#smoky barbeque? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tropes-and-tales · 5 months ago

Text

Don't Gloat

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW: Richie being Richie, swearing, mild violence (a misunderstanding), smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 7289

AN: Requested by an anonymous person, place, or thing!

AN2: Drabble? I don't know her, apparently.

Your first real fight is over chicken.

You squabble, pretty much from day one. Carmy hires you to help in the kitchen, and Richie immediately takes an intense dislike to you. Adding you upsets the delicate ecosystem of The Beef. You are unnecessary. Richie makes it known on your first day.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns an hour into service. “Cousin doesn’t run things.”

“Seems like he does,” you shoot back.

“I’m the manager here.”

Here is where the dislike really starts. Richie is rude and sarcastic, but you’re a chameleon. You can shift and change your demeanor to match what someone is giving you, so when Richie is rude and sarcastic to you, you respond in kind.

You call him “Mister Manager” in a tone dripping with sarcasm, and by the end of that first shift, Richie completely hates you.

The feeling is mutual by the end of your second shift.

At first, you just squabble. You trade barbs and insults. When Richie throws a temper tantrum over Carmy’s organization of the spices, you pout and turn to Ibra and posit that Richie is grumpy because he needs a juice box and a nap. Which makes Ibra cock his head at you. He speaks English impeccably, but sometimes he misses the finer nuances of language like sarcasm.

“I do not think we have juice boxes here,” Ibra says, and Tina swats him as she walks past.

“She’s being sarcastic, you old bitch,” she tells him.

The allusion to Richie being a toddler isn’t far off. He acts childish all the time. He flings cookware around when he’s having a tantrum. He swears, he throws out middle fingers like an angry pre-teen.

He hides your expensive Henckles knives. He turns the heat up or down when your back is turned. Once, he parks you in behind The Beef, and when you go to leave, he’s nowhere to be found—you end up doing a thirty-six point turn, a fraction at a time, before you can properly pull out and drive away.

But your first real fight is over chicken.

The meat delivery is wrong one day. You’re short on beef, but there’s five whole chickens, and Carmy throws up his hands and tells you to come up with something.

So you do.

You roast them low and slow so they stay tender, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the sauce—an adobo-based barbeque that’s the perfect blend of tangy and smoky—when Richie strolls in. He’s in his stupid leather jacket and ridiculous blue track pants, and he announces himself with his usual grinning, “what’s up, you fucking lizards?”

Sweeps and Manny call out their hellos, but Richie ignores them. He’s already super-focused on you…and the sauce you’re stirring over a low heat.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks. He stands too close to you, dips his head close to the pot, and takes a loud sniff of it. Then rears back with a grimace, like you’re simmering a pot of shit and not a finely balanced sauce for your roasting chickens.

“It’s barbeque sauce. For the chicken.”

“What fucking chicken?”

“Meat delivery was fucked up,” Carmy calls across the kitchen.

Richie scoffs and turns to Carmy, and he gestures at you and your sauce. “No offence, Cousin, but the place is called ‘The Beef.’”

“No offence, Cousin, but fuck off,” Carmy replies.

“Heaven forbid we try something new,” you add. You snap the heat off and settle a lid over the pot to allow the flavors time to mellow together. Once the chicken is done, you’ll shred it and mix it in. You have a red cabbage slaw planned for it, and thin slices of sharp cheddar to round it out. You turn towards the refrigerator, but Richie blocks your path.

“Nothing Italian about whatever the fuck that is.” He glares down at you; he’s half a head taller than you, but he has a way of puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight.

Maybe other people are cowed by his posturing, but you’re unimpressed and not scared at all.

“It’s about as Italian as ‘Jerimovich.’”

His chest puffs out more, and he takes a half step closer to you. This close, you can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to him, the old man cologne he splashes on with a heavy hand, the subtler scent of laundry detergent.

“People come here every day and get the same thing,” he says. “Same order every fuckin’ day. No one is gonna order whatever fancy Noma bullshit you’re trying to pull out of your ass.”

You take a half step up to him and puff out your chest, and it makes Richie falter for a moment. He leans back, just a fraction, but you note the movement and smirk up at him. You reach out and poke him in the sternum with a forefinger, driving home each point.

“One, this isn’t Noma bullshit. It’s literally slow-roasted chicken. Two, it’s a pretty simple sauce. Maybe it seems fancy to you because it’s more challenging to your palate than chicken nuggets. Three, some customers might appreciate a change in their usual lunch order. Not everyone is so resistant to change, Cousin.”

Your use of the familiar nickname makes his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger. “I’m not your fucking Cousin.”

“Sure you are, Cousin.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll save you a sandwich, Cousin.” The thought occurs to you that you’re being childish now, that Richie has brought out some immature part of you, and you think it’s kinda fun, being a juvenile brat at work and leaning into the fight.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Stop what, Cousin?”

He turns away from you so quick, it makes you blink in surprise. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters to himself, but he’s striding across the kitchen towards the office, and he’s calling for Carmy, so you follow at his heels and call for Carmy too.

“Yo, Cousin, can you fucking fire her already? Jesus fucking Christ, I—” he starts, but you cut him off, mimic his growling voice and Chicago accent.

“Yo, Carmy, when are we gonna fire Richie already? I mean, the place is changing—”

It makes Richie go fully nuclear. The mention of change makes him apoplectic. He turns and crowds you against the door jamb, and he gets right in your face: so close that you can see his eyes aren’t completely blue—they are flecked with grey, like bits of mica in pavement. You’re startled for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes are beautiful, but you obviously don’t say anything because he’s snarling in your face.

“Fuck you!” he spits out, and he points a finger inches from your face. “Fuck you! Nothin’ is changin’ here! Nothin’ needs to change!”

And then he gives you his patented Richie double-chin flick, and he mutters some Italian insult you don’t know, and he’s marching through the kitchen to leave.

Not before he sweeps your mise en place off the counter, sending thin-sliced cabbage and vinegar flying.

Carmy stares at you with a look that is purely beleaguered. He sighs, he scrubs his face with his hands, and he runs them through his hair before he sighs again.

“Whatever you and Richie have going on? Squash that shit, Chef.”

You nod, embarrassed at rising—or sinking—to Richie’s childishness. “Yes, Chef,” you reply.

-----

“Squashing it” mostly means that you and Richie only fight when Carmy isn’t within earshot.

Your fighting still entails getting in each other’s faces. It still means you insult each other, albeit more quietly. You hiss insults at him, he grumbles them back. You part when Carmy shows up, and you each stew in your separate corners and wait for the next round.

You start to suss out where the limits are. You insult him as a father one single time, and the flash of hurt on his face makes you hold up your hands in a truce and apologize.

He insults you once as a woman with daddy issues, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You did grow up without a father—he died when you were six, and your only memories of him are full of pain from the stomach cancer that slowly killed him. But you must show the hurt on your face too because Richie takes a step backwards away from you, stammers out an apology too.

All told, once you know each other’s hard limits, you actually fight pretty nicely, and if anyone notices it, no one says anything.

-----

Sunday nights are a good time to come in to The Beef and set yourself up for the week. You work it out with Carmy because it gives him a break and gives you a few more hours. You enjoy the time there with the restaurant being closed—you blast your music, you sing along at the top of your lungs as you rotate stock, make detailed shopping lists for Carmy, and make sure everything is clean.

If one thing infuriates you, it’s the way certain national media outlets focus on Chicago as a cesspool of violence. But it is a large city, and violence does happen, so when you’re in the basement of The Beef and hear the beep of the alarm system as it is deactivated, you immediately feel ice cold all over. The alarm system, Ibra told you once, is easily overcome, and The Beef has been robbed before.

You glance around and see that you’re trapped, unless you want to rush up the steps (not advisable) or shimmy out a tiny window at street level (also not advisable). There’s nothing in the way of weapons in the basement either, so you arm yourself with a half-burnt cookie sheet and tremble as you listen to the heavy tread above you.

Maybe they’ll just trash the place and leave. There’s nothing worth stealing, unless they want to wheel out the massive, ancient Hobart. Maybe they’ll get into Marcus’s stash of good vanilla. Maybe they’ll—

Maybe they’ll make their way to the top of the stairs. Maybe they’ll pause there and start walking down to where you wait. You try not to breathe too loud, but your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse is in your ears, and you’re flooded with adrenaline as the shoes of your would-be assailant come into view.

You don’t hear Richie’s voice when he calls out your name. You’re too panicked. You don’t hear him, and you don’t even register him when he rounds the corner—he’s in his usual track pants and leather jacket—because you’re fully in fight-or-flight mode…and independent of your will, your body chooses fight.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and you swing the cookie sheet directly at his head with all the force you can muster. Your assailant stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, and you drop the pan and try to scramble past him, but you trip over his foot in your panic and fall hard, cracking your shinbone against the lowest step.

If you ever idly wondered how you’d react in a real life-or-death scenario, here is your answer: you scream and scream, and you clutch one hand to your throbbing shin but flail your other hand at the person reaching for you, and it’s not until you smell him—the familiar cigarette/old man cologne smell—that your panic ebbs a little.

And then you see those blue eyes flecked with grey, and even if Richie is your enemy at work, he’s never really been an enemy in the true sense of the word. The relief that you aren’t about to be raped or murdered floods you so suddenly that you burst into tears.

And then you hug him, your arms so tight around his middle that he breathes out a sharp oof, but then he wraps one arm around your trembling form while the other clutches his bleeding nose in an attempt to staunch the blood.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks. His voice is thick and nasally, but there’s a hint of amusement to it.

“Thought you were an intruder.” You release him from your hold, and you will yourself to stop shaking.

“Carmy.” He shakes his head. “Guess Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole didn’t tell you I was coming by.”

“He did not.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled napkin. He presses it to his nose and winces, and your panic is replaced by shame. You’ll never live this down, you realize. Richie is going to tell everyone first thing tomorrow, and he’ll add his usual Richie flourishes to make your screams more shrill, your flailing more erratic in the retelling.

His nose stops bleeding, and he checks it tentatively. He prods at the swollen skin, red that is going to bruise by morning. He fixes you with a curious look.

“You hit harder than I would have thought.”

“I play softball.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park. At the North Avenue fields.”

He huffs at that. Clears his throat. “Yeah, my daughter has t-ball there.”

Your panic is gone now, and you feel more like yourself. Your leg throbs at where you banged it, and it will be bruised by morning like Richie’s face. You limp over to the big table and gather up your coat and purse.

“Don’t do that,” you tell Richie.

“Do what?”

“Don’t…whatever. Talk to me nice. Tell me about your daughter. Don’t do that.”

He snorts and says, “why the fuck not?”

“Because we’re not friends, and you scared the shit out of me, and now I’m all keyed up and just want to get home instead of having an impromptu bonding session with the one guy at The Beef who truly, honesty hates me.”

“Alright, fine. You’re a fucking head-case to freak out the way you did, and I think you broke my fucking nose. Better?”

It startles a laugh out of you, and your laughter makes Richie grin. It’s shy, and he ducks his head, but you catch it all the same.

He clears his throat again, then asks if you drove there. You tell him no—you had a premium parking spot on your street, so you took the L. He nods at that, and he seems to be thinking through something, so you pull on your coat and sling your bag over your shoulder and wait for him to say something.

“Let me drive you home, at least, “he finally offers. “You’re all sorts of fucked up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. Someone looks at you wrong on the train, gonna catch an assault charge.”

“You’d love to see me in prison,” you reply. “Out of your way. No one left to defiantly make a delicious chicken sandwich special and destroy the system here.”

“Asshole.” He shakes his head, then gestures for you to take the stairs ahead of him. “I’m driving you home. Let’s go.”

You can’t admit that a ride sounds fantastic. You do feel keyed up, anxious and twitchy, and even if it’s Richie, you’re grateful for the offer.

Even so, as you limp upstairs, the pain in your leg makes it easier to admit to him. You turn as he resets the alarm, and you thank him, softly.

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He points at his car, then grumbles, “c’mon already.”

-----

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Sunday evenings become yours and Richie’s thing. The work should go twice as fast, but Richie doesn’t work so much as… not work. He leans in the doorway of the walk-in as you take inventory, he perches on the counter as you make giardiniera for the next day. He sits in the office as you write out the order list for Carmy, and he gripes about how long you’re taking, how he has better things to do.

If that were true, why does he spend every Sunday with you? You doubt Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole told him to, yet he shows up every week and complains the entire time. He complains the entire drive to your place, and when you thank him for the ride, he either flips you off or makes a jacking-off motion with his hand before he peels away from your curb.

“You almost done?” he asks now. “Got shit to do.”

“You don’t have shit to do.” You check the takings from last week, do a quick calculation in the margin of the print-out. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Why, you afraid I might introduce a dish that isn’t entirely Italian-American approved?”

He grumbles, “nothin’ needs to change. Menu’s fine the way it is.”

“You really don’t have to stay, Richie. I can handle myself.”

“Bullshit you can.” He leans forward, taps the side of his nose. “You handle yourself so well, you dislocated my fucking nose.”

“And it gave your face some character,” you retort.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

You glance at him, roll your eyes. “Aside from the fact it’s always in my face, glaring or stirring up shit? Nothing.”

He leans back in his chair again and sighs. “I don’t stir up shit.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“You talk way too much, Richard.”

“Don’t call me fucking Richard. You sound like my asshole mother-in-law.” He pauses, then amends it to, “my former asshole mother-in-law.”

A long beat of silence passes. You calculate the meat order, the vegetables, the shelf stable stuff. You balance out the order against where there’s already overdue bills—Carmy is juggling the vendors as best he can, and you try to give him relief where you can—

“Done yet?”

“Nope.” You cross out the one line for the produce vendor, split it between two vendors. “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Told you. I got stuff to do.”

You glance over at him. He does seem more keyed up. His leg bounces up and down, and he wrings his hands in his lap.

“What sort of stuff?” you ask.

He mumbles his answer, and you miss it at first. When you arch an eyebrow at him, he repeats it. An embarrassed, “got a date.”

You pause in your writing and turn to face him. Fak told you once about Richie’s imploded marriage, and he had heavily implied that Richie was still pining for his ex-wife. “A date?”

He shrugs. “Kind of a date.”

“What’s kind of a date?”

Another shrug, and he fixes his gaze to the dirty tile floor. “We went out last week, and we talked about grabbing a drink tonight. I was gonna text her after I drop you off.”

“Sounds like a regular date to me.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then lets them fall again. “I dunno. Wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

You turn completely to face him, your list forgotten. “Then why agree to a second date?”

Another shrug, a sheepish lift and fall of his shoulders. The two of you are toeing the line of near-friendship, your usual squabbling turning into an honest-to-god friendly chat, but maybe Richie doesn’t have any confidants in his life, because he sighs, then mutters about how she seemed cold, how she wasn’t charmed by his Bill Murray voicemail greeting story, but how he thought he should try anyway—

“Richie, I’m not your gal pal in a rom-com, but if you aren’t feeling it, don’t do it. Jesus, that’s just common sense.”

He fixes you with a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a goddamned relationship expert.”

“It’s common sense.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

You bristle at the question. Your love life is about as dead as The Beef’s commercial credit, but Richie doesn’t need to know that. But you hesitate long enough that he can guess, and he laughs at you, and you bristle more.

“I knew it!” He points at you, and you swat at his hand until he lowers it. “You give off this whole ‘hasn’t been laid in a long time’ vibe.”

You turn away from him and bend your head back to your ordering list. “Shut up,” you mumble.

“All those prissy little dishes you add to the menu. You’re all wound up. It makes sense.”

“My culinary excellence has nothing to do with my love life or lack thereof.” You hope your tone is even and nonchalant, but you fear it comes out as defensive. Which it must, because Richie holds up his hands again.

“No judgement. It’s tough out there. I get it.”

You groan and turn away from him, twisting yourself to get his smirking face out of your peripheral. “You should leave. Go get ready for your kind-of date.”

“Nah.”

“Seriously, you can go.”

“Nah.” You hear his deep breath, then a beat later, he continues.

“If you ever want to blow off some steam, we could…” He trails off, but his intent is clear, and you feel a prickly heat break out across your skin.

“…shut up, Richie.”

You turn a little and he reappears in your peripherals. He presses his hands together in a prayer position, then presses his fingertips near his mouth in an expression of thoughtfulness.

“Shut up, Richie isn’t no, Richie.”

“It’s most certainly no, Richie.”

“Look at me.”

“I gotta finish this list and send it to Carmy—”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You can’t. You stare at your handwriting—the 50 pounds of cake flour Marcus needs—and you feel yourself heating up at the sudden image of you and Richie—no, you shove the mental image away, shake your head to clear it, and the man notices all of it.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asks, and his voice is soft, low. A graveled rumble, roughened by the cigarettes he chain-smokes when he’s not inside, and you don’t know if it really has been that long, but it’s a step-progression of reactions in your body. The prickle of heat along your skin, the way your skin feels too tight. The way your mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

The strong, traitorous pulse of desire between your legs. Fuck.

“Wouldn’t have to mean anything,” he continues with that low voice. “No one would have to know.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Still not hearing a no, sweetheart.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, then turn to face him squarely. You look him right in his eyes—those bright blue eyes, flecked with grey, beautiful—and say, “No, Richie.”

He stares back at you, and a smile slowly unfurls across his face. A real smile, not his usual shit-eating grin or smarmy smirk. A real smile that, paired with his gorgeous eyes, makes his face transform into something beautiful. It’s like he’s lifted his mask for a moment and is showing you who he really is.

“You’re tempted.” He sounds in awe of the revelation, and he leans back against the wall. “Holy shit, you’re really tempted by it.”

“No, I’m—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off. “You are.” His smile stays fixed on his face, and he shakes his head. “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

You grumble out the weakest rebuttal, but he only laughs and shakes his head again, and the last half hour is passed in uncomfortable silence: you as you email the shopping list to Carmy with hands you will into steadiness, and Richie as he grins at you and chuckles to himself.

Of course he drives you home, just as he always does.

And of course he parks his car and comes up to your apartment when you invite him up, which is a first.

*****

A therapist would have a lifetime of secure business if Richie ever decided to pursue therapy for himself. Not that he would—feelings are bullshit, and life is tough all over—but if he did…there’d be a lot of deep shit to mine.

At the core of him, Richie is desperately insecure. He had a dicey childhood, and he glommed on the Berzatto family to make up for his own family’s shortcomings. He had Tiff, for a glorious while, then lost her. He has his daughter, but only part-time. He lost Mikey, the nearest thing to a brother, and now he’s slowly losing The Beef as it becomes something more than a sandwich shop.

No wonder he feels lost all the time. No wonder he lashes out and hurts those closest to him.

No wonder he’s been riding your ass for months, trying to get you to quit even as his initial dislike has mellowed out to acceptance and then to…something else he won’t name.

He can’t lie to himself: that night in the basement shifted things. Maybe you concussed him along with the dislocated nose. Maybe he has slight brain damage. He can’t account for it any other way, how seeing you so terrified caused a sea-change in him. How feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He won’t name it. He won’t even think it. The most he’ll admit is, “maybe I don’t completely hate her.”

Which somehow turns into this moment. The two of you awkwardly standing in your entryway, unsure if the other is bluffing, unsure if the other is serious. There’s too much bad blood in your shared past, and you each are expecting the other to say “sike!,” to turn it into a humiliating story to share in the morning with the crew.

You’re both wrong.

“So, uh, nice place.” He looks around your apartment and rubs the back of his neck. “You got a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“Yeah. Nice.” He takes a few steps deeper into your place, and he studies the titles on the nearest bookshelf. “Stephen King. Clive Barker. You like the spooky shit, huh?”

“Nothing as scary as being ambushed in the basement at night by you.”

He snorts, shakes his head. As he’s softened towards you, your teasing has gotten gentler too. You’ve always rose to meet his energy, and now that he’s not actively despising you (he won’t name it, he will not), you aren’t actively despising him.

“Nothing as scary as seeing a giant fucking sheet pan flying at your face—”

You cut him off. “Okay, Richie. Enough.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Enough words. More action.” You face him and lift your eyebrows challengingly. “Unless this was all a ruse.”

He shakes his head.

“Unless this is just a prank to embarrass me later.”

He shakes his head again, and he flexes his hands along his sides. He’s itching to reach out and touch you—he remembers the feel of you in his arms, the way you tucked so perfectly against him when you were scared. You had been relieved to see it had been him; you had felt safe enough to reach for him, and he’s been chasing that high ever since. A therapist would make short work of this moment, but Richie wants to feel important to you again. He wants to feel like you need him to protect you, to shelter you. He wants to feel like a man, needed, necessary—

You’re talking but he doesn’t register the words. Instead, he reaches for you, pulls you to him, and when you look up at him in surprise, he dips his head and kisses you.

It’s brutal at first. He’s out of practice. He’s certainly never kissed someone like you—someone so infuriatingly challenging—and he mashes his lips too hard against yours, can feel your wince as you struggle to kiss him back. So he breaks the kiss and tries again, much more carefully, and it’s so much better: the softness of your lips, the quiet moan you give as you kiss him back.

Maybe you need it bad, but he needs it just as bad, and when he considers why he does, he pushes the thought away completely. Because if he thinks on it too much in this moment, if he thinks on how good it feels, the way you tug at his clothes—eager but shy, your hands steady but your eyes unable to meet his—he’d have to face an uncomfortable truth.

Still, he needs to see you. Needs to look you in the eye. He grasps your chin and tilts your face until you’re looking at him.

“You okay with this?” He says it softly. He says it as kindly as he can.

“Yeah.” You nod, then add, “no one needs to know, right?”

“Right.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Exactly.”

You offer him a smile, and it’s genuine. It’s not your normal smart-ass smirk, the way one corner of your mouth lifts higher than the other. It’s a real smile, and he has to push that uncomfortable truth away again because if you’re cute when you smirk, you’re beautiful when you smile, and Richie can’t dwell on the fact.

“C’mon then, Richard. Bedroom’s this way.”

“Asshole,” he huffs out, but you push his jacket off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and you tug him down your hallway.

You alternate and he lets you strip him and yourself—a piece of his clothing, a piece of yours. You leave a trail so that you’re both nearly naked once you’re in the bedroom. He stands in front of you, his boxers tented, and he takes in the sight of you. In standard, everyday lingerie—dark grey bra and panties—but the everyday shit makes his mouth run dry. Elaborate lingerie is not really his thing, but seeing a woman in her everyday shit, the comfortable cotton shit…that feels more special, somehow. Like you woke up that morning and put on the functional stuff, but now here you are, nearly naked for him.

You always rise to meet his energy. He’s openly ogling you now, and you gaze back at him, openly staring back. He has a moment of doubt—maybe he should lift more, cut back on beers after work—but your eyes are blown dark with desire, and it makes his cock twitch to see it.

You seem to want him as much as he wants you.

“C’mere, you fucking pain in the ass,” he growls, and you roll your eyes but bridge the distance between you. You press the length of your near-naked body against his, and the sudden touch makes him bite back a groan. He puts his hands on your waist, and you lay your palms against his chest, and you kiss again.

The kiss grows and grows. He bullies his way into your mouth, sweeps his tongue and licks against your mouth, and you answer in kind. You kiss him back, and your hands stroke his chest, his shoulders, his arms. One snakes lower and grasps him through his boxers, and he swears against your lips at the feel of your palm stoking him.

He pushes you backwards towards the bed. He pushes you until you hit the bed, and then he pushes you down, but you reach out and grasp him golden chain and tug him down to join you.

You always rise to meet him. He takes charge and slots himself between your legs, but you move eagerly. When he lowers himself onto you, still partially dressed, you lift yourself up and press against him. Your clothed breasts against his chest, and he dips his head and tugs the cups of your bra down until you’re exposed to him. He lowers his head and kisses you, works his mouth against you. He sucks a mark on each curve of your breast, right where your bra will cover. He wants you to see them and think of him, a pair of mementos to this moment.

“Fuck, Richie.” You breathe it out, and your hand cups the back of his head. You hold him against you, and he’s too happy to stay here for a while: sucking against your nipples, biting lightly until you squirm. Laving your tender buds with the flat of his tongue, pinching and tugging until you shove him away with a groan.

“Too much,” you whine, but you tangle in his chain again and tug his mouth to yours. He kisses you, relishes how flushed your skin feels under his lips as he kisses his way across your face, down your neck, across your bare shoulders. He pauses long enough to undo your bra in earnest, tosses it aside. Then he kisses his way down your chest again, traces his tongue further down to your soft belly until his chin is perched right on the waistband of your panties.

“Can I?” he asks. He traces a finger under the lace edging, and he watches your face. You gaze back at him, your eyes still dark and pupils blown. Your lips are swollen, and your chest rises and falls with how hard you’re breathing.

You nod. “You can take them off.”

“Is that it? Nothing else?”

You laugh, breathless. “Some other time. Really want you to fuck me instead.”

Some other time. The thought makes Richie’s dick twitch at the idea of doing this another time.

You feel him twitch against you. You laugh again to feel it, and you lift a leg to hook it clumsily along the waistband of his boxers. You try to push them down, and then you’re chanting “come on, come on, come on” as he scrambles to shuck off the rest of his clothing, scrambles to hook his fingers under your panties as he draws them down your legs.

“Condoms in the bedside stand,” you tell him, and he opens the drawer, snags one. He notes the bright pink vibrator there but doesn’t remark on it. He’ll tuck the image away and revisit it days later in the shower: a rich bit of fantasy where he pictures you masturbating to the thought of him.

He tears the foil with his teeth, and he watches you as he rolls the condom on himself. You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, better than he ever imagined, and a galling little voice in the back of his head asks, “so you’ve been imagining her, huh, asshole?”

He ignores the voice and what it might say next. He stands over you and asks instead, “how do you want me, sweetheart?”

Another smile. A genuine one. “However you want it.”

“Anal, then.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and Richie thinks he might love that—the way he surprises you into laughing. You prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him. You kick out a bare foot and press your toes low against his belly, centimeters away from touching the tip of his cock where it stands at attention.

“Not that,” you chide. “That requires prep.”

“Not a no, sweetheart.”

“It’s a no for this moment.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” He grips your ankle and circles it with his hand, and he bends your leg. Pushes it away from him, pushes it closer to you, and it reveals your gorgeous pussy to him: the neat-trimmed curls, the slick arousal, the swollen bud of your clit.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he groans to see you. “Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.”

“Missionary works for me,” you reply. “Old reliable.”

So he climbs onto you. He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide. You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

“You haven’t done much,” you point out.

“Smart-ass.” He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and he drags the tip of himself through your folds. He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance. He looks down and pushes just the tip in, and the sight of it—barely inside you, the promise of burying himself inside you—makes his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

“Richie.” You reach up with one hand to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes. “Fuck me, please.”

Your other hand finds the small of his back. You can’t quite reach his ass, so you lay your palm against the small of his back and urge him forward, and he pushes into you. He goes slow but steady, and he hears your small gasp as your tight cunt makes room for him. He feels the stretch of it, the smooth muscles twitching at him, and he studies your face for any pain but finds none.

“Pussy’s gripping at me,” he grits out once he’s seated in you. “Guess you needed it bad after all.”

“Don’t gloat.” You bear down on him, squeeze him like a fist, and it makes him choke out a curse. “You needed it bad too, I think.”

“Not complaining here, sweetheart.”

You take his chain in your hand and tug him down to you again. You kiss him, then mumble against his mouth, “so fuck me then, Richard. Move.”

He does as you ask. You’re a pain in the ass, and you’re a representative of all the change occurring in his life without his permission, but he wants to make it good for you. He remembers the way you clung to him that night in the basement, and he wants to capture that feeling again…even as he shoves the memory aside and begins to fuck you in earnest.

He doesn’t thrust in and out so much as up and down; he learned this move a long time ago and knows it feels better for his partner. His thrusts hit every part—each reseating brushes the tip of him against the end of you, and it makes you whine each time. The slide in and out, at this angle, draws along the firm bud of your clit. And each time he pushes himself home, the base of him grinds along your clit too, and it makes him feel like a million bucks when you gasp out his name, warn him that you’re close—

“Fuck, fuck. God, Richie, I’m c-close. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—"

And then it tears out of you: the hard snap of your hips as you lift them to meet his most punishing thrust, the way you tremble under him, your legs shaking, your eyes rolled back in your head. The way your cunt grips him, ripples against him until it feels like he’s being pulled into your body, and the thought takes hold of him. He wants to crawl inside you, wants to fill you with himself, wants to merge with you, and the thoughts are so rapid-fire he feels insane for a moment before he settles.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, surprised. “Holy shit.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t gloat.” You lift your head and kiss the side of his neck, and he adjusts himself and keeps fucking you.

He’s hit his rhythm now; he deals you hard thrusts and you take them. You beg for more. His arms burn as he arches over you. His calves burn as he drives his cock into you, and sweat beads along his hairline. He’s covered in a sheen of it, but he doesn’t stop. He fucks you hard, and his gold necklace swings in time to his thrusts. It hits you in your face until you hook it with a finger and put the fucking thing in your mouth, and he doesn’t know why it's so hot—maybe it makes him think of your mouth on parts of him instead of just his necklace.

He makes you come a second time, and it breaks around you again, leaves you trembling and incoherent, but after you recover, you push him over. It’s easy for you to do—he’s winded as fuck from all his smoking—and Richie finds himself underneath you as you ride him.

He’s happy for the break, but he’s happy to see this side of you. Any shyness from earlier is long gone. You sit astride him and bounce on his cock, and it makes your tits bounce too, and he can look down at where he disappears into your tight, wet pussy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he tells you so.

“S’fine,” you pant out. “Want you to come too, Richie.”

Then you reach down and take his hands in yours, you place his hands on your tits, and he sort of loves how you take charge at the end. You push your chest into his hands and ride him, and once he’s touching you there—pinching at your nipples until you arch your back—you reach down and touch yourself. He watches, transfixed, as you rub a tight circle against your clit, and he can feel you getting close now. Two orgasms down, he can feel the warning signs.

“Try to come with me,” you order him. “Want to feel it.”

He’s close. He’s been close for a while, has been forestalling his own pleasure by listing out White Sox statistics in his head. But now he wants to come with you as you’ve asked (he wants to do everything for you, anything you ask, he wants all of it, and he struggles to push the thoughts away this time). He breathes in time with your riding, and he feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches.

“I’m close,” he warns. “Fuck, sweetheart, are you close?”

“Y-y-yes.” You close your eyes and drop your head, focusing on whatever you’re feeling.

“Gonna come with me?”

“Mmm-hmm.” You take a sharp breath, then moan as you come a third time, and if he doesn’t quite come with you at exactly the same time, it’s close enough: the way your pussy grasps at him, draws him in deeper is enough to push him over the edge, and he shifts his hands to your waist. He pulls you down onto him and stills, feels the pulse of his orgasm as he spills in the condom.

It takes him a long while to recover. He feels weightless. Boneless. He feels like he’s melting into the covers of your bed. Like he could sleep for a hundred years. Like he could give up cigarettes and Xanax if he could just stay here and fuck you whenever his anxiety or insomnia are too much….

You dismount on shaky legs, and you disappear. When you return, you’re in an oversized t-shirt that skims the top of your thighs, and you hand him a warm washcloth.

“You can take your time,” you tell him. “No rush.”

Richie reaches down and pulls the condom off. He ties it off and looks around until he sees a waste bin. He tosses it, then flops back down on your bed.

“Just need a minute,” he says, but his voice is already thick with sleep, and he doesn’t remember anything else until morning when he wakes up to the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon.

He doesn’t remember you standing over him, bemused as you watch him snore. He doesn’t remember you lying down beside him, covering both of you with a blanket.

And he certainly doesn’t remember reaching for you in his sleep. He doesn’t remember how you wrap your arms around him, just like that night in the basement of The Beef, and how he sighs at the feeling of you tucked against him again.

#richie jerimovich #richie the bear #richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich imagine #richie jerimovich x reader #the bear #tropes and tales

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saphiccarma · 12 days ago

Text

- The Red Means I Love You

Relationships - Mob Boss!WandaNat x Reader

Summary - After dating Natasha for just a little over a month, she takes you to meet her wife. That leads to some complications with an unknown person.

Warnings: Almost smut (not quite, it get's a little close but not actually there.), a knife. Let me know if I missed any

Pt.1

The anticipation you felt leading up to your meeting with Wanda was intense. It had been a month since Natasha first proposed the idea. Since then your relationship had only rapidly grown bolder and bolder, yet never going past heated make out sessions. Anxiety simmered in your stomach, overwhelming and all powerful, as you tried to pick out the perfect outfit. Not that you had many clothes. Digging through the small closet in your room, one of the only things in said room, you tossed the few clothes you had out - at least the acceptable one. A few pairs of dress pants, a couple shirts, a uniform, and a couple dresses.

You spent several minutes sorting through all of them, eventually deciding on a dress. It was a tad bit wrinkly from sitting in the closet for so long, much like you, but you had no iron for it so it would have to do. Slipping on the black dress that flowed down to your ankles and had straps that revealed your shoulders, you decided it would do without a sweater.

It was still summer, the air warm as you followed Natasha up to the house. She had picked you up in her car and wearing black dress pants accompanied by a white blouse. Your flats slapped against the hot concrete and the sun seared onto your back despite it being early evening. Grass swerved in the slight warm breeze, the edges tickling the tips of your ankles.

Natasha's heels, making her a good inch taller, clacked on the steps as she unlocked the door, her delicate hand pushing it open. A smoky scent drafted through the house as you stepped in, not in a barbeque way, but more so in a wildfire way. You admired the dark walls, the dim lights that shone gently above, and threatening, yet soothing, atmosphere.

Following Natasha tentatively, you were faced with the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, save for Natasha. Her hair was a light auburn color, tinted the slightest bit brown, that flowed down her shoulders in gentle waves. She turned to face the two of you, a knife in her hand, and you gaze flickered to her eyes. They were a striking emerald green, one that pierced your soul a bit kinder than Natasha's. The redhead had a hand on the small of your back, guiding you closer to Wanda.

"Wanda," Natasha began, her tone carefully measured and slow, "This is Y/N."

Wanda smiled gently, one that at first glance was kind. But at a second look you saw the sharper edges, carefully concealed.

"It's nice to meet you."

You swallowed thickly, "You too."

Natasha guided you with her hand towards the table, a dark wood that blended in the walls perfectly. You hesitantly pulled out a chair with sweaty hands, taking a seat. Sitting next to you, Natasha placed a hand on your thigh, her fingers dipping inwards. You soaked up the touch greedily, melting into her cool hand. Subconsciously, you began toying with the ring on her hand, one that had a bold diamond on it, small but standing out.

She never wore it when training you, likely due to keeping things professional, but now it sat upon her slender finger proudly. You fidgeted with it nervously as Wanda continued cooking. A part of you wanted to help, but when you tried to stand Natasha tightened her grip and fixed you with a look. She chatted smoothly with her wife, the conversation flowing as if you weren't there.

"How long have you been with Natasha?" Wanda directed her attention to you, her green eyes flickering with an unidentifiable emotion.

"Uhm- just about a month," you mumbled, the question making your hands tighten together nervously.

Wanda laughed gently, "Not like that darling, how long have you been working for her.

"Oh," embarrassment flooded you, "Around 8 months I think."

You glanced at Natasha for confirmation. The redhead smirked, the corners of her lips tilting up in amusement, nodding. Squirming in your seat, Natasha's hand a grounding weight on your thigh that was steadily creeping up from it's spot above your knee, you watched as Wanda delicately balanced three plates on her hands, bringing them to the table.

It smelled divine, heavenly even, as you stared down at the orange-ish sauce. It was laid over chunks of chicken, staining the white rice below. You uttered a quiet thank you to Wanda, who smiled at you, and took a gentle bite. Letting out a quiet moan at the taste, you closed your eyes. For the past months you had been having rather plain food, and this just tasted like bliss to your tastebuds.

"This is amazing," you said once you swallowed, heat filling your cheeks, "Thank you."

"I'm glad," Wanda laughed softly, the sound light and airy.

The night was filled with light chatter, thin stemmed glasses filled with red liquid, and Natasha's hand slowly inching up your thigh. Her fingers were light and danced delicately up your skin, but not once dipping below the fabric of your dress. You could feel yourself growing increasingly wet as her sharp nails traced patterns through your dress.

At some point you had tried to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the need you felt, but Natasha gripped your skin tighter, keeping your legs apart. You nearly whined in frustration and would have if it weren't for Wanda sitting across from you. Unbeknownst to you, Wanda was eyeing Natasha with a look of fond exasperation. She didn't mind at all, just a bit annoyed Natasha couldn't keep it together for one nice dinner.

Clearing her throat, Wanda gathered up the empty plates, her gaze piercing Natasha's soul, "Why don't you two go settle on couch. We can watch something and have some wine?"

"Great idea," Natasha said slowly, her hand tightening before loosening completely so you could stand. You obediently followed her to the living room, somewhat expecting it when she shoved you against the wall, her lips crashing into yours.

You gasped into her mouth, allowing her tongue to slip in. It wasn't much of a battle, Natasha taking dominance immediately, leading to a clash of teeth and tongue. Pulling away when you needed air, your chest heaved.

"Your wife-" you began, worriedly glancing towards the kitchen.

Natasha's hand clamped down your chin, forcing you to look back at her, "Do you have any idea how nice you look in that dress?" she snarled, her fingers dug into the sides of your jaw, "The way it shapes your ass perfectly and shows just the right amount of the cleavage.”

You whimpered when her knee slotted between your legs, touching your yet panties. A smirk flitted across her face, replacing the firm scowl she had.

"Aww, is someone yet for me already?" she cooed mockingly. She had teased you like this before, just enough to leave you wanting, but never getting to the point. It had been driving you insane. Something about this felt different, more intense.

A whine escaped your mouth, and you clamped your hands over your lips when you heard the sound. Natasha laughed, her fingers still digging into your chin, and with her free hand pried your hands off your mouth.

"Let me hear those pretty sounds," she whispered, leaning in so her breath was warm on the shell of your ear. She nipped your earlobe, drawing another small whine out of you, and began working her way down. She left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, nipping and licking the entire time. Her hand had removed itself from your chin, snaking its way down to your breasts. Teasing your hard nipples through your dress, you felt yourself grow wetter by the second.

Subconsciously you ground down her thigh, seeking to relieve the pressure you felt. You needed her. The redhead had teased you so much in the past four weeks and you didn't want to wait any longer.

"Natasha," you whimpered, pushing yourself into her, into her touch, "I need you."

She laughed softly against your neck and nipped harshly. Her touch was too much and too little at the same time. You pressed further down on her thigh, seeking some sort of friction. If you were any more aware you would have heard Wanda's soft footsteps against the cold wooden floor, but you didn't, and Natasha did. All at once, her touch was gone. Her cold hands, her hot mouth, her firm knee.

You whined, trying to pull her back, but she merely chuckled, "Go sit," she ordered. You had half a mind to protest but knew it would get you nowhere. Instead with firm pout on your face you sulked over to the couch and plopped down rather ungracefully.

Crossing your arms, you insistently ignored Natasha when she sat rather gracefully next to you, her arms draping across your shoulders. Wanda entered with three wine glasses in her hands, handing one to you before passing the other to Natasha. The redhead takes it gratefully, sipping it delicately with a small smirk in your direction. Wanda eyed you with a pitying look in her eye before sitting down on the other side.

A wave of uncomfortable feeling washed over you, and not just from the wet feeling between your legs, but because you were sandwiched between two women who were awfully hot and one of them was teasing you relentlessly. Wanda grabbed the remote, oblivious to your inner turmoil, and turned on some cheesy sitcom.

You spent the rest of the night with your thighs pressed together and stomach turning uncomfortably.

^___________^

"Natasha wants to see you," Kate peeked into your room, her eyes finding you on the bed. Almost instantly you folded the book in your hands, setting it down and straightening yourself out. Your heart beat like a caged bird.

"Thanks," you told her, slipping past her on the way out. Kate followed after insistently, an air of curiously floating around her. You sighed, "Yes Kate?"

She offered a joyful smile, "How's it going?"

You raised an eyebrow in her, not pausing in your pace. Natasha's office was a good ways down the hall and if she sent someone to fetch you then it must be important, and you'd rather not test her patience.

"How's what going?"

"Oh, you know," she whined, "Your thing with Natasha."

You rolled your eyes, pointedly ignoring her. It had been a week since you had met Wanda and Natasha had pulled away. You had barely heard from either of them and this was just the first you were going to see Natasha. Before Kate could get to ask another question, you had reached Natasha's office. Without bother to knock, as that would give Kate time to come up with a question, you pushed the door open, shutting it swiftly behind you.

The sight you were met with made you freeze in your tracks.

Wanda was seated on the desk, her hands digging into Natasha's shoulders as the two kissed passionately. A small whine escaped Wanda's mouth as Natasha pushed against her. The latter paused in her movements, glancing back at you. Smirking, Natasha patted Wanda's thigh, and the younger woman hoped off the desk. You stared open mouthed as bruises began to blossom on Wanda's neck and Natasha licked her lips.

"Close your mouth, dekta," Natasha said absent mindedly, moving around to sit in her chair, "You'll catch flies."

Your mouth snapped shut, watching as Wanda moved to lounge on the couch in the corner, her lips swollen, but still a gentle smile on her face.

Swallowing thickly, you forced words through your mouth, "You called?"

"I did, I have a mission for you." She slid a piece of paper across the table. It was a thin piece of paper with just a few words printed onto it. Carefully, you picked it up, scanning over the print. It had a date and time and simple instructions.

Reading over it a few times, you glanced up at Natasha, "You want me to just, watch a man?"

Her eyes narrowed at you, a dangerous expression that told you you were walking on thin ice, "Are you questioning me?"

"No," you shook your head, "Sorry." You averted your gaze down, feeling all too small under her scrutiny. A small sigh echoed across from you. Natasha stood, but you stayed still, as she rounded the desk.

Her hands gripped your collar, pulling you in for a sweet kiss. It was over as soon as it started, yet it left you wanting more.

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you sweet girl," she whispered and you were all too aware of Wanda's eyes on your back.

"It's alright," you offered a small smile, "You're busy."

She gave you one more soft kiss, so different from her usual harsh ones, and gave you a pat on the shoulder before ushering you out. You left clutching the paper in your hand and making your way back to your room.

After packing everything you would need for the mission, you set out, borrowing one of the community motorcycles Natasha kept and slipping a helmet on. You spend down the highway to the address on the paper, the wind blowing against your face despite the helmet. You relished in the feeling - the feeling of freedom.

Parking the vehicle along the sidewalk, you made your way under the cover of night. There was a knife strapped to the inside of your boot, tucked away, and a gun holstered under your jacket. You were dressed casually, being out at night was suspicious enough, might as well make it seem like you were heading to a party. You had hardly made it a block before a strong arm yanked you into an alleyway. You hardly had time to react before a cold metal was pressed against your throat. Breath catching in your throat, you froze, your fingers twitching with anxiety.

"Don't move," A light voice said, distinctly feminine, "I won't hesitate to slit your throat." Panic surged through you, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you fought to urge to struggle. That would get you in trouble. "It seems Wanda's little plaything isn't very good at defending herself." You brain short circuited as the woman said those words. You and Wanda had hardly interacted so how had she-?

"I wonder how she would react if I," the knife traced its way slowly down your throat, drawing a thin line of blood. A small whimper escaped your throat, "Aww, is someone scared? Don't be." Her voice as a teasing coo as the knife traced your neck, just lightly skimming above your skin so as not to cut. You flinched when her lips brushed against your ear.

"Tell her if she doesn't give me what I want here will be consequences."

The words sent a shiver down your spine and then the weight pressed against your back was gone. You spun around, grabbing at your gun, but the woman was gone, disappeared into the night.

Taglist: @macaroni676 @gaylorvader

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n

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novlr · 9 months ago

Note

What are some ways to describe summer ?

Summer is not just a season; it’s a vibrant setting that can add life and color to your writing. Whether you’re crafting a sun-soaked romance or a beach thriller, the way you describe summer can immerse readers in your story. Let’s dive into how you can capture the essence of summer, focusing on the various senses and elements that make this season unique.

Sights

Sunsets that paint the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple.

Children chasing ice cream trucks down suburban lanes.

Sunbathers dotting the coastline.

Sprinklers casting rainbows across freshly mowed lawns.

Flower gardens in full bloom, a riot of colours.

Sunglasses showing reflections of the bright world.

Sun hats and flip-flops scattered around pool decks.

Fireflies illuminating the night.

Street markets bustling with locals buying fresh produce.

Hikers on forest trails.

Sounds

The cacophony of cicadas in the late afternoon.

Waves crashing against the shore in a constant rhythm.

The sizzle and pop of barbecues in backyards.

Children’s laughter as they play outside.

Ice clinking in glasses of lemonade or cocktails.

The distant whirr of lawn mowers.

Splashes and shouts from swimming pools.

Chirping songbirds greeting the morning.

The crackle of bonfires during cool summer nights.

The melodic chimes of ice cream trucks roaming the streets.

Smells

The salty tang of sea air at the beach.

The overpowering scent of chlorinated pools.

Freshly cut grass after morning lawn care.

The scent of sunscreen and tanning oils on warm skin.

The smoky aroma of grills at a neighborhood cookout or family barbeque.

Fragrant blossoms like jasmine and roses in full bloom.

The earthy smell of rain on hot pavement.

The mix of fruits, vegetables, fried food, and flowers at an open-air market.

Melting tar with an accompanying heat shimmer on hot roads.

Campfire smoke clinging to clothes and hair during outdoor adventures.

Activities

Beach volleyball games, sand flying as players dive for the ball.

Leisurely picnics in the shade of ancient trees.

Hiking trips taking advantage of the long daylight hours.

Sailing and boating, the wind filling sails on sunlit waters.

Outdoor concerts, where music floats on the warm night air.

Road trips with car windows down, hair whipping in the wind.

Fruit picking in orchards and berry farms.

Camping under the stars, a tent and a sleeping bag for a home.

Water fights with hoses, water guns, and balloons.

Attending summer festivals full of food, music, and dance.

Character body language

Wiping sweat from the brow or fanning themselves to cool down.

Squinting against the harsh sunlight or seeking out spots of shade.

Sipping cold drinks, or gulping down water.

Lounging lazily, limbs relaxed and sprawled out.

Applying sunscreen meticulously.

Adjusting sunglasses or hats for better protection.

Dipping toes tentatively into the sea or a pool.

Tugging at clothes sticking to sweat-dampened skin.

Laughing with carefree abandon, a reflection of summer’s ease.

Turning pages of a paperback with fingers damp from pool water.

Positive descriptions

The liberating feeling of diving into cool water on a scorching day.

The tranquil peace of a sunrise beach yoga session.

The simple pleasure of ice cream melting on the tongue.

The bliss of a hammock nap swayed by a gentle breeze.

The joy of endless blue skies promising adventure.

The warmth of sun-kissed skin after a day outdoors.

The satisfaction of a well-tended garden coming to life.

The contentment of sharing a sunset with loved ones.

The thrill of catching the perfect wave while surfing.

The comfort of balmy evenings spent on porch swings.

Negative descriptions

The oppressive heat making the air feel thick and suffocating.

The relentless buzzing of mosquitoes on a muggy night.

The sting of sunburn after a day of neglecting sunscreen.

The frustration of packed tourist spots and overcrowded beaches.

The exhaustion induced by long days and sweltering heat.

The discomfort of air thick with humidity.

The annoyance of sand finding its way into every nook and cranny.

The disappointment of a rained-out picnic or canceled event.

The lethargy of a heatwave, energy sapped by the relentless sun.

The discomfort of trying to sleep in an overheated, uncooled room.

Helpful Adjectives

Scorching

Balmy

Sultry

Languid

Radiant

Dazzling

Parched

Breezy

Rippling

Sweltering

Sunny

Lush

Blistering

Tropical

Vibrant

Humid

Verdant

Golden

Glowing

Fragrant

Torrid

Tranquil

Crisp

Sizzling

Flaming

Steamy

Refreshing

Shimmering

Lazy

Stifling

Invigorating

Sparkling

Zesty

Fervent

Stuffy

Arid

Saturated

Juicy

Sunbaked

Fetid

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trancylovecraft · 4 months ago

Text

(AOEX) The Blood Of An Unwilling Covenant

PART 6 OF 8: Mephisto Pheles

(Yandere Platonic Demon Kings (Ba'al) x Reader)

SERIES SUMMARY:

BARISTA'S NOTE: I'm bACK. GENDER: Femme FANDOM: Blue Exorcist

☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★

LAST PART ,AO3 LINK, SERIES MASTERLIST, NEXT PART

"Ah man, What a bust!"

The new afternoon sky was as blue as ever, Barely even a cloud in sight. The sun shining over the Texan heat made sweat start to gather along with the number of people outdoors.

The sound of children laughing both far-away and passing was as clear as the sky, Adults talking around the chipped picnic benches laid out for them. [F/N] could even swear she smelt the smoky start of a barbeque rising up from somewhere.

Though unlike the gathering of people a good bit away, The two of them sat lazing on one of the park benches laid along the trail. A small one, Just big enough so that their legs were grazing each other. Each with a tub of ice-cream on their laps.

[F/N]'s was fairly modest, A few scoops of a flavour she particularly liked along with the toppings she currently had a hankering for, All shovelled into a tub and already half-eaten.

Lewin, On the other hand, Had a good few bucket-full's of double chocolate fudge all crammed into a single large tub. Both strawberry and chocolate sauce drizzled down the sides, Dripping over the edge. Other bits of candy were sprinkled on top, The cream only starting to melt a bit under the heat.

And [F/N] could swear that when he had said he was "going to the bathroom", His ice-cream had come back just a little more full than it was before.

"Better luck next time, I guess. These things happen, Maybe the next lead will get us somewhere?" [F/N] replied to Lewin before shovelling another helpful into her mouth, Making sure the plastic spoon was licked clean when it came out.

Lewin groaned, His mouth dripping in chocolate sauce.

"Mhm- I know, I was just really banking on this one, You know? I mean come on! How could they know we were coming? They couldn't just up and leave just like that!" He ranted, Not bothering to stop hastily piling the cream in his mouth, Chewing in between his words.

Another raid, Another one failed. After working arduously to track down another base and organise a team to bust down their door, They had come up empty again. Nothing but barren file cabinets and fingerprints wiped clean.

Sure, It was a much smaller base than the ones they had raided before, But that still didn't explain how absolutely everything was wiped clean. Like they had anticipated they were coming, Like somehow they knew.

And [F/N] knew that it was starting to build up in Lewin, Something that started to irk him. Even though he kept up a calm façade, [F/N] could tell that it was starting to bother him, Make him tear his own hair out from his scalp.

So now they sat in the middle of a park, Lewin deciding that it would be a nice treat for both of them (Even though Ice-cream was basically all they had within their freezer). The truck they had ordered it from still being parked on the road up ahead.

[F/N] hummed.

"You think that they could have a spy running around the order? Someone had to tell them you were coming, Right?" [F/N] asked, Starting to scrape at the corners of her tub, Scouring for the last of her ice-cream.

Lewin huffed.

"More than likely." He responded as he scooped another few into his mouth. "Mm- The question is who it could be though. An accountant? An actual exorcist? Mmph- Maybe it could even be a legion member!"

[F/N] licked the little plastic spoon clean, Her ice-cream finished and only leaving the remaining chill on her tongue.

"Maybe you should go tell Arthur about this- You know, Since he's in charge of the legion and all." [F/N] offered, Scrunching up the tub before tossing it and the spoon into the trash-can beside her. "Or what about the Paladin? Whatever his name is.. Fujimoto, Was it?" Lewin grumbled.

"And let them know that I'm onto them? I mean, Arthur's cool and all but he has a problem with letting things slip, Ya' know?" Lewin explained as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "And the Paladin isn't a good option either, He's not exactly the most patriotic about the order or whatever you call it.."

[F/N] nodded, Turning back to face the scenery in front of her. It was clear that Lewin wasn't really in the mood for any kind of advice or suggestion, This was something he needed to figure out on his own.

As usual.

[F/N] shifted in her seat, Suddenly feeling uncomfortable. She tugged at the hem of her yellow raincoat, A piece of clothing she had decided to bare within the unbearable heat. She was lucky she was wearing shorts, Otherwise she'd be melted into a puddle by now.

Lewin scarfed down another half-scoop of ice-cream, Not caring that he smeared the other half across his face. He had a rather unusual frown too, It only deepening once he spied the uncomfortable expression across his younger sisters face.

"You know, I can practically see you melting in that thing." Lewin chirped as he wiped off the chocolate from his mouth again. He eyed her from under his bangs, Watching as she turned to him.

"What do you mean?" [F/N] asked, Sweat running down her brow.

"That thing." Lewin said, Vaguely gesturing to her rather thick-fabric raincoat. "I know you have sentimental value to it or whatever, But can't you just take it off for a little while? Don't want you bring you back home in a bucket."

"I'm not that warm, I'm fine." [F/N] scoffed slightly, Leaning back into the bench and by proxy her raincoat. She ignored the sweat dusting her face and the pools of it under her armpits, Deciding to shake her head instead.

Lewin shrugged.

"Whatever you say, But I am kinda worried." He replied as he continued to eat his ice-cream, Turning away from her to focus on the treat. [F/N] only eyed him from behind, Unable to see his face from her position.

She would've shut it down, Opened her mouth to brush him off. But Lewin just happened to be quicker.

"You don't have any kind of hobbies that don't involve exorcism. I mean, I should not be the one to talk to you bout' this but-" Lewin's laughter died down, Whittling like a flame. "-You don't really have any friends."

[F/N] frowned as she looked at him, Suddenly feeling exposed, As if her raincoat wasn't on at all. She huffed slightly. Sure, She didn't have many people she talked to other than Lewin, But that didn't bother her at all!

Not at all.

"You're starting to sound like my old counsellor, You know." She grumbled, Kicking a pebble with the shoes she trained her eyes on. "Always going on about my personal life or whatever.."

Lewin chuckled slightly, Slightly. [F/N] could tell it was forced.

"Do you even want to become an exorcist? I kinda just found you one day and threw you into all of this without question." He asked, Turning to face her with a surprisingly serious face.

[F/N] glanced up at him, Curling back into herself just a little further once she saw his expression. Of course she wanted to become an exorcist, She wanted to kill demons. She wanted to avenge him.

But why did Lewin's stare make her feel so small, Make her feel like an ant compared to him?

"Of course I do.. I've wanted to find demons for my entire life, I've wanted to kill them just as long so being an exorcist would just be perfect for me! So what if I don't have any friends, The reason I wanna become an exorcist is to avenge my only one!" [F/N] exasperated.

Lewin nodded, Seemingly taking it in.

"I remember you telling me about what happened, You know, With that other kid you talked about." Lewin hummed. "And of course, I did do some digging like going into the case file and such.."

[F/N]'s breath hitched in her throat at the mention of him, The mention of Tetsuya. Of course Lewin would've done some research, But she thought he'd at least have some respect for her privacy! Either way it hit just as hard as it always had, Breathtaking in the worst possible way.

"Don't take this to heart but.. I'm saying that maybe you should stop focusing on his death and start living your life. You're fifteen, You should be kicking around in malls or doing dumb shit with your friends. Not doing mission reports or hours-long study sessions in your room.."

Lewin leaned back in his seat, Back pressing up against the bench with his head tilted up towards the cerulean skies. He watched as birds flew by, Sparrows to Seagulls. And [F/N] watched him do so with damaged eyes.

He sighed, Staring up at the sky.

"Just go have fun, Don't waste your childhood caught up in past, Okay?"

She hugged herself into the raincoat closer, Finding a sort of comfort in the blistering heat. [F/N] knew that he was right, He knew that she felt a sense of longing every time they passed a group of kids her age in the street. Laughing as they pushed each other around.

[F/N] shifted rather uncomfortably, Leg brushing up against Lewin's. Even if she did want some kind of emotional intimacy with someone, That didn't mean she knew how to get it. I mean, How could she? She spent the majority of her childhood on her own, The minority ending with a mutilation.

After all this time, There's no way she could even fathom gaining the skills to actually talk to people!

But her lips thinned, Looking at Lewin. Suddenly feeling sour.

"..I dunno. I.. I mean I guess since I'll be going to school soon I could try to make friends there..?" [F/N] suggested, Not particularly liking the idea as she felt herself grip onto the hems of her raincoat.

Lewin didn't respond.

[F/N] bit her lip.

"You know, In the exorcism classes..? Maybe I'll have something to bond over with someone there since.. You know?" She said once more, Still unable to see his expression from where she was sitting.

But his silence spoke plenty.

She gulped.

"..I mean maybe I could even meet someone in the entrance exams? I could see if I could.. Hey- Hey! Lew'?"

His ice-cream fell onto the floor.

[F/N] was cut off mid-sentence by the sudden lack of pressure on her leg and the new room on the bench, Lewin, Got up to his feet in a near second. [F/N] looked up at him with wide eyes, Watching as he stretched and turned his head to the side so she could see his expression.

Delight.

"That's it!" Lewin cheered, A wide smile spread across his face as he spinned on his heel to meet [F/N]. She, In turn looked at him with confusion as she near watched the cogs turn within his head.

"W-What's it?" [F/N] stammered out.

"The Illuminati! The Traitor! That's where it's all going down, All of this has an origin place- Yes!" Lewin started to pace back and forth along the path, Muttering familiar ramblings under his breath.

[F/N] got up to her feet, Stumbling in her gait as she reached Lewin. Sweat rolled down her brow, She knew what this was. He had unlocked a new door in his investigation, This reaction not uncommon for her to wake up to in the middle of the night.

Lewin laughed.

"Oh I gotta get back to the apartment and write this down! Finally, A break in the case! No time to waste!" Lewin cheered, His feet almost moving for him as he started to run. Picking up a fast pace almost immediately, He sprinted off down the pathway.

"H-Hey, Wait up!" [F/N] gasped as she started to chase after him, Trying not to knock over any of the few people walking down the pathway while getting to him. "You know I'm not as fast as you!"

Lewin laughed, A hand holding his hat down in the wind as he ran.

"Don't be such a slowpoke then, Come on! Catch up if you can!" He snickered like a little kid, Leave it to Lewin to be such a jerk. [F/N] scoffed in between breaths, Gunning faster as he treated it like a game of tag.

[F/N] knew she had to catch up to him, To find out whatever he was up to. When he had a reaction like this, [F/N] knew that it didn't mean anything good. Lewin was up to something, And she needed to know what.

And this time she hoped it wasn't anything stupid.

☆♡☆

[F/N]'s stare was fixed at the high double-door, So intense that you could almost make out eye-shaped burn holes upon the intricate wood.

Her hands were balled into fists so tight that her knuckles almost popped. Sweat started to dampen her brow and it showed through the plain grey band-tee she darned, A group she didn't recognise and one she had borrowed and ruined from Lewin.

Despite the amount of perspiration starting to come from her, Her throat felt dry. Her mouth was cursed with a drought and even started to cause a headache. Despite her efforts to stay level-headed, [F/N] had failed to keep it internal.

"Hey, You good there? You're going to ruin my shirt now, That's one of my favourites you know." Lewin chirped as he eyed the state of his apprentice from behind his mop of hair, Catching the beads of sweat rolling down her face.

[F/N] sighed, Almost in a shudder.

"..Fine! Just a bit hot.." [F/N] responded, Ignoring the slight draft in the hallway and the fact that it was the middle of February. Despite Lewin beside her, [F/N] didn't take her eyes off the doorway for a second.

They stood amongst a grandiose stretch of hallway, High ceilings and beautiful Victorian architecture to match. It made her feel small against the checkerboard floors, Tiny under the beautiful candle-lit chandelier dangling above her like a guillotine.

The walls were the colour of candy, Parma-violets if she was told to choose. And the scent in the air matched it, Though it was far from the cheap candy that the wall colour suggested it was, Much more expensive in smell.

The ticking of the grandfather clock tocked along to the rapid rhythm of her heart. The polished mahogany door reflected her irked expression. And despite the multitude of servant's [F/N] had passed on the way here, There was no noise of livelihood to be heard.

This entire place felt wrong, So strange to her.

Almost like it was alive.

But the architecture and interior design wasn't entirely what made her so on edge, No, It was the thing behind the door she was stood directly in front of. The creature that was lying inside, The demon that she was suppose to meet with.

What's worst was that she was already in it's maw, It's territory. She was standing within the highest floor of his mansion, Outside his office door and ready to meet him face to face. [F/N] bit her tongue, The one that was ready to beg Lewin for them to just go home.

But she needed to stay strong, Raise her shoulders and face him head on. He wouldn't do anything to harm her, At least that's what Lewin had told her..

"It's gonna be fine, No need to worry! Sir Pheles won't try to harm you, You can relax!" Lewin chimed in once more as he continued to watch her shaky stance. He huffed rather sarcastically however once she didn't respond.

"I don't get it, You were fairly fine going to see the old man. Now you're sweating bullets, Any reason why?" Lewin asked, Still focused in on her as [F/N] finally pulled her burning stare off of the door towards him.

"This is different from Azazel, Lew'." [F/N] responded, Rather exasperated. "This is Samael, King of Time and Space! One of the most powerful demons in the Ba'al, Second only to Lucifer!"

Lewin shrugged.

"He actually goes by Mephisto Pheles around here, But remember to address him as Lord Pheles, He prefers it that way and I need you to make a good impression!" Lewin reminded as he started to pick something out of his teeth.

[F/N] scoffed at his dirty behaviour, Tossing her head back over to the doorway.

"Whatever.. I still don't get why I can't just attend an American exorcist school.." [F/N] muttered, Shoving her hands into the depths of her yellow raincoat pockets, The same coat she had worn for years now.

It annoyed her, Why Lewin had decided to bring her back to Japan after all this time. It had been two years since she had stepped foot in the country, And after taking the back-breaking time to learn English and ingrain herself in the culture, It was baffling as to why she was brought back here.

Besides, It seemed like too much trouble to enrol her in True Cross. The entrance exams had already been finished and filed here, Which is why Lewin had arranged a personal meeting and dragged her to his office for a one on one discussion.

[F/N] didn't know why he was so insistent on bringing her here, Why it was so superior to the school in the states.

A hand on her shoulder brought [F/N] back to reality, Tugging her closer to Lewin.

He too grew close, Shuffling nearer to her as his voice dropped an octave.

"..The reason you're here is to keep an eye on him, Understand?" Lewin muttered to her, Quiet as a mouse as he lowered on his knees, Closer to her ear. [F/N] breathed out, Eyes darting back to Lewin as her stare steeled.

"What do you mean?" [F/N] asked, Asking it as low as he did to prevent her voice echoing down the expanse of the hall. Lewin gave her his signature lazy grin, Hand reaching to itch the back of his neck as he raised away from her ear.

"I mean that something strange is going down in the Japan Branch." Lewin explained. "I can't explain much to you right now, But what I can say is that it involves Sir Pheles in there."

[F/N] blinked, Body now fully turning to look at him under the near glaring light of the candles holstered in the chandelier. Strange? If Lewin Light of all people described something as strange, Then [F/N] figured she should take it to heart.

But she still thinned her lips anyways, Scowling as she stared back at him.

"I don't get it, Lew'. You're an Arc Knight, You should be able to find this stuff out on your own, Right? Why do you need me to do anything?" [F/N] retorted lowly, Rolling her eyes.

"..Because it turns out that Sir Pheles won't let someone like me too close to his operation here. Which is why I want to enrol you here as my personal informant." Lewin explained as his voice grew an edge to it.

Lewin's grin died down into a frustrated frown. It was an expression that [F/N] recognised from his late demon research, An expression that happened when he was stumped over a single difficult detail.

It often kept him awake for days on end, Where she'd have to bring him food as he often forgot to eat.

So when she finally met face to face with it, [F/N] finally understood the weight of the situation.

"I.. I understand. What do you need me to do?" [F/N] asked as she straightened her shoulders, Straightening her back up to what would only be compared to a military stance.

Lewin hummed, Turning back towards the door as he shoved his fists into the pockets of the exorcist jacket he wore loosely around his shoulders.

"I just need you to keep me informed of what goes down in there, You know! Just daily reports of what you get taught.. Any suspicious behaviour and hey! Maybe do a bit of snooping for me on the side!" Lewin chuckled as he slightly nudged her with his elbow, Hand still in pocket.

[F/N] huffed, Hitting his elbow back with her own as she shuffled away from him.

"Alright then, I'll do whatever you need. Though you better tell me more about this later, I ain't doing this blind.." [F/N] responded as she stumbled backwards, Pressing herself against the parma-violet coloured wall to lean against it.

Lewin nodded.

"Fine by me, But remember: Make sure to make a good impression on Sir Pheles, Him letting you into the cram school is your main goal here. Try to use your penchant to your benefit, Kid."

Almost on cue, The rich mahogany door let out a click.

[F/N] instantly raised back to her full height, Hands wrenching themselves out of the pockets of her raincoats. Lewin followed suit as the door started to swing open, [F/N] watched with trained eyes as a man stepped out.

It was Belial, The butler. A thin and dainty demon with a host within his middle ages. [F/N] watched as he emerged from the room, Dark and slicked back hair to contrast with his paling skin being the most noticeable as he turned around and softly shut the door behind him.

"Ah, Finally!" Lewin laughed as he watched Belial lower down into a bow, An arm behind his back. [F/N] examined the butler from his pristinely polished shoes to the points of his ears, Watching as the flickering blue light pulsated near his heart, Signalling his demonic status.

Lewin took an eager step forward.

"Come on then, [F/N]-" He called out to her with a grin. Though once he took another step forward towards the door, He was suddenly blocked by Belial, Who had raised up from his bow and swiftly stepped in front of the Arc Knight.

Belial cleared his throat.

"I apologise, Mr. Light." He started, Fixing the tie around his neck as he stared Lewin dead in the eyes. "But my master was rather insistent that the young lady should meet with him. Alone."

[F/N]'s eyes instantly widened at this information, Jerking her head over to Lewin whose grin instantly devolved into a scowl at the butler in front of him. Alone? Samael, Demon King of Time and Space wanted to meet her alone?

Lewin didn't seem to like that either, But even so the scowl on his face was wiped immediately and replaced with that careless expression he wore, The one that masked what he felt underneath.

"Oh really?" Lewin asked, Eyes kept on the butler and suddenly the draft running through the hallway felt like volcanic steam on [F/N]'s skin.

Belial nodded, Slightly bowing again once more.

"Yes, He was rather explicit on that detail. I apologise for the inconvenience.." Belial continued in a rather stale voice. Lewin only shook his head and [F/N] could swear she saw him roll his eyes under the mess of his hair.

But before he could open his mouth to protest, Lewin felt the firm tug of a hand wrapping around his wrist.

"It's fine, Lew'." [F/N] piped up, Stumbling closer to him with her hand still wrapped around his wrist. "I'll go in by myself, It's no big deal.. I can do this alone."

Of course, [F/N] was lying through her teeth. Lewin could tell as the sweat dampening her brow didn't dry, He could tell by the way she gripped onto his wrist like it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He sighed, Which [F/N] could tell was originally suppose to be a groan.

"Ah, Well only if my apprentice insists!" Lewin chuckled dryly as his stature started to mellow out, Shoulders releasing from their previous tight-tensioned stance.

Lewin backed away from Belial, To which his stoic and unreactive expression even seemed to relax a bit. [F/N] released the iron-tight grip on Lewin's wrist, Stepping away as the hallway's draft finally started to cool off.

"Thank you. Now if this matter is sorted then I would suggest that the young lady should go now, It is not wise to keep my master waiting." Belial said, Turning to [F/N] now as she nodded in response.

"R-Right, That's fine by me." She replied, Fixing up her appearance from her hair to her raincoat as she prepared to enter through the door.

"Ah, well. I'll be waiting for you out in the livingroom, Wherever the hell it is suppose to be." Lewin hummed. Turning so his back was facing her before he started to strut off somewhere down the hallway, Soles of his slip-ons creating stomping noise that bounced off the walls as he made his way around the corner.

Belial followed after him, Assumedly to keep her masters mess to a minimum.

"Good luck! And make a decent impression!"

And with that he turned the corner, His words echoing then dying as it did. [F/N] stood there rather awkwardly as Belial trailed after him, Leaving her alone within the long expanse of the hallway.

And just like that she felt tiny again, A little woozy too as the checkerboard floor looked more psychedelic by the second. [F/N] tried not to look at it long, Averting her eyes towards the task which lied behind that ol' mahogany door only a few steps away from her.

[F/N] admired the complexity of the wood, But in her mind she knew it was only a short-term distraction. She needed to get this over and done with, As much as she loathed demons she couldn't act like she usually did.. Not with this one.

As she wandered closer to the silver coated handle of the door, She recalled Lewin's briefing on the demon before they arrived.

Johann Faust V, Mephisto Pheles, The demon went by a menagerie of names but most importantly he came under Samael, Demon King of Time and Space. He was one of the most powerful in the Ba'al, Second only to Lucifer himself.

From what Lewin had said, Mephisto had aligned himself with humanity. But what her master had also said was that it was not like Azazel, Who had chosen to give his vessel up for the sake of Assiah. No, Mephisto was very much active.

He liked making bets, Deals, At least that's what Lewin said. He was a trickster and enjoyed being elusive even to the Vatican, Evident by how he was in cahoots with Amaimon, Something she had found out years ago.

Mephisto wasn't to be trusted, Whether he was on the side of humanity or not was up for debate. But [F/N] wasn't able to argue, She had to stay calm when facing him. She needed to get to the bottom of whatever he was up to, Both for her and her masters sake.

So [F/N] laid her hand upon the artic cold of the silver handle, Gripping it with enough intensity to melt it down. Her other hand raised towards the bark of the door, Curling fingers into a fist before resting her knuckles on the door.

Breathe, Stay calm, Breathe out.

Her hand chapped the door, Once then Twice until it came to a total of three.

…

"Come in~!"

A jovial voice came out muffled through the door, [F/N] felt her sweat drop at the first word. The hand resting upon the silver of the handle pushed down, The mechanism in the door retracting as she swung it open in one single act.

And without a second thought, She stepped in.

Instantly once she did she was hit with the saccharine scent, The one that smelt expensive, It was turned up to a near maximum now and was so sweet that it made her want to puke. Disgusting, She thought. But she couldn't show it unless she wanted a bad impression.

The room was filled with much more natural light in the hallway outside, Not that the tall Victorian windows out there were useless, But it was more concentrated mostly due to the large bay window taking up the far back of the room.

Potted plants of various sizes were scattered throughout, Some reaching tall towards the high ceilings and the thick wooden structure supports. Others potted and placed as the centrepiece of the expensive looking seat and table in the middle of the room.

If [F/N] didn't feel small and poor out in the hallway, She absolutely did now. From all the foreign imports lining the shelves along with the oddly expensive looking anime merch muddled in, It all felt so.. Big.

"Ah, Finally~! I was starting to wonder if you'd ever show up at all!"

[F/N] finally raised her head towards the root of the voice, The one located at the end of the room. Eyes widening as her lips thinned, Desperate to keep whatever yelp of surprise buried deep in her throat.

At the end of the room where the blocky yet intricate desk stood was the demon of the hour, Mephisto Pheles, Lounging carelessly in the high-back swivel chair.

And he was nothing like she expected at all.

He was tall, Impossibly so. Even though he was sitting down, [F/N] knew that he towered above her by a wide margin.

He was gaunt, Like the paleness of a hour-old corpse. High cheekbones and dark circles to deepen his cat-like emerald eyes, The ones staring directly at her. But it wasn't his complexion or the wine-stained iridescent hair that caught her eye, No, It was what he was dressed in.

Head to toe in a blinding white, Punchy pink and purple as accents. From his top hat, His pink polka-dot ascot, Violet gloves and dove-white tuxedo coat. It was a stark contrast from his deathly complexion.

His thanatoid appearance mixed with his childish-candy coloured garb, It gave her an indescribable sense of dread.

[F/N] swallowed back her enraging fear, Snapping back into the situation.

"..Sorry, Lord Pheles. I got caught up." She replied curtly, Trying to hide the already blooming distaste she had for the demon. Eyes kept on him, Her hands never unfurled from the fists that chapped on the door, Only clenched down even more.

Lord Pheles would've smirked if it wasn't already on his face. Elbows on his desk, His fingers interlocked as he stared at her.

His eyes glinted.

Almost if he knew something..

"I understand. Your master is quite a handful, So I suppose that I should have expected some sort of hold-up..~" Mephisto replied in a sing-song voice, Carrying each syllable like a note in a cantata.

It disturbed her, Making [F/N] shift awkwardly within the spot she stood.

"Ah, Where are my manners!" He exclaimed suddenly, A dramatic tilt to his voice as he raised up in his chair. "Please, Take a seat! No need to stand around all day now, Is there?"

His hand stretched out, Eccentric demeanour showing in his movements as he gestured towards the fancy little chair and table set-up.

[F/N] glanced towards it, Looking at the pristine bubble-gum pink of the cushions and the rich wooden structure it stood on. Looking back up towards Mephisto, [F/N] quickly moseyed over to the set-up.

She fell down onto the one placed nearest the door, The longer one by coincidence. Though despite the extra room and the admittedly soft cushioning, She still felt rather uncomfortable.

Probably because of his stare, That cat-eyed glare that didn't let up for a second. [F/N] felt herself shift under the defining silence of the situation, Neither of them speaking as she shuffled further into the cocoon of her raincoat.

Shit. What was she suppose to say? [F/N] didn't dare to look at it. Lewin was suppose to come in here and talk to Sir Pheles for her, He was suppose to take the lead. [F/N] wasn't suppose to do this alone!

But now she was in the belly of the beast, The beast in question being something that she loathed with a lovers passion. And now she was suppose to be cordial with it?

Even if it did "align himself with humanity". It didn't have the respect to give up his stolen vessel like Azazel did, Instead keeping it and himself alive. Disgusting, Being nice to this thing would be difficult to say the least.

The silence weighing down the room was finally broken by the clearing of Mephisto's throat, [F/N] instantly snapping her head up to look at the man.

"..I believe this is the part where you introduce yourself." Mephisto chimed. Gaze slightly sharpening in on her as a single hand raised to cover his snide laughter. "My my.. I see that spending too much time with Mr. Light has had an affect on you, Hm?"

[F/N] gulped, Trying to regain her composure. Fuck, She had forgotten to introduce herself.

"..R-Right, Sorry." She stuttered "My name's [F/N] Light, The current apprentice of Lewin Light. I don't currently have any 'qualifying' meister's and that's kind of the reason my master has set up this meeting with you today.."

"Oh, Really?" Mephisto prompted, Leaning forward only slightly on his chair as he waited for her to go on.

"..I'm here to ask if you could possibly, Maybe, Accept me into True Cross Academy? Both the main curriculum and the cram school, Even though the entrance exams have already been held and done- If that's okay." [F/N] said, Trying to sound as formal as she possibly could even though it didn't come natural to her in the slightest.

[F/N] gripped the hems of her raincoat, Kneading them in her fingers as her eyes averted from his.

Mephisto's eyes lowered on her, Almost eyeing her up and down before the fingers he had locked together came undone.

[F/N] blinked as she watched him lean back in his high-back chair, Eyeing him carefully, Every movement registered in her mind. Even as he reached a casual arm over to an old-timey phone set on the edge of his desk, She kept him in sight.

Was he going to answer or..?

He picked up the phone from his desk, Raising it up to his ear she could hear the faint buzz of it ringing. Once, Then twice. It was answered quickly as she could hear the quiet noise of muffled talk come out from it.

"Hello? Ah, Yes. Belial! Could you please prepare some tea and .. Ah, Right. Yes, See if that one wants some too, Yes.. Preferably English or oolong depending on what's in stock.. "

"..Excuse me?"

Words spilt out from her tongue, One's she didn't know she spoke until she said them. Her eyes widened once she heard them, Hands tensing up to try not and slap across her mouth. Mephisto's eyes darted back over to her, Raising a brow.

"..Not a fan of oolong?" He queried, Slightly lowering the phone from his ear.

[F/N] bit her tongue, Trying not to let anything else out. Was he seriously ordering tea right now? In the middle of their conversation? For all of his high-class persona and get up, He sure didn't seem to have many manners..

"..No, Never mind." [F/N] replied, Bowing her head slightly before pushing herself back onto the long chair she sat on. Uncomfortable, She shifted.

Mephisto eyed her movements, A smirk still on his face before he brought his eyes back to the phone. He replied something that [F/N] couldn't make out, Uninterested and only brought back by the slam of the phone back onto it's set.

When she snapped her head up, She saw him lean forward. Elbows on the desk with his chin resting on the bridge made by his fingers.

"Well then, Now that that is done.." Mephisto drawled, Eyeing her up and down. "From what I hear you intend to enter my school after the entrance exams have already finished up."

"..Yes."

"And the American school? I do believe they're still accepting applications.. Wouldn't it be much more comfortable to attend somewhere close to home?"

"..Well since I grew up in this country, I told Lewin that I wanted to return and do my schooling here.. Besides, Everyone knows that True Cross is the top school for exorcists. If I'm gonna get my Meister's, I want to get the best education with it." [F/N] replied, Trying to make her voice as steady as could be.

Sugar talk, Something she had picked up from Lewin to get her way. [F/N] tried not to let it show that she was lying, Try seem as genuine as she possibly could be. In truth, [F/N] could care less about that stuck-up rich kid school.

Mephisto smirked.

"Ah, What a charmer you are!" He sung with a dramatic lean back in his seat, A hand pressed to his chest. "Yes, I must admit that it is true! My academy is rather prestigious especially among exorcists, So I suppose I can understand why you would want to attend my institution.."

[F/N] watched as the rather whimsical demeanour he had displayed turned back down, His eyes refocusing and sharpening back towards her. Smile brandishing as he honed his vision on her.

"..But I also must say- As the headmaster I do have some concerns.." Mephisto hummed as the sound of a door swinging open came out from behind her. [F/N] pried her vision off Mephisto for a moment to watch Belial stroll in, Baring a fine silver plate in a single hand, Fine Flower-painted china atop it.

Mephisto tilted his head.

"Lightning has always had a rather nasty habit of conducting his own little investigations, Who knows why and I must admit that it's getting rather concerning.." He explained. "I just can't help but wonder if he had sent you here to do his business for him?"

He eyed her up and down, And [F/N] tried not to look so squeamish under his surprisingly uncomfortable gaze. God, How she hated how weak she felt in the moment, How horribly nervous she was.

[F/N] gripped the edge of the couch she lazed on, Flipping a leg over the other. She couldn't let him get under her skin. Belial moved around to the small centre-table in front of her, Setting down the silver tray as the china on top rattled along with it.

"..Not that I'm aware of, No." [F/N] replied as she watched Belial start to fill up the twin tea cups sitting pretty on the tray. She gulped. "Lewin's always been straightforward with me, I honestly just think he wants me to get a good education."

Mephisto nodded as Belial finished his work, Picking up one of the steaming tea-cups and plates to carefully bring it over to the desk at the head of the room. He set it down in front of Mephisto, The steam rising high into the air.

Mephisto carefully picked it up by the handle, Taking a sip of the boiling water without a flinch.

"..And you're completely sure?" He asked, Settling the cup back down onto it's plate.

"Completely." [F/N] responded, Not missing a beat.

Belial bowed to both her and Mephisto before quickly turning on his heel and leaving back out where he came, The tea-set still on the table, Her own hot drink steaming up into the sky, Too hot to touch.

Mephisto dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, Drying the residue.

"Well I suppose that I could let you into my academy, Considering your credentials of being Lightning's apprentice and the rather flattering recommendations I got sent by a few of The Arc Knights." Mephisto hummed as he settled back down.

[F/N] thinned her lips, Trying not to let the smile show on her face. Leave it to Lewin to plan something out. He must have gone to some of the other Arc Knights, Most likely Arthur and Osceola if she had to guess. She didn't even have a clue.

So she kept herself calm, If only for a second.

"So.. Does that mean that I'm able to attend?" [F/N] asked, Hands gripping even tighter onto her raincoat to try and keep her voice from shivering. Mephisto hummed, Tapping his fingers against the polished wood of his desk before it suddenly stopped.

"Yes, Yes. I suppose you can, I'll get your paperwork in order to send to Lightnings estate and I'll be expecting them by the end of next week, Make sure to tell him that!" Mephisto replied, Lilt in his voice as he took another sip of his tea.

[F/N] finally grinned, Letting it come across her face without resistance now. Letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding, [F/N] dusted herself off and pushed herself up to her feet, Only stumbling a little bit once she got settled.

She turned towards him slightly before bowing her head in faux respect.

"..Thank you, Lord Pheles. I'll make sure to tell my master of the news." [F/N] said in the most gratuitous tone she could muster. Once her head raised, She turned away from him and towards the door instead.

She wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible, Especially once she felt eye-shaped holes start to burn on her back. Being in the same room as a Demon King was bad enough, But the scorching feeling of it watching her was even worse.

Her hand lunged out to the silver-plated handl-

"Where are you going?"

Her muscles tensed. [F/N] was about to grab onto the handle, fingers so close to wrapping around it that she could feel it's chill.

She blinked before turning her head around, Meeting the eyes of Mephisto at the far end of the room. Still leaning forward on his desk with that same hot stare, Smile still on his face.

[F/N] blinked.

It disturbed her.

"..Oh, I thought that we were done here?" [F/N] replied, Hesitant as she watched him push his hands onto his desk, Pushing himself up from his seat that rolled back to make way for his overwhelming height.

[F/N] snapped her jaw shut as she watched him saunter around the perimeter of his desk, Hand still trailing on the furniture as he made his way to the front.

"You still haven't touched your tea." He simply said, Finally leaning up against the front of the desk. [F/N] just watched him, Eyeing him up and down from the swirl of his hair to the polished slacks he kicked in.

[F/N] swallowed, The warning Azazel gave her ringing through her head.

"..My siblings, The ones that have met you have not taken it as a single experience to be done with, [F/N]. They haven't forgotten about you, They remember very well.."

It made her freeze, Almost like she was staring into the serpentine eyes of a gorgon, Which she supposed wasn't an entirely inaccurate description. Ever since Azazel had warned her, She had been vigilant.

Eyes darting to every corner of a room when she entered, Making sure to stick close to Lewin like Azazel had advised her to. Of course he had also told her that it was basically inevitable that she would meet the final two.

And he was right, And she was standing before another.

She couldn't stay here, Not in the belly of the beast.

"..I'm sorry but I'm just not in the mood to have anything right now, I ate before I came here and it soured my appetite." [F/N] laughed nervously, Trying to seem as relaxed as possible within the current situation.

Mephisto tilted his head, Eyeing her like she was to him.

"Ah, But you must try it! The ingredients I have imported here are some of the highest quality, I assure you. It would be a shame if it would go to waste now, Wouldn't it?" Mephisto said as he continued to watch her movements.

[F/N]'s eyes darted from his face to the tea-set still on the table, Her tea-cup still filled to the brim with the beige liquid and steaming high. She bit her tongue. Though it certainly looked enticing, The expression on his face certainly wasn't.

[F/N] gulped, The hand hovering around the door handle finally lunged to grip around it.

"..I'm sorry, Lord Pheles, But I need to go meet up with my master now. I've kept him waiting long enough- Goodbye!" [F/N] stammered out, Instantly pushing down the handle and swinging open the door before escaping out into the hallway.

She pulled the door closed behind her before slamming her back against it, Breathing heavily, [F/N] wiped the sweat off of her brow. Blue lights floated around her, Coal tars no doubt from the way that they flickered around.

[F/N] swatted them away once they got too close, The conversation she had with the literal Demon King of Time and Space still playing in her mind. Every word, Sentence and gesture playing in her head.

She had gotten into True Cross, Something that Lewin would be proud of. [F/N] remembered the interaction she had with Lewin before, Where he told her how to act in front of the demon.

[F/N] bit her lip, A sudden thought coming to her mind.

Her penchant didn't seem to work on him, The penchant Lewin had told her to use to her advantage. He had no moment like all the others before him, Where they proclaimed that their heart was beating once more.

The sudden change in demeanour, The sudden favour they had for her.

He didn't have that moment, Despite the conversation between them being much longer than some of the others. Or did it just feel that way? [F/N] didn't know, But she thought about it anyways.

She raised a thumb up to her lips, Beginning to bite on her nail.

[F/N]'s breath hitched in her throat, Eyes widening as she tore off the excess of her nails. And all at once, She understood why Lewin had wanted her to attend here in the first place.

Her penchant didn't seem to work on him-

Because he was already affected.

☆♡☆

Mephisto watched the girl exit his office, Slamming the door behind her so quickly that it shook the walls foundations. His slit-pupils didn't remove themselves from her, Not until she was completely gone from sight.

The tea still sat steaming on the desk, The cup she didn't touch. She was suspicious and vigilant, That was something he could respect yet all the same he felt his smile start to twitch.

It downturned into a grimace, Especially once he heard the slam of boots hit the floor behind him. Heels clacking, He knew very well who it was.

"Amaimon." Mephisto stated, Not bothering to turn around to meet the face of his younger brother standing there. Deep eyebags staring into the back of Mephisto's head, One's he had felt throughout the entire meeting he had with [F/N].

Lurking in the darkness, Somewhere hidden within the higher parts of his room.

"Brother.." Amaimon spoke and Mephisto finally turned to look at him dead in the eyes, Sly smile finally returning to him. Amaimon didn't reciprocate, Only stared dead into Mephisto's eyes with that same blank expression he always wore.

"Lurking around again, Amaimon? It's rather rude not to announce yourself when entering another's home.." Mephisto chided, Knowing very well that Amaimon wouldn't care about house etiquette.

"Why did you just let her leave? It would've been easy to just take her, That other annoying human wasn't there to stop us." Amaimon stated. Despite his blank visage, Mephisto could sense the irritation under it.

It didn't appear on his face, But it shone in his eyes.

Mephisto's grin widened.

"I've told you before, Amaimon. You must be patient." He said as his hand lowered to the side of his desk, Scooping up the tea-cup into his hand and taking a sip. Amaimon glared, Mephisto only continued.

"You must wait a little while longer, There is still one more she has yet to meet.. But until then, You will not interact with her. In fact.. I don't want you to even look at her until it is time."

Amaimon's eyes widened.

"But Brother-"

"I don't want to hear anything more about this." Mephisto cut in. Eyes suddenly sharpening and almost on cue, Amaimon snapped his mouth shut. His face returned to it's original plainness.

Mephisto smirked at that, Turning back away from him. There was no more words to be spoken, Not if Amaimon knew what was good for him. Mephisto just continued to sip his tea, All until he felt the presence of his younger brother disappear.

☆♡☆

[F/N] felt nervous.

Her hand rested on the cold chill of the doorknob, Gripping it in a vice as sweat rolled down her rather reserved expression. Staring at the door like it disgusted her personally, [F/N] took in a deep breath.

The hallway she stood in was cold but vibrant, Seemingly stretching on forever in an exotic set of colours. Greens, Reds, Blacks.. It was built in a hodgepodge of architecture, Some Victorian here and some middle-east design there.

It felt confusing, But [F/N] wasn't focused on the colours or the architecture right now. Instead she was attentive to the doorway she stood before, Inside being what she dreaded the most:

Social interaction.

[F/N]'s lip trembled as she tried to calm her nerves.

Come on, You can do this.. For Lewin's sake.

It was her first day at school. [F/N] had been able to survive the first part of the day, Wandering throughout the expanse of the hallways, Managing to keep away from the large groups of people that passed her by.

Her heart had never been so stressed, It had been ages since she had actually been in proper education. The last time being a few years ago when she was still in the youth centre, Lewin seeming to prefer home-schooling than

It gave her more time to study demons, That's what Lewin said anyways. But being out of school with absolutely no friends made her a quite literal outcast, Being much more undeveloped when it came to social situations.

[F/N] groaned, Why did it have to be her?

By now she had been able to get through without talking to anyone. Sitting in a lonely stairwell when she wanted to eat lunch, Not answering any questions that teachers proposed to the class. And her rather aloof demeanour was enough to deter anyone who was trying to make friends.

But now? This was the point where she was meant to speak to people. Ingrain herself into the social structure all the while snooping around for Lewin's investigation, Unfortunately the socialising part was not debatable.

A bead of her sweat hit the floor, Almost deciding that it wasn't worth it at all. Though [F/N] was able to pull herself together, Take the biggest breath of her life and tell herself that she'll do just fine with the people inside.

They were her age after all, And school was the perfect place to make friends.

The doorknob turned much louder than it should have, [F/N] not minding though as she swung open the door and stepped into the classroom with her head held high. Her expression steeled on her face.

And as soon as she did.. She was surprised.

"Erm.." [F/N] mumbled under her breath, Surveying the rather empty though lengthy classroom. Her eyes were wide as she realised there was barely anyone here, Her expectations being much higher.

Within the class there was only a few people. A group of three or so boys near the right and two lone girls sitting right next to the door where [F/N] was standing, Apart from that there were only two lone parties at the back. A boy and some other person in a rather baggy hoodie.

[F/N] gulped, Mind wandering off.

"Is.. Is this everyone?" She muttered more to herself than anything, However the echo made it much louder than intended, Eyes widening as she froze up.

"Most of us, Probably. Bell's gonna ring in five so.." One of the boys spoke up, Answering for her. It was the one with the mohawk, Tough face, Tanned skin and all in all made him look like a punk.

[F/N] nodded slowly, Taking time to process as she tried not to seem nervous in front of them all.

She stepped forward on the chromatic tiled floor, Wandering a few feet as she observed the mostly empty rows of desks to choose from. She bit her lip, Shit. Why did she need to be so awkward?

Her skirt worn rather unfitting on her, Maybe a size too big with a studded belt to keep it in place. A baggy blouse and a tie that was done by Lewin himself, All the while patting her on the shoulder and telling her of her mission.

The yellow canary raincoat was still thrown over her, Hood up to shadow her face and hide her shy expression. Her hands gripping onto the hems as she tried to find a seat.

Though her appearance was strange, She hoped her attitude would be enough to make up for her aloofness.

"Oh.. Hey!"

Another voice spoke up, One that was from the same table the boys were and one that made [F/N] jump.

Darting her eyes over, She seen that it was the boy with faded pink hair, Legs kicked up on the table but perked up once he noticed her. He had a rather lazy smile on his face, Though his eyes were certainly interested.

"I recognise you-! You're lightnings apprentice, Right?" He called out to her which made the other boys jerk around, Finally getting a good look at the girl who felt exposed by the sudden recognition.

"You are?!" One of the boys called out, Suddenly turning around to look at her in the doorway.

Her shoulders tensed slightly.

"Oh- Erm.. Yeah." [F/N] spoke, Slowly trudging closer towards their desk with a sheepish smile on her face. She stuck out her hand towards the boy with pinkish-hair. "My name's [F/N] Light, I'm Lightning's apprentice as you said- But Uh-"

The boy took her hand before she finished, A lazy smile on his face as he happily shook her hand.

"Renzo Shima! Nice to meet 'ya..!" He grinned as he looked up at her, Releasing her hand and gesturing towards the empty seat beside him to which [F/N] moved to take, Her heart pounding in her chest.

The boy with the Mohawk furrowed his brows, Glancing towards [F/N].

"An apprentice? Of Lightning himself? Damn.. I'm gonna need to catch up." He concluded as he stretched out a hand towards her, A firm yet welcoming expression upon his face. "Name's Ryuji Suguro, Though you can call me Bon, Great to meet you."

"I-It's great to meet you too..!" [F/N] responded with a nod, A sort of excited yet nervous smile on her face as she took his hand and shook it too. Turning towards the final boy, The one with the red-rimmed glasses.

"Konekomaru Miwa..!" He greeted, Instead of shaking her hand he bowed slightly towards her, His own form of greeting as he smiled almost as nervously as she did. It comforted her slightly, Knowing it wasn't just her who was on edge.

She smiled a bit wider, Especially once she sat down on the empty desk beside them.

[F/N] felt herself calm, The frantic rhythm of her heart calmed down into a steady thump. Those jitters that crawled through her skin seemed to ease, If only a little bit. As she spoke to them, She found it to be a back and forth she could keep up with.

It was relieving even though her body remained tense, Smiling and even genuinely laughing at the banter between them which she happily joined in on. It made her calm, Ease down to the point that she didn't even care about the little blue lights drifting around them anymore.

She smiled.

Maybe things were gonna be okay.

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