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2hightocare · 9 months ago

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LOVE WAGER! 01

Synopsis: Meeting a crazy stranger who cuts in line, tries to tell you love like the books doesn’t exist—it’s whatever. You won’t ever see him again… right?

Pairings: jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: college au. strangers to friends to lovers. forced proximity.

Warnings: mentions of divorce parents, Jungkook lowkey being insufferable, banter, cussing, a little bit of them being enemies, nicknames, oc being a hopeless romantic at heart, Jungkook being lowkey a cynic… them meeting each other so many times, choking!

a/n: first chapter out!! Woohoo, I’ve been keeping them close to my heart for quite some time. Ever since I listened to “in between” by Gracie Abrams.. I was inspired to write them—the song is so them coded.💌

★ masterlist!

3 years ago…

You were a hopeless romantic.

Most people called it being delusional— by people, you mean the random stranger in front of you.

The first time you met Jungkook, not only did he cut in front of you in line, but he also started shit-talking about how delusional you had to be to think romance books were even remotely comparable to real life.

The line at the cupcake shop was long. You had been wanting to try the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor from your favorite cupcake shop in the city. The shop was always full, but today it was packed to the bone— the line almost reached outside the door. The people sitting at the cute pastel-colored tables were even leaving because the space was getting so crowded.

It was a Friday, and you had just left school. Your black backpack hung loosely over one shoulder as you stared down at your phone, trying not to die playing Subway Surfers. When your phone died, you internally groaned.

You mentally rolled your eyes before looking forward, where the line was starting to move faster. You were probably the fourth person in line, which was good since you'd only been there for around twenty minutes. You slipped your phone into the back pocket of your jeans before reaching for the zipper of your backpack—pulling out the latest book you hadn’t finished reading amidst all the assignments teachers had been bombarding you with. You thought it was dumb, considering it was your senior year in high school—why not just let you off easy?

You zipped up your backpack before slipping it on, tucking in the small hair that fell into your face when you opened your book. You moved forward as the line advanced, not bothered by the conversations from everyone around you—it was like your own brown noise, which you usually looked up on YouTube whenever you wanted to act like the main character in a movie.

Romance books were your thing. The same went for movies; you loved a good romantic story with the most cliché plot in the world—it did it for you every single time.

Your dad had tried getting you into self-help books, fiction books, or even those thriller books where you had to guess who kills who. He would back this up with actually learning something from reading a book, and you tried all those genres, you really did. You were the most specific girl there could be; if the book didn't impress you within one chapter, you closed it and moved on.

You were basically in love with the idea of love, imagining someone doing all those things you had seen in movies and read about, which filled you with hope that someone could care and love you that way. Yes, you believed in soulmates; you believed that someone, somewhere in this world, was destined to be with you, no matter the circumstances. You believed that if two people were destined for each other, they would find a way to each other, one way or another.

“Hi, baby, you still haven’t ordered? The line is so fucking long.” A strange boy, who looked around your age or maybe slightly older due to his eyebrow piercing, spoke up. He had a navy blue cap with the Yankees logo on the front, and you could see small pieces of his hair. It looked like a dark brown, but at some angles, it looked black, so you thought maybe he dyed it. He was cute, with a sharp jaw and dimples, which you immediately noticed when they showed on his left cheek as he bit his lip, waiting for you to reply.

“I’m sorry—“ you started, only to be cut off by him. “I've been meaning to show you this, babe.” He cut you off before basically shoving his phone into your face. His phone showed his notes app open with a text that read, ‘Please act like you know me so I can cut in line; it’s so long, and I have somewhere to be.’

Your brows furrowed at the pleading guy. You had no clue what his name was, but he looked like he was seriously about to lose his mind if he had to wait another minute in line. You shook your head before nodding— a smile burst on his face.

“Thank you,” he mouthed to you, to which you only shrugged before closing your book. “What flavor are you getting, lovebug?” He said, his nose scrunching in disgust at what he just said. A small laugh escaped your lips since that was the cringiest shit you had heard all day, maybe even all week if you didn’t count your dad trying to write you a poem about his love for your cat.

“I want to get the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor. What about you?” You said, your fingers fidgeting with the pages of your closed book. His eyes dropped to your hands as you moved up in line, now second in line.

“Is that your book?” He said instead of replying to your question. “Yeah, do you read?” A spike of excitement was clear in your face and voice, only to be squashed when he opened his mouth.

“Do you actually believe anything in there is remotely realistic?” He said nonchalantly before removing his cap, letting his fluffy hair fall in his face before almost immediately collecting it back, placing his cap backward this time.

“I—“ you stutter, your mouth slightly agape, not knowing how to reply without sounding dumb. Because, yeah, you strongly believed romance books were able to happen in real life if someone loved you enough. “Well.. I mean, love happens anywhere,” you shrug, but he only nods his head in a condescending way. Not only were you helping him skip in line—he was basically criticizing your view on love.

“Well, duh, love happens, but all that cringey shit is the dumbest thing our generation normalized. Like, nobody is going to confess their love with a microphone in the middle of a dance-off,” he scoffs. You didn’t understand why he actually looked like he seriously hated the idea of making gestures for someone you loved or cared about.

“Well, obviously, I find that stupid as well, but there are other gestures to show your appreciation and love for someone.” You turn your whole body to face him. He’s not much taller than you, maybe two inches if you really wanted to know, and the cap maybe added another inch, but that didn’t matter since your eyesight was eye level with his.

“Love is embarrassing,” he says, crossing his arms in front of him. You felt the lady behind you both, her eyes bore into you both, trying to figure out why the supposed couple were fighting about love.

“How is love embarrassing?” You scoff before turning around to look in front of you, at the back of the head of the man who was ordering.

“Because love makes you do embarrassing shit all the time; that’s the easiest way I can put it for you, ribbons,” he replies with a duh tone, raising his eyebrows at you, which you see from your peripheral vision.

“Ribbons?” You turn to him, your arms crossed over your book as you glare at him. “Pink ribbon. Don’t you think you look a little too old to be wearing bows?” A grin appears on his face as he casually points to the pink ribbon tied into a bow in your hair.

“The fuck? Not only did I let you skip the line, but you’re a) talking shit about my favorite genre, and b) making fun of me wearing bows.” You turn your full body to him, which he only raises his hands in defense, as if you had a gun pointed at him.

“Damn, my bad. I thought this was a free country; you know your amendments, right?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Yes, I fucking know my amendments,” you reply, absolutely annoyed at him bringing history into this.

“Freedom of speech,” he says before walking in front of you to the cashier. You were annoyed, maybe even angry. How dare he talk shit and say freedom of speech when you just did him a favor.

“He cut in front of me,” you point to him as you tell on him to the cashier, his jaw dropping to the floor. “Did you just tell on me? What the fuck,” he side-eyes you as you just shrugged.

“I respectfully need to ask you to go to the back of the line,” the cashier says, shooting you an apologetic look. You bite on the inside of your cheek to contain the smile that is threatening to slip out, as he sends you a mocking face, which you return, because apparently, you both were literal children. He rolled his eyes before he walked off.

2 years ago..

The second time you met Jungkook, you almost died due to choking on your coke.

You and your best-friend, Amelia, sat in a booth, munching on pizza, while you hear her ramble about the latest drama on campus.

“I can’t believe he cheated on her. I was so shocked, like I couldn’t believe he would do that after he literally gave her a promise ring—I heard it was expensive as well, bro,” Amelia said, stuffing a French fry in her mouth.

Amelia and you had been best friends since your freshman year at Preston University. She ended up in your dorm room by mistake, until security escorted her to her corresponding room. You both even had your calculus class together, which ended in both of you ripping your hair out because you truly had no clue what the professor was talking about.

“Oh my god, you’re lying!” you gasped, taking a bite of your folded pizza. “Alexandra said she didn’t care, but apparently, she was crying at the frat party we were supposed to go to yesterday,” Amelia said, pressing her lips together with wide eyes. As you were about to reply, she gasped.

“Holy shit, babes, don’t turn around, but there’s this fine-ass guy behind you,” she said. Without thinking you turned your whole body to look at the guy she was talking about.

“Or just turn your whole body, I don't care,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Wait, who?” you asked, staring at the group of boys in front of you. They were all cute, just not your type whatsoever. “He just turned around, so you can’t see his face, but the one with the black beanie,” Amelia whispered to you as she took a sip of her Dr Pepper.

As you stared at the back of the boy who was engrossed in a conversation with his friend, a loud laugh escaped his lips before he threw his head back, letting you catch a glimpse of his face.

“Oh, fuck, his laugh is hot as fuck as well,” Amelia said behind you, chewing on her crispy fries. “Do you think he has a girlfrien—“ The words melted from your mouth as the beanie boy turned around. “Yeah, he definitely has a girlfriend,” Amelia said nonchalantly, clearly not catching how your eyes widened, as you both stare at the boy who had cut in front of you in line three years ago.

He was taller, much taller, and he was built—you could tell even from his oversized long-sleeve shirt. As much as you wanted to disagree, he was undeniably attractive. The eyebrow piercing was still there, but it somehow looked better than when you first saw it.

“Ribbons?” he said, pointing at you with a chuckle, making you flinch for absolutely no reason. Amelia looked between both of you, trying to read the room.

“Mr. anti-romantic?” You fired back, a huge smile breaking out on his face before he excused himself from his friend group and made his way to your booth. “I see you got a nickname for me... I feel honored,” he said, pressing a palm to his heart dramatically before shooting a nod at Amelia, who waved with a small smile on her face.

You just rolled your eyes. He was the most childish person you had ever met, and that says a lot since this was only the second time you'd ever spoken to him. “I wouldn’t be so honored,” you mumbled, shooting him a tight-lipped smile as he shook his head with a low chuckle.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Amelia said out of nowhere, both you and the unknown boy's heads snap to the side as a smirk makes it’s way to his mouth, while you throw daggers at Amelia with your eyes for her blunt question. “I doubt he would ever hav—“ you start, only to be rudely interrupted by none other than Mr. anti-romantic himself.

“I actually do, and I was just about to meet her here, but I saw your friend and just had to come and say hello,” he said to your best friend, all while wearing a condescending smile.

“Oof, I feel bad for her,” you shrugged, before placing the straw of your clear cup in your mouth and sipping on your coke.

“Eh, she says I’m a pretty good boyfriend, not a hopeless romantic like someone I know,” he said, watching your eyes meet his before you tilted your head in a mocking way, which he picked up immediately.

“I wonder how you even got her to say yes to you,” you bit back, your eyes maintaining contact with his, not wanting to be the first to break it. But he was too good at it; you almost felt like crumbling into a ball from how intense his stare was.

“I guess you could say there are more ways to please a woman without love letters,” he said nonchalantly. You choked on your coke as the liquid went down the wrong pipe, making you start having a coughing attack.

His and Amelia’s eyes widened as Amelia immediately swatted the man who was right beside you. His hand made contact with your arm, raising it up in the air.

“The fuck are you doing?” Amelia said aggressively, side-eyeing him, as you basically died in front of their wondering eyes. You really didn’t expect him to just talk about his sexual life so openly without a care. You would want to crawl into a hole if your boyfriend ever talked about your private moments like that to anyone.

“My mom said if you put someone’s hand up, it makes your cough go away. I don’t fucking know! I’m not a doctor,” he shot back at your best friend as he raised your arm in the air. Your cough slightly disappeared as you tapped on your chest as if that would do anything to stop it.

“Are you good?” Amelia said as she basically hovered over the table. You felt the whole dinner's eyes on you as you tried to recover from the insane coughing fit you just had. “Y-yeah, fuck,” you coughed, your arms still up in the air from his hold. “I almost for real thought you were about to die. I already imagined myself behind bars,” he said, rubbing his unoccupied hand through his face with a sigh.

“Now I’m hoping I actually died,” you said, yanking your arm away from his grasp.

“We’re leaving, Amelia. Let’s go,” you said, standing up, collecting your jacket and bag, and pushing him out of the way, standing up beside him.

He hovered over you; you almost wanted to jump up to reach his height, but you were already embarrassed enough. So instead, you fixed your denim skirt before looking up at him.

“Well, it was so not nice to see you again, and hopefully we don’t get to meet again, Mr. anti-romantic. Goodbye,” you said as you sent him a fake smile his way.

You pulled on Amelia’s hand before she could say anything and walked out of the dining room without looking back at the boy who was standing in the same place, watching the girl he almost witnessed pass away by choking on coke from him even remotely bringing up sex.

A small chuckle left past his lips as he made his way to the table where his friends were seated.

“Dude, what the fuck happened? Why was that pretty girl coughing like crazy?” Taehyung said, eyeing the door through which you had just left.

Jungkook didn’t know why his heart picked up when his best friend called you pretty. He wasn’t blind; you were beautiful. When he first met you, you both were obviously much younger. If it wasn’t for how much you had grown into your face and the braces you once had were long gone, it would’ve been your aura that gave it away. You were more outspoken, which kinda took him back but sent a sense of excitement through his body.

“No clue. Just some girl I met in my senior year... kinda taken aback I ran into her again,” Jungkook said before picking up the menu from the table, looking for what food he should order. “Maybe it’s fate, bro,” Namjoon teased, which made Jungkook drop his menu on the table.

“You guys know all that shit is bullshit, right? It was just a coincidence. I’ll probably never see her again after this,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, leaning backward onto the booth and crossing his arms in front of him defensively.

“Whatever you say, champion,” Hoseok whistled as he called the waitress.

Jungkook's brain immediately canceled out the noise as he started running through all the possible scenarios that would leave you both at the same place at the same time. His body shook from the possibility of it being fate; he hated the idea of the answer being anything besides actual proven fact. He didn’t care how cynical he might sound; he had trusted so many people in his life, including his parents, who always preached about love and honesty. But flash forward to him having to skip around each house of his parents every weekday and weekend. He hated how he believed them when they said love can get through everything. Absolutely not—divorce.

He just imagined your perfect household, two parents at the same home who still say ‘I love you’ to each other every chance they get. You get to read your books in your living room without a fight breaking out out of nowhere just because someone forgot to throw the trash out.

Love didn’t exist in his eyes. He believed in mutual respect. He doesn’t believe in the whole crazy in love charade. His girlfriend Haneul didn’t really want the whole whispering cute things in each other's ears or dancing under the moon either, and that’s why he chose her.

Plus, he wasn’t an asshole when it came to love when it came to other people. Did he want to ruin their moment and tell them they wouldn’t last? Yes—but he never does.

He saw how broken his mom was after the divorce. He thought about the idea of love and if someone came to love you, you would do anything in your power to not hurt them. It had been five years since his parents’ divorce, and everyone seemed to have moved on perfectly, while Jungkook watched how his perspective of love changed drastically over time.

He was glad that you didn’t have to go through what he had to go through, given your obvious naivety. That was entirely the only reason he shit-talked about love when he first met you, which was the most jackass move he could’ve done, especially after you let him skip the line. But after you told on him to the cashier like a little child, he was thinking of actually tackling you.

Either way, it didn’t matter for him to be worrying or thinking about you in the first place, when he didn’t even know your name. Plus, he would never see you again, that’s for sure.

Present day..

Psychology class was your number one nemesis. You literally begged the counselor to let you have another class that wasn’t psychology. Not only did he laugh, but he said it would do you good. In your mind, he basically called you crazy—maybe you did need the class after all.

As you huffed and puffed to your last class of the day, you fixed your glasses on your face and tightened the high ponytail with the white ribbon that matched the outfit Amelia helped you pick out. You pushed open the door to the class and were greeted by half-empty seats and no professor, giving you the option to choose where you sat.

You were a middle-seat row girl, unable to see far away without your glasses. You also avoided sitting too close to the front, fearing teachers would call on you.

As you took a seat in the chair, a body sat beside you without a word. You didn’t even care to look as you took out your laptop from your backpack, worrying about how this year’s professor might be. You had heard from last year’s students that the teacher might have been the devil’s spawn.

While you were finally seated, you moved your head to your left to see the body next to you engrossed in their phone. Your jaw dropped as you were met with none other than Mr. Anti-Romantic.

“What the actual fuck, are you stalking me or something?” you said, absolutely baffled by how many times you had run into him and from all the empty seats, he decided to sit next to you.

He immediately raised his head from his phone, his eyes widening as he stared at your obviously angry face. “Ribbons? What the actual fuck, I didn’t realize that was you,” he said, throwing his head back in shock.

“You had to know it was me, why else would you sit beside me?” you scoffed, crossing your arms in front of you. He looked the same as the last time you saw him, except now he had a full sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, and the eyebrow piercing was long gone.

Now that he was closer to you, you could see the small mole he had under his lip and the scar on his cheek. His hair was shorter and black, but classroom lights deceived, so maybe it was fully brown, but you didn’t dare to ask.

“Don’t think you’re special, Ribbons. I just can’t see from the back, and in the front, teachers always pick on you to talk in front of the class, and I’m trying to avoid that,” he explained, having the same process as you, but unfortunately, the other half of his brain didn’t process the idea of love.

“Are you sure you have the right class?” you bit out, hoping he had walked into the wrong class and would have to leave immediately. You seriously couldn’t even wrap your head around the fact that he was here and that he went to the same university as you—this being the first time he had seen you around campus.

“Psychology class A65,” he side-eyed you as you rolled your eyes and faced the board, trying your best to ignore his presence.

“You know you can just move to another seat, right?” he said, pointing to all the empty seats beside you. Your head slowly turned to the side to face his face as he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“Why would I move when I was here first?” you scoffed his way as he shrugged, indicating that he couldn’t care less. “’Cause I truly don’t care, but you obviously seem affected by my presence, so Ribbons, pick your seat,” he pointed to the available seats.

You imagined the easiest way you could kill someone, but tackling him to the ground at this exact moment might bring attention to you both, so you just breathed out of your nose before giving him a fake smile and rolling your eyes.

“I’m not leaving, and for your information, I’m perfectly fine and not bothered by your presence whatsoever,” you said, trying your best to seem as calm and collected as possible.

“For your information…” he mocked beside you, trying to imitate your voice before chuckling. “I swear, Ribbons, I can see smoke coming out of your ears and nose,” he laughed.

“Stop calling me Ribbons,” you gritted your teeth, already at your limit.

“What else do you want me to call you? I don’t know your name, and you’re still wearing ribbons, I can see,” Mr. Anti-Romantic pointed to the white ribbon in your hair. You rolled your eyes before sending his calm, collected figure a scanty smile.

“Y/n,” you said, tilting your head to the side, as if asking him to tell you his name. “I like Mr. Anti-Romantic, not gonna lie,” he bit his lip, trying to contain his laughter as you were about to lose your composure at any moment.

“You aggravate me, and I don’t know why,” you mumbled, hoping he didn’t hear—but he did, loud and clear. “Jeon Jungkook,” he said, and before you could reply, the professor strode in, wearing the weirdest clothes you could imagine.

“She looks like that one crazy Victorious teacher,” he whispered softly, only for you to hear, smugly bending downward so you could hear better. A small laugh left your lips. “Sikowitz?” you whispered back as both of you stared forward at the professor, who was talking about the syllabus. “Yeah, spot the difference: hard level,” he whispered.

You looked down at your hands, trying to hide the amusement on your face.

For the rest of the class, you guys didn’t talk whatsoever, and honestly, you wouldn’t know if he tried, since you were absorbed in whatever Mrs. Calderon was saying.

“So, here’s where you start hating me, I’m giving you guys a project,” she said, leaning on her desk, making the desk creak. You could hear small groans from students around you, but not loud enough for her to hear.

“It will be a partner project, which I chose randomly, and no, I’m not changing them. I want you guys to be able to work with whomever, no matter what,” she said, a sense of dread passing through you.

“I would email each and every one of you what the project is about. It is due at the end of the quarter, so I better not hear, ‘I didn’t have time, Miss,’” Mrs. Calderon said before picking up a sheet of paper.

"Here are the partners, so after class, come and check who your partner is so you can start talking about what you both will do." With that the bell ringing, everyone stood up and rushed to the paper, including yourself. You held tightly onto your backpack strap as you waited for people to move out of the way—half of the people bitched about who they got, they couldn’t possibly be that bad.

Your heart dropped to your ass as you read your name—Jungkook squished beside you, looking for his name, only to find it where your finger was already on.

You got paired up with Jungkook. What kind of fuckery was this?

As Jungkook read "Y/n Y/ln & Jeon Jungkook," he couldn’t believe his eyes. He almost lost his mind when he realized it was you when he sat next to you, but he tried his best to act unaffected. However, this was too much of a "fuck you" sign from the universe—Jungkook didn’t think he did something so horribly to be rewarded like this.

What the fuck were the odds, and how could he scientifically prove that it’s not the universe trying to mess with him?

Taglist💌— @httpjeonlicious @thekookiedealer @somehowukook @taiwan0618 @gwsjungkookie @seokout @sealuv79 @junecat18 @joonsanswer @letjungcoook7 @skzthinker @ahgasegotarmy116recs @ivygguk (I couldn’t add some idk why😓)

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viviennevermillion · 2 years ago

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flirting with them

notes: i present to you, the 3 absolute worst (best) people to flirt with: "cranky & in denial", "goes through a crisis when you compliment him" and "utterly confused but ready to marry you if you ask"

if you like my works, feel free to commission me!

contains: character x gn!reader, shameless flirting

characters included: rollo flamm, azul ashengrotto, malleus draconia

word count: 2.7k

warnings: glorious masquerade spoilers, enemies to lovers with rollo

dark content creators & consumers do not interact

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Listen, Rollo goes through enough of a crisis already over the fact that he likes you, one of those insufferable Night Raven College students who use magic so carelessly and gaze at it with wonder and excitement. But you flirting with him? He goes through all 5 stages of grief over that.

Up to the point where you start actively teasing him, Rollo does a good job at convincing himself that the reason he’s just particularly fixated on you of all the NRC students, is because he just hates you the most. Nevermind the way his heart skips a beat when you smile at him while touring the City of Flowers before he revealed his true colors to you. How you had invited him to sit with you and share some local food as you exchanged experiences and thoughts.

He tries to ignore the way his heart is beating faster when he sees you at the Masquerade Ball. He tells himself it’s likely just that he’s anxious about not having succeeded with his plan. He pushes down the idea of kissing you breathless and being held in your arms gently as you run your hands through his hair and kiss his forehead-

God, what am I thinking…they’re my enemy, he thinks to himself. With a hateful expression he makes his way over to you, determined to tell you how he’s not done yet and one day he’ll erase magic from this very world. That you’ll fear his name and- oh god you’re winking at him.

He’s blushing furiously but he still has that angry expression on his face, so it just looks a little like Riddle when it’s off with your head. His mind is going haywire though. They winked at me…oh no…oh fuck…abort immediately, he decides to just avoid you and glare at you from a distance but at this point it is too late. A certain hunter had already told you how Rollo had been staring at you this entire evening whenever you weren’t looking and that he “probably wanted to have a dance with you”

So you make your way over to him and ask him. His heart skips a beat and he wants to reject you and tell you off but what he wants even more is to indulge you and have a nice evening with you. “What makes you think I’d want to dance with you?”, he spits out and crosses his arms. Yeah. That’ll work. Good job, Rollo.

“I don’t know, you seem pretty desperate”, you shrug, trying to suppress a smirk. The AUDACITY, he thinks but can’t say anything in response, just taking your hand and starting to dance with you. He remains silent and you poke his cheek. “You can be so cute when you stop being cranky for two minutes”, you tease and he can feel his cheeks burning. At this point you’re well aware that he’s got a little crush on you, because against his own perception of things, he wasn’t exactly subtle.

He looks after you with rage written on his face and confusion in his heart as you and the other NRC students leave to head back to your own school. That’s all he can do. Watch you leave.

What did he care anyway? You were just an obnoxious magic enthusiast who-

He gazes in surprise upon the small rose that had been placed on his desk. It is definitely enchanted, has a soft glow and some of the petals are floating around it. There is a little note attached to it: Thank you for the dance, Rollo ♡ - Love, y/n.

He looks at the mirror in shock when he notices the soft smile on his face upon seeing your note. He hates magic so much. But maybe…maybe he could make an exception for you and you only.

Definitely rants to the gargoyles about how much he hates you and the way your eyes sparkle in the sun and how your laugh sounds like a thousand beautiful symphonies. Yeah he definitely hates you, no doubt.

He sometimes posts about school events on his Magicam and on pictures he’s on he tends to find little compliments from you. This makes his day every single time but god forbid anyone notices.

He eventually starts conversing with you over text, having quite a few long conversations and bonding despite how much he wants to deny it. You’re still flirting with him shamelessly and never miss out on wishing him a good night with a heart emoji attached. He sends one back once or twice, claiming his hand slipped on the keyboard.

When he sees you again, at the culture festival, he sits at the table with you and a couple of your friends. You ask him whether he is going to watch the VDC and he insists he sees no reason in watching a singing competition. “I mean we could always go backstage and kiss for a while if you’d prefer that”, you say nonchalantly and so casually, it makes Rollo choke on his drink. The other students at the table are definitely staring at you two and Rollo wishes he could merge with the ground at this moment.

He pulls you aside after the incident to a hallway where there’s no people. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”, he hisses at you and clutches onto his handkerchief until his knuckles turn white. “I apologize for putting you on the spot”, you say sincerely, “you look pretty when you’re flustered, though.” “Do you ever shut up?”, his breath hitches in his throat.

“If you take me up on my offer I would”, you wink at him and find yourself with Rollo’s lips on yours within seconds. As soon as he gets to kiss you, the very thing he had been longing for for months now, it’s like a switch flips in his brain. His kiss is fiery and aggressive at first but then melts into your touch just like he had wanted for so long, kissing you softly as he feels his hands shake. He feels you smile into the kiss upon noticing how gentle and loving he is now and Rollo holds onto you, resting his head against your shoulder breathlessly as soon as the kiss was over. Both of you remain silent for a while before Rollo speaks quietly, his voice shaking: “I love you.”

You chuckle and pat his head. “I know”, you kiss his forehead gently and he closes his eyes.

Rollo hated magic, he knew that much. But somehow every moment with you felt so magical and made him so happy…

Azul is used to people being mean to him and also to casual, neutral interactions but never has anyone been so blatantly verbally affectionate with him and this man doesn’t know how to handle it.

It all started when he had asked you to come to the Mostro Lounge VIP room as Valentine’s Day was getting closer, because several people had declared that they were ready to sign a contract with him if he could get them a date with you. So he presented the terms to you and offered you help in a class you were bad at. He didn’t think you’d accept so easily.

“So, let me get this straight, all I’d have to do for this is to go on a date with one of those guys involved in the whole contract thing with you?”, you raised an eyebrow and Azul nodded, extending his hand to you to seal the deal, as you had blatantly refused to sign a contract. But that didn’t matter. After all, he’d already get what he wanted from whoever you would pick to go on a date with. You shook his hand and Azul smiles at you. “Well then, shall I show you who was ready to make a contract with me for your company?”, he showed you his typical business smile and you just replied dryly. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve already picked.”

Azul was confused. “But you don’t even know who asked?”, he raised an eyebrow and threw Jade and Floyd a questioning glare. They didn’t seem to know what was going on either. “I said ‘someone involved in the whole contract thing’”, you reminded him, “do you have any plans on Friday?” Azul’s face fell. He was already blushing and glaring at the twins who were snickering quietly. “No?”, he croaked and pushed his glasses back with his eyes widened. “Great!”, you smiled at him and got up, waving him goodbye, “I’ll see you at 8 then? I’ll pick you up at Mostro Lounge!”

As soon as you had closed the door behind you, Jade and Floyd started wheezing uncontrollably. “What just happened?”, Jade asked under his breath, “did they just scam you into a date?” Azul’s expression darkened, as did his blush. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT JUST HAPPENED”, his voice cracked and he wanted to curl up in his octopus pot, “stop laughing.”

Once you've learnt of his past, you've become much more gentle and less teasing with your flirting. He deserved the reassurance that you were serious and genuinely liked him. You’d often tell him that you thought he looked nice when he wore a new outfit and complimented him for his achievements in class and his business strategies. You even went as far as to tell him that his octopus form probably looked cute. He just didn’t know what to do with you.

Upon being asked whether you were trying to make fun of him, you looked into his eyes with a serious expression and told him you meant everything you had said to him.

As he took you and your friends to the Atlantica Memorial Museum to return the elementary school photo, Grim was excited. “Maybe we’ll bring back some sort of treasure from the ocean!”, he exclaimed. “But we already have Azul”, you insisted and the octopus merman blushed immediately. “Please just stop”, he begged and sighed, although your words definitely made him feel good, “not in front of people…”

Over such a short time he had already learnt to expect your flirting. That didn’t mean it made him any less flustered.

Once you had returned the photo and had a moment alone with him, you took his hands into yours and told him you were proud of how far he had come. Azul squeezed your hand gently, a silent ‘thank you’ for the love and affection you were so ready to give to him after all of his hardships.

Malleus doesn’t actively recognize your flirting as such. Don’t get me wrong, he’s so on board with this and really flattered but until you tell him directly what you feel for him, he still assumes you just see him as a good friend.

“Shall I give you a blessing?”, he smirks as he asks you this question on your birthday. You cup his face gently. “You’re my blessing, Malleus”, you say with a soft smile on your face and Malleus looks at you with his signature surprised expression. Lilia chuckles, mumbling about how bold you are. Malleus is just awestruck. He doesn’t know what to say at first. He’s blushing and then takes your hands in his. “Thank you. I feel honored. It means a lot to me to hear that”, he says genuinely and his thumb brushes over your hand softly.

Malleus loves your little affections so much. He didn’t know how starved he was for them until he experienced them for the first time. He treasures so much how ready you are to speak your mind, especially when it comes to telling him how you feel about him. Little does he know that’s only a small part of how much you truly love him.

You were a little late to the Masquerade Ball during the student exchange meeting, eventually opening the big door to the entrance hall of Noble Bell College for your big entrance. Malleus spots you almost immediately, marveling at how beautiful you looked, dressed up for the occasion. Your eyes meet his across the hall and you make your way over to him straight away, taking his hand in yours. “I really like this song they’re playing right now. I think it’s time for our first dance of the evening”, you smirk at him, just waiting for him to follow you. Sebek is yelling at you how you could possibly have the audacity to not just assume you could dance with him but not even ask Prince Malleus Draconia ‘Would you please share a dance with me?’ first. But Malleus adores when you’re bold. After all this time of people being too afraid to even talk to him, he’s fascinated how assured you are to approach him with your wishes and requests with no hesitation.

“You seem quite determined”, he chuckles and leads you to the dancefloor. He’s absolutely relishing in the fact that you walked into this event dead-set on getting a dance with him, implying your upcoming dance wouldn’t be the last one that night either. It makes him feel so special. More than the treatment he receives from others as a prince does. Because it feels like you have seen right through him, accepted every part of him and decided you wanted all of it.

You dance through the evening with Malleus, telling him how much you liked the song he presented as a gift for the other students. “I could listen to your voice for hours”, you brush a strand of hair out of his face and Malleus leans into your touch. “I would gladly sing for you again. You need only ask”, he smirks.

You later stop by his room, knocking on the door softly. Malleus opens it, having taken off the heavier, pompous parts of his masquerade outfit; now only dressed in a pair of black pants and the see-through black shirt worn under the complex and ornate fabrics of the costume. His hair is slightly disheveled and he has his bangs pushed up, letting you see his dragon markings. Upon seeing you, he instantly smiles. “You look so beautiful”, you mouth, making Malleus chuckle and smirk at you. “So do you”, he insists. “I’m never going to overshadow the talking gargoyle but I’ve made peace with that”, you sigh and step into the room, Malleus closing the door behind you. He laughs at your comment, then gazes out of the window.

“The night in the City of Flowers seems to show a different expression than during the day”, he says and turns to you, seeing you smile at him with a mischievous expression, “that face…you are also interested?” His smirk matches yours now. “Malleus, what do you think I came here for at this hour, hmm?”, you chuckle, pulling out a map from your pocket, “so…you can teleport us out of Noble Bell College without being seen right?” Malleus puts his hands onto his hips. “Nothing easier than that.”

After you explored the city at night, you end up sitting at the roof of a tall building, looking down on the beautiful city. “I’m very glad I got to share these memories with you”, Malleus takes your hand in his again and you look into his eyes, cupping his cheek gently. “You’re so precious to me…you have no idea”, you mumble quietly, smiling at him fondly; filled with unconditional love. Malleus squeezes your hand and looks at you with the same expression. “I think I’m starting to understand”, he whispers as the sun rises on the horizon.

Malleus loves when you’re bold with your flirting, he loves when you show your teasing side and flatter him with a clever line. But he just as much craves the moments when you’re calm and serious, just smiling at him and letting him know how much he means to you, even if he doesn’t know yet whether you intend for it to be romantic or see him as a good friend. He treasures your affection and how you’re unafraid to give him your love and appreciation in a way no one ever has to him.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #malleus #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x you #twst x reader #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia headcanons #rollo flamm x reader #rollo flamm #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #rollo x reader #twst rollo #azul ashengrotto headcanons #azul ashengrotto x you #azul ashengrotto

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hyewka · 3 months ago

Note

or can u suggest any txt fic here (preferably the long ones w chapters) that u enjoyed?

sorry for the extremely extremely late reply but i’ll list some long fics + txt series’s that ive enjoyed with some comments attached to each one. spoiler alert, a completed txt series is pretty hard to find lol

series

lover = lo$er (sub!gyu, virgin fic)

it would be easy to just straight up recommend every @/wildernessuntothemselves series and i might just succumb to that later on but this is pure submissive beomgyu heaven, served as my first real awakening and i would probably attribute most of my sub gyu writing to this fic alone. 10/10, has a love triangle bit and beomgyus kind of insane

criminal conscience (dom!gyu, crime au)

on the other side of the spectrum, this is pussy clenching dom beomgyu goodness and i dont think it gets better than this. the writing is so compelling it fully immerses you in the narrative, even im getting sucked in to beomgyu’s manipulation (whats new really), blaring red flags and all. its currently on hiatus though but i would catch up either way beomiracles is a pretty consistent writer, she’d probably pick it up sooner or later :)

mosquito (soobin)

sorry this is going to be all over the place lol but this is also still ongoing (its only two parts in) but this writer is absolutely insane. narrative feels fleshed out and though it mainly follows soobin’s perspective and feelings, i am quite enjoying it so far. it has some idol x idol action as well, not the main focus of course but it is written in detail

one way (dom!beomgyu, themes of sadism)

this ones a three parter and its completed. by the same writer mentioned previously (soobrat), very very good storytelling, keeps you on your toes and has a hold on your emotions but like mentioned, it has a bit of an extremity in the smut and it is undeniably toxic but its good

sneaky link (dom yeonjun, the other woman trope)

i havent read this in a while but i remember staying up all night reading all of it lol. i would probably not recommend this to people who really cant read infidelity since thats what the fic is based around but it isnt cast in a very favorable light anyway. really toxic, seriously good

fuck you series (sub gyu, enemies to lovers, band au)

its really cute and the e2l set up is believable enough since theyre band rivals. beomgyu is so so so cute in this even if a little insufferable to mc lol. i would also recommend fairyofshampgyu’s now live series but its currently on an indefinite hiatus (its sooo good as well though so if youre willing, you should check it out)

nabi (best friends to lovers beomgyu, no smut)

two parts in, not completed but im following it currently and god i love them together their dynamic is soooo fun to read, you wont get bored

jerk! (enemies to lovers, beomgyu fic, no smut)

its another band au and its also ongoing. there isnt a consistent update schedule so that might be a minus but the most recent chapter was from a month ago so its safe to say it hasnt been left in the dust (thank god). very very good writing, excited to see how their relationship takes off

bullying choi soobin (sub soobin)

submissive soobin and its good, of course im recommending this. its finished and a 4 parter

sugar (dom!yeonjun, dom!gyu)

unfortunately probably forever incomplete but i love it and i might actually go back to reading it for the third time

let me into your world (non smut beomgyu series)

i havent read a soulmate premise in sooo long so this was refreshing to read, good stuff

supermodel (dom gyu and sub i believe)

its just. Amazing. a two parter but a goodie

the city that never sleeps (bsf smut)

also two parts but both parts are pretty long, really good stuff

ok for the life of me i cannot find this one huening series where he was getting bullied by reader and they were secretly fucking?? that one was literally perfect submissive men shit so if you find it if youve struck gold

long full fics (6k+)

telepathy (fantasy, dom!gyu)

a little out of the box compared to all the fics ive recommended so far and thats what makes it so special and good

duality (dom!kai)

i actually havent read this one yet but i will soon, i just thought id add it here anyway since i know ill love it

killer instinct (taehyun fic)

very plot heavy and it centers taehyun mainly. i could go ahead and cheat and just list out every single koqabear fic lmao but this ones a gem, very happy i set aside the time to read it

the redemption of choi yeonjun (dom!yj)

im not personally a fan of the trope but when it was originally teased the smut sounded heavenly and honestly, it is. such a good dom yeonjun here but beware hes a little (a lot) mean lol. he changes by the end

like cat and mouse! (sub gyu, inexperienced)

again, worth the reading time investment. i love submissive gyu, he is everything here and more

love love love (sub gyu, royal au)

i have probably read this a total of 30 times

i hate you (enemy!beomgyu, dom beomgyu)

ok sorry im cheating here a bit this isnt long but its so good you should check it out anyway

#hopefully this is a weeks worth of reading #i swear ive read more but combing my shit memory with tumblrs shit search function #is not the best #✶ ━━ rana ; answered

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p0orbaby · 1 year ago

Text

We’ll Write History Together

summary: being in relationship with a teammate is all fun and games, until it isn’t

warnings: fluff, angst, a little suggestive. A whole lot of everything tbf

a/n: something a little longer

word count: 1.9k

In the bustling world of professional football, two rising stars shone brighter than most - Alessia Russo and you.

United’s decision to sign you the sent shockwaves through the footballing community. You arrived at the club with an impressive season at City under your belt. And with the intention of forming an unstoppable partnership with their star forward, the expectations were high and the spotlight burned intensely.

The two of you quickly became the keystones of the team’s success. Alessia with her strength and knack for goals, and you with your tactical brilliance and playmaking skills. On the pitch, your synergy was undeniable, each pass and assist between you a testament to the unspoken connection that seemed to blossom from each game to the next. Fans began to chant your names in unison. The media coined you signing of the season only three games in. It was then that the dynamic duo was born.

“You like her don’t you?” Maya asked one afternoon after training.

“Of course I do” you replied, “she’s my friend”

Your teammate laughed brazenly at your answer. She knew you were lying. Anyone with eyes and ears knew you were lying.

“Friends don’t look at each other the way you two do”

She left you with a pat on your back and a knowing smile as she walked away. You couldn’t deny the truth in her words. The connection between you and Alessia went beyond friendship, beyond the pitch, but you had yet to find the words to express it.

“Will you just shut up, Alessia?”

“Me? You’re the one who started this!” She countered.

The recovery room door slammed shut behind you. The sound echoing off the walls.

“My through ball was perfect and you know it” you seethed as you turned to point a finger at her. “If you just used your head for a change you might have gotten on the end of the damn thing”

Alessia shot back, “Oh, please! Your so-called ‘perfect’ through ball was way off target. If you could pass a ball correctly, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

You clenched your fists, frustration mounting. “It’s like you have no vision on the field. I’m doing my best out there, but you’re always out of fucking position”

Alessia’s eyes narrowed, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she walked towards you, “Out of position? That’s rich coming from someone who can’t even trap a simple pass”

You shit back, closing the gap even further, “Well, maybe if you made a real effort to defend properly, we wouldn’t be chasing the game all the time”

“Jesus, all you think about is winning,” she snapped.

“Second in the league isn’t winning, Alessia”

Alessia’s frustration bubbled over, her voice trembling with anger. “You’re insufferable!”

“And you’re a spoiled brat”

Then it happened, with your faces inches apart and your breath dancing across the other's anger heated skin. The gap between the two of you closed, complete with the crashing of lips and the grabbing of waists.

Alessia's mouth moved against yours impatiently, while you grappled at the collar of her jersey to keep her close. She nipped and sucked and you sighed when she trailed sloppy kisses down your neck.

You knew it was coming. The World Cup was a welcome distraction. But the higher you climb, the harder you fall.

She’d talked to you extensively about it. Conversations between sheets. Whispered words against skin on journeys to stadiums. Even having known for so long it didn’t seem real.

Alessia was leaving United.

“Why does it feel like we’re saying goodbye?” You sniff. Her thumb coming up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek.

“We’ll see eachother in a couple of weeks”. Her fingers tracing shapes against your palm. Something that would normally make your skin light on fire, but this time did nothing to quell your upset.

“I know, it’s just… it’s hard to imagine not having you here,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Alessia’s gaze softened, and she pulled you into a warm embrace. “You’ll have Toone, and Zel” she reassured. “You won’t even notice I’m gone”

You sniffed again, using the sleeve of your hoodie to wipe your face. God, you hated this.

“Two weeks” you reminded yourself.

“Two weeks” she repeated, “and we’ll be back together. Me and you, like it should be”

“Fuck, I missed you”

Your words were rushed and muffled as Alessia pulled your shirt over your head. Two weeks. Fourteen days since you’d touched her. Kissed her. Held her close.

It was torture. And you’ll have to endure it for years. The back and forth up and down the country. The unthinkable distance between your heart and hers. But for now, for the next few days, she was all yours.

Your shirt was tossed somewhere in the room. You embraced Alessia with devour born from weeks of pent up longing. The sensation of her skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine. A stark reminder of what you had been missing.

You kissed her deeply, savouring the taste of her.

“The girls- fuck” she was cut off by your nipping at her collar bones. “The girls want to meet you”

“Can you not talk about other girls when I’m about to fuck you, please?”

Your girlfriend released a breathy laugh as you lifted her and walked her over to the couch. The bed too far and you lacking the patience to get there.

Two weeks, you thought as you pulled down the cup of her bra and sucked a purple bruise into the flesh there. How would you last the foreseeable?

You wanted to throw up.

She was home, but not how you wanted her to be.

She was wearing different colours. Standing on opposite ends of the pitch. Worlds apart in more ways than one.

They scored first, and it stung to see her celebrate with people who weren’t you. Her joy, once so intimately shared, was now with her new teammates, not the ones who had once stood by her side.

Then, amidst the huddle of players, she caught your eye. Her cheeks flushed with the exertion of the game. For a moment, as the referee’s whistle blew, you both locked eyes, and in that exchange, you could see a flicker of the connection that had once bound you together as players. But it was fleeting, lost in the chaos of the match, and soon, you were back to being opponents on that vast, unforgiving pitch.

“There's been a lot of discussion about your relationship with Alessia Russo since her move to Arsenal. Do you think your personal lives might have a negative impact during any further games, especially with the Nations League qualifiers?”

You feel a rush of anger building up at the question, knowing it’s a subject you’d rather avoid. Taking a deep breath, you respond firmly, “Our personal lives are just that – personal. When we step onto the field, our focus is on the game and representing our respective teams to the best of our abilities. Any distractions off the pitch won’t affect our commitment to performing on it”

Just as you finish your response, another reporter chimes in, “But there’s no denying the crucial goal you missed in the game tonight. With England Lionesses manager, Sarina Wiegman, in the stands, do you think such moments might impact your chances of getting called up for international duty?”

Your frustration boils over. You respond with a touch of anger in your voice, “You know what? It’s easy to sit there and criticize from the sidelines, but every player has their off days. The presence of the manager is always a motivation to perform better, not a distraction. And as for whoever else is on the pitch, that is between me and them. I think we’re done here”

With that, you cut the conversation short, leaving the reporters with no room for further questions.

‘Strained Synergy: Rumors Swirl as Key Players' Relationship reaches Breaking Point’

You scoffed at the headline, tossing your phone onto the shag rug in the living room of Alessia's North London flat.

“Stop reading those”

You let out an exasperated sigh and glance over at Alessia, who’s sitting on the couch, an unimpressed look on her face. She’s seen these headlines and rumors many times before, and she knows they can be frustrating.

“I know, I should just ignore them,” you reply, burrowing further into the sofa cushions. “But it’s hard not to get annoyed when they twist everything out of proportion”

The blonde reaches out and gently places a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, remember what we always say? They don’t know the real us. We’re stronger than any rumor or headline”

You shrug out of her touch, “are we?” You snap.

Alessia’s eyebrows furrow in response, her own patience fraying at the edges. “Why are you getting so worked up over these headlines? It’s not the first time they’ve targeted us”

You shoot back, frustration seeping into your tone, “Because it’s relentless. They twist everything, make us out to be something we’re not. It’s exhausting”

“Then what are we, huh?” She asked, voice getting louder. “You don't talk to me, you don’t return my calls. I had to beg you for days just to get you to come down to watch the game tomorrow”

Your frustration turns to petulance, and you huff, "I’m here, aren’t I? What else do you want me to do?”

Alessia’s voice trembles, and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “What do I want?” She pauses, her words laced with pain. “I want the person I fell in love with back”

Alessia’s post-match glow was something you could only strive for.

As you sat there admiring her, taking in the way she moved, the flex of her hand each time she pulled a dart from the board, how she pulled her hair from her face with each throw, you couldn’t help but wonder how you got so lucky.

“C’mere” you found yourself saying. Her eyes meeting yours under the dim lights of the bar.

Alessia’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as she set the darts aside and joined you. Your hands guided her by the waist, positioning her between your legs as you perched on a barstool.

“I said, come here”

The girl’s eyes widened with anticipation as you beckoned her closer still. This time, there was no mistaking your intent. Her body flush against yours when your lips meet.

You’d missed this. You’d missed her.

“I’m so proud of you, you know” you mumble against her mouth when you pull away.

“I know you are”

“No, I mean it” you insist. “My talented girl”. You cleared your throat as she looked down on you. Her stare making you nervous. “I think we should set things straight, at camp, I mean. I want to make things right”

Your girlfriend looked at you in confusion. Brows furrowing as she tried to understand what you were getting at.

"A few days, football, and no media," you clarified, your voice carrying the weight of your hopes. "We can regroup, start fresh, rediscover the spark that brought us together in the first place”

She wanted this as much as you did, but you knew the decision lay in her hands. The unspoken question hung in the air, waiting for her agreement.

"Camp it is," she finally said, a soft smile gracing her lips as she met your gaze. It was a simple phrase, but it carried a promise of renewal and a chance to restrengthen your bond.

You couldn't help but return her smile, your heart light with the prospect of getting a chance to be better.

Camp it is.

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #muwfc #muwfc x reader #awfc x reader #awfc #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader

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chiqelatasblog · 8 months ago

Text

In the Middle of the Night🌙

-> Ao3 link is here.

-> Part Two is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub-Zero x You, Kuai Liang/ Scorpion x You, Tomas Vrbada/ Smoke x You

Tropes : Slavery, Past Sexual Abuse, Canon-Typical Violance, Emotional Hurt Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, True Love, Foursome, F/M/M/M, Dark Magic, Eventual Smut

Summary : After a mission gone wrong, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas find themselves sealed inside a book as love slaves. Whoever discovers the book and utters the incantations within will not only become its owner but also the master of the Lin Kuei’s three deadliest assassins.

For you, grappling with the weight of a solitary life and enduring a particularly rough day, stumbling upon this mysterious book was an unforeseen twist. As you bring the book home, unaware of its contents or the events that led to its creation, the ensuing chain of events will shatter the tranquility of your world, forever altering the course of your life.

Title and work inspired by the “Elley Duhe-Middle Of The Night” song

CHAPTER ONE : (READER)

You were enduring one of the worst days of your life.

Your alarm didn’t sound in the morning because you were too fatigued to remember to charge your phone the night before. With its poor battery life, it ran out quickly. Living forty-five minutes away from the city center, you should have caught the subway at least an hour ago to make it to work on time. Despite the pressing need for money, uncertainty loomed as you grappled with the inevitability of firing. The job, despite its dreadful conditions and an insufferable boss, stood as your best opportunity in months - too valuable to risk losing.

Although you had graduated from college with a commendable degree, the job market proved bleaker than anticipated. Your once-bright dreams faded as the harsh reality of post-graduation life set in. Most desirable positions demanded experience, yet securing experience required entry into these very positions. While a diploma opened a few doors, the conditions were often as harsh as modern-day servitude, albeit with insurance and a predictable late salary.

Your current role as a programmer at a gaming company offered no respite. Long hours in front of the screen left your eyes bloodshot, encircled by dark rings, and your neck perpetually aching. Despite the hardships, a promise to your distant family fueled your determination to stand on your own. Abandoning everything and returning home was not an option after coming this far. You had shed too many tears to surrender now, enduring the suffocating loneliness of solitary dinners in your cramped kitchen as you pursued your dreams.

Thus, with a reminder of your purpose, you hurriedly left your apartment. Despite the packed subway and the frenzied rush, you managed to trim your commute from fifteen minutes to a mere seven and a half. Yet, upon arrival, your efforts were futile. Summoned to your boss’s office, you were promptly instructed to collect your belongings and leave the company, denied even the opportunity to provide an explanation.

You were keenly aware of the disdain your boss and coworkers held for you; it was an open secret. They resembled vultures, poised to oust you at any moment. As the lone rookie, you were perceived as nothing more than a liability. Despite your efforts to avoid seeking their assistance by tackling most tasks independently, being in your first year of the profession meant there were occasions when you needed guidance or support. Yet, camaraderie was a foreign concept in this office. Compared to other workplaces, the only semblance of unity stemmed from shared breaks and lunches.

A part of you felt relief at the prospect of bidding farewell to a workplace where you found no joy. However, the dominant part, fueled by anxiety, fretted over how you would cover rent and expenses. Although you had a modest emergency fund tucked away, it would only sustain you for about a month. Urgency gnawed at you as you roamed the streets with a cardboard box containing your few office belongings, scouring for job advertisements. Picky was a luxury you couldn’t afford; you were prepared to take on any role, even as a barista or waitress, until you secured a position closer to your aspirations. Survival necessitated prioritizing money above all else.

As the day wore on, you lost track of time. With the setting sun casting a dim glow and street lamps flickering to life, tiny raindrops began to graze your cheeks and nose, soon escalating into a downpour. Despite the onslaught, you mustered the strength to suppress the curses threatening to spill forth. Rushing back to the subway, you braved the rain without an umbrella or proper clothes, mindful of the looming threat of illness. With no funds to spare for hospital bills or medication, resuming your job hunt from the shelter of your laptop seemed the safer option.

Arriving at the subway, drenched from head to toe, you collapsed onto the nearest available seat, your legs barely able to support you. With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day’s exhaustion bearing down on your body. The simple act of sitting down was a luxury, a stark reminder of just how fatigued and stressed you had become over the course of the day. You rubbed your weary legs in an attempt to generate some warmth, soothing the cramps and chasing away the chill brought on by the rain.

As the subway doors slid open with a ding, a wave of commuters flooded in, filling the once-empty seats around you. Seizing the opportunity to rest your eyes until reaching home, you leaned back against the seat with the cardboard box resting on your lap. Tired, cold, and hungry, the numbing effect of the rain provided a brief respite from the stress, deserving of a well-earned nap.

When the ache in your neck became unbearable, you reluctantly opened your eyes, realizing that your stop was approaching. Glancing down, you noticed a book lying on the seat beside you, as your grip on the box was dangerously close to slipping from your grasp. Picking it up, you scanned the faces around you, expecting someone to claim the book or acknowledge its presence, but no one seemed to react. Confirmation dawned upon you, the book had been left behind, seemingly forgotten by its owner.

Although the book appeared hefty, its weathered cover hinted at years of use and handling. Despite its age, it felt surprisingly light in your hands, its once vibrant hues faded to muted tones. Adorned with a pale gold cover devoid of any text on the back, the book bore the scars of countless readings and journeys. Turning the book over to avoid catching your tired reflection on its worn and shiny surface, your lips parted in mild surprise. Three striking male figures graced the cover, their details rendered with such realism that they almost seemed tangible, despite the signs of wear and tear. Your finger traced over the hyper-realistic features with impulsive curiosity, only to retract abruptly as if scalded, suddenly aware of your surroundings.

As a sweet ache pulsed between your thighs, you found yourself unexpectedly aroused by a mere image, prompting you to shift uncomfortably in an attempt to quell the throbbing sensation. It had been quite a while since you last shared intimate moments with someone, but even that didn’t entirely account for the sudden surge of desire sparked by a simple picture. Stirring memories long buried within you, igniting a hunger you hadn't realized existed until now.

A blush warmed your cheeks as you examined the figures once more. The trio bore the semblance of warriors or assassins, albeit clad in scant attire. The man on the left possessed a sun-kissed tan, his muscular frame adorned with a large scorpion tattoo on his left arm. His black hair was artfully swept across his face, his golden mask veiling a stern gaze as he brandished a flaming kunai, its rope end poised for action.

Your attention shifted to the figure at the center, whose face remained partially obscured by a silvery black mask. Despite the concealment, a strange sense of familiarity emanated from his features, mirroring those of his companion. His complexion was pale, revealing blue-green veins beneath the surface, while his dark eyes emanated cold, dominating arrogance. Black hair, tied in a low bun with a few tufts escaping to frame his strong features. Massive biceps framed his imposing stature as he wielded a sword of ice, poised to strike with lethal precision.

In stark contrast, the figure on the right differed greatly from his counterparts. Towering slightly above them, he bore little resemblance to an Asian individual, exuding a distinctly European air. His skin was also light, and he wore a grey-colored mask covering half of his face. A thin, light grey smoke emanated from his body. His short gray hair and softer gray-blue eyes lent him a gentler appearance, juxtaposed by the lethal aura exuded by the carambite adorning his finger. Despite his softer features, his lethal prowess was undeniable.

As you scrutinized the cover, a perplexing question lingered: why would the illustrator depict warriors in such a manner if not for a romantic context? Their barely dressed and provocative poses hinted at a fantasy narrative, reinforced only by the presence of their weapons. Without them, the figures might have appeared more akin to love slaves than skilled warriors. “An intriguing choice,” you murmured to yourself, pondering the illustrator’s intentions behind such a depiction.

As you opened the book to look at the chipped pages, curiosity piqued about the contents within, you suddenly realized that your stop had arrived. Hastily tucking the book into your box, you sprang to your feet with a muttered exclamation.

“Oh, shoot!” With a swift maneuver, you barely managed to slip through the closing doors of the crowded subway. Amidst the post-work rush, the mingled scents of sweat and cigarettes engulfed you as you navigated through the throng. Minutes later, emerging from the subway, you drew a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Your journey to home passed in a blur, your body moving on autopilot along familiar streets and corners. Before you knew it, you stood before your fifth-floor apartment, a small abode consisting of two rooms and an American kitchen. Its most prized feature was the balcony, a sanctuary where you relished summer evenings, savoring the view with a glass of wine by candlelight.

When you arrived home, it was already nine o’clock in the evening. Leaving the box in your hand at the entrance of the door, you went straight into the shower to wash away the fatigue and grime of the day, and to replenish the warmth your drenched body had lost. You lingered under the hot water until it thoroughly enveloped your body, and finally, when the steam filled the small bathroom and you felt like you might faint from the heat, you emerged, clad in your well-worn and hardened bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around your head.

Pouring the last remnants of the red wine you opened days ago into a glass, you placed it in the microwave to heat up the leftover Chinese food you ordered a day ago. As you waited for your meal to warm, your gaze wandered to the box in the corner, reigniting your curiosity about the mysterious book. Crossing the room in a few strides, you retrieved the book and placed it on the kitchen island, settling into your chair with wine and warmed food. “I’ll worry about unemployment later,” you declared, raising your glass in a toast. “Today was stressful enough, and I definitely deserve this wine.” With a sip of wine and a mouthful of noodles, you flipped open the book’s cover with your free hand, eager to have a look at what it held.

‘’What…?” You stared at the glossy golden pages, brows furrowed in confusion, surprised to find them empty. “What kind of book is this? I don’t understand the purpose.” you muttered in disbelief. The worn-out appearance of the book added to your confusion, making you question whether something had happened before it was finished.

As you reached the middle of the book, a shocking revelation left you speechless. Lines, equivalent to about a paragraph, materialized on the previously blank pages before your eyes, causing your entire body to freeze in shock. Tremors coursed through you, as if jolted by electricity, and you grasped desperately for reality, unsure if what you were witnessing was a dream. Gasping for breath, you struggled to comprehend the surreal sight before you.

“I haven’t even had that much wine—I just took a sip.” you mumbled, your voice strained with the effort to contain your rising panic. “I’ve seen enough movies to know where this is going. I’m not reading whatever’s written here,” you declared, the thin timbre of your voice betraying your attempt to stifle a scream.

You closed the cover of the book hard and attempted to get up from your chair, but found yourself unable to move. It was as if an unseen force held you in place. The cover of the book opened again, and as the pages flickered before your eyes, the one you had just turned to was laid out in front of you once more, sending shivers of fear down your spine.

“Read it,” a demanding male voice echoed in your mind, freezing you in terror. Despite your frantic desire to flee, you remained immobilized, unable to move a muscle.

“I-I was just curious about what it says. I didn’t mean any harm,” you pleaded weakly, few tears streaming down your cheeks due to the immense fear you felt at the moment. Another voice, speaking in a foreign tongue filled the air, his tone scolding but directed elsewhere, not at you.

“We won’t harm you, master,” another voice reassured, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the fear.

“Say the words aloud, and we will serve you,” urged yet another voice, prompting a realization of the three distinct voices corresponding to the figures depicted on the book’s cover.

“W-What the…! Are they…”

“Yes, that’s us you see on the cover. We’ve been trapped in this book for a long time. You have to say the words to get us out of here,” one of the voices explained.

“You’re talking as if I had a choice,” you replied in a timid, low voice.

“Read the words, woman,” another voice commanded. It was the coldest and harshest of them all. Despite lacking a physical form, his dominant aura was unmistakable in the way he emphasized his words. His voice resonated with a deep, chilling tone, unlike anything you had ever heard before. You attempted to steady yourself, swallowing hard and clenching your trembling hands into fists on your legs.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me? Each of you had a weapon on the cover; it’s clear you’re some kind of warriors.”

“We are bound to the master of the book,” another voice interjected, his tone notably more welcoming and kind than the others. “We cannot harm you.”

“God, I must be losing my mind. I’m talking to a book,” you muttered, glancing at the pages with audible trepidation. Fear and panic constricted your throat, rendering you speechless.

“This is no illusion—it is the truth,” the same younger voice asserted after a brief silence. “Read what is written, master, and we shall pledge our service to you.”

“I-I’m not anyone’s master. Don’t call me that; this situation is already too surreal for me,” you protested weakly.

“As you wish, master,” came the compliant response.

“You won’t hurt me, will you? I’m too young to die; I haven’t even begun to fulfill my dreams…” you pleaded, your words abruptly cut off by a snarl. If not for the invisible force holding you down, you might have leaped in fear.

“Read these damn sentences!” the voice commanded, his tone harsh.

“Bi-Han, don’t frighten her!” another voice intervened.

“Fine, fine, I’ll read it!” Tears continued to trickle down your cheeks as you began to recite the words aloud, hoping to end the ordeal. And as you prayed to the god or whatever deity might be watching over you, you couldn’t shake the dread that you might be leading yourself to your own demise. “Rise, my servants, from the depths of slumber and bind yourselves to me with your souls, revealing your names. Embrace your new purpose ensnared by passion.’’

As you finished speaking, a powerful gust of wind whipped through the room, causing the towel around your shoulders to unravel and fall. Soon after, you heard the voices of three men speaking in unison, their words echoing loudly.

‘’We rise, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas of the Lin Kuei, bound to your will, for in your presence, we find solace and purpose. We protect and we please, however you see right, however you seem fit. We’re your slaves, and you’re our master, surrendered to your every command, body and soul.’’

With a surge of energy, the wind intensified, knocking over the glass on the counter, spilling wine onto the robe and floor. The glass shattered at your feet, scattering shards across the kitchen. A brilliant light emanated from the book, forcing you to shut your eyes against its intensity.

Then, as suddenly as it began, everything fell silent and still. The wind vanished as if it had never been, and the light that had filled the room dimmed into darkness. Summoning the courage to open your eyes, you were met with the sight of three imposing, completely naked men standing a short distance away.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” You attempted to gather your thoughts, tearing your gaze away from the men to focus on the scattered glass on the kitchen floor. “There are three naked men in my living room. And—and they emerged from the book? I must be losing my mind. I really must be losing my mind.”

As the words tumbled from your lips, sounding like utter madness to your own ears, you tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself. But when you attempted to rise from your seat, your numbed feet betrayed you, causing you to stumble and fall to the ground. The impact sent a jolt of pain through your knees and feet as shards of glass embedded themselves into your flesh, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Shh, it’s okay. Calm down, you’re only hurting yourself,” came a gentle voice.

Your gaze was drawn to a towering, bronzed figure looming over you, his powerful physique making you feel small and vulnerable. Sensing your escalating panic, he gently cupped your face in his large hands, the touch of his calloused fingers both rough and tender. With each contact, warmth spread through your body in soothing waves.

“Look at me. Take deep breaths and exhale, just like I do,” he instructed in a soothing tone.

“I can’t,” your voice broken with fear.

“Of course you can. Follow my lead, I’ll show you,” he reassured. As you turned your gaze to his face, you were met with a pair of slanted light brown eyes, framed by long black eyelashes. His gaze exuded warmth and understanding, matching the sensitivity of his touch. “Breathe with me. Now.”

As your brain somehow focused on his instructions, you found yourself synchronizing your breaths with the mighty man before you. With each inhale and exhale, you felt a wave of calm wash over you, dissipating the last shreds of your strength. He effortlessly supported you, preventing you from collapsing to the floor, his touch gentle yet firm. Despite the pain throbbing in your flesh and the warmth of blood trickling down your skin, you remained in a state of confusion and fear, unable to muster the will to move from his grasp.

“Tomas, find something to clean the wound,” commanded the one with the authoritative voice, resonating with incredible depth. The man who held you gently lowered himself onto one of the double seats in the living room, maintaining his firm grasp on you. A faint warmth spread across your face, but you remained ensnared in his hold, feeling as if your mouth were filled with dry cotton.

Your gaze shifted to the man cradling you, his expression clouded with concern as his amber eyes scrutinized you closely as if he feared you might suffer another attack. Despite his gray hair, you were taken aback when a youthful visage suddenly filled your vision. The man was tall and imposing, his large build casting a formidable shadow over you. Feeling intimidated between these two towering figures, a timid whimper escaped your lips as your body instinctively recoiled, yearning to escape despite its weakened state.

“Calm down, master. We won’t hurt you. Let me tend to your wounds; you’ve cut your knees and feet badly. I can ease your pain,” reassured the silver-haired man, his voice carrying a surprisingly gentle tone given his imposing stature. As you swallowed and tried to shift again, a cold sound from across the room froze you in place.

“If you move again, I’ll—” began the menacing voice.

“Bi-Han, enough! She’s already frightened, no need to add to it.” Intervened the man holding you, his voice commanding authority. Though Bi-Han’s threat remained unfinished, its effect lingered, rendering you motionless, afraid to even breathe. As the silver-haired man tended to your wounds while taking advantage of your stillness, the man holding you attempted to comfort you with gentle pats, drawing soothing circles on your back.

Gritting your teeth against the pain as the glass shards were removed, you fought the urge to appear weak and helpless in their eyes. Though you couldn’t see yourself from their perspective, a sense of self-consciousness gnawed at you. In an attempt to shift your focus from the pain, the man holding you soflty interjected, “I am Kuai Liang,” he introduced. “May we know your name?

Struggling to articulate your name through clenched teeth, you managed to utter it in one breath. A faint smile graced Kuai Liang’s face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n).”

“Speak for yourself,” growled Bi-Han from across the living room. “Just another fucking master we’re bound to serve.’’

‘‘I thought you wanted to get out of the book.’’

Kuai Liang’s sharp retort silenced Bi-Han, prompting Tomas, who was tending to your wounds, to interject. “And so am I, Tomas. Thank you for calling us into your service.” he said with a small smile that seemed forced, his dull greyish blue eyes lacking genuine emotion. As he carefully tended to your wounds and wrapped them in bandages, a sense of unease washed over you, causing you to squirm away from Kuai Liang’s grasp and retreat to the corner of the seat, eyeing the three men with a mix of confusion and discomfort.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” you croaked, avoiding their look as your gaze involuntarily dropped to their lower parts for a second before you could prevent it, your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “And please cover up your bottoms. You can use the cushions.”

Complying with your request, all three men concealed their private parts with cushions. Tomas took a seat in the opposite double seat, while Bi-Han settled into the single seat. Despite your small apartment being already cramped, the presence of the three burly men made the space feel even more claustrophobic.

“Where would you like us to start?”

“From the beginning,” you replied, addressing Kuai Liang. “Who are you? How did you end up in that book? And why are you here now… Please, tell me everything from the beginning so that I can understand.”

“We are members of a clan called Lin Kuei, known for training assassins, and we are brothers,” he began. “Bi-Han is the eldest, serving as the grandmaster of our clan in the past. I, on the other hand, am the middle one, and Tomas and I served as his second-in-commands.’’

The revelation that they were assassins drained the color from your face, confirming your suspicions from the book cover. A shiver ran down your spine as you realized the chilling reality of being in the presence of trained killers.

“Many years ago, we encountered a demon named Quan Chi on a mission. As you can imagine, the mission went awry, and he sealed us inside this book. Whoever owns the book and says the words becomes our master, and we are compelled to fulfill their wishes and desires.”

Even if you sensed that the information was being presented with some omissions, you refrained from voicing your suspicions. They were strangers to you, and you to them, so expecting complete transparency without trust seemed unreasonable. While you had the authority as their master to demand the truth, approaching the situation in this manner didn’t sit well with you—it didn’t feel right, nor did it feel humane.

For God’s sake, the idea of being anyone’s master was abhorrent. The twenty-first century had arrived, and the notion of a master-slave relationship had long since vanished. It felt nauseating and profoundly unsettling.

“I am not your master. I can’t—I can’t be. No.” You attempted to stand up in panic, desperate to escape the situation, but your injuries held you back. Kuai Liang gently grabbed your arm, urging you to calm down.

“Calm down (y/n), your wounds are very fresh. You’ll make them bleed again.” You clung to his wrist, pleading with your eyes for assistance.

“Is there no way to set you free? I can’t accept this. This is—this is against humanity!”

With your words, a deep silence enveloped the room. As you observed their stunned reactions, it became evident that this sentiment was new to them. Your heart ached at the thought of witnessing these powerful men stripped of their freedom. Despite your fear, the realization knotted your stomach. They appeared intimidating and deadly, yet the severity of their situation suggested that past experiences had shattered them and stripped away their dignity. You couldn’t fathom how long they had endured as slaves within the confines of the book, but the outcome seemed all too predictable, casting a somber shadow over the room.

“Set us free?” Tomas’s voice echoed with longing, his desire palpable.

“Such a thing is possible, isn’t it? If you tell me what I should do I—”

“Why would you do that? What do you want from us in return?” Bi-Han’s voice sliced through your words, sharp and menacing. You fought to maintain your composure, avoiding freezing in your spot as his icy demeanor chilled the room. As your agitated gaze shifted to his pale, muscular arms, you were astonished to see a thin layer of ice extending from his hands. Were they truly made of ice?

“As I said just now, I can’t be anyone’s master, it’s in defiance of human ethics. If there’s any way I can help you, I’d like to do it. I don’t want anything in return except for this situation to end as soon as possible, I’m sure you want the same.”

“Do you expect us to believe that you are just a fairy godmother?” Bi-Han’s mocking half smile sent waves of unease through you. “You are not convincing at all, woman. Favors are done with an expectation of something in return.’’

“Favors are done for nothing; you don’t expect anything in return. That’s why it’s called a favor.” Emboldened by a hint of defiance, you met Bi-Han’s stern gaze head-on. “I can understand why you don’t trust me after what you’ve been through—”

‘’Don’t you dare,” Bi-Han shot up from his seat, his movement swift as a shadow. Suddenly, he was close enough for his breath, cold as winter air, to brush against your face. “Don’t try to empathize with what we went through. Do you think you know us now just because you’ve learned a few things?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” you said quickly.

“Brother, please sit down. If you talk like that, we won’t get anywhere.” Kuai Liang intervened, putting one arm between you and Bi-Han. Bi-Han glared at you intensely, his eyes slanted like those of a predator, then he took a deep breath. Watching the mist of his cold breath in the air, everything still felt like an endless dream—or nightmare. When he finally returned to his seat, Kuai Liang’s gaze turned to you.

“Thank you for offering to help, but unfortunately, we don’t know how to undo this dark magic.”

You ventured a suggestion that you hoped wouldn’t sound foolish. “We could try burning the book. I’ve seen it work in some movies.”

“We’ve tried that,” Tomas chimed in, joining Kuai Liang. “Several times. Whatever we’ve done, the book has never been destroyed. It’s protected by some kind of magic, just as it protects its master from us.”

“You spoke as if you had tested the last part before.”

In response, silence enveloped the room. Despite your efforts to stave off panic, the realization that they were assassins and the precariousness of your situation made you feel threatened.

“We have tried to kill several masters before,” Kuai Liang admitted frankly. “But there’s some kind of seal that protects them—you can think of it as a shield. It renders any attack ineffective. That’s why we were telling the truth when we said we wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Of course, if things were different, it wouldn’t mean you wouldn’t try,” you said, averting your gaze and clasping your hands in your lap. Another solution came to mind, prompting you to straighten your shoulders and take a deep breath before continuing.

‘’ If I can’t set you free, then you’re free to do as you please, go where you want. You don’t have to be stuck here.” you offered.

“You won’t give us orders? Isn’t there something you want us to do?” Tomas asked, surprised.

“No, as long as you don’t start killing people, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

“We’re not mindless killers,” said Bi-Han harshly, sounding offended that you would even think of them in that way. Kuai Liang interjected, softening his brother’s tone.

“We serve a noble purpose. We were, until we were sealed in the book… Our clan has been dedicated to protecting Earthrealm from dangers for centuries,” he explained, his gaze softening slightly as he made eye contact with you. “Thank you for the opportunity you’ve given us, but we can’t be away from you for more than a few hours. We have to get back here, to you.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How so? Why? Do I have to say something else?”

“No, it’s part of the magic. It was designed to prevent us from escaping. When we’re away from our master—you, and this period becomes longer, we become weaker and weaker.”

“So at the end of the day… God, what cruel magic this is,” Gulping, you scanned all three men with a heavy heart. It must have been torture for them to endure this existence. Even as you spoke, your heart ached with empathy, imagining what they had been subjected to. Anger and sadness gripped your body as you contemplated their plight. “Is there anything else I can do for you? My house isn’t too big, but I want you to be comfortable during your stay here.”

It was Bi-Han who responded, his narrowed gaze resembling two thin lines, as if he were dissecting your sincerity. You couldn’t help but feel a pang as you tried to discern whether he believed you. While you understood his skepticism, winning their trust seemed like a daunting task.

“You can start by finding us clothes.”

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thesamoanqueen · 6 months ago

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Ceo-oh

Warnings: cheating

A/N: tagged by my gorgeous gurl @harmshake for the "May Writing Challenge" 200 words (this time more than 300 sorry). No one can resist him, neither a wife nor a CEO.

She had found it on her desk in the morning and if she hadn't been so good at her job, face probably would have shown the turmoil level crushing her. The biggest and most expensive – crazy money - bouquet of flowers she could have ever imagined and she was a woman with high expectations. For once, secretaries had done nothing but talk about her, who had been so cocky to send it there, to the office shared with her husband and above all for what reason. And whatever ideas they had, would have been right.

She had given up, literally and physically lost control, against a window overlooking the city, betraying every moral and ethical principle, to get fucked by the most dangerous man she could have chosen. Roman Reigns and his company had swept away all competitors, the associated study with all the deficits caused by her husband was an easy prey, but she had resisted, fought, stood up to Roman and his company. Until they met at the gala and he managed to slip his claws inside her lingerie between a drink and a velvety word.

- Wow, Judge McCarthy really lost it! – her husbands said, showing up almost at lunch time as always and giving her yet another delusion to add to the list.

They married for love after college, sharing a dream, but over the years it stopped being a marriage. She was more his mama than a wife and yes, seeing him joke, ignoring such an obvious gesture thinking that no one could have her attention, made her feel a lil less guilty.

- Even a message.

- What?! – she snapped, because she had moved it from her desk and put it away on a table, but still not throwing it away and now it could really be too late.

- Whats going on? He finally lost his mind with all that sugar, babe? – he giggled again, showing the small card on which a few letters had been printed – Ceo-oh?

Bastard.

- Just a bad joke.

It would have been so good if it was just that, so simple to be forgotten like a one-night stand, a stupid woman drooling for him and instead Roman had to send her a message to remind her moans - as if her body had already recovered -, putting on a show that was driving her crazy. Why did he have to be so insufferable in an attractive way and not just insufferable like old Judge McCarthy?!

Fuck.

Tag squad: @sunnyfleur23 @alyyaanna @reignsangel444 @romanreignsdefencesquad @romanstheory @claymorexpunisher @keybladeofsteel @msbigredmachine @nayys-world @gobbersworld @utika151209 @cumxxslutt @civildawn @romanmydaddy @triscillal @papireigns-05 @helensanders92 @darqchilddaydreamz @meggylynnloves @unfriendly--blvck--hottie @nicolewoo @joannasteez @reignsx @kianaleani @daguenoire @extra-11 @333creolelady @snowpanda18 @brattyfics @mzv11 @romanreignseater @spritelucozade @dreamsinfocus @vebner37 @depressedneedingrevenge @cyberdejos2 @mahi-wayy @jxtina-86 @harmshake @southerngirl41 @smile1318

#roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns oneshot #roman reigns one shot #roman reigns x female reader #roman reigns x you #roman reigns fanfic #wwe smut #wwe fanfiction

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cinebration · 2 years ago

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What Purpose? (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

hellooo, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic inspired by theo sharpe and eloise bridgerton?? I’d Sherlock to be very in love with the reader, and tells her something like: when I read something new or interesting or provoking, it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts and so I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.—Requested by @kelloggs-world

I slightly modified the quote. I hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: Mycroft

Gif Source: henrycavilledits

“The society papers say you’re cavorting with Lady Thornton’s personal maid,” Mycroft noted dryly, one eyebrow arching in ill-disguised disdain. “A maid, Sherlock, really.”

“A companion.”

“A glorified maid, then.”

Sherlock snapped the newspaper shut and fixed his brother with a stare. “Do you know anything about her?”

“Yes, the heiress to the modest trapping fortune not dominated by Astor. Which makes it all the more disgraceful that she is an old lady’s maid.”

“If her official title were to change to lady’s companion, would that appease you?” Sherlock shook his head. “I forgot to whom I was speaking.”

Mycroft sniffed and plucked up his snifter of brandy. “Really, Sherlock, what purpose does this woman serve?”

Sherlock straightened in his seat, spine dangerously rigid.

Mycroft snorted. “Every person and every thing serves a purpose, Sherlock. So what good does this woman do? I can’t imagine it’s much.”

The words slipped out through clenched teeth, barbed. “She does more than you.”

A brusque laugh tumbled out of his brother. “I highly doubt that, Sherlock. Our own sister isn’t comparable to either of us, and at least she comes from the source.”

Shoving himself out of his seat, Sherlock straightened his suit jacket and shot a glare in Mycroft’s direction. “Enola is more than a match for you, Mycroft. That’s why you failed to bend her to your will.”

A livid flush crept up Mycroft’s neck and into his cheeks. “If I recall, you stepped in as her guardian.”

“Consider that, brother. She convinced me against you.” Sherlock flashed an insincere smile. “More than your match.”

“Here I thought Enola was the problem, scurrying around town like some low-bred urchin, yet I hear you are cavorting with nothing better than a maid.” A sneer curled Mycroft’s lips. “My God, the pair of you. I don’t know why I even bother!”

“No one asked you to bother, Mycroft.”

Sherlock strode for the door, refraining from snapping a goodbye.

“She can’t be worth much,” Mycroft called after him. “Even if she did throw you a bone by sending you on that murder investigation!”

Teeth grinding, Sherlock all but slammed the door shut. Anger radiated in unexpected waves through him, his frustration tantamount to whenever an investigation thwarted him unnecessarily. He couldn’t understand why Mycroft’s words stuck within him. Though his brother was insufferable, most if not all of his barbs passed through Sherlock without so much as an abrasive touch. That he should so infuriate him confused Sherlock as much as it riled up his ire.

Sheets of rain poured down on the city, drowning all light in gray. Hansoms darted down the cobblestone streets, streaming water in their wake, impossible to flag down. The pavement was nearly empty, everyone huddled someplace out of the deluge.

In his haste, Sherlock had forgotten his umbrella. Turning his coat collar up and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he cut across the street, dodging a hansom he heard before he saw, and stormed in the direction of his flat. The stinging cold of the rain beating into his face and running rivulets beneath his shirt did nothing to cool him of his anger.

“It wasn’t just the murder,” he hissed between his teeth, hands balling into fists in his pockets. Although the death of your last living relative had proven an intricate and thorny case, one that had taken twelve day to solve, it wasn’t as though you were a treasure trove of such cases. In the months since the investigation’s resolution, you had not required Sherlock’s services again.

Lady Thornton, however, had used them in a theft case shortly after Sherlock solved your case, causing you both to cross paths again. Sherlock had taken the time to interview you regarding the theft and any information you might know. As with your own case, you presented facts and evidence in a logical, rational manner, offering up details that surprised Sherlock and gave a glimpse into your perceptiveness, leaving an indelible impression on him.

The theft was resolved in less than two days. Yet Sherlock had returned again to Lady Thornton’s estate to see you. He had recognized a sharp mind desperate to be seen and engaged, and despite himself, he decided he was the man to do it.

The old woman acted as chaperone, but the shrewd and experienced Lady Thornton recognized what was unfolding before even the faintest hint of it brushed either Sherlock’s or your mind. Melding into the shadows as much as possible, a smirk playing on her lips, Lady Thornton contented herself with providing only the barest level of propriety for the sake of the papers, allowing you and Sherlock as much privacy as she could.

Sherlock had found you eager to discuss all manner of subjects. He brought books for you to devour in days so that there was new topics of discourse the next time you met. Your voracious appetite for knowledge and conversation—proper conversation, not the societal niceties that amounted to nothing but superficiality—secretly delighted Sherlock, such that he took great care to select the most interesting of texts to deliver to your door.

What purpose did you serve? The question tasted vile on Sherlock’s tongue, though he hadn’t been the one to ask it. Like a wound, he returned to it again and again, suffering the indignity of it. Did a person have to serve?

As he turned down one street, then the next, he found himself contemplating it. Loathe to admit it, he realized that Mycroft had something akin to a point. Neither Holmes brother wasted time on anyone without reason. For Mycroft, it was blackmail and state secrets, government and high-society connections; for Sherlock, anything to do with a case.

Therefore, why did he spend so much time with you?

The thought spun so quickly through his mind that he grew dizzy with it, pausing to lean against a lamppost. The answer was there, just beyond his reach, and any attempt to grasp it made him ill, the world tilting beneath his feet.

They carried him through the rain until they found a cab unloading an elderly couple. Sherlock flagged the driver and hopped into the hansom, the carriage dipping low beneath his formidable frame. He had to bribe the driver several extra quid to ensure the man drove him out to the estate.

When they arrived, he paid the man and refrained from asking him to stay. Lady Thornton would never allow him to return home in such weather, not without sending him off in her own carriage. Seeing as she wouldn’t subject her own driver to such inclement conditions, Sherlock would be stuck there until the weather cleared.

The staff recognizing him, they let him enter and stripped him of his soaking overcoat and jacket.

“I believe the former master of the house,” the butler informed him in crisp tones, “had trousers you could use.”

“I can dry before the fire,” Sherlock assured him.

He paced in front of the crackling flames for what seemed like an eternity while he waited for you to arrive. When the door opened softly, it took all his self-control to avoid spinning sharply to face you.

“You’ll catch your death, Sherlock, getting caught in the rain like that!”

Suppressing the faint upward twitch of his lips, Sherlock slowly turned to you. The anger at Mycroft’s words melted as he peered into your face.

“What is it?” you asked, reaching up to touch your cheek self-consciously.

“Nothing. I merely…” Sherlock frowned, casting about for words that suddenly eluded him. “Do you believe that every individual in one’s life must serve a purpose?”

Eyebrows arching, you chuffed a quiet laugh. “My, has the weather made you maudlin?”

“No, it isn’t…my brother made an insinuation, and I thought it worth asking you your opinion on the matter.”

Head cocking to the side, you scrutinized Sherlock’s features. “What sort of insinuation?”

“Well…” Sherlock laughed, shook his head. “Mycroft is uncannily skilled at insinuating more than one thing with few words. It would take hours to parse everything he means from what little he says.”

“You are stuck here until the weather improves, so we have the time to spare.”

Sherlock met your gaze, your eyes sincere and curious. Struck suddenly with the urge to fidget, he turned back toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle, his soaked trousers and collar slowly drying.

“I think,” you answered carefully, “that whom we choose to spend our time with speaks to their importance in our lives.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at you.

“For Lady Thornton, my purpose is to be a companion. She may compensate me for it, but I would be her companion for free, because I enjoy spending time with her. Her purpose for me, if it matters to know, is as mentor and friend. That is sufficient.”

The words sunk into Sherlock’s thoughts, quieting them. The flames popped behind him, crackling as the logs shifted.

“Mycroft asked me what purpose you served,” he heard himself say. “He doesn’t understand why I spend my time with you.”

Your throat moved as you swallowed reflexively, your gaze dropping away from his. “Frankly, I’m inclined to agree with him. I don’t understand why you spend your time with me.”

Sherlock frowned, his chest tight. Were there words to explain why? He considered it for several moments, his heart an uneven metronome in his ribs.

“When I read something new or interesting or provoking,” he began, the words passing softly over his lips, “it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts. So I come here and I share them, and I enjoy hearing your replies.”

You glanced up at him, your gaze sharp and hesitant simultaneously.

“And I find myself wondering…” He swallowed thickly, the words on his tongue as if they had waited his whole life to be there, his thoughts roiling in confusion but the conviction that this was right, inevitable, felt firmly in his deepest self. “I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.”

Your lips trembled, caught between a smile and panic, triumph and anxiety. Pressing your fingers against them, you inhaled sharply and attempted again, this time managing to speak. “I think of you often, Sherlock. How could I not?”

Something sharp buried itself in his chest, but the feeling was not altogether unpleasant. Sucking in a breath, he gripped the mantle with both hands, knuckles white with the pressure. He didn’t know how to proceed, the confession having worn out any social manner he had been forced to learn.

Gently clearing your throat, you offered, “So when next you see your brother, tell him the purpose I serve is…as your other self, as you are my other self.”

Your hand touched him lightly on the elbow. Shifting, Sherlock watched your hand slide down the length of his forearm, fingers gently entwining with his. The touch sent shivers through his arm and down his spine, startling him with their strength.

“He will never understand that,” he managed to say, his voice thick.

“Then we should pity him.”

Meeting your gaze, Sherlock laughed, unable to let the sharp ha! stay buried. You smiled, flashing teeth in a beautiful face. He hadn’t realized you were so beautiful…or perhaps you had been beautiful all along, and it had taken all this time for him to see it.

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Cavill!Holmes #Henry!Sherlock #Enola Holmes 2 #Enola Holmes #requests

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inlovewithpandora · 1 year ago

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- Let Me In -

Pairing: Hobie x fem!Spider!reader

Request: [ 🎸 anon ] Hello! I have a request for a Hobie x reader:) | If you are okay with it (it's ok if not!) can you do a comfort fic where reader is struggling with suicidal thoughts + self harm and they haven't really been taking care of themselves properly and is just always thinking they shouldn't be alive ect. Then one day Hobie comes to their house through their bedroom window (who needs doors?) but he finds them in their bathroom abt to self harm and comforts them.

Synopsis: Being Spiderwoman hasn't been an easy task for you. The sacrifice, dedication, and having to turn your life upside down to accommodate your powers was making living day to day difficult for you so you begin to wonder if you should take matters into your own hands and end your suffering.

Content: Angst, hurt/comfort, suicidal thoughts, act of self-harm (and lightly descriptive) mention of blood, mention of scars and wounds, crying, reader struggling with depression/illness, Hobie comforting reader and being there for her

If any of the content above makes you uncomfortable please DNI!!!

Author’s Note: Thank you for sending this req in! I hope you enjoy and that it meets your expectations! This was a really good request and I enjoyed writing it even though my heart was breaking for reader. Let me know what you think by sending an anonymous ask or comment if you feel comfortable!

Word Count: 1.1k

Extra: Requests are open! Please read rules before requesting! || Likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated❤️! Links: Navigation || Atsv Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Taglist

As you sit on the rim of your bathtub, you couldn’t help but look at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was scattered across your head, your eyes were sunken and puffy, and your body was covered with old battle wounds from fighting different evils of the universe, but the most fresh scars were the ones that adorned your arms.

Being Spiderwoman hasn't been an easy task for you. The sacrifice, dedication, and having to turn your life upside down to accommodate your powers were making living day to day difficult for you. Coming home with fresh wounds every night began to take a physical and mental toll on your health. The stress and pressure of protecting the city of Brooklyn was starting to become too much. You wanted to talk to Hobie, but you didn’t want to worry him with your problems, so you decided to keep your feelings bottled up which made you resort to self-harm, hoping to release some of your tension and finally feel a sense of relief.

The more you began to cut, the more you distanced yourself from the world. You haven’t been to HQ, spending time with your friends, and most importantly you haven’t talked to Hobie in almost a week. Your new way of spending your time was cooped up in your apartment, drowning in your sorrows.

It has gotten to the point where your pain became so insufferable that you began to think if living was worthwhile anymore. You couldn’t go on like this, dealing with the weight of being Spiderwoman on your shoulders. Thinking about putting yourself in the face of danger and praying that you didn’t get severely injured or even worse: ending up plummeting to your death.

You felt like if you were going to do that, you might as well leave the world on your own terms, the way you thought would be appropriate. Were you currently thinking clearly? No. This was the illness talking. The older, happier version of yourself would never even let thoughts like this cross her mind, but now… now it was too late. This was the only way to make that dark cloud that hung over your head move away.

Hobie has been worried about you. The only time he talks to you now is through text and when he finds a way to get a hold of you, the conversations were dry, so he can’t even get a true feeling to see how you’re doing.

When he finishes his patrol duties, he decides to swing by your apartment, just to make sure you’re okay. Once he’s outside your window, he opens it slowly and climbs inside. When his feet hit the floor, he turns around and closes the window behind him, then tries to figure out where you are.

As his eyes scan the room, he locates the sound of sobs from the bathroom which alerted him, thinking you got hurt from slipping in the shower or something of that sort. When he reaches the bathroom door, he peeps his head inside, which reveals you with tears pouring down your cheeks while you run a razor across your skin. As Hobie watches the blood trickle down your arm and drip onto your marble floor, his stomach churns and his heart breaks at the scene unraveling in from him.

As you raise the sharp object again, almost pressing it deep into your arm, Hobie barges in, not being able to watch you hurt yourself any longer. When the door widens and you see him looking at you with a concerned and worried expression, you drop the razor, pull your jacket sleeves down, and rush over to the other side of the bathroom.

“Leave, Hobie.” You turn your back towards him, not wanting him to see how you’ve completely let yourself go. This isn’t how you wanted your reunion with him to go, you cutting and him bearing witness, having to see you in such a distraught state, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.

Hobie walks up to you, attempting to wrap his arms around, but you swat them away as more tears fill your eyes. “Hobie, I said leave! I don’t want you here! I-I don’t want you to see me!” As you attempt to raise your voice, it begins to crack due to the sob trying to make an appearance.

“Love, please,” Hobie's heart gets so heavy with each moment. He didn’t know you were doing this, he never knew that you had a burden so heavy that you had to resort to this method to find a sense of peace. At this moment, all he wants to do is be here for you and help as much as he can provide.

He gently places his arm on your shoulder, hoping you would turn around and face him. “Let me in, allow me to help you. I promise I won’t judge. I-I just want to help you, please.” The sincerity in his voice soothes you enough to turn around and face him. Without wasting another second, you run into his arms and begin to cry into his chest. Hobie immediately embraces you, wrapping his arms around you to make you feel secure and comfortable, to let you know that he is here specifically to comfort you.

“It’s okay love, let it all out. I’m here for you now. I’m gonna help you through this.” He kisses your head softly as he rubs your back, continuing to comfort you with sweet and reassuring words, letting you know that he’ll never leave your side no matter what.

Once your cries begin to lessen and you begin to calm down, you and Hobie sit down together. “I know you probably don’t wanna talk right now and that’s fine. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with, but I want to let you know that you don’t have to go through this alone. I will forever stand by your side through thick and thin, good and bad. No matter what, I will always love you and that’ll never change.” At this moment, you are so thankful for Hobie. He didn’t freak out on you, shame you, or force you to do anything which you appreciated. Knowing that Hobie saw you at your lowest and still accepted you meant the world to you.

“Thank you, Hobie.” You speak softly as you look up at him with glistening eyes, new tears ready to be shed, but this time they are tears of joy that you had someone like Hobie to lean on.

“Of course, now let’s clean up these cuts and then for the rest of the day, it’s just me and you.”

I hope you enjoyed❤️!

Previous Fic

Editor - @justmemyselfandthemoon

Taglist: @inspace1 @phoenixx69 @savagemickey03 @soilmayo @liyahsocorro @baizzhu @solanawrld @onlyloaksgf @popeheywardssecretgf @number1gal @taylormarieee @toneystank-3000 @h3art-l3ss @spidersthetic @mellagzz @em-x0

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blouisparadise · 11 months ago

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Upon request, today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where one of the characters is grumpy (or very serious) and the other character is sunshine. Please check out these fics and if you enjoy them, be sure give them kudos, leave a comment, and help promote them on Twitter or Tumblr. If you enjoy our rec lists, please like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Muffins & Cigarettes | Mature | 7,591 words

Louis pouts. “You can’t pout your way into this, Louis”, Harry said as he was fixing his tie, watch and rings glinting against the soft sunlight filtering through the window. “Of course, I can. Watch me.”

2) Thrown To The Wolves | Explicit | 21,681 words

Louis is a human living in the Styles’ wolf pack who can’t stop getting into trouble, and Harry is the soon-to-be alpha who thinks keeping Louis at arm’s length is the safest option.

3) The Evenness I Fake | Explicit | 26,366 words

Harry doesn’t do relationships. He has a perfectly enjoyable friends-with-benefits agreement with a perfectly lovely omega, and he doesn’t see the need to change that anytime soon. The small fact that Louis giving his attention to another alpha makes Harry want to put his head through a wall isn’t nearly as much of an issue as everyone’s making it out to be.

4) Stuck On You | Explicit | 33,983 words

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

5) And When It Rains, You're Shining Down For Me | Explicit | 37,081 words

“This is Harry, he’ll be your patient,” Liam gestured politely. Harry froze when Louis’ eyes met his own once more. He felt himself getting lost in those eyes, so much so that he didn’t notice Niall and Liam leaving the room quietly but the sound of the door shutting behind them brought him out of the trance. “Hello, I’m Louis,” the omega said, extending his hand for Harry to shake. The alpha could still sense some nervousness in his stance but decided to ignore it. “‘’m Harry.”

6) Always An Angel, Never A God | Explicit | 39,518 words

To understand the level of deep water Louis was in, one first needed to know he has had the same best friend since he was five. Ethan Astor was family to him—a friend who he loved deeply despite their differences. A friend he would do almost anything for. So when Ethan came to him with the plan, no matter how he felt about it, Louis accepted it. At first, it was simple, he just had to flutter his eyelashes at any of the boys that showed interest in Ethan, and if they fell for it, he just dumped them without telling them the reason. Somehow, the rumors spread around campus that Ethan had an insufferable friend they had to somehow win over to reach him. Like a final monster before getting the princess.

7) Kiss Me On The Mouth And Set Me Free (But Please Don't Bite) | Mature | 42,026 words

Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.

8) Where I End and You Begin | Explicit | 42,730 words

Global rock sensation Harry Styles is set to perform in his sold out residencies across six major cities. What happens when his usual makeup artist can’t make it and they hire the most beautiful human he’s ever laid eyes on? Surely it couldn’t be that hard to remain professional

9) Something Along The Lines Of ‘An Office Love Story At Christmas’ | Explicit | 43,148 words

Harry hadn't planned on seeing Louis again, not after that night. When he finds out his only competition for a very desired promotion is Louis, he spirals into a mess of trying to be a better coworker and person right before Christmas in hopes that he can outdo Louis' effortless effect on his office. If he manages to get his head out of his ass along the way, it’ll be a holiday miracle.

10) Yesterday Came Suddenly | Explicit | 48,504 words

They don’t talk about it. The way Harry deflects any and all questions about his past and Louis pretends he isn’t confused or hurt by it. The way Harry keeps a distance between them and Louis acts like he can’t see it creating a wall between them. The way Harry doesn’t always answer honestly and Louis goes along with it as if he can’t tell. They don’t talk about it. Harry knows Louis feels like he doesn’t know him well enough, and it pains him. It pains him every time Louis gets that look on his face that’s a mixture of disappointment, frustration, and confusion. And sometimes, self-blame. It pains him because Louis is wrong. Because even though there is a lot Louis doesn’t know about him, there is so much that he does. He knows what Harry is like at his most vulnerable: curled up on this bed with him in the dark where it’s safest. He knows Harry in a way no one else does.

11) Gallery Of Us | Explicit | 55,778 words

Harry knew what he was doing in life, everything laid out in black-and-white, each day pleasantly predictable. Cue lively art student, Louis, trying to find his place. An almost insufferably happy person who sometimes forgets to hide the way they feel meets the person who is diligent enough to notice and determined to make a difference.

12) The Habit I Can't Break | Explicit | 63,140 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The one where Louis quits smoking and tries to get healthy, and Harry is the fitness instructor who helps him achieve those goals while making him sweat in and out of the gym. In which Harry and Louis still meet at bootcamp, just not the one you’re thinking of. Featuring Lottie as the supportive sister who drags her brother to bootcamp class, Louis as the grumpy (and very recent) ex-smoker, and Harry as the instructor with exhausting amounts of enthusiasm and one obnoxious pair of yellow trainers.

13) Satellite | Explicit | 78,101 words

Louis is a hardworking, dedicated, loving single mum with no interest other than making his son happy, and who thinks that love will never knock on his door again. Harry is a lone man, successful in his field, and thinks he has his life together and all figured out. Wrong meets clueless, lives get turned upside down in the best way possible with the help of a cute and curious little boy, who just wants to learn more and more.

14) Saving Symphony Hall | Explicit | 124,766 words

Note: This fic is the sequel to this fic, which we'd suggest reading first. It is also locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.” “Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.” “Wait, what?” Zayn asked. “Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,” “What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand. “I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.” “That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

15) Cold Little Heart | Teen & Up | 194,589 words

Louis is a soft omega with an abusive past and an alpha child A few months after getting a divorce, Louis meets Harry, an ex-military alpha wolf that offers him something -odd. In exchange for teaching him how to cook, Harry will babysit his son, Abraham Louis really could use the help.

16) Queen Of Arizella | Mature | 277,919 words

Stealing from Royalty is punishable by death. Louis starts over, doing his best to keep his hands at his sides, but he is hungry and he tries stealing from the wrong royal. Harry is King of Arizella, he needs a queen and who better than an omega on the run from death? Louis will learn to become the perfect queen - the perfect fake queen, but only for a few months. A fake lover, a fake queen, but a real bond.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp #blp fic recs #sunshine/grumpy

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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year ago

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Dante & Vergil with their s/o hunting bloodthirsty mosquitoes (+Nero with Kyrie doing the same)

Pairings: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader; Nero x Kyrie Summary: Oh, summer. Heatwaves, short clothes, ice cream... And mosquitoes. A human hunting down a mosquito is one thing, but a half-demon? Well, those little hellish beings better be ready for it. Author's notes: You're probably thinking yours truly lost all her sanity, and you're probably right. It's the second day of spring here where I live and it's so freaking hot, the only thing I've been able to eat the last few days was ice cream. It's usually hot as hell here in Brazil, but not this time of the year - December/January/February are the most unbelievably hot months in my city. And, of course, the mosquitoes have to rise from hell itself to buzz in your ears while you try to sleep and suck your blood, ginving you terrible rashes in the morning. I killed four of them the past two days and yesterday, I had to enlist my sister to help hunt one of them down. This little fic might have something to do with that incident xD

I had to write something and laugh at all those goofs trying to be functional normal humans. That's it. It's all ridiculous fluff and laughs while melting from too much heat, hope you guys enjoy ^^

Dante

“Ya know, if ya clap those really fast, you might summon a demon.”

You just looked back at Dante with murder in your eyes.

The red devil stood by the stairs, having his arms crossed and leaning by the guardrail, that characteristic grin spreading across his lips.

You wanted to throw the flip flops in your hands right at his face – maybe that would get rid of that insufferable cocky smile.

Sometimes you understood Vergil in a soul level.

“If said demon decimates the freaking mosquito who’s been testing my sanity for the past hour, I’m all in.” You turned your eyes back to the ceiling, searching for that single little thing that took peace away from you that day.

The shop wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, that you had to admit, but the last couple of days were hotter than the layers of fire in Hell itself – Vergil would argue, but even he realized it wasn’t wise to discuss with you when you were melting faster than an ice cream on asphalt.

The heat, however, brought along the mosquito wave.

Hence why you were on the top of Dante’s desk, barefoot, sporting your peak summer style, flip flops ready to kill. Hearing Dante making fun of that situation wasn’t really aligned to your mood at that moment.

“Eh, already…?” Dante still had the smile plastered on his lips, casually approaching the desk. He was one to talk: given how hot it was, he was wearing only his pants, completely barefoot and shirtless – and even then, you questioned how he could walk around with those heavy, black pants without falling apart. “Thought these little fuckers would take a lot more time to appear.”

“Well, apparently they thought the same and figured a surprise attack would be more efficient.” You just heard his giggle as you kept on looking everywhere near the ceiling, round and round the desk. Dante rested his arms on it, casually looking up to watch you.

He couldn’t deny, it was funny. All that made him smile and relax: it was so mundane, so… Human. To think one day he’d be at his shop with his most beloved being in all dimensions, worrying about heatwaves and nagging mosquitoes; watching as you practically danced around on his desk, hunting mosquitoes with all the might in the world. As if you both didn’t hunt demons for a living.

As if life was just like that… Perfectly mundane.

“You give’em more credit than they deserve, babe.” Dante leaned his head in one of his hands, watching you with dreamy eyes. At the peak of your annoyance, you never thought the son of Sparda would look at you so lovingly – then again, he wasn’t an ordinary man.

“Oh, I don’t think so, hot stuff.” Your answer was mindless, making Dante open a huge, radiant smile, sparkling as much as his eyes. “Those things come directly from the layers of Hell, I’m certain of it.” You finally put your arms down, looking back at Dante and finding him with that unexpected expression. “What…?”

“You called me hot stuff, hot stuff.” He winked back, making you realize your ‘mistake’.

It wasn’t really a mistake. But Dante would definitely become even more insufferable with that.

“I blame the mosquitoes from Hell.” Your answer was ridiculous but sure, making Dante burst into laughs as he circled the table to sit on his big chair.

“That’d be a great name for a metal band. The Mosquitoes From Hell.” He laughed even more, resting his feet on a small spot on the table, making sure it wouldn’t interfere with your hunt.

“There you go. You, Verge and Nero can play together now.” You didn’t have much fun in your voice, going back to searching your nemesis in the air. Dante snorted a laugh, knowing you were joking – even if you were too focused to make it obvious.

“Dressed as vampires, it’d be perfect!”

But you couldn’t remain too serious around Dante for a long time. As soon as he added that, you closed your eyes, resting your wrists on your waist, letting out a sigh along a laugh. Imagining them all dressed as vampires, playing together as mosquitoes from Hell was too much – Dante now had your attention, beating the rogue mosquito you couldn’t find anymore.

You eyed him back, having a half smile on your lips. Dante was relaxed as he could be, his arms on the back of his head, helping him rest as he watched you with all the interest in the world.

“C’mon. I’d be one hell of a vampire!” Once again, he had that smile on his lips – sprinkled with a little more happiness now that you were into it.

“You’d be the sexiest one for sure, Mr. it’s-too-hot-to-wear-shirts.” You pointed back at him with one of the flip flops still in your hand, making Dante smile even more – a little blushed, but that could be because of the heat. “Dante!”

Without thinking twice, he caught your hand and pulled you to him, making you both rock on the chair violently as you tried not to end up on the floor. But Dante was strong and used to a lot more difficult tricks, having you on his lap, both legs secured by one of his hands on his right side. You had to let go of the flip flops, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, as both of you laughed.

“A reckless vampire too!” You finally put some distance between your faces as you were finally settled, finding Dante’s blushed cheeks as he laughed while still looking at you with adoration in his eyes. “Well, well. You got my attention now, cowboy.”

If only Dante knew how much you loved seeing him like that – completely human, vulnerable, having fun, as if none of the heavy burdens from his past weighted on his soul anymore.

“I’m happy, then. I was feeling a little ignored, babe.” He chuckled back, still blushing. Whenever it was hot like that, Dante had a tendency to be as red as an apple – and you didn’t complain. In a certain way, it was cute. As cute as a half-demon son of Sparda could be.

“I’m never ignoring you, babe.” You murmured, brushing some of his stray white hair away from his eyes, giving room to those beautiful skies that always allowed you to see his soul. Dante would always allow you to see him like that. “You better be ready for some undivided attention.”

“Hmmm, I could use a little o’ that…”

You barely waited for Dante to finish his sentence, catching his lips in a slow kiss. Dante rested one of his hands on the back of your neck, after brushing some of your hair back.

It was hot as Hell, yes. But not even that would stop you from loving your red devil.

Only one thing ever could.

mmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEppppPPPPP!

“Fuck, you weren’t kiddin’…!” Dante immediately let go of your lips, having the peak of annoyance in his beautiful blue eyes. “Where’s that little shit?! Did you hear it too?!”

“That’s precisely what I’ve been through for the last hours, my beloved.” You had the most annoyed smile plastered on your lips, eyes closed as if you were trying to maintain yourself calm. “I told you. When you least expect it, that spawn from Hell will meep furiously in your ears, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Oh, there is.” Now Dante put you aside, taking your flip flops and climbing on the desk. “I’m gonna obliterate that lil’ bastard!”

“Now that I’d love to see.” Oh, how tables had turned. There you were, sitting on his big chair, arms crossed, cocky grin in your lips, watching that brick house of a man using his enhanced demonic senses to find the darn mosquito. “Who would’ve known. Good to deal with demonic pests and mundane pests.”

“Oh, look who’s bein’ all funny now!” Dante glanced you again, but he himself couldn’t refrain from laughing. “Guess I’m the full package, huh?”

“That just makes you hotter, if you wanna know.” You had a matter-of-fact tone, leaning back on the chair and resting your feet on the table. “Nothing like a man who can fight and love like Aragorn as well as cook some damn good potatoes and look after the house like Samwise Gamgee.”

“You know what they say, get yourself a man who can do both. Found ya!”

You could swear Dante’s voice had a tinge of his trigger distortion as the red devil finally found his foe flying around his head. Dante tried a few slaps, but the mosquito was too close for him to be able to kill it. Using the flip flops to fan it away from him, you both lost the mosquito for a while, remaining quiet. Dante used all of his senses to finally see it nearing the couch – with a deadly aim, he one-shot his pray with your flip flop, too fast and lethal for the thing to run away.

The mosquito was no more – its remains were glued on the sole of your flip flop in a stain of blood.

“That was so hot.” You were mesmerized and a little bit jealous of his abilities not only to hunt demons but now, to hunt mosquitos as well. Dante really was the whole package.

“I’m startin’ to question your definition of hot, babe.” Dante let out a good laugh, sitting on the edge of the desk, legs dangling by your side.

“Everything you do, basically.” You shrugged, getting up from the chair to be at least almost his size. Standing between his legs, you wrapped your arms around his neck, ruffling his soft white hair back in order to see his eyes – those eyes you loved so much, so vulnerable and loving towards you. “Thank you so much for saving my desperate human soul, hot stuff.”

“I’m always at your service, pretty eyes.” Dante’s answer was almost a murmur as he leaned to catch your lips with his one more time. “No interruptions this time.”

You laughed between his words and kisses, ready to spend the rest of the night loving him unconditionally.

That is. If you both didn’t hear another approaching MEEP into your ears.

“You gotta be kidding me.” You sighed, throwing your head back.

“Get all the shoes, babe. Those lil’ shits have no idea what they got themselves into.”

Of course, you both had other plans for that night – involving a lot of love, kisses and giggles between you, as time stopped and you could enjoy yourselves, even with that relentless heatwave. The night was spent, though, with you both viciously hunting mosquitoes, keeping scores, making bets between yourselves, drinking beer and eating the leftover cold pizza in the fridge.

It wasn’t what people would consider a perfect evening – but, whenever you were together, things were certainly a lot more entertaining. As you and Dante took refuge in his room, finally getting rid of all the mosquitoes, you lied tiredly in each other’s arms, laughing about your hunt that night, until you fell asleep without a single meep to wake you up.

And that, you would say, was perfect.

Vergil

“I need to enlist your help for a mission, my love.”

Vergil was immediately serious. It was funny how you could watch him change his demeanor – you once told Dante it was like when Marilyn Monroe put on her persona and suddenly people were aware she was there and Dante never allowed his brother to have a single moment of peace upon knowing that.

But it was true. It took some time, but Vergil slowly allowed his shoulders to rest relaxed whenever you were around. His eyebrows weren’t as harsh, his jaw wasn’t tensed all the time. You could see how his forehead remained smooth, how his long hands rested calmly somewhere instead of constantly gripping some invisible weapon. His breath turned slower and smoother, his focus allowing him to plunge completely into his beloved books instead of remaining always with a steady eye on his surroundings.

Whenever you were around, Vergil was safe – of that, he was sure. He had his moments of slipping up, of having his survival instincts make him suddenly tense up and remain vigilant. But you managed to bring a peace to him he never thought he would experience before – and Vergil always allowed himself to slowly, very slowly, relax again.

When you were serious, though, survival-mode Vergil came back to the surface: shoulders tensing, eyes turning into steely blocks of ice, hands closing in fists, gazing you intently while waiting for anything to suddenly appear so he could kill it with just a glare. It was his famous ‘dark aura’ as you called, and not even Dante had that – it was Vergil’s special power and it could make the bravest of demons run away with just a stare.

“What happened?” Vergil’s voice was cold and low, carrying not only all his worry, but his rage.

“The worst creature from Hell has ascended to test us.” You spoke solemnly but there was something quite not right with your tone. Nevertheless, Vergil was even more weary: he was ready to void-cut your way to Nero’s place so you could be safe while he dealt with whatever it was that decided to haunt you. “There’s a huge mosquito in the bedroom. I can’t work properly and, trust me, we will never get a good night of sleep with that thing buzzing around.”

“A… Mosquito…?” Now Vergil slowly crossed his arms, looking down at you. He still had his shoulders tense, jaw locked and stoic look in his eyes, but you knew those would water down after a while – the most important thing was the ‘dark aura’: as soon as he realized you were both safe and there was nothing to worry too much about, it vanished just like Marylin Monroe did whenever she didn’t want to be recognized.

It was impressive, really.

“Yes. And don’t you dare mock me.” You pointed right at him as soon as it seemed Vergil was ready to scold you for being foolish – something that looked quite similar to when he was about to go in a fight. “You can be my guest and try to sleep with the mosquitoes, I’ll sleep on the couch if I need too. But those things will not rob me of my sanity.”

“Hmmm. It’s been a while I don’t see one…” With those words, Vergil followed you to your shared bedroom, having just come out of his shower into that mess. “It makes sense. I believe they come out when the weather is hot, right…?”

“Oh, c’mon. You have to have these little things in Hell. It’s practically a mini-demon spawn with wings and tiny horns imbued in it to drive you crazy.” As soon as you finished your description, Vergil had to close his eyes and do his best to not snort a quick laugh – something he wasn’t really successful at. “You can’t possibly make me believe those weren’t made by the forces of evil to suck blood and endlessly annoy all living beings.”

“We have worst in Hell.” Vergil’s look at you was still strict, but his silver eyes had a tinge of care. He would never admit out loud – and he almost wouldn’t admit even to himself – but the way you talked, the way you eloquently described things to amuse not only him but yourself as well always seemed adorable to Vergil.

You, in the other hand, eyed him with notes of annoyance while resting your hands on your waist. You were the face of the summer that day, having seriously considered being only in your underwear during a few moments, completely out of not being able to tackle the sudden heatwave. Vergil had his dark pajama pants on, his torso covered by a white sleeveless shirt, completely barefoot and his hair slicked back – still wet from the almost cold shower he just took.

Whenever you questioned his heat resistance – afraid that he would die from the heatwave out of not wanting to show too much of his skin ‘like his stupid brother’ all the time – Vergil would just glare you and answer with ‘I’ve had worse”.

You knew he was talking about Hell. In a way, Vergil was quite different than everyone else because of all the things he got used to or desensitized in Hell – heat was only one of them. Vergil could go days without eating, without sleeping, he could endure a lot of pain and dismiss lethal wounds to keep on fighting, and so on… But his sense of taste was also a lot more sensitive, specially regarding sweet foods, as well as his sense of smell – when it came to delightful scents Vergil could notice them a mile away but he could also feel sick from being overwhelmed after a while; with foul scents, though, he had a higher tolerance, getting used to them after only a few seconds. Soft textures and lullabies could also get him by surprise, making him always wonder if there was something hidden behind those.

You could make a list of things that Vergil reacted differently or had been desensitized after his long time in Hell – and the heatwave from that day was certainly one of the items in your list.

“Well… Where is it?”

“It was on the ceiling. I climbed up on the bed trying to reach it, but it’s too far away for me.” You sighed, looking back at him. “I don’t know where it is now. We’ll have to hunt it.”

“You are aware that climbing furniture is very dangerous, right?” Vergil spoke slowly, in the same rhythm his steps casually walked around the bedroom.

“Oh, yes. I hunt demons for a living, but climbing a bed to kill a mosquito is going to be my downfall.” Having your flip flops already on your hands, you couldn’t refrain from answering him with sarcasm.

“Even Achilles had his blind spots.” And as much as you hated it, you had to recognize when Vergil was right. “It will take too long to find it this way. It’s easier if we allow it to come to us.”

“Hmmm… That’s a very good idea, hadn��t thought of that before.” You stopped by his side, both of you observing the room with smart eyes.

“You once mentioned they are attracted to breathing.” Vergil looked back at you, making you nod in return. With that confirmation, he started breathing heavily in order to attract the mosquito.

“Good idea. I’m going to turn off the lights too, they seem to leave wherever they are in search for another light source.”

Vergil just agreed with his head as you turned off the lights and stopped by his side, both of you breathing heavily, trying to lure your prey out of its hiding spot.

In all his life, after all he had done, all he sacrificed and all the souls he destroyed – including his own – Vergil never thought he would be doing something so… Ordinary. Stupid even. There were you, in the dark, breathing weirdly to attract a simple mosquito in order to give you some peace of mind.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even if a little bit. If he could wish for something, he would wish for ordinary days with you for the rest of his life. Dealing with broken showers in the bathroom, fixing a leaking sink in the kitchen, having all the lights go out and depend only on candles, sit by your side reading thousands of recipes trying to understand why a pie backfired in the oven… All painfully mundane things, but so human. So heartwarming to the soul.

It was a kind of peace Vergil knew he did not deserve after all his actions – after all the blood he had shed. But it was something for him to hope for; and human hearts always kept hope inside even if it was an unlikely sort of hope, right?

As you turned on the lights once more, you and Vergil remained with your breathing technique – but none of you could see even a wing of the mosquito. After a few seconds, you had to look at each other.

“We look quite ridiculous, don’t we…?” With your question, not even Vergil could keep serious – both of you started laughing, shaking your heads in unison.

“We can always wait and see if it appears again.”

But as soon as Vergil let those words out of his lips, both of you picked up the characteristic buzzing of a mosquito around the room. Turning your heads immediately, you could see how Vergil had his hunting glare on: carefully scanning his surroundings, the mosquito wouldn’t escape the vicious Dark Slayer.

“Over there!” You threw one of your flip flops towards it, missing for just a little bit.

The shoe was followed by a small, bright blue summoned sword – and that one didn’t miss.

“Wow. Who would’ve guessed, summoned swords have domestic purposes as well.”

“They are very useful for a great number of things.” Vergil shook his head, letting out a breathy small laugh. But then, his hunting eyes were back. “Did you hear that…?”

“What…?” You froze in place, glancing around the bedroom, trying to listen to what he had picked up. Vergil took one of his fingers to his lips, signaling for you to listen carefully right after, making you focus even more.

Those things didn’t happen all the time – but they would be as unexpected as a shooting star crossing the sky. All of a sudden, catching you by surprise, Vergil’s hands rested on your hips, his lips planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Ah!” But of course. Even if Vergil was careful and didn’t do things as suddenly – or as aggressively – as his twin brother when it came to surprises, you did get startled, tripping on your own feet as he kissed you. “Verge!”

“Y/n! Be careful!” Vergil tried to hold you as best as he could. Your hands entangled, one of his arms trying to embrace your waist and pull you back to him. He lost his balance, though, tripping alongside you and trying to stop whatever was happening – as long as you didn’t get hurt, it would be alright for him.

As unexpected as his kiss was, you both ended up falling on the bed – which, at least, was a fluffy fall. Until, that is, a loud crack resonated through the room. Vergil still held you tight in his arms, your fingers intertwined as you felt the bed giving in under your weight.

When all went silent, you and Vergil both exchanged looks, still trying to understand what happened.

It didn’t take too much to remember your bed was a little wobbly – because of Vergil’s recurrent nightmares, you had a couple accidents with the Yamato, chipping at the bed and having to fix it until you had time to buy a sturdier one. With the weight of the both of you falling on it, the bed couldn’t take it anymore and cracked in pieces.

“I blame the mosquito.” You whispered silently, making Vergil immediately bury his head on your neck.

You could hear a muffled laugh – not loud, but comfortable, as he would always be around you. Resting one of your hands on his wet hair, you smiled as you felt his shoulders finally relax, his jaw losing the tension as Vergil kissed your neck.

“We will look for a new bed tomorrow morning.” He sighed, still wondering if all of that was one of Mundus’ illusions before he woke up once more in Hell, having his soul broken even further.

If it was, Vergil closed his eyes and wished for it to last a little longer this time.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch for a while.” You ran your fingers through his hair, making Vergil lean his weight on his arms in order to look into your eyes. There was nothing in there that could point to Mundus’ tricks – your eyes were filled with adoration and a slight tinge of melancholy, a mixture particular to you that always made him secretly breathless and completely vulnerable. “As long as you’re around, anything works for me.”

Vergil always found something quite interesting when you were around. All his life, he believed there were words for everything – and all could be expressed through prose, through a painting of words into a masterpiece. Upon meeting you, though, he realized some things had no words in any languages he knew that could express what he wanted to say – the only thing he could do was to kiss you back with all the admiration that stirred inside his chest.

Indeed, sleeping on the couch was far from perfect. But having your head safe and sound on his chest while he played with your hair, with you listening to his heartbeat as you always enjoyed to do…Vergil thought not even Heaven could be more perfect than that – and he asked whatever could listen to allow him to live such an ordinary, human life for as long as he could.

Because as long as you were around, anything worked for him.

Nero

“Hey, Kyrie…? I was thinking maybe we can move those shelves from the bedroom to the…”

If there was a thing Nero used to do quite often, that thing would be already talking without even making sure the other person was listening. Usually while still walking towards them, screaming in the distance, barely paying attention to said person.

He seriously questioned why he and Kyrie decided to clean and solve all the little issues in their house on the hottest day of the year – but then again, it was a sudden heatwave and no one was expecting it. Nevertheless, his white tank top was already drenched in sweat, his pair of jeans definitely too hot for that day and he was doing something he never did in his life: working barefoot.

Having a piece of furniture he was tinkering with in his hands, he approached the living room so he could tell Kyrie his brilliant idea of moving the shelves to the garage – decluttering the bedroom and having more storage where they actually needed. As he looked up, though, Nero most definitely didn’t expect that sight.

Kyrie was wearing the shortest pair of shorts she could find at home – flimsy, delicate, from her pajamas – and a sports bra. That’s it. Her hair was tied in a bun, while she had a spatula on one of her hands, completely barefoot on top of the kitchen counter island. Her skin glistening with sweat, while she viciously looked for something.

Nero didn’t want to blush. He wasn’t going to blush. He pursed his lips and did his best to control all of his feelings – after all, he could control his devil trigger, controlling blushing because of seeing that goddess of a woman right on their kitchen wearing almost nothing and being absolutely gorgeous shouldn’t be harder, right…? Right…?! It shouldn’t. Nero wasn’t…

He was blushing. Like a bell pepper.

“Oh, Nero! I didn’t listen to what you said, I’m sorry…!” Kyrie was a little startled upon seeing him – and she certainly took the blushing as his response to how hot the day was rather than anything else.

“What… Did you know climbing furniture is dangerous?!” After the initial shock, though, Nero’s protective instincts towards his loved ones had to kick in. Approaching the island in a hurry, he had his hands on his waist, but ready to get Kyrie out of there.

“Oh, I do, don’t treat me like a child.” Even though her answer was annoyed, Kyrie dismissed his comment with a sigh and a slight smile: she would never complain about how protective Nero was towards her. She would always appreciate that. “But I’m trying to solve a problem on my own.”

“Well, the only problem I see here is you on top of the counter, beautiful.” Nero rested his hands on the cold stone, slightly considering laying down on it to get rid of the heat. Maybe standing on it wasn’t that bad, but he would never endorse such dangerous behavior on her side. “C’mon. Lemme help you down.”

“Hey! I’m doing some hunting, I won’t climb down now!” Kyrie now had her hands on her waist, finally looking down at Nero and finding his always attentive but loving aquamarine eyes. She could never get angry at those eyes, he definitely was her soft spot. “I’ve been doing this for the past half-hour. It’s ok, Nero.”

“Wait, what? Huntin’? What’s the matter?!” It was like she flipped a switch in Nero. Suddenly, there was the devil hunter, always aware of his surroundings, ready to sucker-punch any clueless demon that appeared in front of him. All of this got amplified with the fact that Kyrie was around and he would be damned if anyone even thought about touching her in his presence.

She had to giggle. It was almost a natural response even. Nero could have all the pose he wanted – he could be the troublesome punk with a dirty mouth and short-tempered behavior all he wanted – but Kyrie could always see the man he was underneath all that. In his aquamarine eyes, Kyrie has ever seen a sweet man, gentle, worried about his friends, loyal and caring, ready to sacrifice everything and anything for his loved ones. The punk attitude could fool everyone else but her.

And Kyrie had to admit, Nero looked as cute as a badass demon hunter could be when she saw everything that was under his short-tempered answers, ready to get into a fight – the love, the care and the immediate instinct to protect at all costs.

He looked up at her, clueless for a few moments. Kyrie would always look like a little angel in Nero’s eyes, with a giggle resembling little silver bells on a golden morning. Her cheeks slightly blushing, her beautiful hair starting to fall over her face, her rose-pink lips so delicate as her warm brown eyes watched him with care.

“It’s nothing like that, silly…” Her voice was always soft, so different than everything else Nero had always heard. Since the beginning, he was always used to being treated harshly or with indifference, but Kyrie was the first one to offer him comfort and love. He always thought falling for her was inevitable, as they were meant to be from the moment their eyes crossed for the first time. “I’m having mosquito problems.”

“Mosquito problems…?” And suddenly, all that wave of adrenaline washed off his body. Nero could be calmer, it wasn’t anything to be horribly worried at. Leaning over the kitchen counter, he smiled up at his little angel. “All that ‘cause of a lil’ mosquito…?”

“Oh, don’t downplay it like that!” Kyrie pretended to be mad, lightly slapping one of his arms with the spatula. As Nero giggled, she started looking around again. “I’ve been on that for the past half-hour. I’ve been trying to catch it but it’s too fast!”

“We can always try some pesticide.” As soon as Nero suggested, Kyrie glanced at him.

“Nero. Last time we tried pesticide, you almost died from the smell. We had to ask Dante to sleep at the shop, remember?” Of course, he didn’t. Nero had probably erased that memory out of his head, but Kyrie would forever be there to remind him: out of the two, he was the most sensitive with strong chemical smells, specially cleaning products and pesticides, given his demonic heritage. Nero would never want to admit it out loud, but it was true.

“Oh… Yeah.” As always, Nero would do his best to change subjects – thanking the heatwave for the first time for serving as a perfect cover for his blushing. “But ya know, killin’ it with a spatula isn’t the best thing in the world. Actually, killin’ it isn’t like you at all.”

“Well, I get rashes every time they bite me. I must be allergic to something.” Kyrie sighed, finally approaching Nero on the counter. He stepped back for a bit and she put the spatula away, sitting in front of him, legs hanging from the counter. “And you were sort of allergic too when we were kids.”

“Ah, yeah, I remember… Got some pretty nasty itches all over my arms.” Nero let out a quick laugh, unconsciously resting his hands on Kyrie’s thighs. She was warmer than usual – not as much as him though – and her skin was soft, slightly damp. As a reflex, he lightly caressed her tights with his thumbs while talking – and Kyrie thanked the heatwave for hiding the real reason she was blushing at that moment. “You’re right, I’ll give ya that. Mosquitoes aren’t allowed in this house.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was a small whisper, Kyrie still trying to control her heartbeat. She wasn’t half-demon like Nero though, and her human heart would always follow her own feelings instead of whatever her mind was trying to control. “Do you think you can help me with it?”

“I can always help you with anything, princess.” His aquamarine eyes sparkled with care as Nero leaned forward to place a very not rushed at all kiss on her angel lips. Kyrie cradled his face with both of her hands, smiling into his lips – Nero always tasted honey-sweet to her, no matter the situation. “Alright, angel, time to deal with your mosquito. Where’s the lil’ bastard?”

“It was flying around the ceiling. I managed to slap it a couple of times but, as you said, spatulas aren’t that efficient.” She let go of him, watching lovingly as Nero got a couple of shoes he had left in the kitchen while cleaning the bedroom floor. “What are you going to do with so many shoes…?”

“Well, I got a trick up my sleeve.” With a wink, Nero’s ice blue trigger claws appeared behind his back like a set of wings, catching one shoe in each of its hands. Kyrie couldn’t stop laughing. “Ya know, demons have their domestic uses, we can be pretty handy at home.”

“That was awful, Nico would love it!” Kyrie couldn’t stop laughing and giggling as Nero climbed on the kitchen counter, armed with two pairs of shoes.

He wasn’t lying: his trigger could be very helpful when doing chores. That was how he always did whatever he needed to do around the house in half of the time: Nero literally had control over another set of hands to help.

As Nero used all his enhanced senses to find the mosquito and start hunting it with four relentless shoes, Kyrie watched him with what one would think it was too much admiration in her eyes for such a trivial thing. Even though it was mundane, it wasn’t trivial to her: nothing was trivial when it came to spending time with someone she loved, especially Nero.

When others would see a half-demon creature, Kyrie would see the human she loved so much. And not only that – they started dating when they were teens, yes, they grew up together and soon that young love matured over time – Kyrie didn’t see her boyfriend, but a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with and who would be such a great husband and father.

Nero would deny if she ever told him that, of course. But Kyrie could see how he played with the children, how he scolded them in such a fatherly way when needed, how he always seemed to have so much patience even if he hid it under a short-tempered demeanor. Nero would make the best dad jokes, he would build the best pillow forts, he would stay awake into the night to care for his children when they would get sick… Kyrie could make a list of things Nero would certainly do as a father – and would excel at it.

“C’mon… Where did it… A-ha! Found it! No escape now!”

She was brought up from her thoughts as soon as Nero exclaimed those words, all four pieces of shoes ready to attack. The mosquito had nowhere to go: he threw one shoe, calculated the route the mosquito would fly over, and threw the other three in a row – faster than she could even think about it. The mosquito was caught in the second shoe, but, if that hadn’t happened, it would had found certain death in the other shoes.

“Job done, princess! Your nights will be peaceful and mosquito-less again!” Nero’s trigger hands disappeared as he bowed to Kyrie – who just laughed and applauded as he did so.

“Thank you so much, brave knight!” She had to joke around. Nero had this thing of calling her princess ever since they were teens – and he never knew how much her heart jumped inside of her chest every time he did that. To counter it and be able to hide how much she loved him in Fortuna, Kyrie would always call him something like that back as a joke, so the elders would think they were just playing. It sort of became their thing after a while – and she quite enjoyed it. “I think it’s my turn to repay you.”

“Eh, no need…” With a sigh, Nero sat by Kyrie’s side on the counter, legs dangling from it as well. He was a lot taller than her, but not even his feet couldn’t reach the floor from where they were sitting. “I’ll do it a thousand times if I have to.”

Looking at her, Nero allowed a caring smile to fill not only his lips but his eyes as well. While so many people saw only fire and rage, Kyrie had the privilege of seeing love and vulnerability inside that aquamarine sea.

Placing one of her hands on his cheek, Kyrie pulled Nero for a kiss – soft, long and calm. Nero was taken aback for a few seconds before melting into it, placing his hands on her hips and finding her soft skin. It seemed like a bolt of lightning went up their spines as Nero caressed her sides and ran his hand on her silky, slightly damp back.

“Oh, what were you saying about the bedroom before…?” Her question was a whisper as Kyrie parted the kiss – both of them blushing and vaguely breathless.

“Nothin’ that matters. The shelves can wait.” Nero dismissed it quickly, pulling her back to a kiss – both of them laughing between each other’s lips.

The house was a mess as they were cleaning everything: the kitchen and the bedroom seemed like they were torn apart, with clothes and shoes lying everywhere, books finding temporary solace somewhere else, and everything looking like it was turned upside down.

Spending time with each other, though, was a bigger priority. They would order some pizza and sleep on the couch under a light bedsheet so they wouldn’t get caught by surprise in case Nico decided to visit all of a sudden in the morning – but they wouldn’t pass the opportunity of loving each other.

As the night settled, they rested on the couch, Nero cradling Kyrie safely in his arms, as they talked the night away, always blushing from being so intimate with each other – that would never change, no matter how many years had gone by.

While watching Kyrie giggling from one of his stupid jokes, looking like an angel resting her head on his chest, Nero blushed even more while laughing alongside her and playing with her hair. He would always be a fool for her.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get a glass of cold water for you?” Kyrie whispered into the night, the humming of the fan they found in the back of the garage making the weather a little bit more bearable. “You look like a tomato, dear.”

“Oh, it’s ok. It’s chillier now, my temperature will go down soon.” Nero smiled back at her, wondering how Kyrie could be so radiant. No supernatural creature could top that. “No need to worry, angel. Thank you.”

Obviously, he would never say he was blushing because of her - having only one thing in his mind… Thank whatever forces that be for that heatwave.

#devil may cry #dmc #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfic #devil may cry imagine #dmc imagine #vergil sparda #dante sparda #nero sparda #dante x reader #vergil x reader #nero x kyrie #dmc kyrie #dmc nero #nerokiri #that's it that's the fic for today #melting in the heat #and killing mosquitoes with your loved ones #I don't condone climbing furniture as well #be careful people!!#and care for yourselves during heatwaves like that #it can literally be a killer #alsoooo I missed writing sugary nerokiri I LOVE THEM #and Vergil laughing for the FIRST TIME #and I don't even have anything else to say about Dante 'cause that man is amazing #but half of Dante/so and Nero/Kyrie relationship is 100% based on Rick and Evie from The Mummy #may the gods bless this family of himbos #(Verge is a himbo too but a different flavour of himbo I didn't forget him)

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strawberryblondebutch · 5 months ago

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So I read Britta Curl's apology.

Emphasis on read, because no way in hell am I listening to that whole thing with my shitty auditory processing. So please acknowledge that this means I'm potentially missing out on tonal cues and body language.

I don't think she's changed. A good apology recognizes what you've done wrong and how you'll improve in the future. She seems to think that her posts are the problem, not the beliefs that motivated said posts. Her improvement plan is to "grow in humility, and grow in love." I'm not sure where most marginalized groups would rank that in their restorative justice plans.

Even if the apology's content is lackluster, the fact it exists is good. That Curl felt she needed to say something, for her own and the league's reputation, means she knows that eyes are on her. There are degrees of harm in public figures. Among baseball players, you can trace a line down from Curt Schilling (actual Breitbart personality) to Jason Adam (refused to wear a pride cap in a game) to Brad Hand (likes Trump tweets on Twitter in silence). I have no respect for the beliefs Hand's social media activity suggests that he has, but he's not saying on the record that being gay is a bad lifestyle choice, nor is he tweeting about how awesome that Capitol riot was. My personal respect may be nonexistent, but Hand's actions are less directly harmful.

I would love if Britta Curl changed her beliefs. I don't engage in moral Puritanism. I believe that people can change, and I want them to. If she came out with an apology tomorrow where she said, "I understand that my words and actions have hurt members of the trans and Black communities, and here are the steps I am taking to understand why this is so harmful so that I can improve, I would support her. But that's not what happened.

Whether we like it or not, this shit does matter. Arguably, it matters even more in women's sports. I don't like it. I would love if the WNBA, PWHL, or any other league were one where you could shut up and play, and you weren't expected to be a role model for young girls everywhere (which, that's a rant all of its own). But at the end of the day, you can't cater who you are to a hypothetical ideal. You have to cater it to the world that you're in. And yeah, that sucks.

The increased scrutiny on female athletes will always affect marginalized groups more. I'm not going to speak too much on racism in the WNBA, because I don't consider myself an expert on it (I'm only a casual basketball fan, no matter the gender), but I've seen the scrutiny leveled on Angel Reese compared to Caitlin Clark. I also remember Hilary Knight being fucking terrified to come out as queer because of all the outside pressure on her. Having to hide what you believe is different than hiding what you are.

She's not going to get top-six minutes this coming season, and the discourse is going to be insufferable. Yeah, Curt Schilling's a terrible human being, and although his beliefs got worse after retirement, he was an outspoken conservative when he won the 2004 World Series. Compare that to Trevor Bauer, whose shooters claim that he's being blacklisted by the Woke Mob, when he's really just... not a good pitcher, and he's also managed to piss off every manager he's ever had. Britta Curl will not be one of the six best players on Minnesota unless something goes terribly wrong - she's not a better center than Heise or Pannek, and she's not a good enough sniper to move to the wing. The worst people you know will claim she's being punished for her beliefs, because they do not understand how sports work. Block and move on.

It is still very funny that she blocked me on Twitter. Block and move on goes both ways, but I didn't tag her in the post or anything, which means she name searches.

Once again, if you read this far, please consider giving to Prevention Point or Savage Sisters. Harm reduction is important. Those two organizations are why I'm still alive, and the city of Philadelphia wants addicts to die.

#kiera talks hockey #pwhl #britta curl #reblogs are ok but don't clown on this post #i'll answer asks about her but clownery will also be deleted #oh and respect addicts or die by my sword

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gamequoteshowdown · 9 months ago

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Quote 1: "Almost Christmas means it wasn't Christmas!" - Phoenix Wright, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

Quote 2: ""Trust your partner"... And I do. I can't forgive you, but I trust you." - Neku Sakuraba, The World Ends With You/Subarashiki Kono Sekai

Propaganda

Quote 1: Top tier line. There is a reason why AA fans reblog this each year - Submitter/Mod Chaos, parts taken from the propaganda submitted

Quote 2: This isn't the LAST line of the game, but it's close, and it's a key line of the closing monologue. Neku has gone from one of the most insufferable misanthropic edgelord 15-year-olds in human history to a caring person looking at his home and the people in it in a new light. He has done so as a direct result of a three-week series of brutal death games played in the afterlife for the chance to come back to life. He's been forced to team up with three different people, partners who challenged his view point and forced him to grow. The second one, Joshua, was an EVEN MORE INSUFFERABLE misanthrope who nonetheless seemed to get Neku better than anyone else... and was also incredibly suspicious to the point where Neku accused him of being his killer... and sacrificed himself for Neku at the end of their week, along with Neku discovering Joshua apparently DIDN'T kill him after all. Emphasis on "apparently". At the end of the third week, Joshua comes back, completely unharmed, and drops a series of reveals where "I never said I DIDN'T kill you, tee hee" is arguably not the worst part of the murder alone. (He's also planning on destroying the city. Oh, and he's directly responsible for the brutal death games.) Then he challenges Neku to a shootout for the fate of the city, where Neku finds he can't shoot the guy. Joshua doesn't have the same problem... But then Neku wakes up on the street, alive for the first time in weeks, and the city hasn't been destroyed. We cut to a week later, where Neku addresses Joshua, pointing out how incredibly traumatizing the whole experience was, but also admitting that even so, he's grateful to have met his partners. He can't forgive Joshua for putting him through this shit, but he still trusts him. He closes the monologue by telling Joshua that he's meeting up with his new friends for the first time in a week, and asking to see him there. And then those friends call over to him, and the credits roll, and the player SOBS. - Submitter (Shout out to this person. Not only did they write these GIANT paragraphs for both of their submissions but they told me how to tag them. Thank you so much <3)

#polls #tumblr polls #tournament poll #tournament polls #game quote showdown #すばセカ #ace attorney #twewy #ntwewy #subaseka #neku sakuraba

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katyswrites · 2 years ago

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don't call me 'baby'

PART 5 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

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

Wordcount: 9.6k

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

PART 5 | our secret moments in a crowded room

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve loved to give everything he had

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

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

He was fucking incredible in bed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m coming, daddy, oh my god -”

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

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

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

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

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

He furrowed his brow.

“About what?”

You cast your eyes down, fiddling with your hands.

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling.

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What time do you have to get up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’m listening.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stopped mid-sentence, meeting your eyes.

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

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

He visibly relaxed, and nodded.

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

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

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

“Always, you know that.”

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

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

He looked up at you, thinking for a moment.

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

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

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

“Great - here, let me -”

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

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

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

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

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

home and showered thanks again - let me know about saturday

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

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

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

sounds good i’ll try to look decent haha

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

You’ll look beautiful. You always do.

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

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

A moment, then a reply from Steve:

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

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

ok - goodnight and sleep well too

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

“Is that it? For your thing tonight?”

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

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

“Oh, wow,” she said. “It’s -”

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

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

You rolled your eyes, zipping the bag back up.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

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

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

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

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

You smiled, and goddammit, you believed her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You like it?”

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, and held out his hand.

“Shall we?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Steve - they’re beautiful. Seriously, I - thank you,” you said sincerely, your voice softer than you meant for it to be.

You extracted them from the box and started to put them on, and you felt Steve’s gaze on you.

“Where did you buy these?” you asked, hoping you sounded nonchalant.

“Oh, well - I actually had them made. One of our clients - his wife is a gemologist, so she hand-selected the stones, so they’re top-tier, apparently. And they’re custom, so… nothing in the world is quite like them. At least, so I was told. I picked them up while I was over in Paris.”

You froze, eyes widening as you turned to face him.

“Wait, seriously?”

He nodded, shrugging.

“Well, yeah. I just thought it’d be nice to do, you know?”

Your instinct was to reject them, unable to even imagine how much they could have possibly cost. They felt wrong on your ears, like you shouldn’t have been wearing anything remotely close to them on your body. But you looked back at Steve, and he was staring at you like you’d hung the stars, and you realized that a rejection was exactly the reaction he was afraid of. So instead, you smiled, and reached out to take his hand in yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “They’re beautiful.”

He smiled softly, casting a quick glance down at your clasped hands - somehow, the gesture suddenly felt entirely too intimate, despite everything you two had done together, and you both withdrew at the same moment. Unsure what to do, you folded your hands in your lap, and stared out the window as silence fell.

****

The rest of the car ride was rather quiet, with only the occasional comment or joke from Steve, the city flying past. As the car slowed to a stop in front of the hotel, you suddenly felt a wave of anxiety start to rise in your chest - you were way out of your depth. As you spotted a line of limousines and groups of people dressed to the nines, it occurred to you that you didn’t necessarily belong here. As if he sensed it, Steve reached across the seat and gently placed a hand on your knee.

“Hey - it’s okay. For the most part, it’ll be boring as Hell, with so-so, overpriced food and a lot of business talk. But, I’ll stick by you, and I’ll fill you in on everything as best as I can, if you want, yeah?”

You took a deep breath, and nodded slowly, casting another look out the window.

“Yeah, okay - you lead the way, Harrington.”

He put on a bracing smile, and moved to help you out of the car. Once outside, he lifted his bent arm. You smiled, hooking your own arm through it and letting him lead you to the grand steps. As you made your way to the entrance, you felt like everyone was staring at you - were they wondering who you were? Or, what you were to Steve? Did they know? Were they judging? Or, were they just curious?

You tensed a bit, and felt Steve’s breath on your ear as he leaned in close and whispered, “Just so you know, you’re the most beautiful girl here. Not even a contest.”

You found that difficult to believe, the confidence you had had back at your apartment almost completely evaporated. Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach flipped at his words, and you did your best to fight a smile as you pressed yourself closer to his side.

Once checked in, you and Steve found yourselves in a grand ballroom, with ornate golden ceilings and Renaissance-era murals adorning the walls. A pianist played a grand piano on the corner, the room full of people milling about with drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

You stood there for a moment, taking it all in. You probably looked like a child, staring up at the ceiling and around the room like you’d never seen anything like it. But, to be fair… you hadn’t.

Steve whispered in your ear again, your heart racing at the feeling of his lips ghosting your skin.

“I know I said I wouldn’t leave your side, but can I make an exception for going to the bar? I can get you a glass of champagne, or whatever you want.”

“Yeah, champagne is fine for now. Thanks.”

He nodded, squeezing your arm as he pulled away.

“Great. We’re table 27, by the way - make your way over there, and I’ll find you, yeah?”

You nodded, eyes following him as he turned away and made his way through the crowd. You felt stupid, like a kid who had been separated from her mom at the grocery store. But, you didn’t know a single person, and even if you did…what the fuck would you talk about?

So, you opted to follow Steve’s suggestion and make your way across the room, scanning able placards as you searched for 27.

Some guests were sitting at their tables, chatting over cocktails as you shouldered past. When you finally located the table, your smile faltered - because, there were already some people sitting there. You recognized them immediately, the sight causing a sense of dread to settle in the pit of your stomach.

It was Billy and Tommy, looking just as slimy as that night weeks ago when you first laid eyes on Steve. Only now, Steve wasn’t here, and if you recognized them, there was a damn good chance they’d know who you were, too.

Praying for a miracle, you continued to make your way to the table, forcing a small smile when they finally noticed you. It was Billy who caught your eye first, raising an eyebrow at the sight of you. You noticed him elbowing Tommy, whispering something into his ear. The other man’s eyes widened, and he hurriedly whispered something back into Billy’s ear, causing the two of them to snicker.

Before you could even attempt to sit, Billy laid back in his chair, smirking up at you.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Harrington couldn’t get a real date, so he brought our cocktail waitress. Truly, he never ceases to amaze me.”

You heard the roaring of your blood rushing through your ears, but kept your face neutral.

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said, grinning maliciously. “How’s it feel to be among another tax bracket, sweetheart? To see how the other half lives, huh?”

“C’mon, Tommy,” Billy drawled. “She’s probably just a good lay - you know Stevie, he’s probably whipped -”

“How’d you afford that dress with your waitressing tips, huh?” Tommy asked, face painted in a smarmy smile. “Or, did your new boyfriend buy it for you? Are ya milking him for all he’s worth?”

You didn’t say anything, not wanting to engage. If you were being honest, you didn’t even know what you’d say to them - one one hand, you might completely lose your temper, and the last thing you needed was to cause a scene. On the other hand… you were afraid you might cry. And the last thing you needed was to give them the satisfaction. You did your best to ignore their comments, their endless taunts, and the way their eyes traveled up and down your body. A million and one intrusive thoughts were running through your mind, ranging from you running out in a fit of tears to planning the men’s elaborate murders. Then, a soft grip on your elbow, a familiar warmth by your side.

“Hey,” Steve said, nonchalantly reaching over to place your drink in your hand while wrapping his other arm around your waist. “Thanks for finding the table, babe. Nice spot - the company could be better, though,” he added, eyes locking with Billy on that last part.

Billy’s smile faltered, but only for a moment.

“Harrington! We were just telling your - well, your - this lovely lady here, just how happy we were to be making her acquaintance again. A surprising sight, that’s for sure.”

Steve plastered on a smile, pulling you just a little closer to his side.

“Yes, well, you know what I’m not surprised about? That you’ve come with a young girl on your arm, and Mrs. Hargrove is nowhere to be found! Funny how that goes, right?”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms, making a gruff noise as he turned his attention back to the dinner menu in front of him.

You let out a shaky breath, finally finding Steve’s eyes for the first time since he came back over. He gestured for you to take a chair, pulling it out and helping you in as he did.

When he sat himself down between you and his colleagues, he leaned close and whispered, “You okay?”

You bit your lip, pausing for a moment before nodding slowly.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Worse than what? What were they saying to you?”

You waved him off, staring ahead to avoid his gaze.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll live.”

You felt Steve’s hand find your knee under the tablecloth, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m sorry. I thought there was a chance they’d be at our table, but I was really hoping they wouldn’t. I can kill them though, if you want.”

You laughed dryly, placing your hand over his under the table.

“I think I’ve got that covered, but if I need an alibi, I’ll use you.”

That earned a hearty chuckle from Steve, and you started to sip your champagne. If the first part of the evening was an early indicator, you’d need to start drinking now, and not stop.

*****

Steve hadn’t been lying - this thing was pretty boring. You and Steve spent the rest of the cocktail hour milling around, actively avoiding the company at your designated table for as long as possible. It was mostly you standing by Steve’s side, smiling and acting engaged in conversation as he chatted with colleagues and clients. By the end of it, you really started to understand how he’s worked his way up in the corporate world at such a relatively young age - he was born to do this. He was charming, and smart, and had a way of schmoozing every person he encountered. It was easy to be drawn to him, to want to listen to anything and everything he had to say. You felt practically invisible next to him, but strangely weren’t too bothered by it because… you understood. It was impossible to move more than a few feet without someone in a suit stopping him, offering a firm handshake and a clap on the back before devolving into business talk.

Steve also knew how to clue you in, whispering in your ear every time you approached a new group - their names, who they worked for, who was here with their spouse or mistress,who screwed who out of a deal, and who was an asshole to steer clear from. If gossip was a real love language, Steve Harrington was fluent. And, you had to admit that it kept things light and fun, at the very least.

Steve would make an effort to introduce you to everyone, referring to you as my date tonight, which was fair enough. Still, you shifted uncomfortably when the men looked you up and down, the women regarding you with curiosity at best, an air of disdain at worst. You switched rather quickly from champagne to Old Fashioneds, doing everything in your power to not seem like you were just downing the liquor. If Steve noticed, he said nothing. By the time dinner rolled around, you were feeling a bit beyond tipsy, and ignored the other men sitting at your table. During dinner, there were a series of speeches, most notably from Dr. Brenner. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy when he was in view, even if he was all the way at the front of the room. There were a few times you could have sworn he was staring right at you, enough that you had to tear your eyes away and stare down at your duck confit, picking at it with your fork.

Then, came the dancing - a live band came out, a good one, and soon enough, everyone was up and making their way to the middle of the ballroom. Steve got up, holding out his hand towards you.

“Care to dance?”

You giggled, taking his hand and letting him help you out of your seat.

“Steve, I’ve got to tell you something,” you whispered as you made your way to the dance floor.

“Yeah?”

“I’m kind of a terrible dancer,” you admitted.

“Good,” he replied. “Because I am, too.”

Then, he took one of your hands in his, placed the other on the small of your back, pulling you close to him.

It wasn’t dancing, exactly, more swaying and shuffling around. But the music was good, and Steve was so close, so it was enough. After a few minutes, Steve whispered, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Just thinking. And, I think I had a little too much to drink,” you admitted sheepishly.

Steve chuckled, squeezing your hand as you turned with him.

“Thanks, for coming with me tonight. I know it’s kind of boring, but… having you here actually made me want to come.”

He said it softly, but so sincerely, and you felt your stomach flip at the tenderness of it all.

“Yeah?” you asked.

He nodded, glancing quickly around the room, before turning back to you and leaning even closer.

“I usually kind of hate these things. But, they’re important to show my face, so… it’s nice to not have to do it alone.”

You didn’ know what came over you, but you reached your hand up to the nape of his neck, and pulled his lips to yours. The kiss only lasted a moment, but when you pulled away, the look Steve was giving you made you start to feel even more dizzy, something warm crackling in your chest.

“What was that for?” he breathed.

You shrugged.

“For inviting me. And the earrings. And the dress. And… everything else.”

Then, something unreadable passed his features, and his eyes darkened.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he said, his voice suddenly much lower. “In a few minutes, they’re going to start rolling out dessert, and people are going to start dispersing, and they’re going to give out some awards and make more speeches. But you are going to go to the ladies’ room.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Because,” he murmured, “it’s the part of the night everyone actually comes here for. So the bathrooms will be empty. Nobody would even notice we’re gone.”

Understanding, you felt your face flush, and a cheeky grin started to ghost your lips.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Harrington?”

He shrugged.

“Is it working?”

Your hand on his waistband answered his question.

******

“Oh, fuck - Steve - right there! Fuck, do that again -”

You had your back pressed against the stall, face buried in Steve’s neck. Your dress was hiked up your leg, panties pushed to the side as his fingers pumped in and out of you. Your breast hung out of the dress, which had been fighting to cover you up to begin with. His thumb vigorously massaged your clit, while his two fingers curled inside that perfect spot within you. You moaned, fingers gripping the back of his tux.

“You’ve gotta be quiet, baby,” he growled, lips pressed to your ear. “Anyone could just walk in and hear us.”

You pressed your lips to his neck and sucked at the skin there, sure to leave a bruise in the morning. But it was too good, too much, and he was right - you were in a stall in the women’s bathroom, and anyone could come strolling in and hear you. But you weren’t used to being quiet with Steve - you wanted to scream, to call him the pet names he so dearly loved, but you couldn’t.

“I bet you love this,” he whispered, coating his fingers in your slit before diving back in. “Does it get you off? The idea of fucking yourself on my fingers in public? Do you want other people to know what a dirty girl you are? I bet you fucking do - if you’ve gotta scream, baby, make sure it’s my name, so everyone in this fucking place knows that I’m the one making you feel this good -”

As he rambled, he picked up the pace, fingers pumping with more fervor as you bucked into his hand. You threw your head back, letting it hit the door of the stall as you felt your climax building in your core.

“More,” you gasped, hips bucking. “Please, Steve -”

“Can you take another? You sure, baby?”

You nodded weakly, and he added a third finger, pumping and stretching you until you could hardly stand it.

“If only you could see yourself,” he whispered. “All fucked-out in your dress, wearing those million-dollar earrings - shit, you’re a fuckin’ wet dream, baby.”

Before you could process anything he was saying, your orgasm was hitting you, fast and hard. You squeezed around his fingers like a vice, the pleasure rushing through you from head-to-toe. Your hand flew to your mouth, biting down as you came to stifle the scream.

“There you go, baby,” he whispered. “Fuckin’ perfect - you’re gushing on my hand, you minx.”

You laughed shakily, letting your head fall forward onto his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded weakly, nuzzling into his neck.

“Yeah - I just need a second.”

Your breath hitched as he slowly withdrew his fingers, your cunt still sensitive. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, Steve held up his slick-soaked fingers, and began to lick them clean.

“You taste fuckin’ amazing, baby,” he whispered roughly. “Makes up for missing dessert. We should probably get back, though.”

You smirked.

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone yet?” you asked.

“Probably not. But they might, soon. And, people around here talk.”

“Well, I’ll be quick, then.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you were shoving him against the wall of the stall, fumbling with his belt, and sinking to your knees. Soon enough, it was Steve’s turn to try to be quiet, much to your satisfaction.

******

You and Steve didn’t stick around at the gala much longer. He had gone back to the table first, leaving you to fix your makeup and pull yourself together to the best of your ability. Your swollen lips and smudged mascara, rumpled dress and newly-forming bruise on your collarbone were enough to delay your return. After you got back, though, Steve could barely keep his hands off of you. If anyone had noticed your absence, they gave little indication; you figured they must have suspected something though, considering you had to hurriedly wipe away your lipstick stain from Steve’s jaw, much to his embarrassment.

He pulled you to the dancefloor again, hand splayed across the small of your back as he held you close. It occurred to you that he was probably also just a bit drunk. He seemed a little more carefree, the stiff, formal facade fading with each passing moment.

“Hey, Harrington?” you whispered in his ear.

“Mm?”

“D’you think we can get out of here?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

The journey from the party to Steve’s apartment was a bit of a blur - his hands snaking under your dress in the car ride home, his lips on your neck, your fingers in his hair. You both practically stumbled into the elevator, wasting no time in shedding each other’s clothes before you even made it to the bedroom.

Despite the initial urgency, Steve took his time with you that night. He kissed you everywhere, whispering filthy prayers into your skin along the way. He touched you like he’d never get a chance to again, tasted you like he was starving to death - and you let him, writhing and moaning beneath him as he had his way with you. You had come twice before he even had a chance to properly take his clothes off. When he finally slipped inside of you, he lost it, so worked up that he was coming undone in minutes.

He moaned filthy praises into your skin, calling you a good girl and gasping out your name. It was a hazy mess of sweat and skin and screams, more drunk on each other than the liquor by the time it was done.

Afterwards, you laid across his covers, the room a bit too warm, the scent of summer air and sex invading your senses. You were only wearing the earrings he had given you earlier in the evening, the diamonds weighing a bit on your ears. But he had asked you to keep them on, and who were you to say no? You were exhausted, still breathing heavily when he re-entered the bedroom, clad only in his silk boxers and carrying two glasses of wine.

“You trying to get me drunk, Harrington?” you asked, laughing breathily.

“I think it’s too late for that,” he reasoned, sliding onto the bed next to you.

“Nope, pretty sure it’s all out of my system now. Thanks for that.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you as you nuzzled into his side. You were worn out, the tiredness seeping into your bones as you melted into him. He didn’t even bother actually handing you one of the glasses, your eyelids growing heavier as you let your cheek fall onto his chest, the dull feeling of his heartbeat against your ear pulling you into sleep like a lullaby.

You knew you needed to get home, not even sure of exactly how late it was. But you just needed a few minutes, and maybe a cigarette, before you could even think about moving from this bed.

It was Steve who broke the comfortable silence, after a few moments.

“Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Mm,” you mumbled. “Yeah - I mean, it had its moments, but… I liked where it ended.”

He laughed, the rumble in his chest running through you, and you smiled into his skin.

“Thank you, for taking me,” you added. “And for everything, I guess.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said. “I mean, I usually hate those things. They can be stiff, boring, the food is only okay, and it just feels like another day of work in the middle of the weekend. But - having you there… I actually enjoyed myself. I can’t really remember the last time that happened.”

You shifted a bit until you were on your stomach, chin on Steve’s chest as you looked up at him.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded slowly, brushing some stray hair out of your face.

“Why do you work that job? I mean, I know the money’s good - clearly - but… you hate it. Every time you talk about it… you seem miserable, Steve.”

You had been thinking about it for a while, but not brave enough to say it. But you were tired, still a bit tipsy, and it had been eating away at you. He sighed, leaning back against the headboard.

“It’s a long story. But, honestly? It’s because of my dad.”

Oh. Family - this territory wasn’t breached a lot. But, you stayed silent, seeing if he’d off up any more information.

“He and I - we never exactly got along. He’s not all bad, it’s just - I think he and I are a bit too similar sometimes, to be honest. I was always pretty well-off growing up, and I think he wanted me to be like him - go to a good college, go into business, get a good white-collar job. And that’s what I did. He actually knew Brenner, from way back in the day. Call it nepotism, or networking, or whatever you want. But, yeah, I guess my dad kind of had an in with HNL. And I got an offer right before I finished college - I would’ve been an idiot to say no. And, Brenner’s retiring soon, probably, so if I play my cards right, I might make CEO before I’m 35.”

He didn’t look at you much as he said it, reciting the information like he was reading it from a textbook. You gently brushed your fingers across his skin, the chest hair tickling your knuckles as you continued to stare up at him.

“But… you hate it. I can tell.”

Steve nodded, slowly.

“Yeah - I guess I do. But I’m also pretty damn good at my job. So - it feels like the right thing, I guess.”

He didn’t sound too sure, but you felt his heart rate quicken, noticed the way his eyes were shifting away from you, and that alone was enough to know to change the subject.

“Okay - then, I have a totally different question,” you said.

“Yeah?”

“In the bathroom, back at the party - please tell me these earrings didn’t actually cost you a million dollars. That was an exaggeration, right?”

He paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“You caught me - I misspoke. They were actually a million Euros - so I think that works out to be more in dollars.”

Your eyes widened, and you realized that he wasn’t lying.

“Steve -”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” he said firmly. “I want you to have them, and keep them. They look really nice on you… especially like this.”

You felt your face heat, suddenly aware of just how exposed you were, lying nude across his bed. Steve just grinned a bit devilishly, and you decided to kiss it right off of his face.

You weren’t sure how much time passed after that. You made your way under the covers at some point, pressing into Steve’s side while you both talked - about anything and everything. He divulged only a little bit more information about his life growing up, and you did the same; you talked about college, work, the kinds of movies and music you liked, stories of dates gone wrong, your least-favorite foods, books you had read recently. It was easy, casual, and strangely normal. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. But, the last thing you remembered was your cheek pressed to Steve’s chest, his voice lulling you into darkness.

*****

The next morning, you woke up to early morning light peeking through the massive windows, neither you nor Steve bothering to have drawn blinds over them the night before. You blinked groggily, face half-buried in the pillow as you reached across the covers. You were met with an empty bed. You shot up, glancing around as you adjusted to your surroundings. As your brain kicked into gear, you finally reflected back on the night before, and realized with a sense of horror that you had spent the night. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to do that - it’s new territory. And where was Steve? Was he angry? Did he move to the couch? It was a Sunday, so work was unlikely.

As you stretched and yawned, you spotted something out of the corner of your eye - a piece of paper on the nightstand. You picked it up, noticing Steve’s telltale handwriting immediately:

I went out for a run. I’ll pick up something for breakfast on my way back - I wanted to let you sleep in. Feel free to help yourself to anything you need. - Steve

You rolled your eyes - as if you would’ve thought the note would be from anybody else. You reached up to rub your eyes, and when you looked down, you spotted the smudges of makeup worn into the pillow. Shit. You hated sleeping in makeup.

That was how you found yourself swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, padding to the ensuite bathroom. You nearly jumped when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror - you had raccoon-like eyes, mascara smudged and worn into your skin. Your hair was a disaster, and to your own satisfaction, your skin was marked with bruises. Your fingers ghost the marks, remembering where Steve’s lips had been the night before, the things he had said -

You shook the feeling, deciding instead to root through the drawers and cabinets until you found a towel, wasting no time to hop right in the shower. The large, glass-enclosed tile shower was a luxury compared to the little stall you had at home, the water pressure positively glorious. You smirked at the unusually large selection of products lining the wall - of course he had an intense hair routine. You were almost positive he had more stuff in his shower than you and Robin combined. You found something that you knew would at least get the job done, letting the soap wash everything away as you exhaled deeply. You couldn’t help but smile, the scent of the suds reminding you of Steve.

After wrapping yourself in the towel, you scoured the cabinets until you found mouthwash, figuring it was better than nothing.

When you returned to the bedroom, you realized your next predicament - the only clothing you had was your gown from last night, which was currently strewn across the floor as part of a trail of clothing leading to the bedroom. You felt yourself blush at the memory. Would Steve mind if you borrowed his clothes? Or, was that a step too far? Did he have a robe, maybe? You opened the closet across the room. To your relief, there was a robe. If you had to guess, there’s a good chance it just came with the apartment - it looked as if it had never been worn. You pulled it on, practically groaning at the feeling of the fluffy fabric on your damp skin.

You had never been to his apartment in the daylight, you realized - it was nice. It still felt a bit empty, not quite lived-in, but the big windows really lit the whole place up. It must’ve been East-facing, with how bright the late-morning light was. You weren’t even sure what time it actually was - should you text Steve, and let him know you’re awake?

You searched the room for your phone, finally unearthing it from inside the small clutch you had brought to the gala last night, sitting right on the island in the kitchen. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to look at it after you’d gotten back last night - and, much to your chagrin, it was dead.

From what you could see, there wasn’t a phone charger in sight. You made your way back to the bedroom, hoping there was one there already plugged into the wall, maybe near the nightstand. When you failed to find one, you took the next logical step, opening the nightstand drawer. The last thing you wanted was to go rooting through Steve’s stuff more than you needed to, but if there wasn’t a charger in there, you figured you’d have to give up as just wait for him to get back.

Inside the shallow drawer, there were a few assorted items - a comb, a few condoms, some spare Euro coins - and, luckily, a phone charger. You pulled it out, pleased with yourself.

You shouldn’t have looked further. Looking back, you should have closed the drawer, plugged in your phone, and waited for Steve to return. Maybe then you could have had a nice, lazy morning with Steve, sharing coffee and pastries in bed. But, something caught the corner of your eye, something that made you freeze. It was buried underneath everything else, but you could see enough to gather what it was.

You reached in with a shaky hand, pulling out a postcard-sized piece of paper. On it, was a picture of Steve, his arms wrapped around a woman with a sunset behind them. The woman was beautiful - curly brunette hair, big blue eyes, a charming smile. Steve had his head on her shoulder, cheek pressed into hers with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. And, printed next to the photo in big, cursive text:

SAVE THE DATE: Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler are tying the knot on September 3rd in Riverhead, New York. Invitation to follow.

You read it once. Twice. Fifty times. You gripped the edges hard enough to crinkle them, the image of Steve and Nancy growing blurry as your eyes started to burn.

The date was from last September. Nearly a year ago… Steve Harrington was married.

****

Author's note: ah! A cliffhanger! Yes, I introduced angst, but I promise it'll be resolved by the end of the next chapter. Sorry for the wait, but this part is basically double the length of all of the previous parts, so at least there's that! I'll do my best to continue tagging you all, but sometimes Tumblr won't let me! Turn on post notifications for future parts! As always, your thoughts, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! And, special shoutout to my bestie Em, who constantly fuels my fantasies for this fic!

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