#smart wallets for men

[gadgmanuk]

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[dumbassalex]

Just something i wanted to point out.... Wolverine quit smoking in the comics like 20 years ago after the editor at the time banned it because his father died of lung cancer, and i do mean quit, because we did get textual confirmation during the X-Force special "Ain't no dog" that Logan quit smoking.

[augustinewrites]

your little flower stall is strategically set up a few feet from one of the trendiest restaurants in this area of tokyo. 

it’s a smart spot, one that men like reo can appreciate when he’s already ten minutes late for his date. he’d quite literally just left work, a last minute meeting having forced him to get ready in the back of his car in his haste to arrive somewhat on time. his shirt is untucked and his pants are wrinkled from being left in the trunk for so long.

he winces when he catches his reflection in a window, running a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. he definitely can’t show up empty handed when he’s late and looking like this. 

“good evening,” he greets, a little breathless as he approaches your stall. his eyes scan the bouquets available, looking for any safe picks and frowning when he realizes you’re out of roses. so he shrugs and picks up whatever’s closest. some kind of yellow flower.

“yellow carnations?” you murmur as he digs into his pocket for his wallet, prompting him to glance up at you. “an odd choice.”

“how do you mean?”

“it’s an unusual choice for a date, is all.” 

he raises his brows. “how do you know they’re for a date?”

“oh, come on,” you grin, leaning against the counter. “a handsome guy like you doesn’t have someone to buy flowers for?”

he knows it’s probably just a marketing pitch, but his ego swells nonetheless. “handsome, huh?” 

you simply shrug - tease - and place the carnations back into their bucket to grab a different bouquet. you cut a strip of white ribbon from its spool, winding it around the stems. “go with these instead. if your date knows anything about flowers, these will definitely get you laid.”

reo actually laughs at that, as he strongly doubts the wannabe influencer he’d been set up with knows much about the meanings of flowers, but he’ll take your word for it. he hands you his card, not-so-secretly hoping that you’d caught a glimpse of his name on its surface before you swiped it through your machine.

when you return it to him, he pulls a handful of bills out of his wallet and stuffs them into your tip jar.

“oh,” you start. “that’s too much–” 

he flashes you a smile that’s been called ‘swoon-worthy’ before, waving you off as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “don’t worry about it! you’re saving my life here.” 

“your sex life, you mean?” you quip, but your eyes sparkle at his praise as you hand him the bouquet. “well, thank you for your patronage, sir.” 

he quickly dips his head in thanks, a little reluctant as he heads towards the restaurant. 

_____

monday mornings aren’t especially busy for you, as bleary eyed office workers don’t have much need for flowers. 

which is why you’re surprised when the man from last friday starts approaching your stall, holding a cup of what you assume must be coffee. he doesn’t quite look like you remember, from the impeccable cut of his suit to the way his hair is neatly pulled back. he’s even wearing aviators that you’re sure would look ridiculous on anyone else, but for some reason make him look like a movie star. 

he pulls them off with his free hand and hangs them off the pocket of his bag, waving at you like you’re old friends. he looks so earnest and excited that you can’t do much else than blush and raise your hand in response. 

“morning,” he greets once you’re close enough to hear. “this is for you. for last friday. i wasn’t sure what you’d like so i just got their special.” 

he holds out the cup, whose logo you now recognize from the overpriced cafe down the street. you take it, smiling. “i take it your date went well then?”

he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging. “sure.” 

“did you come to buy her more flowers?”

“ah…i don’t think i’ll see her again.” 

you perk up at that. just a little. “oh?” 

“yeah,” he sighs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “i, uh, kinda wanna see where things go with someone else.” 

oh, of course there’s someone else. a guy like him probably never has a shortage of options. (and who are you not to capitalise on that?) “maybe some flowers will help.” 

you think there’s something mischievous in his smile. “definitely. what do you recommend?”

_____

reo is running out of places to put his flowers. 

they’re all over his office. they line the entirety of his windowsill and take over the free space on his desk. a small clump of white daisies in an old coffee mug. a single rose in his pen cup. his assistant has to crane her head around a vase of lilies to deliver her reports at the end of each day. 

what can he say? you’re one hell of a salesperson. if anyone had asked him what his favourite flower was before, he’d have no idea what to tell them. in truth, he’d never given much thought to something so impermanent as flowers.  

but you easily become a permanent part of his routine. each day he stops at your stall, utilising the information he’d gathered from the internet just moments before to impress you with an educated floral choice. 

you always smile when you hand him the bouquet, and he wonders how your product isn’t sold out at the end of each day, with a smile as enamouring as yours. 

when his office is overrun by floral accents, he starts bringing them home instead. his neighbours gush about what a great boyfriend he is each time they catch him returning with a new arrangement. they say that whoever he’s coming home to must be a ‘very special someone.’

they don’t know that it’s just nagi, who barely looks up from whatever game he’s playing but comments mildly that he didn’t think reo was a flower guy. 

“everyone’s a flower guy,” he’d quipped as he unwrapped the brand new vase he’d bought to accompany the bouquet of peonies and anemones you’d given him. 

and if nagi noticed he’d come home blushing the day you called him your most important customer, he didn’t say anything.

_____

“hey,” he asks on a particularly slow sunday afternoon. you’re in the process of wrapping - by his request - a bundle of lilacs, which happen to be your favourite flower. “come to lunch with me. i can get us a table—” he points to the restaurant behind you. “—there.” 

you don’t answer right away, allowing yourself a moment to make sure you’ve heard him right. “what would your girlfriend think?”

he looks confused as you hold the lilacs out to him. “girlfriend?”

“yeah…isn’t she the one you’ve been buying all these flowers for?”

he blinks a few times before hanging his head with a chuckle. “no i— i don’t have a girlfriend.”

he doesn’t have a girlfriend. so that would mean…

“you’re asking me out,” you realize, averting your gaze to the counter with all the awkwardness of a kid receiving their first valentine. “i’d love to, but i can’t just close—”

“what would you make in a day?” he blurts. “ideally.” 

“well, ideally i’d be sold out—”

he flips his wallet open and hands you his card. “i’ll take everything then.”

“everything?” you echo. 

he shrugs, shooting you a wink. “what can i say? i’m a flower guy.”

“reo,” you laugh, pushing his card back towards him. “i’m not going to let you pay me to go out with you. just go grab some takeout and come back here. a pretty face like yours is bound to sell.” 

“you’re whoring me out for business?” 

“i’m just being entrepreneurial,” you counter. 

he crosses his arms over his chest, a handsome grin on his face. “alright, but i’ll need to be compensated for my efforts. maybe even with a kiss…”

you roll your eyes (albeit with a smile) as you point at the restaurant. “at least buy me lunch first.”

[gojoidyll]

blindsided pt 1

simon ghost riley x fem!reader

summary | you're blind and haven't realized that you were in the apocalypse. thankfully, some military men point that fact out to you.

based off of this

Your alarm blared loudly causing you to groan and reach for it. You fumbled for a hot minute, but managed to hit the off button before sitting up. You were forever grateful that your mother set up your alarm for you since you didn’t have the eyes to do it yourself. Well, you had eyes, of course, you were just blind.

Yawning slightly, you moved so that you were sitting on the edge of your bed, your feet planted on the ground. And the moment you did that your could hear the faint pitter-patter of your beloved service dog, Bob.

Bob was a chill and quiet dog, only ever barked and pulled roughly at you when a car was speeding towards you. And Bob was smart. Too smart, in fact, cause he always growled and showed his teeth when someone would flip him the middle finger for shits and giggles. He didn’t like the disrespect.

“Do you know what today is?!”

You felt your dog jump, his front paws landing in your lap as he leaned in and licked your cheek.

“That’s right, buddy! Grocery store today!”

Bob jumped off of you as you stood up, your feet shuffling a bit as you reached for your trusty walking stick.

“Let’s get ready and beat the morning rush, yeah?”

You could feel Bob’s tail happily hit against you before he trotted off to the kitchen, you smiling as you followed after.

Your morning routine was simple. Hit your pinky toe a few times, hope to god the clothes you put on aren’t inside out or backwards, pop in some toast and maybe even indulge in some pancakes, while also being sure to feed Bob. Then, if you have to go somewhere, strap Bob into his harness, get your shoes and socks on and head on right out the door (while being sure to not forget your wallet in the process).

“I hope the store isn't ’t so bad,” you said as you locked your front door before turning to walk down your sidewalk, “and that the busses aren’t crowded…,” you shivered at the memory of having a bunch of snot nosed brats petting your service dog while also being forced to stand in the overcrowded vehicle.

And as soon as you reached the end of your driveway, you heard a large crash from the house in front of you, most likely Jerry knocking over his trashcan again. Ugh… Jerry. The man was annoying as hell, and a pervert.

Just because you were blind doesn’t mean you couldn’t feel his stare on you. It gave you the creeps!

“The hell?”

Stopping you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you from Jerry’s house, your lips immediately setting into a tight line. I swear, if he is going to try and touch me again-

The moment you felt his hands grab you, you tightened your grip on your walking stick/cane and swung it down hard on his ankle. You were surprised he didn’t let our a pained scream instead of a loud groan, but was satisfied when you heard him fall to the ground and let you go.

“Sorry about your ankle Jerry, but I did warn you about touching me and grabbing me like that. Put some ice on it, and, God, take a shower. You smell like a rotting corpse!”

Crinkling your nose, Bob got the message and started walking in the direction of the main street towards the doctor’s office. Unbeknownst to you though… Jerry had gotten up and started to hobble after you, albeit slowly. But you were already far away from him to notice or care. If he had something to say to you then it better be an apology. Other than that, you weren’t interested.

After a few more minutes of walking, your dog stopped causing you to smile.

“Finally made it to the bus stop.”

You released a sigh of relief as you stood there for a few minutes. Bob sat down next to your feet. And as you waited at the bus stop, you started to get antsy. Usually other people would start to wait with you, but it must be a slow day, or… you missed the bus. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.

Then your phone dinged, signaling you that you were going to be late for the bus if you didn’t get a move on. (Your mother helped you set up alarms for when the bus stops.)

“Darn it,” you muttered, “guess I missed the bus. Come on, Bob, let’s get going.”

Pulling the leash a bit, your dog got up and started walking again. And as you walked and got out the neighborhood and more into the city, you found that everywhere was more… trashy. It was weird. It was like you were walking over more things than you typically would.

You tried to ignore the nervous feeling in your stomach, something that Bob easily took notice of as he stopped so you could catch your breath. You don’t know what’s going on with you today. Was it just nerves?

Shaking your head, you fumbled a moment before finding Bob’s head and giving him a gentle pat between the ears, “let’s… let’s just go to the small gas station shop instead, yeah?”

Bob let out a quiet woof as he started walking again, presumably to the small little gas station instead of the grocery store. Your doctor always told you to take things easy if you felt something was off after all.

And after one more block, Bob stopped in front of the door to the gas station. It was odd that there weren’t any cars trying to fill up during the morning rush, but you decided not to think about it.

“Morning, tommy!”

Your voice rang out when you opened the door (after embarrassingly missing the handle a couple of times), but surprisingly Tommy didn’t answer. Instead, you heard a loud thump in the back.

He must be in the storage closet; you thought with a grin.

“Come on, Bob.”

You tugged gently on his harness as you went through the various shelves. Frowning every now and then when you felt how little the supply was with your cane, “what the-?”

You stopped for a moment, “Hey, Tommy! Where is everything? Did you forget to restock?”

You had called out to him again, but instead of an answer, you hear another loud thump and rolled your eyes.

“Let’s just find what we can, Bob.”

You managed to snag a bag of chips, some tampons, and even a few more extra snacks and two small bags of dog food. Bob would always woof once for good products or two times for no, put that back. You always wondered how Bob got so smart, but you were thankful, nonetheless.

Then, going to the counter, you didn’t bother to wait for Tommy as you went behind it and bagged your items yourself after ringing them up and getting exact change out of your wallet. Your bills and such were stamped with brail, so that way you could tell if you were handing someone a dollar or a twenty, deciding not to fiddle with the cash register, you placed twenty-five on the counter.

“Money’s by the cash register,” you called out but was only greeted with an even louder thump from the storage closet. Shrugging, you folded your cane and slipped it into one of the plastic bags and slung them over your shoulder while opening one of the chip bags you got.

Popping a chip in your mouth you tugged the harness with your free hand, “let’s go home, Bob.”

Bob let out a small woof and tugged you to the door.

“Man, these are some pretty good chips. Here, try some!”

You flicked a piece up in the air, and not a moment later did you hear Bob snap at it and crunch it between his teeth. You could feel how his tail wagged when being granted the chip. It made you grin.

Meanwhile, four men were on the other side of the street. All of them decked out in military gear.

“Not a single living person in this whole damn city!”

“Quiet, Soap.”

“But-“

As Soap was bickering with their Captain for the tenth time that day, Ghost found his mind wandering. A part of himself still unbelieving that this situation exists. Just a month ago he was on deployment. He didn’t expect to come back to this.

Though, his thoughts were soon interrupted when he glanced across the street towards the little mart, the door opening wide as a dog walked out first followed by some.. girl? Fucking hell.

He glanced towards Price who got the message, and looked to where Ghost had his sights on.

“Soap, you’re about to eat those words.”

Soap finally looking to where everyone else was including Gaz, brightened almost immediately at the sight of you.

“I’ll be damned,” he said as he raised his arm up to wave, “hey, you! Lass with the dog!”

Minding your own business, you didn’t expect to be called out to. Especially by someone with such a weird accent-

You turned, “uhhh- yeah?”

You tried to muster up a voice loud enough in hopes that they heard you.

“Ye blind lass? We’re over here!”

You couldn’t stop the heat of embarrassment cross over your features as you still couldn’t tell which way his voice was shouting at you from except from the fact that he was somewhere behind you.

“Actually,” you called back out, “I am!”

“You’re what?”

“I’m blind!”

There was a heavy silence that followed and thinking that you have successfully turned down someone catcalling you, you turned back in the direction of your home and motioned for Bob to move again.

“Hold up!”

You frowned when you felt this person grab your shoulder, the way his grip felt sending a jolt through your body momentarily. This guy was stronger than Jerry, your walking stick probably won’t even leave a bruise if you try to hit him. Not that you could, though, since you put your cane in one of your plastic bags.

Bob let out a small growl, you didn’t need eyes to see that his was raised into a mohawk.

“Listen, I’m just trying to get home. I’m not in the mood to get mugged or anything like that, and- and if you do try something my dog will bite.”

Wrong, Bob was sweet. Sure he growled at aggressive people but he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was a service dog, and a violent service dog wasn’t a good one. (You begged to differ, especially in situations like these-)

“Soap, let her go.”

The grip on your shoulder quickly disappeared as soon a the new voice popped in. Ok, so there are two guys.

“Sorry to frighten you love, but seeing you out here just through us off guard was all.”

You scrunched your face up, “why? It’s natural to go outside, isn’t?”

You didn’t realize that they looked amongst each other until a new voice popped up, this one a bit rougher than the others, “do you know what is even going on around you?”

You furrowed your brow, “no?”

Three guys. Ok so there are three men-

“Love, it’s an apocalypse.”

Four men-

You shook your head at that, “the what now?! That’s- that’s impossible! I mean, just earlier I hit Jerry in the ankle-“

“You mean the zombie that’s slowly hobbling towards us?”

“Pervert Jerry is a zombie?!”

You wished that you stayed in bed this morning. Cause like, what the hell?!

[roosterforme]

Stiff Competition | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: After visiting your bakery one time, Bob has a crush on you. The only problem is, so do all of the other guys.

Warnings: Fluff and some swears

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bob quietly followed his friends inside the trendy, new bakery that opened near base. He had become so accustomed to the bickering between Hangman and Rooster, he found it almost soothing, even early on a Monday morning.

"No way," Bradley said, shaking his head at Jake. "You're wrong, and now you're just being stubborn."

Jake sighed calmly. "I'm just saying, there's no way anyone, Fred included, would pick Velma over Daphne. It's unrealistic."

Bradley grunted in response. "Whatever. Smart girls are always hot."

Bob just cradled his forehead in his hand and let the rich smell of fresh coffee and baked goods wash over his senses. All three men in their khaki uniforms shuffled forward as the line moved.

"Holy shit," Bradley and Jake muttered softly and in perfect unison. 

"Do you see what I see?" Bradley asked, staring entranced at the sight before him.

"Oh hell yes, I do," Jake confirmed with a nod. 

Bob immediately looked in the direction they were staring, and his breath caught in his throat. All three of them were now eyeing you up where you stood behind the counter. You were smiling at one of the patrons and filling a pastry box with donuts. 

"She's kinda hot," Bradley whispered.

"Better than that. She's fucking gorgeous," Jake replied.

Bob silently agreed with them, noting the adorable smudge of flour on your cheek. He had always been a little shy, a little timid around women. And he was not about to get into a dick measuring contest with Bradley and Jake. He would just let the two of them fight it out, because Bob was never the one to get the stunning girl.

When it was their turn to order, Bob watched the other two men trip over each other to get to the counter first. You smiled at each of them in turn, your gaze lingering on Bob and making him blush. 

"Hi! What can I get for you fellas?" you asked the three of them, and Bob completely forgot what he was going to order. 

"Hey, gorgeous. What would you recommend?" Bradley asked in a deep and raspy voice as he leaned against the counter and peered at you over his aviators. 

You chuckled and shook your head. "I would recommend the citrus muffin with orange zest."

"Perfect, I'll get six of those," he said, his smile twitching below his mustache. "I'm Bradley, by the way."

"And I'm Jake! And I'll get a dozen muffins." Bob watched Jake flash you a megawatt smile, and he wished he could be half as charming. 

"A dozen muffins?" you asked Jake. Your eyes skimmed back over Bob's face with an amused glint in your eye. 

"Actually, I'll take two dozen," Bradley said, changing his order and glaring at Jake. 

"So you want a total of three dozen muffins?" you asked before turning toward the bakery case. "Okay.... seems excessive," you muttered. 

Bob watched you intently as you packed up bakery boxes of muffins and entered them into the register. You must have known what was going on here, but you just smiled at the three of them as you worked. 

"Anything for you?" you asked, flashing Bob a smile that made him feel a little nervous. "You're awfully quiet back there."

"Uh, just a small coffee, please," he muttered, getting out his wallet and trying to stay cool.

"One hundred and twenty eight dollars is your total," you announced, and Jake and Bradley both tried to get you to take their credit cards at the same time. 

"I've got it, I insist," Bradley said.

"Use my platinum card," Jake announced loudly.

"Use mine. His will definitely be declined," Bradley replied, trying to nudge Jake out of the way.

You carefully took one in each hand and said, "Um... I'm just going to split it between both cards. How does that sound?"

When the enormous quantity of muffins had been collected, and you handed Bob his coffee, he forced himself to meet your eyes. "Thank you, miss," he said softly, as your fingers grazed against his. "You have a lovely day."

Bob watched you bite your lip as he tucked five dollars into the tip jar and nodded his head at you.

"Thanks. See you soon, I hope," you called as he turned to leave. Bob glanced back one last time as he exited the bakery, and you were still looking at him.

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

On Tuesday at lunchtime, Bob was about to eat the sandwich he had packed, but Jake suggested going back to the bakery. 

"I hope she's working again today," Bradley said, grabbing his car keys. 

Jake nodded enthusiastically. "Hot little piece like that, she's gotta have a boyfriend."

Bradley snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time I've stolen a girl from another guy."

"What makes you think she'd pick you when I'm available?" Jake asked.

Bob just tuned them out until they all arrived at the bakery. He was hoping to see you again too, but he just wanted to listen to your voice and watch you smile. He'd let the other two do most of the talking. They were good at that sort of thing.

"Gorgeous," Bradley called you. "How've you been?"

"Fine," you replied, once again smiling at the three of them. "What can I get for you today? Another coffee for you?" you asked Bob, and he just nodded in reply. He didn't need more caffeine today, but he wanted you to hand him the cup again. He'd just give it to Phoenix when he got back on base. 

Bob listened to the other two men once again order more pastries than anyone could ever need, and this time Jake pulled a massive wad of cash out of his wallet and insisted on paying for everything. Bradley had a sour look on his face that he tried to hide when you smiled at him and handed him two bags of food. 

Then he stood to his full height, chest puffed out. "Thanks, gorgeous," Bradley said, sliding his aviators back into place. Bob watched Jake try to stand as tall as Bradley, failing and looking ridiculous in the process. Bob just closed in on himself a little more, trying to blend his tall frame into the background. 

"And your coffee," you said, handing the disposable cup to Bob with another beautiful smile. His hand shook when he accepted the cup, and a little bit of the beverage sloshed down the sleeve of his flight suit and splashed onto the counter.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Bob muttered, setting down the cup and reaching for the napkins. 

"No, it was my fault," you assured him. "I'll clean it up, you don't have to."

"Bob!" Jake called from the doorway. "What's the holdup, man? You coming?"

"Uh, I'll meet you at the car," he replied, mopping up the drink and drying his sleeve.

"Your name's Bob?" you asked him softly. 

He glanced up to meet your warm gaze and nodded once. "Yes. I'm Lieutenant Robert Floyd, but everyone calls me Bob," he said quietly. 

You smiled and told him your name. "Here you go, Bob. These are on the house. Sorry I spilled your coffee."

Bob took a small paper bag from you and picked up his coffee cup once more. "Oh, that's not necessary. It was my fault."

"I insist," you told him. "See you again soon?"

He looked down at his feet and smiled. "Yes. See you again soon."

"I can't wait."

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

On Friday morning, Bob was a nervous wreck. He'd been thinking about you all week, but he knew the other guys had been, too. They had been talking about you a lot, but Bob was too shy to tell them he was also interested in you. 

He'd given the coffee to Phoenix the other day, but he smiled when he opened the bag and found a croissant. His favorite. It seemed like you knew. And it was flaky and perfect, and he couldn't wait to see you again and get another one. 

"Bakery time!" Bradley announced. "Time to visit the hottie. You coming, Bob?"

Bob fell into step behind him and Jake, but then Reuben and Javy were joining as well. "Everyone's coming today?" Bob asked, squeezing into Reuben's car along with the other four. 

"Yeah, can't wait to see this girl," Javy said. 

"Heard she's sexy," Reuben agreed. 

Bob just stared out the window and sighed. He was just going to have to get over his crush on you. It was the only way to keep his heart from breaking. He wouldn't look at you, and he wouldn't talk to you. And he definitely wouldn't eat another croissant. 

He shuffled into the bakery behind the others, and there you were. He tried to look at all of the baked goods in the case, but you greeted him by name. You greeted only him by name. 

"Hi," he managed, and the other four guys turned to glare at him. 

"Gorgeous, what would you recommend today?" Bradley asked you.

"Blueberry muffins are good today," you replied, and you started packing up a box full at Javy's request. 

"So, how long have you been working here?" Reuben asked, leaning so far across the counter, he may as well have just jumped over. 

"I'm the owner and primary baker," you told them, and Bob was so impressed. 

"Wow, gorgeous. Your muffins are really famous around here. We can't stop coming back for more," Bradley said, smirking at you. But you were looking at Bob again as he inched forward. 

"Did you make the croissant? It was very good," he told you, unable to look away. 

You beamed at him. "I did. They're my specialty."

Bob swallowed hard, all four guys looking at him in surprise now. "Could... uh, could I have another one? I'll pay for it this time though, if you don't mind. It was delicious."

"Of course, Bob. Anything you want." You turned to get a bag ready, and Bob thought he might faint. 

Jake turned and mouthed at him, "Anything you want?"

Bob just shrugged and made his way toward the register. He was pouring sweat in his flight suit, trying to stay as calm as possible. You met him at the other end of the counter and smiled as you slid a bag and a small coffee his way. 

"Three dollars," you told him softly, as if you could tell he was nervous, but you didn't seem to mind.

"What about the coffee?" he asked as he adjusted his glasses.

"On the house."

Bob quickly paid you for the croissant, as he could already hear Jake and the others getting restless. 

Jake leaned across the counter as you ran his credit card. "You interested in pilots?" he asked with a smirk. 

You just swiped the card and handed it back to him. "You're all pilots?" you asked, smiling at all of them. 

"Nah, Bob here is just a backseater," Reuben said loudly, slapping Bob on the back and nearly spilling his coffee.

"Oh, so Bob's the brains of the operation? Sounds about right," you said, sending a subtle wink in his direction. 

Bob's ears felt a little fuzzy and his collar felt a little too tight. Maybe he had imagined the wink. Yes, that must be it. 

The guys all hooted, and Jake said, "Well sure, Bob's smart and organized, but that's not as exciting."

You just shrugged. "Still sounds exciting to me. Hope you guys all have a safe flight this afternoon. Enjoy your croissant, Bob."

He floated out onto the sidewalk with the others, still in a daze. 

"What the fuck, guys? She likes Bob the best?" Javy said in disbelief as they all walked back to the car. "Hangman and Rooster, you two really dropped the ball."

"Does she?" Bob asked quietly. "She likes me?"

Reuben shoved half a muffin into his mouth and grinned. "You should ask her out, man." 

Bob thought about asking you out the whole drive back to base and as he walked to meet up with Phoenix. When he finally opened the bag to eat his croissant, he saw that you had put three inside. 

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

Late Saturday morning, Bob paced around outside of the bakery with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He'd peeked in through the window and saw that you and another girl were working, but he'd lost his nerve. He was on the verge of heading back to his car and calling it a day when the door opened, and he could smell the croissants. 

"You can do it," he told himself and rushed inside before he could turn around.

"Bob!" you called with a bright smile. "Back for more croissants?"

He took a deep breath and headed toward you. He noticed you were looking at the flowers in his hand, but you didn't say anything or rush him to respond, which he appreciated. You just smiled and leaned on the counter. 

"Yes, I would like another croissant," he muttered, and you pushed up from the counter to get it for him. "Actually, I would like two. But you need to let me pay for both of them today."

"Okay. Sure, Bob," you said with the tiniest smile as you put two into a bag. But now you didn't look as happy, and he wanted to kick himself. How had he messed this up already?

He met you at the register, and you asked him, "So, are the flowers for your wife? Or your girlfriend?"

"Oh, neither," he said, lifting them a little higher. "I don't have either of those."

You looked up at him and bit your lip. "Who's the extra croissant for?"

Bob watched your lips as you waited for him to answer. He was sweating, but he was in too deep to turn back now. "I, um... thought maybe we could eat them together. When you're done working. If you're not too busy."

Your smile lit up your face again. "I would like that."

Bob's smile matched your own. "You would?"

"Yeah," you told him with a nod. "You're so sweet. Much better than your friends. Are those flowers for me?"

Bob looked at the floor as he felt himself blushing. "Oh, yeah," he said, handing them to you. "Of course they are."

He watched you disappear into the kitchen for a minute, only to reappear without the flowers or your apron. Then you joined him on his side of the counter. Without any hesitation, you placed one hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

"Let's go for a walk," you told him, and Bob's heart was absolutely pounding for you. "I know a nice bench, perfect for eating croissants."

Bob felt you lace your fingers through his, and he held your hand in his larger one. "Lead the way."

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

This fic is for my Bobby loving friend Alex!!! @bradshawsbitch

Thanks to Alli @beyondthesefourwalls for giving this a read for me.

I hope I have done our Loverboy Bob justice!

@theamuz

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@mak-32

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@endofdays56

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@yanna-banana

[ghostedgrim]

She's all that is about the popular guy being dared to date the "nerdy girl" by his so called friend, he takes the dare but ends up falling for her. She finds out and they have a fight and break up. He wins her back in the end. Take it anyway you want! I do want Eric to be jealous as hell after they break up when other guys start taking an interest in reader!!

She's All That pt.1

Pt2. Request page. Masterlist

Warnings ⚠️: Getting dared to pretend to date someone, implied violence, jealousy,

"Eric, with all so respect, you're a Dauntless leader, yet you've been single since day one." The music in the bar is so loud that for a moment Eric almost didn't hear him.

"Personally James, I don't see how that's relevant. I have enough hookups to satisfy me plenty, I don't need some girl or whatever. Relationships I just a bothersome hassle."

"I bet you don't have a single romantic bone in your body."

"That's what you think, James," the bartender hands Eric a plate of food and leaves her number on the receipt. "Now if I were an unromantic man, that woman wouldn't have given me her number just now."

"Okay whatever, we both know you're good at getting men and women into your bed, but can you handle a full on relationship?"

"Yes, I just prefer not to, I don't need it" Eric shrugs.

James smirks and holds up his wallet. "Prove it then, date y/n then, the ex Erudite girl from your iniation class. You don't have to love her back, just make her love you. Do it and I'll pay for your next tattoo."

"Fine, how long do I have?"

"I'll give you about a month."

"Then we have deal James."

Is drinking by the chasm stupid? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely not, not when I've been on a week long trip to Amity to handle Dauntless soldiers who forgot their mission and decided to play with the Amity girls. My job is to train and direct Dauntless soldiers, yet most days I find myself spanking ass because they don't know how to behave.

"God I should've stayed in Erudite." I groan. Obviously it isn't true, the people there were cruel, liars, manipulators, vain, but I must admit I missed all the reading and research I'd done throughout my time there.

"Saying stuff like that would get you killed," I damn near jump out of my skin at the sound of the deep rumbling voice behind me. I turn around to see Eric standing right behind me. He wraps an arm around my waist to stable me, and guide me away from the chasm as I sway. "Long day?"

"More like a long week," my hard scowl meets his cold grey eyes, "What do you want Eric?"

He looks at me with a prideful expression, "I wish to take you out on a date. Don't worry about work tomorrow I'm assigning you a day off."

I scoff, taking another sip of my drink. "Me? Hookup with you? Not interested."

Eric falters for a moment, a small tick in his jaw, before returning to that prideful arrogance. "Good, I'm not interested in a hookup. Meet me tomorrow at 8pm by the train, I'd like to get to know you, nerdy and all."

Before I could even argue he walks away, that entitled ass really thinks I'll just go where he tells me because he said it's a date. I wonder if he uses that method with every girl he hooks up with. Either way I'm not going.

"I'm not going." I remind myself for the uptinth time today. I'm laying on my stomach atop a skyscraper, sniper rifle in hand. Every shooting range in Dauntless is underground except for the rifle range. Every target is at least a mile away, and every night they're moved to a new spot, hidden somewhere on the streets below, or hidden in a new room within the buildings around me. Sometimes, the targets are put on conveyors so they move around, and sometimes some are hidden so well you can only see a tiny sliver. To handle a gun that can shoot from miles away takes practice, and extreme smarts. Constantly I must calculate how the wind may effect my bullet, how far before gravity pulls it down, the most effective place to hit a target, arm to disarm, leg to stop them from running, chest or head to kill.

Only 7 people here in Dauntless have been trained and can handle a rifle and I'm one of those seven. It's one of the few jobs I can use to challenge myself. Kinda fascinating how using a gun takes so much math and knowledge in physics. None the less, I still train at least twice a week like the others.

I'm not fucking going! BANG!! My gun jerke violently, the bullet flies through the air landing perfectly onto the head of a far away target.

I look at my watch, "6:15." I'm not fucking going.

I readjust. BANG!!

I wonder what Eric could possibly have in mind for our date. Wait, why the fuck should I even care? I'm not even going.

It would be rude to stand him up though, and maybe he does actually like me, maybe he's finally going to be in a relationship and he actually chose me. I scoff, nah that's fucking stupid, as if Eric would think to pick me our of all the women already obsessed with him. I'm sure he'll live if stand him up.

BANG!! I miss by a whole 5 feet. "Fucker."

BANG!! I miss again...

It's 7:58, I'm standing by the train tracks wearing my nicest black dress, combat boots, and my favorite gun and dagger holstered to my thigh beneath the skirt of my dress. I even did my makeup. Fuck me, why the Hell did I fall for this crap?

I watch the train approach. "Where the Hell is Eric? Is this a prank?" I fail to hear the frantic footsteps from behind me. I barely have time to process anything before there's an arm around my waist and I'm getting dragged into a train car.

"Sorry I'm late, had some last second paperwork to handle. Thank God I made it in time to catch the train. You okay?" Eric is wearing his typical black cargo pants, combat boots, his black shirt is tight fitting and pared with a black jacket, his hair is in it's signature style and everything. Why the Hell am I about to swoon?

"I'm uh, yeah I'm fine." I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I regain my footing. "For a moment I was scared you stood me up."

Eric scoffs, "Stand up a beautiful girl like you? I'd rather punch a brick wall." He sits down on the threshold of the door, letting his legs dangle out of the traincar as we race through the city. "Come sit," he pats his thigh.

If he's dissapointed I didn't sit on his lap he doesn't show it as I sit across from him. Unlike him I keep my legs inside the train car. "So uh..." I click my tounge, "why did you ask me out in a date, and why did you do it without the intent of hooking up? Last time I checked you never had time for a girlfriend."

"You've never been asked out before-"

"Oh so you're asking me out as a joke? Or pity? Because I'm not staying if that's the case." Eric appears to panic for a moment and quickly grips my shoulder as I try to stand.

"I wasn't finished," he states defensively, Eric's eyes stare deep into mine, their color cold as a winter storm, yet my cheeks warm and my heart stutters. I should probably check that with a doctor. "You and I came to Dauntless and went through iniation at the same time, if I recall correctly you ranked 10th place out of 35 initiates. Now you're not only training and directing Dauntless soldiers, but you're also apart of the only seven people here in Dauntless capable of handling a sniper rifle. I think I have every reason to be curious about you, because the fact that nobody has asked you out is baffling, especially considering how stunning and powerful you are."

Never have I expected a man like Eric to say such words. Stunning? Powerful? I know I'm strong, no idea where he gets the idea I have good looks, but honestly, I feel like I'm the hottest girl in Dauntless after hearing those words. Eric's hand rests atop mine, warm, strong, calloused from rigorous training, his eyes seem to trace my face, and suddenly I'm 16 and freshly transferred to Dauntless again. Eric was terrifying, but hot back then, he still is now just more tame.

I soon realize I've been gaping like a damn fish for minutes now and Eric's small chuckle breaks me from my trance. "I take it nobody has told you that before," he brings a hand to my cheek, his expression soft, "let me be the one to change that, to show and tell you just how amazing you are."

I used to imagine how his lips would taste. t

Then I turned 17 and pushed it from my mind because I was convinced Eric would never love me. He would always be too busy chasing tail to even notice me. But now his eyes are on my lips, his tounge even darts out for a moment to lick his bottom lip. He then looks back at my eyes, he leans in the hand on my cheek pulling me closer. "You smell like strawberries." Our lips are almost touching, his warm breath fanning across my jaw, he smells like gunpowder, cedarwood, and whiskey. I can barely hear anything over my pounding heart. I close my eyes, leaning forward to close the distance between us.

"Shit!" I open my eyes as Eric frantically pulls himself away from the door and the traincar is encased in darkness for several seconds until we leave the small tunnel. "Fuck," Eric laughs, "nearly lost my damn leg." I can't help but to laugh with him.

"That would certainly be quite the traumatic first date." We settle down again the wall both looking out the open door across from us. "How about we just keep all our limbs inside the train for now?" Eric sighs, and we both relax taking in the sight and sounds of the dark clouds rolling in and the distance thunder. The train rolls through the miles of green, flat land between the city and Amity. You can still see the bright lights of the Erudite buildings. It's peaceful, and I can't help but just enjoy the moment rather than talk.

"I once lit my hand on fire." Eric says it so casually as if he were talking about the damn weather.

"You what! Please do tell." I smile like a little kid excited for candy. Eric smiles back and dives into the story of how in chemistry he accidentally covered his hand in lighter fluid, then instead of washing it off he thought it faster to just burn it off. Fortunately the fire lit and burnt out too quick to cause any permanent damage.

It's pouring by the time the train reaches the Dauntless sector. Eric jumps off, then I jump right after. I barely have time to finish standing before he's wrapping his jacket around me. "I would hate for you to catch a cold. Now let me walk you home."

I'm starting to think this is a dream.

Asking her out was one thing, I never meant to get attached. We've been dating for almost a month now. Every time I see her my heart stops, and all I can do is admire her like some dumb schoolboy with a crush. Never in my life did I think I could actually fall in love, and never did I think I would stay up all night imagining what it would be like to kiss a girl, let alone replaying the sound of her laughter in my mind over and over. She's strong, smart as Hell, arguably smarter than me, and gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous I could drown in her arms. Honestly if she suffocated me I'd probably thank the damn woman.

"I'm fucked, I'm so utterly fucked." I spend maybe another hour in bed with nothing but my boxers on. I'm already running late, but fuck it, it won't kill Max if I'm late for work just once.

I'm quick to change clothes and rushed out of my home to search for y/n. I find her in the training room running a small squad through some drills. Without a single care I kiss her cheek, "Good morning, my dagger. Sorry for interrupting, but I just needed a small taste of you to get through my day." Her cheeks are dusted in red, and fuck she's just so damn cute it stabs my heart, and then her expression snaps back to stone and she shoos me away.

I catch James in the small squad of men, he's smiling and my heart drops as I remember our bet. I take my time walking up to my office. "How the Hell am I going to escape this?"

Today was exhausting, and I received far to many lewd comments about my relationship with Eric than I'd like. But now I can finally go visit Eric at the bar. For a guy known to be heartless and terrifying he's an amazing boyfriend.

Many people, especially Four, had warned me that Eric was likely dating me as a joke, but I highly doubt he'd continue fake dating me for a whole month as a joke. It's definitely not a joke. Yeah he can be mean, really mean, and cruel, especially to initiates, and yes he's heartless to seemingly everyone here in Dauntless but he has exceptions for certain people... I'm important to him, he's not dating me as a joke, sure he's capable of being that cruel but... he isn't doing that... right?

I try to shake the uneasy thoughts from my head, their just stupid fears, that's all. I pull on Eric's jacket and quickly make my way down to the bar.

I've been sitting alone at this table for nearly 20 minutes, and I can feel the eyes on me. My stomach is a storm of unease, and my doubt is ever growing. This isn't the first time Eric has been late to a date. When we first started dating, he had been cocky, full of himself, half the time it sounded like he was trying to talk me into bed. Despite our first date, it had taken me a while to finally, truly open up to him, to trust him, and believe he wouldn't hurt me. Yet here I am, sitting alone at a table a week later.

It's been a fucking hour, and I swear I can hear the whispers, feel the eyes. The waitress looks at me with contempt, as if she's won something and I lost at whatever she was winning it. My unease eventually turns to frustration and soon I'm walking through the dimly lit halls in search of Eric.

"Fuck me man, and here I thought you were incapable of a relationship." James, without a damn doubt that's his voice.

"Well I'm full of surprises." Eric? That's definitely him. Why the Hell is he with James instead of me, and why are they talking about relationships?

I stalk closer to where I'd heard them speaking, James is running his mouth about a girl's ass making it easy for me to find the two men, and watch them while remaining unseen.

"Have you both kissed, better yet fucked?" James asks and it makes my stomach turn sour. Kissing is fine, but asking about my sex life is not. Not that I have one, yet.

Eric huffs, "no we haven't had sex, and unless you count kissing on the cheek, then we haven't kissed yet."

"Ah, so in that case it isn't love." James has a concerningly victorious look.

"Just because we haven't kissed doesn't mean she isn't in love with me. She's never kissed a guy before, let alone have sex." Eric sounds somewhat annoyed.

"Well damn, a virgin, and unkisssed, I think I may need a taste myself. It's been awhile since I've tried a girl like that. Though-"

"James," Eric warns, his voice deep and posture tense. I wish I could see Eric's face, but all I can see is his back.

"Fine, fine, so you claim she's in love with you. Now I can argue that, but I saw the way that girl looked at you when you visited her last week. She looked at you the way a girl looks at a puppy." James shrugs, and then his eyes lock with mine and he smiles. "It seems I've lost our bet Eric. You can be romantic, and you are capable of making any girl, even ugly miss grumpy, genuinely fall for you. I can't wait to watch her face and see her cry when you tell her you're whole relationship has been fake."

"James-"

"Then aging you should definitely keep dating her. Think about it, maybe she'll stop being so closed off and grumpy, better yet, she'll stop being so strict on my squad. Perhaps you can make her give me a few promotions."

"Playing with her emotions to make her date me and fall in love was-"

I don't think, I just run. I don't stop running, not until my legs give out and I find myself sitting in a train car. That asshole! I trusted him, I loved him, and yet that fucker was using me for his own sick gain! My comm link keeps ringing, and in my frustration I stupidly throw it out of the train.

I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe, my chest hurts like Hell, and my vision is so blurry from tears that I can barely see shit. It was fake, it was all fake. Everything he said was fake! I was nothing to him! Absolutely nothing!

I curl up, and I hate myself for doing it, but I pull his jacket tighter around me. "Gods how can I be so fucking stupid... they warned me, so many fucking times and I ignored them like an idiot."

The sun is rising by the time I get off the train. It's freezing cold, snow covers the street and snowflakes fall from the sky. I glance at the cameras as I walk back to the compound. No doubt Four is watching me through them, or is already at my apartment with a whole essay of a lecture awaiting me. I don't even know if I have the energy to keep walking. So I just lean against a brick wall inside an alley.

I don't know how much time has passed, I'm shivering uncontrollably but I just can't seem to move.

"Y/n." His voice is deep, soft, and full of warmth and I find myself crying all over again.

"Four, I... you were right I-" He interrupts me with a tight hug and kisses my forehead.

"Later, let's just get you home and warm." Four bundles me up in a spare jacket and scarf he brought before picking me up and carrying me home. The exhaustion hits me hard and I unwillingly let myself drift asleep.

I'm bundled in thick warm blankets when I wake up, two warm hands hold one of mine. I finally open my eyes. I'm in my bedroom, Four is leaning against the wall near my door, his knuckles scabbed, and splattered with blood. Confused I look to my left to see who the Hell is holding my hand. To my suprise it's Eric. His gaze is locked on our hands, eyes are rimmed in red, bruises decorate his jaw, right eye, and possibly other places, even his nose looks broken.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Eric's head snaps up and he looks at me in such a way that I'm convinced he actually does love me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, what happened- no, what I did was wrong. You didn't deserve any of that." A tear slips down his cheek and I roll my eyes at his pathetic attempt of gaining my pity. "Yes, James and I made a bet with him betting I couldn't make you fall in love with me. It was wrong, and it was cruel for me to manipulate you like that-"

"Get out." I snap.

"Hear him out, trust me," Four interrupts. "We both know Eric isn't the guy to let himself get beat up, especially without throwing at least one punch back." It dons on me that Four beat the shit out of Eric, but that's not what suprises me, it's the fact that Four is utterly unscathed. Eric actually let Four beat him up after what he did to me.

"I- at first it was fun, but then I started to develop feelings and holy shit I fell. I fell hard and fast and I didn't know what to do." Eric's voice breaks and he looks away from me. "You were like a goddam dagger, burrowed deep into my heart and seared into my brain. I thought, maybe to could just let myself win the bet instead of calling it off, you'd never have to know and we'd get to keep dating. You don't have to forgive me, but please know ever I've told you, it was the truth and I do love you. I love you so much it hurts."

"A part of me wants to believe you, Eric. However, the other part of me knows you're nothing more than a lying manipulative snake. I don't want to ever see you again, don't talk to me, don't even look at me."

Defeated Eric finally rids himself from my room.

"What happened to James?" I ask Four.

Four smiles, "Eric broke his jaw."

I sigh, deep in thought, "Did Eric actually let you hit him."

"Pretty much. I found him outside frantically looking for you, I punched first before asking questions. I had already seen all I needed to through the cameras. He didn't fight back once, just stood there and took my beating. I yelled st him for quite a bit before dragging his ass here then returning to the security cameras and waiting for you to step off the train."

"Four?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. And if I ever act that stupid again, slap the shit out of me."

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards Prelude pt. 1

pairing: gambler!Yoongi x !fem reader genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to mafia/bodyguard au summary: how it all started. you won all of his money at poker, he hates you for it, but you find yourself hiding in a closet with him. (This is rlly e2l2e2l lol) warnings: alcohol, mild derogatory language, yoongi's an asshole, reader antagonizes him, motorcycle riding, gambling, smoking, drinking, smut, quickie in a janitor’s closet 🥴, insane bickering, usage of sl*t, yoongi and those red chopsticks from haegeum, a smidge of violence (not towards each other), implied parental absence, scars, reader mentions a minor injury from a car crash wc: 10.2k minors dni. 18+ only thanks to my beta reader @yoonglesyeobo and also to @syllviere for their help and support! <333

prologue l ch. 1 play nice l prelude. strangers 1/2 l prelude. strangers 2/2 l ch. 2 l

You picked a great time to fly back home - smack dab in the middle of monsoon season. Of all the light things you packed in your backpack and duffle bag, you forgot an umbrella.

And the first thing you did once you set foot on the mainland soil of your Jeju pit stop, was ask your driver to take you to the Sehwa beach on the east coast. But the cash you had got you only about three-quarters of the way there, so you were dropped off into the one part of town you’re familiar with. Memories of happier times dance around the streets as you walk down them, on your way to the place you know best. Even though it will remind you of how things once were and never will be again, you go because it’s the only place you know where you can earn money without really having to work for it.

You’re soaked to the bone when you walk into the bar. The lights are low and dimmed with a green hue and floating smoke. It’s loud with banter as men get drunk on this gloomy Friday night.

You find an ATM near the bathrooms and withdraw 700,000 won.

“Hi, sweetie. Are you lost?” one of the pretty waitresses asks as she approaches you in a short apron and even shorter skirt, lips painted a vibrant ruby. Her silky bob is curled just above a black choker around her neck, and she glances down as you slide your wad of cash into your wallet, sliding it in your jacket pocket.

“Uh, no. Can I get a drink and a seat please?”

She looks at you with apprehension laced in her polite expression. “There’s a much quieter bar a few blocks down the street. You might have a better time there.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m actually looking to win some money.”

“I see,” she says after a pause, giving you a onceover. “Are you old enough?”

Yeah, an illegal gambling ring probably wouldn’t want to get tacked on with another charge of hosting minors if the cops were ever smart enough to come snooping around a place like this. You pull out your ID and hand it to her, watching as she holds it up and you know just what she’s looking for because you’ve used a fake to get in here before.

The corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile as she passes it back to you. She turns around and beckons you forward with two fingers in the air, leading you through the bar and as you trail behind her, nostalgia walks with you.

At the bar was where you took your first shot, had your first cigarette, in spite of your brother’s protests, and the den downstairs that you’re heading to was where you won your first real hand at poker. It’s still the same old musty, dusty, probably moldy basement that you remember, but now the ghosts of your past linger in the air so it’s hard to go through without getting a little misty-eyed.

As you step off the stairs, the waitress is surveying the room. It’s much more crowded and loud than upstairs since there are high stakes all around. You strain your neck, looking for an empty chair but they’re all occupied by men with too much time and not enough money to lose.

“Well, all of the tables are full right now, but I can set you up with a drink at the bar while you wait for an opening.”

“What about the table in the back?” Her eyes narrow.

“That’s for more experienced players.” Leaning against the railing, you hum, check your manicure.

“I’ll cut you twenty percent of my win if you get me in there.”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “You’re that confident?”

“This is where I learned how to play pro. I win more than I lose.”

She looks you up and down again, like she can’t figure you out.

“Make it twenty-five.”

“Deal,” you grin and she mirrors you, flashing her teeth.

“Follow me.”

You pull your damp hoodie further over your head in an attempt to shield your face as you follow her through the maze of tables towards a door in the far corner of the low-ceiling room. It’s slightly obscured by the counter and sheer, moth-eaten curtains that match the shitty wall color, and you thank the waitress when she pulls them to the side to direct you through. She then leads you into a small hallway but pauses right before the second door frame.

“I have to tell you, these men aren’t exactly their mothers’ favorite.”

You shrug. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“Alright, well if you change your mind…”

“Thanks, but I won’t. I owe you that big tip.”

She smiles. “Don’t let me down, girlie.”

“Is there room for one more, gentlemen?” Her voice carries over the cocksure babble of the middle-aged men surrounding the round, green-felt table, littered with scattered poker chips, worn ashtrays and crystal glasses of whiskey. You’re met with a thick cloud of smoke as you approach an empty seat at the table. They all fall quiet as you pull down your hood, revealing your wet hair and the fact that you are not one of them.

A collective muttering of derision rises as you pull out the chair but you act completely unbothered, unzipping your drenched coat and shrugging it off. You fish your wallet out of your jacket and pass all of your cash to the attendant who exchanges it for chips.

“What do you know about poker?” one of the men prods.

"Plenty. Deal me in. What’s the ante?”

“I think you’re wasting your time,” another cuts in. “You should go see if they have a kiddie table.”

The men shove elbows into each other in raucous laughter at your expense but it doesn’t affect you at all.

“Let her play.”

You look up at the new voice. Gravelly. Gruff. Tempting.

Shit. How did you miss… him? The youngest man in the room, the one with parts of his face shadowed by the god-awful, dim lighting, has not taken his eyes off of you since you walked in. You can tell by the way the bumps on your skin prickle every time your attention flickers in his direction and your eyes catch. His hair is orangey, as much of it that pokes out from under his black beanie, and he’s wearing a black varsity jacket with white stitching on the front that makes him stand out among the rest of the men’s unflattering suits and loose ties.

He lifts his cigarette, takes a drag, and blows it out, blinking between you and two black poker chips he taps on the table.

You glare at the subtle smirk on his lips as he says, “Easy win.”

This will be fun.

The first few rounds you do get shit hands, but you bet on them anyway, enduring the condescension that leers from the entire table each time. The only one who doesn’t laugh is the one you can’t stop stealing glances at, the one who just nonchalantly smokes and places bets and looks at his cards, and occasionally stares right back. Makes your heart flip. You’ve noticed, though, from watching him a few times, that when the flop is laid out and it’s time for the first bets, if he blinks a little erratically while staring at his hand, he folds soon after. You fold on a two-pair after checking, and the players get a kick out of that when you reveal that you had a potentially winning hand. You pretend to be super bummed. But now you’ve got them right where you want them.

So far, you’ve bet the majority of your money but you’re fairly certain that won’t matter in a few minutes. In your hand, you hold an 8 and 2 of Diamonds. On the table, lies a ten of Spades, six of Clubs, 4 and Queen of Diamonds, and three of hearts. You school your expression. One more diamond card and it’s a flush. You look up and it seems the majority of the table has folded, but ‘kiddie table’ man and ‘beanie with a mean stare’ man are still in the running. Both of their hands have been good so far, but ‘beanie with a mean stare’ has won most of the rounds. This is the last one and you’re running out of time to win all of it back. You feign a nervous glance around the table before you check. ��Kiddie’ checks as well and you wait for ‘mean beanie’ to follow suit but instead, he scoots the rest of his chips in to raise the bet. Huh. He’s getting cocky, going all in. He only blinked once when the dealer laid down the flop, so you suspect he has a good hand. But not a great one, so you’ll raise the stakes. The men mutter in amusement when you match his bet and he lifts a brow, but the rest of his expression remains neutral. The dealer asks if that’s the final bet, and when no one responds, he flips the fifth card. Your heart jumps. 

A nine of Diamonds.

‘Kiddie’ goes first and displays his three-of-a-kind. Hm. Not bad. You glance over to ‘mean beanie,’ waiting for him to make the next move but he only stares at you, unblinking, a thin line between his lips. You take a deep breath and put on a sheepish smile while flattening your cards near the center of the table so everyone can see.

“Is this a flush?” They all still, and you fail to fight off a grin when their many pairs of eyes go back and forth between the river and your two low rank cards that add up to a high rank hand.

‘Mean beanie’ is now staring at his cards, a noticeable tick in his jaw and you know you’ve won. He tosses them down with a quick flick of his wrist and you can’t help your smirk at his obvious dejection. You observe his 5 of Hearts and 7 of Spades.

“Oh, a straight? How nice.” Your head tilts mockingly. “You almost beat me.”

He frowns and you feel enthralled, resisting the urge to blow him a demeaning kiss. With a content sigh, you lean forward to scrape your scored chips towards you, holding your arms out like a hoop to move them all because there’s just that many. You stand as an attendant appears to retrieve your chips to count and trade for the table’s cash. You think you’ll get a nice hotel room to shelter from the storm.

“It was a pleasure playing with you gentlemen,” you say politely as you stand. “I’ll enjoy spending your money.”

The devilish grin you send to all of them lingers on ‘mean beanie’ who is now refusing to look at you. There’s a pep in your step as you stride up to the attendant behind the counter near the door, waiting for him to cash you out.

You watch as the men file out, glaring at you and muttering bitter curses amongst themselves. You shrug it off. Serves them right for underestimating you just because you’re a young woman. You may have been putting on an act, but men run the world.

Shouldn’t they have been smart enough to pick up on that?

��Beanie’ is the last one to go, head ducked as he pulls out his phone. He’s still in the hallway when you exit, backpack stacked with 10 million won. His foot is on the bottom step as he types furiously on his device.

“Hey, good game,” you say in a light tone as you pass him, but there’s too much sass in your smile to seem genuine. “And you’re right. That was an easy win.”

He lifts his head slowly, eyes narrowed in a vicious glare, pockets his phone and takes a step up. It makes your heart speed when he comes nearly face to face with you, and you can see him in this mildly better lighting.

“How’d you pull that off, huh? You count cards?” He’s pretty much seething but fucking hell, he's attractive.

“No,” you blink innocently, living for the ferocity in his darkened eyes. “I just count on men to be dumb enough to believe a pretty girl like me doesn’t know how to gamble. Thanks for being so full of yourself that you can’t see through a sham like that.”

His jaw ticks as his glare rakes up and down your form.

“You’re full of yourself, too. You’re not that pretty.”

It’s a cheap shot, but it’s obvious he’s just trying to make himself feel better by hurting your feelings because he has nothing else.

“Aww, you sound like a sore loser. Do you want to go back in there? Try to win some back?”

“I’m done playing for the night.” He still hasn’t gotten out of your face and the scent of his earthy cologne with traces of cigarette smoke is doing unhealthy things to your blood pressure.

“Understandable. It would suck to get your ass beat by a girl twice in a row.”

He's radiating with vexation but it doesn’t intimidate you in the slightest. If anything, it’s making him more attractive, which makes you think you should do some deep, serious internal reflection. His nostrils flare just before he swivels on his heel to face the steps.

“Oh, by the way, I noticed that you blink a lot when you get a bad hand. You should work on that.”

His head jerks to you, seeming to take offense to that. He looks you up and down again, scowls, and starts up the stairs.

“Maybe with your money, I’ll buy some expensive makeup to doll myself up better!” You call up.

“You’d need a lot!” 

Fucking liar. You cackle as he jogs up the rest of the way.

******* Upstairs, he’s already out of sight. You relocate the waitress who greets you expectantly, an enthusiastic grin breaking out on her face when you pull out your winnings. She gives you a small cheer and while you sit at the bar to count out her cut, she makes you a drink on the house.

Once you finish it, you check the time and realize you shouldn’t hang around here for much longer. And you’re starting to feel the effects of jet lag now that you’ve got your money problems squared away. But of course you left your jacket downstairs. You ask the waitress if you can go get it.

“Sure, but come right back.”

In the hallway, you falter when you hear a one-sided conversation, spoken by that low stony voice that tickles your brain. You peek your nosy head around the corner, pulse spiking with a thrill when you see ‘beanie’ standing on the other side of the room, next to another hallway.

“The fuck do you mean it didn’t go through? 

As he listens on the other line, he hangs his head, fingers digging into his eyes in what appears to be frustration before dropping them on his hip.

“Shit, are you serious?... Can you just send me some for a plane ticket? I’ll pay you back...” He sighs dejectedly. “Fine. See you back home.”

He curses again, louder this time, and you take that as your cue to saunter into the room, pretending you don’t notice him as you head for the table.

“You stalking me?” You blow a raspberry, leaning down to grab your jacket from the chair and hold it up for him to see.

“As if. You’re not that interesting. And you’re a sore loser,” you tack on. “Not my type.”

(Straight up lies.)

“Well, you’re fucking annoying.”

“Thank you!” You exclaim, hand on your chest like you’re honored. “I’ve worked so hard to be.”

He glowers at you and you really want to laugh. Why is he so angry? It’s not like you stole his money. Tricked him? Maybe, but you can’t exactly be fair in a place like this. His head shakes as he passes by you for the exit.

“So I really won all of your money, huh? And now you’re strapped for cash?” He pauses, slides narrowed eyes your way, and stuffs his hands in his jacket.

“Mind your business.”

“What? It just sounds like you’re in a tough spot, especially with the big storm coming later. I’d hate to think that you’re stranded in torrential downpour with nowhere to go all because some mid-looking girl took your money.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps.

“How is that patronizing? I’m just saying, I’m sorry you fell for my dirty little trick, but I can help you out if you want.”

He strides into your space and you step back, heart pounding when he gets in your face again. There’s a dangerous look in his eyes but you’re not at all threatened.

“I don’t need shit from you.” You tip your head up and bat your eyelashes, sneaking a glance at his lips, pink and plush and enticing. 

“Okay,” you shrug nonchalantly, failing to fight off a small smirk. Warmth creeps up from your cheeks to your ears when his blown out pupils flash down to your mouth. And the tension in between you transforms with a feral magnetism.

His tongue darts out to his bottom lip and your eyes widen a fraction at the sight.

“You’re really aggravating, you know that?”

“You can walk away.” His head tilts at your challenge and the magnetism grows when he doesn’t move.

Just then, your heads turn towards the stairs when voices and footsteps start to descend.

He grabs your arm and tugs you around the corner and to the end of the hallway, whipping open a small door and stepping inside before pulling you along with him. Your nose wrinkles at the odious smell of industrial cleaning agents.

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up,” he hisses, tugging you away from the door to the adjacent side of the small and dark closet. “No one’s supposed to be down here now that they’ve closed things up.”

“Oh,” you whisper, settling against the wall. “You don’t really strike me as the type to follow the rules.”

“I’m not,” he grits, voice deep enough to not be heard easily. “But I know that consequences still apply if I get caught.”

“Well, this isn’t how I expected to spend my Friday night,” you huff with a cross of your arms. “Holed up in some janitor’s closet with a common criminal.”

“You’re one too, y’know. You committed a felony just by stepping foot in here. And then another, when you won all that money.”

You mimic that last sentence in a childish tone and his chest heaves in a huff.

“Will you be quiet?”

“Am I pissing you off?”

“You have been since the first goddamn minute you walked in.”

“If I annoy you that much, you could’ve just hidden in here yourself and left me out there to get in trouble.”

“I still have time. I could push you out now.”

“Do it then.”

A silence follows, like he’s contemplating. Hesitating. That magnetism comes back to buzz and burn.

“Or maybe, and I’m just spitballing here, you wanted an excuse to get me alone in this dark, tight space?”

He scoffs. “You’re delusional.”

“Hm. Then why are you so close? There’s more than enough room for the both of us to have space.”

When he doesn’t say anything, unease pinches your gut when you think you’ve gotten ahead of yourself and misread things. You can’t help that his whole broody, pissed off vibe turns you on for some reason. So you move to get away from him, create some space now that you’re embarrassed but his hand finds the crook of your elbow and stops you. Heat floods your cheeks for a whole different reason.

“What are you trying to get at?” You smile, heart pounding with nerves because you know his rejection would sting like hell. But you’re not about to let his attitude shit on your confidence.

“C’mon, you’re not that dumb.” His fingers dig into your arm, not enough to hurt but enough to feel that you’ve pinched a nerve.

You gasp when he pushes your arm until your back hits the wall and you stare at the silhouette of his face, his hand lifting above your head. Blood rushes in your ears when he leans in so close that his warm breath fans down to your chin.

“You wanna be fucked in here like a slut? Is that it?”

Holy mother of fuck. The way he said that - husky, dark, low but so intense has to be a sin.

“Can you even get it up this late at night, old man?”

“Who the fuck are you calling old?” He snaps. “You’ve got to be at least 30.”

He better be joking! “What does that make you, then? 45? 50?” 

“Try 27.”

“Huh. You’re still a lot older than me.” You don’t find that hot.

“By how much?” he queries, a bit of apprehension in his tone.

“5 years.”

He exhales sharply, a breath of relief. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Is almost 30 too early to have ‘dysfunctional’ problems?”

Large hands on your hips force you to turn around and face the wall, and you plant your palms on it with a gasp when he grinds his clothed erection on the swell of your ass.

“Does this feel ‘dysfunctional’ to you?” he growls, grinding against you again, slower this time but harsher so you can feel all of what’s swelling in his pants. He’s big, because of course he is, and you figure by the end of this, you’ll be the dysfunctional one.

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, throat suddenly dry. He chuckles, and it’s like a jolt of thunder worthy of a hurricane storming through every seed of your nerves.

Sighing, he leans into you, chest barely brushing your back, and returns his hand to the wall above your head, ducking his chin to breathe down your neck and you gasp again as he rolls his hips once more while muttering darkly into your ear,

“Do you want to find out?” A shiver bolts down your spine, and your center starts to throb with sinful desire.

Getting fucked on a Friday night in a cleaning closet by a common criminal is definitely not something you expected to be doing on your trip back home. But you don’t want it to go in any other way.

“Mhmm.”

“Is that supposed to be a word?”

“Yes!” You whisper yell.

“Yes, what?” he emphasizes, tone gritty and a touch dominating.

“Yes, I want to find out.”

Quiet passes for a minute and you think he’s in the middle of rethinking things, but then he manhandles you to the side of the closet opposite from the door, and you put out your hands to feel that you’re pressed into a set of shelves holding big ass rolls of paper towels or something.

He tugs at the hem of your pants. “Take these off.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance to change your mind,” he mutters.

Huh. You hesitate only because that was unexpected. But you weren’t planning on changing anything. Without a word, you undo the clasp on your jeans and reach back to find his hand, taking note of the insane electricity that surges through you once you touch him, and bring it back to your waist, silent permission that he can continue. Nothing is said as he slides your pants down your ass, and you wait for him to work on his own jeans but instead you feel his fingers trickle on the inside of your upper thigh, and your breath hitches as he inches closer to your heat. You spread your legs and arch your back to give him indication to touch you. He cups your mound, and you lurch forward with a moan, grabbing the shelf to hold onto for dear life.

“You better stay quiet,” he grumbles. “Because if you get us caught, I’ll tell them I found out you were counting cards.”

“And you were fucking me as punishment?” you challenge over your shoulder, but the vitriol in your sneer is extinguished when he glides a lone finger between your folds.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re already wet. Being a dirty slut like this turns you on?”

You don’t answer, brain malfunctioning when he starts rubbing circles over your clit, and you duck your head as it increases your arousal. A whiny moan floats out when he teases your hole and hums to himself. Your shoulders tense when he slips a digit in, shushing your louder moan as he adds another and pumps in and out to work you open. You have to hold your breath every now and then to keep your noises to yourself.

As he keeps finger-fucking you, there’s some shifting and then a slap of something falling on the floor, followed by the sound of foil tearing.

“Did you just get a condom out of your wallet?” you manage to croak.

“No, I pulled it out of thin air,” he deadpans dryly.

You roll your eyes. Men. Always staying locked and fucking loaded. And he called you a slut? You open your mouth to convey this to him, but you figure one more smart-ass comment will deny you of what you’re craving.

You salivate when you hear him undo his belt and unzip his jeans. He steps back with a faint moan, and you imagine him finally pulling himself out to roll on the condom. Shit. You know you’re in for it.

His hand finds your waist again, and he spits, loudly, before tapping his tip on your center, gathering your arousal. Your body jerks at the sensation of his head dragging through your folds and over your clit before coming back to prod your entrance, making you tense up in anticipation.

“Are you going to back out? Last chance.”

“No, I’m good.” There’s a lapse in movement and in words but then he pushes in and- fuck! It’s a stretch. You moan over a bitten tongue as your eyes squeeze shut, urgently trying to adjust.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not up for it,” he mutters quietly when your cunt refuses to cooperate, thanks to a mix of nerves.

"I am, damn it!”

“Then fucking relax.”

So you deflate your lungs, using the idea of just how good it’ll feel once he fills you up for motivation to do as he says. You let your body go almost entirely limp and he must notice because he digs his nails into your waist and guides himself in, agonizingly slow, expanding your walls with girth so fulfilling.

A low growl resonates in his chest when he sinks in all the way, fingers flexing on your naked hips as he gives time for you to adjust. His hard dick twitching within tells you that he needs a second too. For a few minutes, he fucks you at a snail’s pace while you try not to lose your shit. Then he pulls out to bend his knees, and thrusts back up into you, breathing shakily as he increases the pace.

He doesn’t take his hands off of your waist. Doesn’t grope your tits, or cup handfuls of your ass, just holds onto your hips to keep you in place, occasionally uses them to adjust his stance behind you. A part of you wishes he would because you know his large hands could work wonders on your skin, but at the same time there’s a modicum of respect coming from his restraint. You don’t know if that’s what he’s going for or if he just genuinely doesn’t want to touch you - which, ouch - but you’re pretty sure most guys would take you letting them fuck you in a closet as automatic permission to touch all parts of your body whether you asked them to or not, but apparently he’s not one of them.

There is one place, though, that you desperately need him to put his hands on and for whatever reason, he’s not.

“Are you gonna play with my clit anytime soon? Or did you, in your old age, forget where it is?” He huffs, dark and indignant in your ear.

“It’d be nice to get off at some point ton-” A hand slides over your cheek and pair of fingers gets shoved on your tongue, cutting you off.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Your eyes roll back at the rigid and domineering grit in his tone, and your back arches to press further into him, needy, wanting. His other hand leaves your hip to replace his fingers with a balled-up piece of fabric, and then he snakes down to the front of your waist. You have to clench down on whatever fabric he used to muffle you when he easily finds your aching nub and spreads your saliva over it before stroking in agonizing circles. Your teeth clamp down on the mysterious material to barricade a whimper.

His hips, on the other hand, start to smack against your ass with animalistic determination, like he wants to fuck you as fast as he can so he can get this over with. Which is fine by you, because it feels so fucking good. The force of his thrusts paired with the tips of his fingers rubbing your clit in rough, calculated strokes has your nails scraping on the wall due to the overwhelming pleasure building within you.

He starts to fuck you at a different angle and you almost cry out when he spears against your spot.

“There?” he asks, rocking in the same place experimentally while you clench around him. Your thighs start to shake.

“Mhmm!” you exclaim, voice muffled. He doesn’t stop fucking you there until you come, and even though you already can’t see shit, you definitely black out for a second. The material in your mouth isn’t helping your breathing situation but it’s preventing you from crying.

He hisses and then yanks out, lets go of your waist, and you involuntarily drop to your knees.

“Shit, my fault,” he mutters, but you’re focused on plucking the cloth out of your mouth, scrunching it in your palm. You weakly pull your jeans to your hips and turn around when he curses again, reaching out to find his dick as he jerks himself to completion. He stops and rips off the condom, thumb sliding up your chin and into your mouth to drop it open.

“Gonna come,” he grumbles. You nod and stick out your tongue, and using his thumb as guidance, he slides his thick mushroom head past your lips, filling your mouth with hot ropes of cum. He emits some kind of purring sound as you swallow it all down and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

After allowing a moment to accept what just happened, he steps back again and sighs heavily as he tucks himself in and fixes his belt while you wipe your mouth with the inside of your shirt. When he bends down to pick up his wallet, you wait for his hand to offer you help up off the floor, but he just turns around, leaving you to stand up on your own with shaky legs.

That’s not the vibe you were starting to get from him, but okay?

Swinging on your jacket with a bit of shame, you walk up behind him where he’s listening at the door for anyone outside, and realize that you just let this guy fuck you in a weird-smelling closet and come in your mouth before you even got his name.

“I’m Angel, by the way.”

“That’s nice," he says flatly, tone withdrawn.

“Did you flunk preschool? This would be the part where you tell me your name.”

“I'm good.” You scoff, taken aback. 

"Geez, dude. After all that, you can’t even tell me your name?”

"Nah. Not like we’re ever gonna see each other again, right?” That stings. He doesn’t have the courtesy to do something normal after doing something so unorthodox?

“Whatever, prick.”

When he opens the door, you toss the fabric at him and shove into his shoulder, not looking back as you hurry towards the stairs, taking two at a time to get away from him. The waitress gives you a wary look as you stomp towards her, offering an embarrassed apology while you gather your bags. You thank her, pass her a few more bills, and make an escape to the bathroom. You refuse to look in the mirror as you get yourself together. What the fuck were you thinking?

But as the universe would have it, he’s outside under the awning because of the rain, scrolling through his phone and smoking a cigarette with a foot propped on the wall.

Without slowing down, you walk by him, pluck the cigarette from his fingers and continue down the block. At the corner, you stop abruptly, and lift the stick to your lips, take a drag, then toss it into the street, staring right at him. He frowns and with the hand not stuffed in his jean pocket, raises his middle finger and you shoot him one right back, blowing out smoke and holding back a cough. You flag down a cab with a heavy weight in your chest that crawls up to your throat and threatens to imitate the storm pouring from the clouds above.

The rain follows you into the crowded restaurant and you do your best to shake it off of your clothes and shoes before you go in. An older male server rushes by carrying a tray of soju and shot glasses, beckons you further inside and gestures over to the far end of the room where a small empty table sits in front of the window. As you weave your way towards it, you pass by groups of friends, some couples, others colleagues, all having a good time staying out of the storm together. It makes you a little bitter and a lot lonely.

You sit down with your back facing away from the reminder that you’re the only one occupying a two-person table and order a bottle of soju and a hot bowl of noodles that will take away some of the wet chill clinging to your skin.

A motorcycle zooms by. The engine sounds like a single-cylinder with a good torque. A Ducati maybe?

As you wait, you lean back in your chair, arms crossed, and stare outside, reminiscing about old times. Old friends. All a part of memories now.

A few minutes after the server delivers you a bottle of soju and you take a shot, you head to the bathroom to wash up and finally acknowledge the shame lingering in your appearance. When you emerge, passing by the bar, you’re stopped in your tracks by the face of the man who is the reason for that shame. Your heart pounds abnormally. He’s sitting a few barstools away from you, beanie gone, unveiling orange hair and roots that could use a touch up, with a black and white bandanna tied under his chin, like it was being used as a mask. Was that what he stuffed in your mouth earlier?

You stare at him as he sips some clear liquor out of a whiskey glass and when he finally notices, he, for some reason, doesn’t look that surprised to see you.

“You again,” you scowl. “Who’s stalking who now?” He shrugs.

“This is a small island.”

Your eyes roll at his shit logic.

“Well, sorry to have ruined your whole ‘we’re never gonna see each other again’ bullshit.”

He doesn't reply, just frowns into his glass. Feeling hot all over, you stew as you stomp back to your table to retrieve your wallet, fishing out a large bill that you slap on the counter once you return to the bar. The bartender comes over and you make a point of looking over at the prick while you say,

"His drinks are on me." You prolong your vengeful gaze on him, fighting your tongue when his jaw only clenches in response, and head back to your table in a huff.

You try to let it go and not sear holes through his back, instead focusing on your wonderful meal and full glass of soju. He can go to hell.

It seems that the universe has other plans in store when mid-bite, you feel a presence approach and you think it’s the server coming to check on you, but when you look up and the presence stops at your table, your heart skips at the musk that pummels your lungs and puts you in a chokehold. Because it’s the same one that enveloped you from behind not too long ago, strong enough to mask the stench of cleaning supplies. And the source of it slaps a familiar lone bill in front of you under a veiny, slender hand. He stares down at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. Glancing at the bill, you make no move to take it back or acknowledge the fact that he didn't let you pay, even though you just won a bunch of his money. What is this guy playing at?

"Take it."

"No," you shoot back, resuming your meal for an excuse not to look at him. 

He sighs and you think that's the end of it.

But then he scoots into the seat across from you. Your heart flatlines when he glances at you, barely acknowledging you or your shocked expression, and cards a hand through his hair, flipping his bangs away to showcase his forehead, clear of blemishes. Isn’t that fucking typical.

“Um, can I help you?”

“The kitchen’s closing soon and I want to order something,” he says casually as he gets comfortable.

“And you’re sitting at my table because? I thought I was annoying.”

“You are,” he replies, still not looking at you but at your bowl. “But all the other tables are full.”

You scoff and take a sweep of the restaurant, desperate to catch him in a lie - surely people have left and freed up spaces since you got here. Nope. The seat across from you was the only one empty. But why does he have to be the one who fills it?

“You could just go somewhere else.”

“It’s pouring out there.”

“Afraid you’ll melt?”

He flickers a small glare your way, then moves it behind you when the bell over the entrance announces a customer’s arrival. He’s acting indifferent, like he wasn’t just a complete dick, and you don’t know what to make of it.

“So does this mean you're done being an asshole to me now?”

“You think I should be nice or something?”

“That would be a start.”

“Aren’t you not supposed to be nice to strangers? Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

That draws a cloudy expression over your face. “I’m sure she would’ve if she was ever around.”

He looks at you and you can see a smidge of his hostile demeanor fall away. Your attention drops to your lap, waiting for him to give the little pity party you’re used to people throwing you when they find out you have an absentee parent. But he doesn’t, just shifts in his seat and lets a little tension out of his shoulders.

“Yoongi.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you look across again, thrown for a loop. “What?”

He shrugs, juts out his bottom lip in what you think is a pout. “You wanted my name, right?”

He looks shy and, dare you say, cute saying that. 

“Was that so hard? You know that makes us not strangers anymore,” you point out with a widening smile as he glowers at you.

You reach for the soju bottle but he leans forward and snatches it away. Puzzled, you withdraw your hand, but he gestures to your glass and mimes a pour. There’s uncertainty stitched between your brows as you pick up the glass and hold it out with two hands while he pours a shot. You can’t help but notice the scar etched in a jagged line across the back of his right hand turning the bottle, and you look away from it so you don’t gawk. But you’re curious.

Even though you don’t yet fully respect him, he is still 5 years older, so you turn to the side to knock the shot back. When you’re done, you silently offer to return the favor but he shakes his head, fills your glass once again and sets the bottle down, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, glancing between you and the table with a dart of his tongue over his bottom lip.

You stare at the liquor, tips of your fingers dancing around the rim of the glass as you debate how much of your sobriety you should hold onto for the night.

“You’re not drinking?” you ask after you down the shot, wiping your chin.

“I’m driving.” You hum in acknowledgement.

“Are you gonna eat?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“I thought that was the whole point of sitting at my table.”

“I changed my mind.” Liar. He’s been eyeing your bowl ever since he sat down.

“You’re a shit liar. No wonder I cleaned you out.”

He flips you off and you just sigh. A lost cause. You catch the scar on the back of his hand again, the skin raised but healed.

The atmosphere between you since his gesture has slowed things down, setting a new pace that’s strange but not entirely unwelcome. The liquor spreading warmth in your chest loosens your inhibitions, bringing forth your curiosity.

"What happened to your hand?”

"Bar fight,” he replies a little too quickly. You don't believe that.

"Some bar fight." He rolls his eyes at your sarcasm but then his attention flickers back with a tick of his eyebrows when you lower the collar of your sweater, exposing the skin just below your right clavicle that displays your own gash.

“I got this when I used to race during my first couple years at university.” You smirk when both his brows shoot up, clearly not expecting your story. “I was drifting and my component spun out and drove me off the road and I smashed into a guardrail. He was fine, but my windshield shattered and a big piece of glass just wedged in right here.” You press a finger against the very visible healed stitching. “It hurt like a motherfucker, dug into my bone and all that, but the scar came out pretty bad ass, don’t you think?”

He tilts his head with an amused expression, as if not expecting you to sound somewhat proud of your preventable injury.

“I’m sure you were smart enough to stop racing after that.”

“Yeah, but I still went to functions and stuff. And then one night, cops busted our spot and a bunch of us got arrested. I spent a couple days in jail and my brother had to come bail me out.” You pause to think about how irate Jin had been, flying halfway across the world to pay your bond, dragging Namjoon along to fight for you not to be charged. Jin chewed you out the entire time, about how dangerous that was and how you could’ve killed somebody and yourself. Of course you knew that, but you’ve always proved to be a damn good driver, only racing on empty roads after memorizing every wind, bump, and bend. You never let him see your scar because he would find a way to never let you see the light of day again. But then he made you transfer schools and you lost touch with your racing friends. You made sure your brothers never found out your accident didn't deter you from speed racing. You were just too good and made money off of it that you couldn't give up.

“And what was that you were saying earlier about being stuck alone somewhere with a felon?” He muses sarcastically.

Glossing over that snide remark, you launch into another anecdote, regaling him in the story of the first time you ever raced when you lost horribly to your brother and he never let you live it down. And the time you were the getaway driver when your brother and your friends decided to add to the graffiti collection under a bridge near school.

“I think you’re oversharing,” he intervenes when you bring your spiel to a close.

“Would you rather sit here and talk about the weather?”

“I’d rather not talk at all.” He looks down as soon as he says it and your eyes droop into a frown. Well, so much for that. Leave it to a guy to pull stupid shit like that.

“Right,” you mutter, leaning down to pick up your bag. “All I’m good for is a fuck.”

You get out your wallet and a large chunk of the cash that you won, leaving a sum for the bill on the table. As you rise, you fold a larger wad in half and slam it down next to his hands. He glances at it before dragging his gaze up to you, blinking a few times as you harshly stare him down. You sniff, swing your bag onto your shoulder, and turn your back on him.

“Stop.” You do and turn, slowly. “I know I’m an asshole, but I wasn’t implying that, okay?”

Blinking at his response, you step up to his edge of the table. You tilt your head, waiting for him to elaborate but when he doesn’t, a mildly disappointed sigh leaves your lungs.

“If that’s your idea of an apology…” He stares up as you hold him in suspense. “Then I’ll take what I can get.”

The tiny quirk of his lips has you plopping back in your seat, albeit a bit reluctant. As you set your bag back down, he slides the cash back over.

“Well, I’m not taking your money.” You frown.

“Well, at least order something to eat, I don’t mind treating. Unless you have that weird masculine thing where it’s offensive if a girl pays for food.”

A light smile threatens to break out on his face and you think it could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Nah, I’m never one to turn down a free meal.”

He finally orders and you try not to watch him eat, finding it endearing the way he rests his fingers holding chopsticks against his cheek while he chews. So you just return to quietly sipping your drink and watching the rain beat down on the pavement, illuminated by the street lamps. Occasionally, bumps rise on your skin like they did earlier when you feel his eyes on you. You just let him stare because it makes you feel warm.

The bowl slides to the middle of the table and Yoongi sits back with a satisfied sigh. You look over and smile, getting ready to tease him about his appetite but then the bell rings and Yoongi’s expression drops completely. He straightens in his seat, pulls the bandanna up over the lower half of his face and a dreadful feeling sinks into your gut when he grabs the chopsticks and holds them with a tight grip, veins popping and knuckles paling. You look over your shoulder, blood stirring with anxiety when you see a few men from the poker game heading straight for your table.

“Get your bag,” Yoongi mutters, shifting so his feet are turned to the side. Swallowing thickly, you bring up your backpack and wrap your arms across it, pressing it into your chest.

“So you decided to catch up to her before us. Well done, my friend,” the man says, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. A cold front moves in on the tips of your fingers, settles a tundra in your gut and freezes you in your seat when Yoongi doesn’t look at you, just stares at the man above him.

Was this all just a ruse? He was just keeping you here so his friends could come and mug you? You’re not that naive.

Right?

Just when you start to doubt all of your life choices, Yoongi smacks off the man’s hand, leans forward with his eyebrows furrowed at you.

“I’m not with them.” Your heart races as you look between them. For once, you feel backed into a corner.

“Yes, you are, pretty boy. Because if you’re not, then it seems to me that you both plotted to set us up and that means you’re both in trouble.”

“No one plotted anything. I’ve never met him before,” you declare, catching onto their lie, washed over with relief that you haven’t been duped.

“You just underestimated me and that’s not my fault.”

The man looks at you with an ugly lip curl.

“Oh, yes it is. You never should’ve been there in the first place, so hand me and my friends back our money and this all goes away. No one gets hurt.”

Yoongi’s jaw moves like he’s grinding his teeth. “That’s not what I heard,” he mutters.

Your clutch anxiously onto the sides of your backpack, not wanting to know what he means. You slowly reach under your chair to grab onto your duffle, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

The stranger bends down to lean towards you. “Give me the money. Now.”

“Get out of her face, man,” Yoongi spits, standing with a hand on his shoulder to push him back. You stand as well, holding tightly onto both of your bags as you look back at the door, but for all you know, there are more men out there waiting.

You jump when the man attempts to snatch your bag but withdraws with a shout in pain, and you don’t expect to see Yoongi piercing his shoulder with the chopsticks. As your heart and mind race, he yanks the utensils with added red out, keeps them in his fist, and shoves back the two men who crowd him, sending them into the tables behind. Dishes crash and customers leap up in exclamations of surprise, and Yoongi takes the opportunity to push you away and get behind you, hand flattened on your spine to compel you in the direction of the kitchen.

He seizes your duffle bag so you have an easier time moving, and you both ignore the protesting shouts from the chefs and servers as you run through the hot kitchen. As you stumble outside, the rain cascades over you, and your heart stops for a moment when you realize you have no plan to escape. But then he wraps his free hand around your forearm, glancing up as more shouts echo from the restaurant. He pulls down the bandana. His face looks radiant in the blurred street lights.

“This way.”

You both take off down the block, and in the midst of the sprint, Yoongi slides down his hand to instead curl his fingers around your wrist and leads you across the street. It’s not the rain that makes you shiver.

The scent of rain washes over you as your feet hit asphalt, a few honks blasting from cars you dart past. Yoongi puts himself between you and the vehicles that shout profanities at him and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you when he shouts right back and throws up a middle finger. You slide your hand into his palm to give him a good tug so he won’t end up in another squabble with an irate driver and he turns back to you. For some reason you’re smiling and when he looks at you, your heart pounds, but it could easily be mistaken for exertion. But when you spot the crinkle at the corners of his eyes that tells you he’s smiling too and your pulse skips a beat, you know it has nothing to do with running.

You have no idea where he’s taking you. But at this moment, you trust him with your life. It’s a 360, but it’s freeing. And nothing like you’ve ever felt before.

You run until you reach the end of the block where a black Ducati motorcycle is parallel parked in between a stretch of cars and he picks up a matte black helmet from the seat and holds it out to you.

“Here, put this on. Hurry up.” The fiberglass is covered in droplets of rain. It means safety, but from this man who gave it to you? Who keeps confusing you?

A dilemma.

“Why did you come after me?”

“What?” he half-shouts over the loud pattering of downpour. “We don’t have time-”

You step up to stand face-to-face with him and he blinks confusion down at you, mouth open as his chest heaves, panting, orange hair darkened and drenched. You glance down at the chopsticks are still trembling in his hand. Adrenaline. He snaps them in half and throws them into the street where they get carried into the storm drain.

It’s raining, but there’s a fire. You repeat your question, keeping the helmet down at your side so there’s not more than an inch between you. He holds your gaze - doesn’t blink or look away. Darkness surrounds you, but there’s none in his eyes.

“I just did.”

He gives no reason, so neither do you when you bunch the front of his soaked black crew-neck and yank him into you, into a kiss that will be seared into your mind like a core memory. He doesn’t lean into it for a split second, like you caught him off guard, but when he does, grabs the side of your face to take over and opens your mouth with his tongue like he’s always meant to taste you, it’s messy and desperate, teeth clacking and mouths moving uncoordinated. It’s the hungriest you’ve ever been kissed. Drinking in the rain, drinking in each other, the helmet slips from your fingers and you don’t notice for a second until he breaks away from your swollen lips and holds it up to you.

“We gotta go.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, regret taking over. He shakes his head and places the helmet into your hands. You frantically look over your shoulder where a few men are catching up, pointing their fingers and shouting as they spot you.

“Come on,” he urges and you slip on the helmet, facing back to see him swinging his leg over the bike and starting up the engine. He sits with your duffle slung around his neck in front of him, chin on his shoulder as he glances back just as you slide behind him.

“Hold tight.” He barely gives you enough time to circle your arms around his waist before he kicks off the curb. The bike roars to life and he speeds it away from the pavement, taking off down the street and into the night. Full of possibilities. You rest your head between his shoulder blades, unable to see the way his fingers tighten around the handle bars. Staring off to the side, you watch the night go by, road illuminated by street lights filtered through the rain, and your heart hammers at the adventure of it all.

The engine still purrs when it comes to a stop, now far enough away from danger. The rain has reduced to a drizzle and your heartbeat thunders within the fiberglass. You flip up the visor so he can hear you marvel,

“You stabbed him.” For you. He stabbed a man for you. And you think that’s why you kissed him.

“I know.”

“That was fucking metal.” His chuckle travels through his chest, so you can feel it in your own.

“I’m glad you think so.” ******* “So, where you headed?” he asks once he comes to the next stoplight. The smell of salt wafts in the air, tell tale sign of the beach.

“My hotel.” “Do you know the directions? I’m not google maps.”

You laugh against his back and tighten your hold around him. His muscles tense up beneath you. At this point, you think you’d let him take you anywhere, but you’re feeling bad about the kiss.

“You don’t have to take me all the way there. Just drop me off at a bus stop, it’s around here somewhere.”

“Buses don’t run this late.” You know for a fact that they do, but you don’t want to dispute him. Especially if it means you can hold onto him like this for just a little longer. Damn. You hated him just a little bit ago. Crazy how fast things can change in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll take a cab then.”

A rev of the engine fills a pause. “It’s late.”

“What?” He clears his throat, talks over his shoulder.

“I said it’s late. And it’s raining. I’ll just drop you off.” A spread of heat in your chest makes this chilly night a bit bearable.

“I thought you’d be itching to get away from me.”

“Yeah, you’d think,” he mutters, hanging his head, sounding dismayed. Or bitter.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Trust me.”

“You just want gas money, huh?” He huffs and tosses his head back, strings of wet hair allowing you a glimpse of his undercut.

“Just give me the damn directions.”

******* All too soon, the venture comes to an end when he pulls into the lot of the beachfront hotel. Quietly, he parks and shuts off the engine and it takes you a second to come down from your rush and realize you’re still holding onto him when there’s no reason to anymore. You snap yourself out of your daze of wishful thinking that this night will never end and remove your arms, immediately missing his warmth and touch. A little too quickly you move off of the seat and he straightens as you stand, removing the helmet and you miss the way he watches you shake out your hair. When you meet his gaze, your heart starts racing again, butterflies multiplying beneath your diaphragm as he stares at you for a moment before glancing down to the helmet you hold out to him. He accepts it with a subtle nod and rests it in his lap while you internally panic, trying to find something not stupid to say so this whole ordeal with him doesn’t end.

“Well, thank you. I half-expected you to ditch me on the side of the road and ride off with my money.”

He leans forward with a soft snort, resting his wrists on the center of the bars, and your heart starts to do gymnastics at the notion that he finds you amusing because it gives you hope that he’s interested enough to not leave yet.

“I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“No, but you’re pretty close.”

“And yet you got on my motorcycle.”

“You told me to trust you and I do.”

“You just said you expected me to ditch you and take your money.”

“Half-expected,” you emphasize. “There’s always room for doubt.”

Just the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile and you don’t want to see it leave.

“Speaking of room, do you have a place to stay?”

“Not around here,” he shakes his head, leaning back to stuff his hands in his jacket pockets. “But I have a friend across town who’ll let me crash, so I should probably get going.”

Tonight, with this man, has been an entire amusement park of emotions. From obscene attraction, to utter loathing, to being enlivened and now to just being plain disappointed. You don’t want to get off this ride just yet.

You squat down and drop your bag to the ground, digging into the front pocket for a pen and notepad. After you find one and rip out a page, you straighten and stride up to the bike without looking at him, writing down the number of your room. You fold it up once you’re done, passing it over, and watch him hesitate before accepting it.

“In case you change your mind,” you say, pointing at the page with your pen as you cap it. “Or if your friend doesn’t want a felon crashing on their couch.”

“And you wouldn’t mind a felon crashing with you?”

“I let a felon fuck me in a goddamn closet. What do you think?”

He holds your stare for a moment before a subtle smile breaks on his otherwise unreadable expression.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he says, shaking his head, and looks at the note for a second longer, then stuffs it in his jacket.

You sense an impending ‘but.’

“But-” You hate being right. “I think I’ll be okay. You should head inside, it’s starting to rain again.”

Not knowing what else to do besides stare at the ground and contemplate if you should write down your number too, you awkwardly hold out your hand, and then upon realizing how weird that is, quickly change your mind and retract it. Embarrassment flooding your cheeks, you reach down to snatch up your bag and turn around. You don’t wave, don’t say anything because what else is there to do? You don’t want to say it was nice to meet him because you’re still trying to figure out if it was, nor do you want to say ‘see you’ because you’re not sure if you ever will after this. 

You don’t look back, and as you head towards the main entrance where you can pick up your room key, the sound of the motorcycle revving into gear echoes around you and it’s only when it disappears in the distance do you turn around, wishing you weren’t watching him go. More like you were still on the back.

.

.

.

thanks for reading!! let me know what you think! i love to yap!!

xxx - claret p.s. i wrote the poker scene after watching a ten-minute wiki-how video on how to play texas hold 'em lmao

masterlist

taglist: @rinkud @taegijns @viankiss @polarnightmyg @futuristicenemychaos

@busanbby-jjk @lixies-favorite-cookie

[lndsismaeverything]

Lnds writing ideas

Because I'm too lazy to write and just want to blush, giggle and read 🫠

If u decided to write one of these ideas PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TAG ME 🥹 so I can read your lovely work

Or if someone already wrote something alike also please tag me ♪～(´ε｀　)

ʚ Xavier, zayne, rafayell , sylus ɞ

Showing of that they are married

lnds men getting hit on and they just flash the ring on is ring finger " sorry but I'm already taken" and pull you by the shoulder so they can see who his lover is 🤭

Being a girl dad

Lnds men having daughters and they just spoil them rotten " daddy can I have that please? " when ur about to say no because she has gotten way too many gifts from her daddy. But your husband already pulled his wallet and ready to pay " anything for my lil princess "

Who are u?

MC got hurt and in the hospital and decided to play a prank on them by saying " who are u?" Inspired by rafayell 🤭

I wish you where real

MC dreaming about lnds and crying while being comforted by them

MC : I love you...

Lnds men : but I'm not real....

MC : I wish you where real...

Lnds: I wish you where fictional

Reader wakes up next to heir was her phone still on and showing the lnds men sleeping and also waking up (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)♡ (I really need this to be written )

First day of school

Lnds men dropping of their kid(s) of the first day of school ( kindergarten ) how well will the kids take it? Knowing rafayell and his kid both will cry 🤭

Kid(s) crying " is mommy okay? "

The kids crying bec they heard mommy screaming ( in pleasure ✧(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧) the dads go check on them while mommy put her clothes back on and go check on them. The moment you enter they hugged u and glare at daddy " is mommy okay? Did daddy hurt you? I going with you if u divorced daddy " lnds men taken a back

Double trouble

When lnds men have sons that looks exactly like them and also have their personalities

I see that sylus would have twins son and will make trouble around the house and the city of onychinus

Xavier and his son would make a Mother's Day breakfast you all know how that will go

Zayne and his son would sneak into the kitchen for a midnight snack, at first zayne caught his son but since this son has his intelligence he would " dad I won't tell mommy about u also sneaking for a midnight sweet snack if you don't tell her about me too" zayne would chuckle at his son smart ass " deal" but both got caught a few minutes later 🤭

Rafayell and his son would fight over your love. You can fight me but hear me out rafayell son would be a total mamas boy (ง ͠° ͟ʖ #)ง rafayell being rafayell " hey hands of my precious wife I got her first waited 800 years for not to get stollen by a child that only came after 4 years "

Lnds men with Baby fever

You already know (*´﹃｀*)

Drunken moment

Them helping you pick out a nail design

I'm here (sylus)

Lnds reaction breaking the bed

[cursedkeyboard]

Babies shouldn't grow up ☆ Jason Todd & GN!Reader

What does Jason do when he finds a scraggly looking kid trying to pickpocket a gang member in the slums of Gotham? Beat up the criminals and steal the child, of course. [PART ONE ♤ PART TWO ♤ PART THREE ♤ PART FOUR ♤ PART FIVE ♤ PART SIX]

pairings: Platonic Jason Todd & Child GN!Reader

Just like every other story, Jason found you by pure accident

He was doing his rounds in Gotham, tending mostly to the slums where vigilantes didn't patrol as much and police never cared for

And after being tipped by Oracle about gang activity happening nearby, of course he left to check it out

Lo and behold, the place was crawling with gangsters, but not only that, civilians as well

Civilians like you, who managed to swipe one of the gangster wallet so swiftly even Jason wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention to the only kid in the area

Needless to say, his interest was picked immediately

First of; Jason always had a soft spot for kids, so seeing one in such dreadful place immediately set off the protective alarms in his head

Second of; You reminded him so much of himself it fucking hurt

Nimble fingers, swift footsteps, a scratched up face

Clearly starved, clearly beaten, clearly abandoned

It was like looking at a mirror and seeing into the past

So when you accidentally bumped into another gangster as you tried to leave the scene, falling to the ground and letting the wallet slip from your hand, Jason didn't hesitate

Before any of the criminals tried to even look at you, Jason was already smashing their faces against the dirty streets

You, a smart street kid, immediately escaped into an alleyway as Jason created havoc by taking every gang member by himself, effectively stopping their arms deal before it even started

It was bloody, maybe a little too vicious for a certain old Bat's liking, but Jason wasn't taking any chances

Once he was done and Oracle had already updated the police to go and grab the knocked out men, Jason went looking for you

Luckily for him, the alley you slipped into was one with a dead end

He found you crouched by a large garbage bin, a cut on your cheek, and a mean little glare

Jason tried hard not to laugh

Look, you were such a small thing at that age, barely ten or so

For someone trying to be intimidating, you sure looked like a puppy

A puppy with rabies that wanted very much to chomp his fingers off but a puppy nonetheless

Instead of laughing, he crouched too, making himself smaller and less intimidating despite his large size, showing you his empty hands when you looked like you were about to bolt or bite

Jesus Christ, you were small

Could you even reach his hips?

In all honesty, he didn't think much at the moment

he didn't stop to calculate the risks or the consequences

not did he really care about how incredibly selfish he was being, trying to mend his own old wounds by using you

All Jason did was pull off his helmet, extend a hand, and ask; "Wanna come with me, squirt? I can get you a much better place than this shithole."

And while you argued that you learned never to trust strangers or follow weird men home, you also knew about Red Hood, the only vigilante to truly care about the poor in Gotham

And he'd shown his face, which, you know, vigilantes never do

So you hissed and tried your best to be a mean little shit

When Jason only laughed, never raising a hand nor his voice, something inside little you calmed down

Adults usually screamed at you when you were being annoying

Some slapped and hit you for glaring at them

But this adult... he was kind

You could tell instinctively, as a kid who barely ever experience any gentleness

You gave in with a grumble and Jason immediately wrapped you in his jacket and pulled you up in his arms

He saw you weren't wearing any shoes and he didn't want you cutting your little feet in some disease ridden glass

You tried to argue

"I'm heavy!" You had squeaked as you tried to push away from his chest

he laughed, annoyingly warm

apparently to him you weighed the same as three and a half apples

He even made a show of throwing you in the air a little when you insisted

Your little squeak put the biggest smile on his face

Jason couldn't lie, you looked fucking adorable when he put you on his motorcycle, his spare helmet so much bigger than your little head

God, he was already growing fond and it hadn't even been thirty minutes since he met you

As he strapped you in as securely as he could, making sure his jacket was closed and the helmet wouldn't slip, a familiar voice spoke up again

Oh, right, she was there the whole time

Oracle asked him if he knew what he was doing

Jason turned his comms off and drove home

He had a room to decorate and a child to feed

And as you wrapped your little arms around his middle, gasping and wow-ing as you saw parts of Gotham you had never seen

Jason knew this wouldn't be a one-time thing

To be continued...

[beef-brisket]

What about the Big Bang Theory?

An au like that where Adam is Penny and Lucifer is Leonard

The ANGST!

All of the fucking breakups would be so funny amd each of them have a handful of fail proposals under their belt.

Adam: Oh my god- what happened?!

Alastor and Lucifer walk into their apartment with no pants on.

Lucifer: Well... your ex-boyfriend sends his regards, and I think the rest is fairly self explanatory.

Alastor and Lucifer look between each other.

Adam: I'm so sorry! I really thought if you guys went instead of me, he wouldn't be such an ass.

Lucifer: N-No, it was a valid hypothesis.

Alastor: That was a valid hypothesis-? What's happening to you?

Adam goes over and pulls Lucifer into a hug, then Alastor. Lucifer tries to hold onto the hug as Adam goes to Alastor.

Adam: Really, thank you guys so much for going and trying, you're, uh, you're so terrific!

Adam opens the door and looks back at the two men.

Adam: Why don't you two put some clothes on and I'll grab my wallet, dinners on me, okay?

Lucifer: Really?

Alastor: Thank you.

Adam smiles and walks across the way to his apartment.

Lucifer and Alastor stand in the doorway and watch him go inside.

Alastor: You're not done with him, are you?

Lucifer: Our babies will be smart, and beautiful.

Alastor: Not to mention imaginary.

[carnelianly]

this post contains noncon! please don’t read if that will be upsetting! i would never promote this in real life, and people, men or women, are always unable to consent to any kind of contact while intoxicated!

art is your friend. not your boyfriend. not your dog that you can tug around on a leash like you seem to think you can. he has a girlfriend. he’s madly in love with her. he doesn’t want you. sure, he can acknowledge that you’re pretty and he can tell himself, in the comforts of his own head ‘if i were single, i’d.. definitely go for her’. in another life, maybe he was yours. not in this one.

but he was invited out to the bar by patrick who also invited you and a couple other friends and he doesn’t mind your presence at all. you’re.. you’re nice enough. you may make him a little nervous when you smile like that, but that’s not for him to say. he keeps himself polite but distant in conversation with you.

he drinks a little too much. patrick always suggests shots and what is art supposed to do? say no? look like a pussy?

he downs them anyway, one after another until it’s two hours later and he forgets he’s barely eaten much all day and there’s so much alcohol in his system that he can’t stand up straight.

not to worry, you’re them to catch him before he falls over. patrick and the others are off talking about some nonsense, but you’re being so nice and helpful, you wipe the drool from his chin and fix his hair and he smiles faintly at you in gratitude.

you smile back at him, one arm holding him up since he’s not stable enough to stand on his own, half leaning on the bar counter and half relying on you to keep him up. your other hand is… art isn’t really paying attention. feels weird, though. it’s between his thighs, rubbing the skin softly, almost teasingly. art isn’t coherent enough to understand what’s happening.

you’re smiling at him, telling him everything is gonna be fine, because it will be. everything will be okay. he doesn’t have to worry, you’ll take care of him, keep him safe. there’s so many bad people in this world that might try to hurt him, steal his wallet, take advantage of him. you’re not like that. you’re just gonna keep talking to him like this until it’s time to leave and then you’re gonna take him home. he’s too drunk to get back to his place by himself, so you’ll just let him stay at yours. so gracious of you.

he listens because he has no other choice, and he’s not as much letting you touch him but not able to stop you. your hand is on his crotch, massaging him through his jeans, and he moans and he falls forward into you, resting his head on your shoulder. he’s weak. unable to do anything but take this treatment. your hand that was keeping him upright moves to his ass, always so plump and thick, god, he obviously does it for his girlfriend but he might as well have done it for you, in this moment.

you could so easily take what you wanted from him, especially because you’re sure he’s about to black out and remember nothing. but you’re a better person than that, you tell yourself. you’re just touching, you’re not gonna break anything.

you end up taking him into the bathroom, and he’s too drunk to know what he’s doing, but hey, he kissed you first, even if he’s tripping over his own feet and practically drooling into your mouth. it’s hot, and you feel him up some more. it feels wrong to fuck him, too permanent. he’d definitely know what happened then. he’s smart when he’s sober, smart enough anyway.

in the end, he’s taken home with patrick and a couple of buddies, taking a shared uber home while art is blacked out, while you go off by yourself.

the next time you see art, he definitely does not remember what happened that night. he does feel a little weird around you, but he can’t quite put his finger on why your presence is so.. uncomfortable all of a sudden…

[squishpies]

Bonten Headcannons

(no NSFW, just character hcs)

-Ran Haitani-

•definitely wears makeup

•probably watched James charles

•learned how to braid his hair from practicing on Rindou

•doesn’t like dating

•definitely a-sexual

•likes to hum to music

•doesn’t have a lot of friends (he considers his brother a friend)

•Halloween is his favorite holiday

•I feel like he’s straight (but maybe likes men idk)

•definitely a flirt

•blocked sanzu because he kept spamming him porn links while ran was in a meeting

-Rindou Haitani-

•doesn’t like to wear his glasses

•somewhat smart in mathematics

•plays Minecraft

•probably a model at some point

•calls ran “Wednesday Adams”

•favorite holiday is Christmas

•listens to Christmas music in July

•scams little kids on roblox

•definitely has tinder

•bi

-Sanzu-

•mf is a MENACE

•has a weird obsession with minions

•scared Rindou once by crawling on all fours and chasing him down a hallway. (He got his ass beat)

•likes sweets, (like cake, cupcakes, candy, etc..)

•plays fortnite religiously and rages. (Then gets yelled at by Mikey)

•has Mikey under the name ‘bae’ on his phone.

•stalks his co-workers (especially the haitani brothers to scare them)

•owns a collection of katanas

•definitely a model

•blocked senju on Twitter because she tried to contact him once

•his favorite holiday is probably Easter 😭

•DEFINITELY still believes in Santa, and Mikey has to put an elf on the shelf around the base.

•likes to listen to lady Gaga and Rihanna

-Mikey-

•angsty mf

•listens to Mindless Self Indulgence

•sick of Bonten’s shit (especially sanzu’s)

•has blocked sanzu on multiple occasions, just for sanzu to steal his phone and unblock himself..

•paints his nails black

•probably had a slight crush on takemichi

•rants about things on Twitter on an alt account

•when he’s bored he eats

•is literally the grinch

•fucking HATES Christmas

•but he secretly likes it just because he gets presents

•listens to Mariah Carey

•collects jordans (shoes)

•gets bitches (literally whenever he’s in public he gets hit on)

-Koko-

•literal wallet

•definitely a sugar daddy

•has been called an ‘old hag’ because of his white hair

•been compared to a snake

•probably a vegan (vegan power)

•wears designer clothing since he’s rich

•is lactose intolerant

•has been diagnosed with OCD and he replies “mental illness isn’t real” 😭

•listens to country

•doesn’t have a favorite holiday

•likes to paint

-Kakucho-

•used to get buzzcuts religiously until he got made fun of for it by Ran and Sanzu and he just decided to let it grow

•still isn’t over Izana

•drowns himself in cologne

•HATES country music

•has gotten into a fist fight with koko once because he played Taylor swift

•listens to katy Perry

•wears highlighter

•needs glasses

•likes to sew clothes

•favorite food is probably something bland like rice

•loves it when it snows

•likes cold weather

[carolinebreedingaddict]

9 months ago, you were marching at a women's rights rally, protesting the new misogynistic laws that had recently been put into place. Then a strong, sexist man came up behind you and groped your ass. You were shocked and angered at him, but one thing led to another and he ended up taking you to his place. You were disgusted by his objectifying attitude, and his misogynistic remarks towards you. On the way to his house you lost your wallet and phone, but fortunately he was kind enough to let you stay at his place until you could get back on your feet.

8 months ago, you found out you were pregnant. That sexist pig had somehow coerced you into sex multiple times over that past month, and now you were carrying his kid! The new laws prevented you from getting an abortion without a man's permission, so you were stuck like this until you could figure things out. He would make non-stop comments about how much of a dumb cunt you were, and would touch and use your body as he pleased. It wasn't your fault you got wet from him squeezing your tits!

7 months ago, your pregnancy started to induce visible changes. Your tits had grown considerably, your nipples were sore and tender constantly, and the rest of your body was beginning to fill out a bit. The man continued to treat you like a dumb, worthless idiot, but you got so used to it that the comments didn't bother you anymore.

6 months ago, your belly really started to become visibly pregnant. You were having sex with the man at least once a day, and you finally stopped resisting his advances. I mean, he made you orgasm harder than ever! Might as well enjoy it, right? Whenever he made a sexist comment about you or other girls, you no longer reacted with disgust, opting instead to simply roll your eyes and smirk. You were starting to find his creative ways of insulting women entertaining, and sometimes... even arousing.

5 months ago, he started bringing you out in public with him. The only outfits he had at his house were skimpy, slutty costumes that were definitely a size too small on you. (Although you might have fit in them before you got pregnant. You were only getting bigger at this point.) It was embarrassing how your new, plump curves jiggled with every step. Yet somehow, there was a feeling in the back of your mind that prevented you from complaining. You were beginning to like this. Having men and women alike stare at your now voluptuous body aroused you! Clearly it was because you liked feeling empowered, and totally not because you liked looking like a dumb whore!

4 months ago, your mind began to race with thoughts you never had before. Your boyfriend's "jokes" only made those thoughts more vivid and erotic. In your free time you would scour the internet for degrading, rough porn to get off to. Your libido had increased significantly, and it was getting harder and harder to cum without fantasizing about being inferior. (Because after all, these thoughts were just fantasy...) Your boyfriend would treat you like his personal sextoy, fucking you hard and deep multiple times a day. Unlike masturbation, his fat cock would always make you cum. But the feeling of an orgasm couldn't come close to the feeling of him filling you with his seed.

3 months ago, your boyfriend started suggesting that you dye your hair blonde. Why? Because you were dumb, of course! You gladly followed what he said because he knew what was best for you! You realized that you should just start listening to him, doing what He says because He was so smart and superior! I mean, just like He says: "Girls are dumb cunts!" He said it so it must be true! You looked a lot prettier once you started changing how you looked for Him. Those skimpy outfits looked so cute with your tight, round belly, your swollen, leaking udders, and your fat jiggly ass! He was so right, you are just a dumb cunt!

2 months ago, he started taking you out to women's rights rallies, but instead of bitching and complaining like all those dumb cunts do, you instead did what good cows do and started praising how great Men were right in front of their faces! You jiggled your tits, wiggled your ass, and rubbed your beautiful belly as all those ugly, boring cunts stood in shock! You could tell how much the Men around you liked your display. Their approval was the purest sense of euphoria you could have ever felt!

1 month ago, you started to notice weird things. You were starting to get very forgetful, often forgetting where you placed things, forgetting to do your daily routines, and having trouble remembering the definitions of those really big words that your Husband always uses. Not that you needed to know what words like "contraceptive" or "independence" meant. After all, why try to do all that hard thinking stuff when Men do it so much better? You're much better at doing woman things like sucking cock, cleaning, and pumping out babies!

Now, you're relaxing in your Husband's home, nearing closer and closer to your due date. You're so excited to have your first baby! Even better, you're going to have a Son! That means you get to teach Him how superior He is to all the cows around him! One day, He's gonna find a cunt just like you, one who thinks she's smart, capable, and equal to Men, and He's gonna show her just how dumb, incapable, and inferior she is!

You couldn't be any happier!

[ladykissingfish]

Hidan: Kakuzuuuu! Do ya think I’m pretty?!

Kakuzu: What kind of weird question is that? Have you become a ten year old girl or something?

Hidan: Fuck that. It’s just … I hear the puppet telling blondie how good he looks all the damn time. And shark-dick never stops his gay worship of red-eyes. So what do ya think about ME? Kakuzu: I think ... you're god-tier-level annoying. I think I should have asked Sasori to medicate you years ago. I think you're a hindrance both to my personal goals and the goals of this organization. I think -- Hidan: Yeah, yeah, I KNOW all that, fucker! I'm asking if you think I look good! C'mon, don't be shy! Kakuzu: You want the honest truth? Fine. I think you are, objectively, one of the most handsome men I've ever met in my ninety-one years of living. I think you are aesthetically perfect, from your smooth face to your adorable little toes. I think I have a hard time being alone with you and not ravaging your delicious body with my hands, my tongue, and other parts. Now why the fuck do you want to know?? Hidan, flabbergasted: I ... shit I didn't expect that. Holy fuck. So you think I'm hot, and I think you're hot ... why aren't we dating or fucking or something? Kakuzu: Because I'm ninety-one years old, Hidan. Come on, is your self-esteem so low that you don't believe that you could do better? Mm? Hidan, incredulously: "Do better"?? Holy Jashin-sama, what's the matter with you? Are you so old that you're blind, too? You're EVERYTHING, old bastard! You're hot and you're smart and you can even be funny and shit when you're not trying to. And you're ... *voice gets softer* You're a really good friend, too. Better friend than a piece of shit like me deserves. You're always lookin' out for me and putting my body back together. *laughs* You're an idiot for thinking I could "do better" because -- *Kakuzu pulls down his mask, pulls Hidan forward and gives him a kiss on the lips* Hidan: ... AND you're a great kisser too? Shit, I'm way out of my league! I should -- *Kakuzu pulls his face forward again and kisses him longer this time* Hidan: Hidan: R-right. So this mission, we should finish it and then get something for dinner? It's on me; I'm starving. Kakuzu: *gently touches Hidan's cheek while pulling his own mask back up* If I knew this would all it took to get you to open your wallet, I would have slept with you years ago. Hidan: Keep that in mind because I said the kiss buys you dinner, not dessert ~

[katyswrites]

don't call me 'baby'

PART 5 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), daddy kink, ddlg dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex, swearing, sexual harassment/men being gross, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 9.6k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 5 | our secret moments in a crowded room

In the few weeks that followed, you often found yourself looking around and wondering how this was your life. If it wasn’t so stupidly cliché, you’d actually stop and pinch yourself to make sure this was all real.

After that first night, you started spending more time with Steve. It often went the same way - he’d send you a text in the middle of the day, telling you when to be ready that evening. You’d dress up in something nice he had made for you, more dresses and outfits getting sent over from Valentina throughout the days that followed. He’d come pick you up, but you’d never let him come upstairs - the idea was so embarrassing that the thought of it alone made you want to sink into the floor.

Then, he’d take you out to dinner at some restaurant that you certainly had never dreamed of setting foot in before - you were pretty sure he charged you just to breathe the air inside. The food was always delicious, the wine divine - and the company wasn’t so bad, either. Over dinner, and with the passage of time, you began to learn a bit more about him. You knew that he was born in a small town in Indiana called Hawkins; he was an only child, and got out of that town and moved to Chicago as soon as he could, never looking back; you also knew that he was right - he was practically married to his work. He often only talked about work - what he was dealing with during the day, how Billy and Tommy were insufferable, the places he had lived in and traveled to on business. 

As he opened up and talked more, you had started keeping a detailed list in your head of the things you were learning about Steve that he wasn’t necessarily saying:

He rarely mentioned his family. Or any friends really, for that matter.

This didn’t bother you - at least, it shouldn’t have. He didn’t owe you this information - you weren’t his girlfriend, and you both weren’t in any way obligated to delve into each other’s personal lives. In fact, the less you two got into that stuff, the better - that was what you told yourself. But, whenever the topic of his family started to come up organically, his voice would trail off, followed by a quick change of subject. There was something unspoken there, something you were smart enough to not push. And you recognized yourself in him in those moments - somebody who didn’t have a good home life growing up, someone who doesn’t have anybody to turn to. You filed the information away for later, just in case. And, you knew one thing: don’t ask about his family, ever.

Steve loved to give everything he had

This was already obvious - he was sending you thousands of Euros a week, and never hesitated to pay for, well, everything. At first, you had insisted on at least paying for something while you two were out together. But he never even let you look at the bill, and by this point, you didn’t even pretend to reach for your wallet. It felt strange, to have someone take care of you like this - it took some getting used to, but Steve always appeared as if nothing made him happier than spoiling you. The routine had become rather familiar - he’d send you a text that felt almost a bit too formal, asking (or sometimes, telling) you when he wanted to see you next. You’d put on something nice he had bought for you and he’d pick you up outside of your apartment - you never let him come upstairs. Then, he’d whisk you away to some five-star restaurant for dinner or a glamorous bar for drinks. You’d both chat and catch up about however long it had been since you’d last seen one another. 

You hardly ever kissed in public spaces, or outside of sex at all. You didn’t hold hands. You didn’t show each other affection when you went out at all, really - why would you? But, if you were feeling a little cheeky, or downright impatient, you’d put your hand on his knee, and let it travel up, up, up - and he’d call for the check like his life depended on it. Then, he’d take you back to his place. And that brought you to the third point on your list:

He was fucking incredible in bed

You had already figured that out after your first time together. But, the paranoid, inherently pessimistic part of you wondered if it was a fluke, or maybe you were just looking through rose-colored glasses because it had been a while for you, and it just felt good to be touched like that by somebody. But, if anything, it was only getting better. As you got to know one another more, and the layers of strangeness between you two were shed, it became less awkward and more comfortable. You found yourself feeling more bold in bed, ready to try new things. And, Steve was eager to please. He would ask you what you liked, what you wanted, and in return you would rile him up, do everything you could and push it as far as you could with one goal in mind: blowing his mind. And there, at least, you were proving to be pretty successful.

One thing was rather constant - he was so vocal in bed. And you were, too - it was like he brought it out of you, his new, eager side. But everything else was different each time. Sometimes, he was soft and slow, taking his time with you. Others, he was rough and fast, practically using you as a plaything as you screamed beneath him.  Some nights were like the very first, where he relinquished control and let you have your way with him. Other times, though, he liked to take control and manhandle you, and you let him.

Tonight was one of those nights. He had taken you to a rooftop restaurant, the warm early June air lending itself to the setting perfectly. Rome sprawled out in front of you, with its warm lights and bustling streets. Dinner had been delicious, the wine spreading through you and making you feel just a bit warm and mellow. It was perfect - and you wanted nothing more than to leave. Because god, he looked good, dressed in all-black with his button-down undone on top, letting his chest hair peek through whenever he’d reach up to run his hands through his hair. So, when he finally did take you home, you had practically jumped him as soon as you got in the elevator in his building. And, he had wanted it just as badly as you. It was how you ended up here, right now, writhing beneath him as he pounded into you. He was merciless, your legs wrapped around his back to pull him closer, deeper. His hand was between you, finger circling your clit in a way that was driving you insane. You thrusted up to meet his hips, and the angle was just right to make you scream out his name.

“Yeah? You liked that?” he gasped, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he hovered over you.

“Fuck, yeah - you feel so good, you cock feels so - ah! Just like that - yeah, oh my god -”

“Yeah, look at you - all fucked out, just for me. Are you gonna come again? Are you gonna come on my cock, like a good girl?”

Again. Because he had thrown you on the bed and eaten you out like a starving man, having you come undone in a matter of minutes. He had hardly given you a moment to recover before he was fucking you, and your mind couldn’t focus on anything other than Steve.

“Yeah,” you moaned, head thrown back as he fucked into you. “I’m gonna come on your cock - I’m your good girl -”

“Damn right you are,” he said gruffly, continuing his assault on your clit. 

You had never really done this in bed before him, either - the pet names, the dirty talk, all of it. It had felt foreign, at first, but you realized you were into it. There was one thing you hadn’t tried yet that you wanted to - there was a chance Steve would love it, or absolutely hate it. You had almost said it a few times, just to test the waters. But each time, something stopped you, and you found yourself holding back. Now, though, most rational thought had left you - all you could think about was Steve, and how good he felt, the stretch of him, the filthy things he was whispering in your ear -

“I’m so close,” you gasped, walls clenching and fluttering around him as you felt the heat building in your core. “Oh my god -”

“Come on, baby - cum on my cock. You know you want to - I can’t wait to cum in this pussy, fill it up - cum for me, right on this cock -”

“Yes,” you cried, your orgasm hitting you like a tsunami. You arched your back, pressing yourself into him as the pleasure washed over and spread through you. 

“I’m coming, daddy, oh my god -”

His thrusts faltered for a second, and he nearly fell forward on top of you before catching himself on his forearms. You squeezed and convulsed around him, and he let out a guttural groan as he spilled into you. He buried his face into your neck, sucking on the skin there as he gave a few more sloppy thrusts before stilling. You both stayed that way for a few moments, your fingers still pressed into his shoulder blades as you both let your breathing get back under control. You stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding. After a few moments, he pulled out of you and rolled over, pulling the sheet up to cover you both. He flopped next to you, and you heard the rustle of his head turning on the pillow to look at you. Steve’s gaze burned through your skull, but you stayed staring at the ceiling, terrified of what you might see if you brought yourself to look at him.

Did he hate it? Was he just trying not to laugh at you? Or, was he just concerned? You did know one thing - you had liked it. More than you thought you would. What did that mean?

You felt something brushing your arm, and you looked to see that it was his hand, gently running the backs of his fingers up and down your bare skin.

“You okay?” he asked softly. You finally brought your eyes to meet his, and sighed. He was difficult to read, even now.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I just - sorry about that.”

He furrowed his brow.

“About what?”

You cast your eyes down, fiddling with your hands.

“About - well, like - I just wanted to try it out. But, like - if you weren’t into it -”

“Whoa, hey,” he said soothingly. “I - I definitely was into it. It was really fucking hot - this might be dumb to say, but I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard in my life.”

You felt your face heat, like you were fourteen and found out someone had a crush on you or something.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. 

“Good,” you breathed. “Because, I really want to do it again.”

Before he could say anything else, you were rolling over and kissing him, and not a lot of real talking happened after that.

****

Afterwards, you were lying in his bed sipping a glass of wine, his arm around you as he scrolled through his phone.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Fucking work - why Brenner thinks he can email me at midnight, I have no idea -”

“It’s okay,” you said, shrugging. “I get it.”

It really was fine. He didn’t do this very often, at least, not as often as you’d expect someone with his job to. It was par for the course, you reasoned. Then, you sat up a bit straighter.

“Wait - nearly midnight? Don’t you have work in the morning?”

He sighed, throwing his head back against the headboard and shutting his eyes. 

“Yes,” he groaned. “Wish I didn’t. But I do.”

“What time do you have to get up?”

“I don’t know, I usually set my alarm for a little after six.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you, and shook your head.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I really should go, then -”

That was another thing - you never spent the night. He never said you couldn’t, exactly. But it felt strange - he usually had to be up early, and if you actually stayed over… you weren’t sure what that made you to him. So it was easier to just leave after, usually with a promise from him that you’d hear from him again soon.

“Oh, right,” he said quickly. “That’s fine - let me just call my car.”

You nodded, finding your dress where it laid on the floor, face flushing at the memory of Steve practically tearing it off of you earlier. As you shimmied into it, you heard him say behind you -

“Oh! By the way - I have a question for you. A proposition, I guess.”

You spun around as you fumbled with the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Are you free on Saturday night?” he asked.

“I definitely can be. Why, did you want to grab dinner?”

Grab dinner was certainly one way to describe what you two usually did. A euphemism, at best. But he just smirked, and shook his head.

“Not exactly - there’s a work event that I’m going to. A charity gala, actually. It’s a black-tie sort of thing. But, I have a ticket, and I get to bring a plus one. I haven’t - I mean, I definitely would -”

He sighed, running a hand through his now-mussed hair, thanks to you.

“It might be kind of terrible, and you can 100% say no if you don’t want to. It’ll probably be pretty boring, mostly just my colleagues and our clients and investors, but the meal is paid for, and it has an open bar, there’s dancing -”

He was rambling, and not exactly meeting your gaze, and you realized that he was actually nervous.

“Yeah, sure,” you said simply. “That’d be nice.”

He stopped mid-sentence, meeting your eyes.

“Really? Because, you really don’t have to, if you’d rather do something fun with your friends or something -”

“Steve - I said I’ll go. I want to go.”

He visibly relaxed, and nodded.

“Okay - great. I’ll have Valentina make something for you to wear - like I said, it’s really formal. I’ll take care of it.”

“Right,” you said, popping your leg up as you shoved your foot into your shoe. “Thanks for that.”

He waved a hand as he typed away on his phone with the other.

“Always, you know that.”

Always. He was right - he always took care of you. Why, you had no idea. But you were finally starting to accept that this was your life now, and maybe something nice was happening to you just because it was. It was a new feeling.

“Okay, well, let me know the details and… I guess I’ll see you Saturday?”

He looked up at you, thinking for a moment. 

“Yeah, probably. I really want to try to see you again between now and then, but… I do have that client dinner on Wednesday, and I’m going over to Paris until Friday - but, I’ll text you, yeah?”

You nodded, pasting on a smile that you hoped conveyed nonchalance.

“Yeah - whatever works. Just let me know.”

“Great - here, let me -”

And he was following you through his apartment to the door, wearing only in his boxers, you as a more disheveled version of the girl who had arrived earlier. He always walked you to the door, but you insisted on seeing yourself down to the lobby. Then, as usual, he pecked you on the cheek, and asked you to text him when you got home safely. 

And, as usual, you couldn’t help but feel just a bit empty as you rode the elevator down. You knew it was stupid - this was the whole deal. And, if you were being honest, this arrangement was the best thing that could’ve happened to you this summer. You were richer than you’d ever been, wanted for nothing, and were having fantastic sex on a regular basis. 

Still, after a silent drive home, thanking the driver, bounding up the stairs to your flat, and hopping right into the shower, you couldn’t help but feel more alone than ever. 

You hoped that the hot water would wash away the feeling, just as it washed sweat, makeup, perfume, and Steve down the drain. But it didn’t. It never did. No, Steve clung to you like the lingering smell of smoke on old fabric. 

You flopped into bed, exhausted, but not before sending the promised text:

home and showered thanks again - let me know about saturday

It was past 1am now - you figured he probably was asleep by now, with his workday mere hours away. Instead, just as you started to drift off to sleep, your phone lit up on the nightstand:

Always - I’m glad you made it home safe. I’ll come by to get you at 6:30 p.m. on Saturday. Valentina will have the dress sent over before then. I’d suggest wearing the nicest jewelry you have, too - feel free to use my credit card. Sorry I have to work/travel a lot this week. But I’ll see you on Saturday.

You rolled your eyes at his text - the formality of it all made it seem like he was 80 years old sometimes. You sent back a quick reply:

sounds good i’ll try to look decent haha

You saw that he was typing for several minutes, starting and stopping, before settling on something short:

You’ll look beautiful. You always do.

You felt your face heat, and suddenly wanted to bury your face in your pillow. Instead, you pivoted the conversation:

ok - now go to sleep! i didn’t think you’d still be up lol

A moment, then a reply from Steve:

I wasn’t able to sleep until I knew you were home. It’s not a problem - sleep well.

Another three dots appeared like he was going to add something else, but then they vanished. You frowned, then wrote back:

ok - goodnight and sleep well too

He replied one last time before you even had the chance to put your phone back on your nightstand:

Goodnight. I always sleep better after I’ve been with you.

You flipped your phone over and turned it down, not daring to look at it again. You decided not to dwell on the meaning of that last text. Logically, it’s just him trying to make a joke, something about being tired out from the sex. That thought is what you settled on as you drifted off to sleep. Because, if you tried to read into it any more, you knew you’d be digging yourself into a hole you couldn’t get out of - and that was enough to make any person go insane.

*****

You didn’t hear much from Steve for the rest of the week. He worked late most evenings, and traveled to Paris for two days to close some big deal that you only vaguely understood the workings of. On Friday night, you finally got one text:

About to board my flight back. Your dress will be delivered in the morning, so keep an eye out for that. I’ll come to pick you up around 6:30. Also - don’t wear earrings.

You raised an eyebrow at that last part. But, Steve always had his reasons, and you knew well enough by now to not question it. 

Sure enough, late Saturday morning, your buzzer rang. You signed for the delivery and hauled the garment bag inside, the now-familiar brand label embroidered on the side. Robin was sitting cross-legged on the couch, still in her pajamas and munching on an apple.

“Is that it? For your thing tonight?”

“Yeah,” you replied, hooking the hanger over the top of your door. “Want a peek?”

Robin nodded vigorously and bounced up from the couch, looking over your shoulder as you unzipped it.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “It’s -”

“Yeah,” you finished. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s sexy, is what it is,” Robin finished, taking another big bite out of her apple as she leaned against the wall. “And stupidly fancy. Are you sure he’s not taking you to, like, Buckingham Palace or some shit?”

You rolled your eyes, zipping the bag back up.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

As the day rolled from afternoon and hurtled closer to the evening, you took your time getting ready. You treated yourself to a long, hot shower, taking care to really soak in the suds as the water washed over you. You did everything meticulously - your hair, skincare, makeup, and had even taken time earlier in the afternoon to go out and get your nails done. You had been so used to just painting them yourself at home, that it had felt downright luxurious to have someone do it for you. You weren’t sure why you were so concerned, at first. You were comfortable enough with Steve by now that you weren’t too worried about impressing him - no, you told yourself, impressing Steve can’t be important to me.

You thought about how he had asked you, how nervous he had been, and the relief on his face when you agreed to come - this event tonight, it was important to him. And, the least you could do was show that you cared, too.

Then, came the dress. At first, it had seemed a bit simple - it was black, made of a soft, satin-like material. But, once you slipped into it, you understood - the form-fitting, floor length gown left little to the imagination. The neckline plunged, far past your sternum, while a giant slit ran up the leg on the right side. The back plunged down too, the floor-length fabric soft and light against your legs. You tied the halter neck, taking a step back to actually admire yourself. You were never really someone who ever had an opportunity to dress up like this, well, ever. You opted to wear the necklace Steve had gifted you that very first night, smirking at the memory. By the time you were pulling on heels, it was nearly time to leave. Sure enough, at 6:30 on the dot, your buzzer was ringing, and you were scrambling for your (brand new) clutch, hurriedly shoving your phone and a spare lipstick into it and making a beeline for the door.

“Whoa!” Robin called from the kitchen, her jaw hanging in the doorway. “Look at you! Hot to trot!”

You smiled, and goddammit, you believed her. 

“I’m not going to lie - might be the best thing he’s had made for me yet.”

“I’ll say,” Robin remarked, stepping back to take you in. “Well, have fun. And, tell me everything when you come back, and I’ll live vicariously through you, yeah?”

You nodded, laughing as you made your way out the door, doing everything you could to not run down the steps.

When you reached the steps, there he was - in a goddamn tuxedo. His hair is a bit tamer than usual, and he’s devastatingly handsome. The second he saw you, his eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle.

“Christ - look at you,” he said quietly.

You grin, giving him a self-indulgent little spin.

“You like it?”

He nodded, his gaze traveling up and down your figure.

“I’ll say. You look incredible, seriously.”

You felt your face heat, and opted to just shrug.

“Well, some crazy rich dude had this made for me, so I guess I did my best to clean up nice.”

He chuckled, and held out his hand.

“Shall we?”

You took it, and he held you steady as you made your way down the steps, popping open the car door for you as you slid inside.

As the car peeled away from the sidewalk and made its way down the cobblestone streets, Steve cleared his throat next to you.

“So, before we get there - I thought it’d be nice if you wore these, maybe.”

You let your eyes fall down to where he held a velvet box in his hands, popping it open to reveal a set of diamond drop earrings. But, they are perhaps the most stunning, sparkly set of diamonds you’ve ever seen - even in the dim light of the car, they glisten like dew on the grass on a bright summer morning, impossible to look away from. You felt your jaw go slack, tracing the earrings gently with your fingers.

“Oh, Steve - they’re beautiful. Seriously, I - thank you,” you said sincerely, your voice softer than you meant for it to be.

You extracted them from the box and started to put them on, and you felt Steve’s gaze on you.

“Where did you buy these?” you asked, hoping you sounded nonchalant.

“Oh, well - I actually had them made. One of our clients - his wife is a gemologist, so she hand-selected the stones, so they’re top-tier, apparently. And they’re custom, so… nothing in the world is quite like them. At least, so I was told. I picked them up while I was over in Paris.”

You froze, eyes widening as you turned to face him.

“Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, shrugging.

“Well, yeah. I just thought it’d be nice to do, you know?”

Your instinct was to reject them, unable to even imagine how much they could have possibly cost. They felt wrong on your ears, like you shouldn’t have been wearing anything remotely close to them on your body. But you looked back at Steve, and he was staring at you like you’d hung the stars, and you realized that a rejection was exactly the reaction he was afraid of. So instead, you smiled, and reached out to take his hand in yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “They’re beautiful.”

He smiled softly, casting a quick glance down at your clasped hands - somehow, the gesture suddenly felt entirely too intimate, despite everything you two had done together, and you both withdrew at the same moment. Unsure what to do, you folded your hands in your lap, and stared out the window as silence fell.

****

The rest of the car ride was rather quiet, with only the occasional comment or joke from Steve, the city flying past. As the car slowed to a stop in front of the hotel, you suddenly felt a wave of anxiety start to rise in your chest - you were way out of your depth. As you spotted a line of limousines and groups of people dressed to the nines, it occurred to you that you didn’t necessarily belong here. As if he sensed it, Steve reached across the seat and gently placed a hand on your knee.

“Hey - it’s okay. For the most part, it’ll be boring as Hell, with so-so, overpriced food and a lot of business talk. But, I’ll stick by you, and I’ll fill you in on everything as best as I can, if you want, yeah?”

You took a deep breath, and nodded slowly, casting another look out the window.

“Yeah, okay - you lead the way, Harrington.”

He put on a bracing smile, and moved to help you out of the car. Once outside, he lifted his bent arm. You smiled, hooking your own arm through it and letting him lead you to the grand steps. As you made your way to the entrance, you felt like everyone was staring at you - were they wondering who you were? Or, what you were to Steve? Did they know? Were they judging? Or, were they just curious?

You tensed a bit, and felt Steve’s breath on your ear as he leaned in close and whispered, “Just so you know, you’re the most beautiful girl here. Not even a contest.”

You found that difficult to believe, the confidence you had had back at your apartment almost completely evaporated. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach flipped at his words, and you did your best to fight a smile as you pressed yourself closer to his side.

Once checked in, you and Steve found yourselves in a grand ballroom, with ornate golden ceilings and Renaissance-era murals adorning the walls. A pianist played a grand piano on the corner, the room full of people milling about with drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

You stood there for a moment, taking it all in. You probably looked like a child, staring up at the ceiling and around the room like you’d never seen anything like it. But, to be fair… you hadn’t. 

Steve whispered in your ear again, your heart racing at the feeling of his lips ghosting your skin.

“I know I said I wouldn’t leave your side, but can I make an exception for going to the bar? I can get you a glass of champagne, or whatever you want.”

“Yeah, champagne is fine for now. Thanks.”

He nodded, squeezing your arm as he pulled away.

“Great. We’re table 27, by the way - make your way over there, and I’ll find you, yeah?”

You nodded, eyes following him as he turned away and made his way through the crowd. You felt stupid, like a kid who had been separated from her mom at the grocery store. But, you didn’t know a single person, and even if you did…what the fuck would you talk about?

So, you opted to follow Steve’s suggestion and make your way across the room, scanning able placards as you searched for 27. 

Some guests were sitting at their tables, chatting over cocktails as you shouldered past. When you finally located the table, your smile faltered - because, there were already some people sitting there. You recognized them immediately, the sight causing a sense of dread to settle in the pit of your stomach.

It was Billy and Tommy, looking just as slimy as that night weeks ago when you first laid eyes on Steve. Only now, Steve wasn’t here, and if you recognized them, there was a damn good chance they’d know who you were, too.

Praying for a miracle, you continued to make your way to the table, forcing a small smile when they finally noticed you. It was Billy who caught your eye first, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you. You noticed him elbowing Tommy, whispering something into his ear. The other man’s eyes widened, and he hurriedly whispered something back into Billy’s ear, causing the two of them to snicker.

Before you could even attempt to sit, Billy laid back in his chair, smirking up at you.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Harrington couldn’t get a real date, so he brought our cocktail waitress. Truly, he never ceases to amaze me.”

You heard the roaring of your blood rushing through your ears, but kept your face neutral.

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said, grinning maliciously. “How’s it feel to be among another tax bracket, sweetheart? To see how the other half lives, huh?”

“C’mon, Tommy,” Billy drawled. “She’s probably just a good lay - you know Stevie, he’s probably whipped -”

“How’d you afford that dress with your waitressing tips, huh?” Tommy asked, face painted in a smarmy smile. “Or, did your new boyfriend buy it for you? Are ya milking him for all he’s worth?”

You didn’t say anything, not wanting to engage. If you were being honest, you didn’t even know what you’d say to them - one one hand, you might completely lose your temper, and the last thing you needed was to cause a scene. On the other hand… you were afraid you might cry. And the last thing you needed was to give them the satisfaction. You did your best to ignore their comments, their endless taunts, and the way their eyes traveled up and down your body. A million and one intrusive thoughts were running through your mind, ranging from you running out in a fit of tears to planning the men’s elaborate murders. Then, a soft grip on your elbow, a familiar warmth by your side.

“Hey,” Steve said, nonchalantly reaching over to place your drink in your hand while wrapping his other arm around your waist. “Thanks for finding the table, babe. Nice spot - the company could be better, though,” he added, eyes locking with Billy on that last part.

Billy’s smile faltered, but only for a moment.

“Harrington! We were just telling your - well, your - this lovely lady here, just how happy we were to be making her acquaintance again. A surprising sight, that’s for sure.”

Steve plastered on a smile, pulling you just a little closer to his side.

“Yes, well, you know what I’m not surprised about? That you’ve come with a young girl on your arm, and Mrs. Hargrove is nowhere to be found! Funny how that goes, right?”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms, making a gruff noise as he turned his attention back to the dinner menu in front of him.

You let out a shaky breath, finally finding Steve’s eyes for the first time since he came back over. He gestured for you to take a chair, pulling it out and helping you in as he did. 

When he sat himself down between you and his colleagues, he leaned close and whispered, “You okay?”

You bit your lip, pausing for a moment before nodding slowly. 

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Worse than what? What were they saying to you?”

You waved him off, staring ahead to avoid his gaze. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll live.”

You felt Steve’s hand find your knee under the tablecloth, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I thought there was a chance they’d be at our table, but I was really hoping they wouldn’t. I can kill them though, if you want.”

You laughed dryly, placing your hand over his under the table.

“I think I’ve got that covered, but if I need an alibi, I’ll use you.”

That earned a hearty chuckle from Steve, and you started to sip your champagne. If the first part of the evening was an early indicator, you’d need to start drinking now, and not stop.

*****

Steve hadn’t been lying - this thing was pretty boring. You and Steve spent the rest of the cocktail hour milling around, actively avoiding the company at your designated table for as long as possible. It was mostly you standing by Steve’s side, smiling and acting engaged in conversation as he chatted with colleagues and clients. By the end of it, you really started to understand how he’s worked his way up in the corporate world at such a relatively young age - he was born to do this. He was charming, and smart, and had a way of schmoozing every person he encountered. It was easy to be drawn to him, to want to listen to anything and everything he had to say. You felt practically invisible next to him, but strangely weren’t too bothered by it because… you understood. It was impossible to move more than a few feet without someone in a suit stopping him, offering a firm handshake and a clap on the back before devolving into business talk. 

Steve also knew how to clue you in, whispering in your ear every time you approached a new group - their names, who they worked for, who was here with their spouse or mistress,who screwed who out of a deal, and who was an asshole to steer clear from. If gossip was a real love language, Steve Harrington was fluent. And, you had to admit that it kept things light and fun, at the very least.

Steve would make an effort to introduce you to everyone, referring to you as my date tonight, which was fair enough. Still, you shifted uncomfortably when the men looked you up and down, the women regarding you with curiosity at best, an air of disdain at worst. You switched rather quickly from champagne to Old Fashioneds, doing everything in your power to not seem like you were just downing the liquor. If Steve noticed, he said nothing. By the time dinner rolled around, you were feeling a bit beyond tipsy, and ignored the other men sitting at your table. During dinner, there were a series of speeches, most notably from Dr. Brenner. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he was in view, even if he was all the way at the front of the room. There were a few times you could have sworn he was staring right at you, enough that you had to tear your eyes away and stare down at your duck confit, picking at it with your fork.

Then, came the dancing - a live band came out, a good one, and soon enough, everyone was up and making their way to the middle of the ballroom. Steve got up, holding out his hand towards you.

“Care to dance?”

You giggled, taking his hand and letting him help you out of your seat.

“Steve, I’ve got to tell you something,” you whispered as you made your way to the dance floor.

“Yeah?”

“I’m kind of a terrible dancer,” you admitted.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I am, too.”

Then, he took one of your hands in his, placed the other on the small of your back, pulling you close to him.

It wasn’t dancing, exactly, more swaying and shuffling around. But the music was good, and Steve was so close, so it was enough. After a few minutes, Steve whispered, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Just thinking. And, I think I had a little too much to drink,” you admitted sheepishly.

Steve chuckled, squeezing your hand as you turned with him.

“Thanks, for coming with me tonight. I know it’s kind of boring, but… having you here actually made me want to come.”

He said it softly, but so sincerely, and you felt your stomach flip at the tenderness of it all.

“Yeah?” you asked.

He nodded, glancing quickly around the room, before turning back to you and leaning even closer.

“I usually kind of hate these things. But, they’re important to show my face, so… it’s nice to not have to do it alone.”

You didn’ know what came over you, but you reached your hand up to the nape of his neck, and pulled his lips to yours. The kiss only lasted a moment, but when you pulled away, the look Steve was giving you made you start to feel even more dizzy, something warm crackling in your chest.

“What was that for?” he breathed.

You shrugged.

“For inviting me. And the earrings. And the dress. And… everything else.”

Then, something unreadable passed his features, and his eyes darkened.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, his voice suddenly much lower. “In a few minutes, they’re going to start rolling out dessert, and people are going to start dispersing, and they’re going to give out some awards and make more speeches. But you are going to go to the ladies’ room.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Because,” he murmured, “it’s the part of the night everyone actually comes here for. So the bathrooms will be empty. Nobody would even notice we’re gone.”

Understanding, you felt your face flush, and a cheeky grin started to ghost your lips.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Harrington?”

He shrugged.

“Is it working?”

Your hand on his waistband answered his question.

******

“Oh, fuck - Steve - right there! Fuck, do that again -”

You had your back pressed against the stall, face buried in Steve’s neck. Your dress was hiked up your leg, panties pushed to the side as his fingers pumped in and out of you. Your breast hung out of the dress, which had been fighting to cover you up to begin with. His thumb vigorously massaged your clit, while his two fingers curled inside that perfect spot within you. You moaned, fingers gripping the back of his tux.

“You’ve gotta be quiet, baby,” he growled, lips pressed to your ear. “Anyone could just walk in and hear us.”

You pressed your lips to his neck and sucked at the skin there, sure to leave a bruise in the morning. But it was too good, too much, and he was right - you were in a stall in the women’s bathroom, and anyone could come strolling in and hear you. But you weren’t used to being quiet with Steve - you wanted to scream, to call him the pet names he so dearly loved, but you couldn’t. 

“I bet you love this,” he whispered, coating his fingers in your slit before diving back in. “Does it get you off? The idea of fucking yourself on my fingers in public? Do you want other people to know what a dirty girl you are? I bet you fucking do - if you’ve gotta scream, baby, make sure it’s my name, so everyone in this fucking place knows that I’m the one making you feel this good -”

As he rambled, he picked up the pace, fingers pumping with more fervor as you bucked into his hand. You threw your head back, letting it hit the door of the stall as you felt your climax building in your core.

“More,” you gasped, hips bucking. “Please, Steve -”

“Can you take another? You sure, baby?”

You nodded weakly, and he added a third finger, pumping and stretching you until you could hardly stand it.

“If only you could see yourself,” he whispered. “All fucked-out in your dress, wearing those million-dollar earrings - shit, you’re a fuckin’ wet dream, baby.”

Before you could process anything he was saying, your orgasm was hitting you, fast and hard. You squeezed around his fingers like a vice, the pleasure rushing through you from head-to-toe. Your hand flew to your mouth, biting down as you came to stifle the scream.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered. “Fuckin’ perfect - you’re gushing on my hand, you minx.”

You laughed shakily, letting your head fall forward onto his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded weakly, nuzzling into his neck.

“Yeah - I just need a second.”

Your breath hitched as he slowly withdrew his fingers, your cunt still sensitive. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, Steve held up his slick-soaked fingers, and began to lick them clean.

“You taste fuckin’ amazing, baby,” he whispered roughly. “Makes up for missing dessert. We should probably get back, though.”

You smirked. 

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone yet?” you asked.

“Probably not. But they might, soon. And, people around here talk.”

“Well, I’ll be quick, then.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you were shoving him against the wall of the stall, fumbling with his belt, and sinking to your knees. Soon enough, it was Steve’s turn to try to be quiet, much to your satisfaction.

******

You and Steve didn’t stick around at the gala much longer. He had gone back to the table first, leaving you to fix your makeup and pull yourself together to the best of your ability. Your swollen lips and smudged mascara, rumpled dress and newly-forming bruise on your collarbone were enough to delay your return. After you got back, though, Steve could barely keep his hands off of you. If anyone had noticed your absence, they gave little indication; you figured they must have suspected something though, considering you had to hurriedly wipe away your lipstick stain from Steve’s jaw, much to his embarrassment. 

He pulled you to the dancefloor again, hand splayed across the small of your back as he held you close. It occurred to you that he was probably also just a bit drunk. He seemed a little more carefree, the stiff, formal facade fading with each passing moment. 

“Hey, Harrington?” you whispered in his ear.

“Mm?”

“D’you think we can get out of here?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The journey from the party to Steve’s apartment was a bit of a blur - his hands snaking under your dress in the car ride home, his lips on your neck, your fingers in his hair. You both practically stumbled into the elevator, wasting no time in shedding each other’s clothes before you even made it to the bedroom.

Despite the initial urgency, Steve took his time with you that night. He kissed you everywhere, whispering filthy prayers into your skin along the way. He touched you like he’d never get a chance to again, tasted you like he was starving to death - and you let him, writhing and moaning beneath him as he had his way with you. You had come twice before he even had a chance to properly take his clothes off. When he finally slipped inside of you, he lost it, so worked up that he was coming undone in minutes. 

He moaned filthy praises into your skin, calling you a good girl and gasping out your name. It was a hazy mess of sweat and skin and screams, more drunk on each other than the liquor by the time it was done.

Afterwards, you laid across his covers, the room a bit too warm, the scent of summer air and sex invading your senses. You were only wearing the earrings he had given you earlier in the evening, the diamonds weighing a bit on your ears. But he had asked you to keep them on, and who were you to say no? You were exhausted, still breathing heavily when he re-entered the bedroom, clad only in his silk boxers and carrying two glasses of wine.

“You trying to get me drunk, Harrington?” you asked, laughing breathily.

“I think it’s too late for that,” he reasoned, sliding onto the bed next to you.

“Nope, pretty sure it’s all out of my system now. Thanks for that.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you as you nuzzled into his side. You were worn out, the tiredness seeping into your bones as you melted into him. He didn’t even bother actually handing you one of the glasses, your eyelids growing heavier as you let your cheek fall onto his chest, the dull feeling of his heartbeat against your ear pulling you into sleep like a lullaby.

You knew you needed to get home, not even sure of exactly how late it was. But you just needed a few minutes, and maybe a cigarette, before you could even think about moving from this bed.

It was Steve who broke the comfortable silence, after a few moments.

“Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Mm,” you mumbled. “Yeah - I mean, it had its moments, but… I liked where it ended.”

He laughed, the rumble in his chest running through you, and you smiled into his skin.

“Thank you, for taking me,” you added. “And for everything, I guess.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said. “I mean, I usually hate those things. They can be stiff, boring, the food is only okay, and it just feels like another day of work in the middle of the weekend. But - having you there… I actually enjoyed myself. I can’t really remember the last time that happened.”

You shifted a bit until you were on your stomach, chin on Steve’s chest as you looked up at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded slowly, brushing some stray hair out of your face.

“Why do you work that job? I mean, I know the money’s good - clearly - but… you hate it. Every time you talk about it… you seem miserable, Steve.”

You had been thinking about it for a while, but not brave enough to say it. But you were tired, still a bit tipsy, and it had been eating away at you. He sighed, leaning back against the headboard.

“It’s a long story. But, honestly? It’s because of my dad.”

Oh. Family - this territory wasn’t breached a lot. But, you stayed silent, seeing if he’d off up any more information.

“He and I - we never exactly got along. He’s not all bad, it’s just - I think he and I are a bit too similar sometimes, to be honest. I was always pretty well-off growing up, and I think he wanted me to be like him - go to a good college, go into business, get a good white-collar job. And that’s what I did. He actually knew Brenner, from way back in the day. Call it nepotism, or networking, or whatever you want. But, yeah, I guess my dad kind of had an in with HNL. And I got an offer right before I finished college - I would’ve been an idiot to say no. And, Brenner’s retiring soon, probably, so if I play my cards right, I might make CEO before I’m 35.”

He didn’t look at you much as he said it, reciting the information like he was reading it from a textbook. You gently brushed your fingers across his skin, the chest hair tickling your knuckles as you continued to stare up at him.

“But… you hate it. I can tell.”

Steve nodded, slowly. 

“Yeah - I guess I do. But I’m also pretty damn good at my job. So - it feels like the right thing, I guess.”

He didn’t sound too sure, but you felt his heart rate quicken, noticed the way his eyes were shifting away from you, and that alone was enough to know to change the subject.

“Okay - then, I have a totally different question,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“In the bathroom, back at the party - please tell me these earrings didn’t actually cost you a million dollars. That was an exaggeration, right?”

He paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“You caught me - I misspoke. They were actually a million Euros - so I think that works out to be more in dollars.”

Your eyes widened, and you realized that he wasn’t lying.

“Steve -”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” he said firmly. “I want you to have them, and keep them. They look really nice on you… especially like this.”

You felt your face heat, suddenly aware of just how exposed you were, lying nude across his bed. Steve just grinned a bit devilishly, and you decided to kiss it right off of his face.

You weren’t sure how much time passed after that. You made your way under the covers at some point, pressing into Steve’s side while you both talked - about anything and everything. He divulged only a little bit more information about his life growing up, and you did the same; you talked about college, work, the kinds of movies and music you liked, stories of dates gone wrong, your least-favorite foods, books you had read recently. It was easy, casual, and strangely normal. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. But, the last thing you remembered was your cheek pressed to Steve’s chest, his voice lulling you into darkness.

*****

The next morning, you woke up to early morning light peeking through the massive windows, neither you nor Steve bothering to have drawn blinds over them the night before. You blinked groggily, face half-buried in the pillow as you reached across the covers. You were met with an empty bed. You shot up, glancing around as you adjusted to your surroundings. As your brain kicked into gear, you finally reflected back on the night before, and realized with a sense of horror that you had spent the night. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to do that - it’s new territory. And where was Steve? Was he angry? Did he move to the couch? It was a Sunday, so work was unlikely. 

As you stretched and yawned, you spotted something out of the corner of your eye - a piece of paper on the nightstand. You picked it up, noticing Steve’s telltale handwriting immediately:

I went out for a run. I’ll pick up something for breakfast on my way back - I wanted to let you sleep in. Feel free to help yourself to anything you need. - Steve

You rolled your eyes - as if you would’ve thought the note would be from anybody else. You reached up to rub your eyes, and when you looked down, you spotted the smudges of makeup worn into the pillow. Shit. You hated sleeping in makeup.

That was how you found yourself swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, padding to the ensuite bathroom. You nearly jumped when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror - you had raccoon-like eyes, mascara smudged and worn into your skin. Your hair was a disaster, and to your own satisfaction, your skin was marked with bruises. Your fingers ghost the marks, remembering where Steve’s lips had been the night before, the things he had said - 

You shook the feeling, deciding instead to root through the drawers and cabinets until you found a towel, wasting no time to hop right in the shower. The large, glass-enclosed tile shower was a luxury compared to the little stall you had at home, the water pressure positively glorious. You smirked at the unusually large selection of products lining the wall - of course he had an intense hair routine. You were almost positive he had more stuff in his shower than you and Robin combined. You found something that you knew would at least get the job done, letting the soap wash everything away as you exhaled deeply. You couldn’t help but smile, the scent of the suds reminding you of Steve. 

After wrapping yourself in the towel, you scoured the cabinets until you found mouthwash, figuring it was better than nothing. 

When you returned to the bedroom, you realized your next predicament - the only clothing you had was your gown from last night, which was currently strewn across the floor as part of a trail of clothing leading to the bedroom. You felt yourself blush at the memory. Would Steve mind if you borrowed his clothes? Or, was that a step too far? Did he have a robe, maybe? You opened the closet across the room. To your relief, there was a robe. If you had to guess, there’s a good chance it just came with the apartment - it looked as if it had never been worn. You pulled it on, practically groaning at the feeling of the fluffy fabric on your damp skin. 

You had never been to his apartment in the daylight, you realized - it was nice. It still felt a bit empty, not quite lived-in, but the big windows really lit the whole place up. It must’ve been East-facing, with how bright the late-morning light was. You weren’t even sure what time it actually was - should you text Steve, and let him know you’re awake?

You searched the room for your phone, finally unearthing it from inside the small clutch you had brought to the gala last night, sitting right on the island in the kitchen. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to look at it after you’d gotten back last night - and, much to your chagrin, it was dead. 

From what you could see, there wasn’t a phone charger in sight. You made your way back to the bedroom, hoping there was one there already plugged into the wall, maybe near the nightstand. When you failed to find one, you took the next logical step, opening the nightstand drawer. The last thing you wanted was to go rooting through Steve’s stuff more than you needed to, but if there wasn’t a charger in there, you figured you’d have to give up as just wait for him to get back.

Inside the shallow drawer, there were a few assorted items - a comb, a few condoms, some spare Euro coins - and, luckily, a phone charger. You pulled it out, pleased with yourself.

You shouldn’t have looked further. Looking back, you should have closed the drawer, plugged in your phone, and waited for Steve to return. Maybe then you could have had a nice, lazy morning with Steve, sharing coffee and pastries in bed. But, something caught the corner of your eye, something that made you freeze. It was buried underneath everything else, but you could see enough to gather what it was.

You reached in with a shaky hand, pulling out a postcard-sized piece of paper. On it, was a picture of Steve, his arms wrapped around a woman with a sunset behind them. The woman was beautiful - curly brunette hair, big blue eyes, a charming smile. Steve had his head on her shoulder, cheek pressed into hers with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. And, printed next to the photo in big, cursive text:

SAVE THE DATE: Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler are tying the knot on September 3rd in Riverhead, New York. Invitation to follow.

You read it once. Twice. Fifty times. You gripped the edges hard enough to crinkle them, the image of Steve and Nancy growing blurry as your eyes started to burn.

The date was from last September. Nearly a year ago… Steve Harrington was married.

****

Author's note: ah! A cliffhanger! Yes, I introduced angst, but I promise it'll be resolved by the end of the next chapter. Sorry for the wait, but this part is basically double the length of all of the previous parts, so at least there's that! I'll do my best to continue tagging you all, but sometimes Tumblr won't let me! Turn on post notifications for future parts! As always, your thoughts, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! And, special shoutout to my bestie Em, who constantly fuels my fantasies for this fic!