already smoked five packs of cigarettes in that time frame. This sudden funk you got into wasn’t because of anyone, including the golden haired boy that suddenly infiltrated your mind. Your conquests didn’t affect your personal life. It was probably because you had nothing to do now since it was Spring Break.

An old friend that you used to take tennis classes with had reached out to you. She was playing for a highly exclusive tournament that apparently costs like two-hundred per ticket—but offered two free tickets. In case you wanted to bring a plus one. And only one person seemed to pop into your mind.

When the date came, which was two days later, anxiety pooled within your belly as you you drove into the parking lot. Your plus one had told you beforehand that they were going to meet you in there. Teeth chewing on your lower lip, you hopped out the car and made your way towards the large stadium. It was a large grey building with an open surface, check in lines fully stacked back to back.

A certain sign said V. I. P in bold letters. Usually, if you came with a free ticket—it classified as a special pass. So instead of having to wait in this long ass line,you decided to go up to the door. A security guard with shades on and a brown polo shirt steps before you. “Players only.”

Your brows raise. “It says V.I.P.”

“Exactly.”

“Look, I’m not playing, but I know—“

His voice cuts you off again, with a dismissing tone to it. “Players only.”

Your eyes widen at his lack of empathy or common manners. “Listen here, buddy. Why don’t I play your gigantic as—“

“She’s with me.”

You froze in your tracks, heart knocking against your ribs like a caged bird. Dread washes over you as you refuse to turn around.

The guard lowers his sunglasses, stepping towards the source of the voice behind you. Gulping, your eyes flee to Art, who faced the security card with a calm expression. He had looked as handsome as he ever did, black hoodie thrown over his head and a pair of grey sweaters hanging loosely off his sculpted figure.

“You playing tonight?”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes widen. Art was playing tonight? You didn’t know that.

Big dude stepped aside, but not before lowering his shades once again and sending Art a rugged thin eyed look. The blonde walked past him without sparing a glance, unlike you, who flipped off the security guy. “Yeah—you better let me in. Who wears shades inside—?”

Art grabbed you by the arm, dragging you inside the hall the door lead to. It was vacant, most likely everyone in their own rooms. Your eyes narrowed at him as he shushed you with brows facing downwards.

“Don’t shush me fuckface,” you spat out, feeling a wave of pure irritation roll through you. Art pressed his lips together as you brain vomited all over him. “You’re fucking fake. The worst idea I ever made was letting you put that Gingivitis dick inside me.”

His eyes blinked in anger, yet disbelief at your words. You tore your arm from his grip, ignoring the way his baby blue eyes drew you in.

“You gonna say anything?”

His fists were balled again. The sound of his raspy breathing was the only noise in the otherwise death-silent room. A gnawing feeling radiated from your guts as Art cast his eyes to the ground.

For the first time, as you looked at him, something in your heart twitched. He had looked better than ever, skin glowing and not a wrinkle in sight on his perfectly sculpted face. It confused you, since you had lost sleep these past few days. Perhaps your insights were correct.

Perhaps Art hadn’t thought about you at all. Except for when he needs a good laugh. His lack of words made your skin crawl before he releases a small breath.

A monotone I’m sorry leaves those lips that you’ve kissed only a few times.

That’s all.

And then silence filled the space between the both of you. It was the true answer you needed. You weren’t sure why he had even helped you get in. You wish you never saw him again, but that would be unlikely for today. The disrespect he exhibited had thrown you into a messy loop of making excuses. But today it had been ended.

When you turned around, his eyes lifted off the floor.

You darted a menacing glance over your shoulder, locking eyes with him once last time. Those orbs were cloudy. His chest heavily rose and fell as you threw him a sad smile. “Me too.”

And then you turned around, never looking back.