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sbdskate · 4 months

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Pencils Down (18+) - Daniel Ricciardo x lawyer!fem!reader

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x fem!lawyer!reader

Summary: At the end of the 2022 F1 season, Daniel Ricciardo finalizes his legal affairs by signing as a reserve driver with Red Bull. The tempting young associate who’s handled the negotiations is no longer off limits.

Warnings (18+): language, *smut (!!!), dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, NSFW

Word Count: 2,957

A/N: Surprise! This is an alternate Laws Of Attraction scene that I turned into a one shot. Initially, I had written the hook up to happen immediately after the contract signing, but realized it disrupted the flow of the story. That being said, I still want it to see the light of day. If you're new here: (1) welcome! (2) if you liked it and want the full story, you can find it here. Again, new to smut writing so feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Thank you!

Daniel Ricciardo had finally signed with Red Bull as a reserve driver. After a tumultuous 2022 season filled with lots of lows, you had been the one shiny bright spot as he navigated what his future might look like in the sport. Everybody seemed to have an opinion and something to say, though rarely to his face – how many times had he read in the press that he was “washed up” or that “his career is over” if he didn’t get a primary seat on the grid. But you’d listened to him and supported him as you traversed the fallout with McLaren’s termination and braved negotiations with other teams. Granted, as his lawyer it was your job to act as his fiduciary so he shouldn’t have read as much into it as he did. But from Belgium to Abu Dhabi, he shared his hopes and dreams with you for now and for the future and you received his words with care and without judgment.

Stress, despair, and proximity created the ultimate concoction that laminated the bond between attorney and client. The more time you spent together, the more you learned about each other, and the harder it was to keep personal feelings from muddling the professional relationship. He watched as you navigated worlds surrounded by men, both in Daniel’s field and yours, and he admired your wit, intellect and steadfast determination in the face of being constantly undermined and underestimated. And you, ever the skeptic and cautious to a fault, couldn’t help but succumb to the charm of the handsome driver even when he was at his worst.

Which brought you to the hallway of Red Bull hospitality, the ink from his signature still wet on the new contract for the 2023 season. The other lawyers and representatives had cleared out, leaving the two of you to contemplate whether the little touches and prolonged glances over the last three months were more than they seemed.

“So that’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Pencils down.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not your client anymore.”

“Correct, I no longer represent you.”

“Now what?”

The irony of the situation was not lost on either of you. After months of buildup and counting down the seconds until the end of your attorney-client representation, you were stuck in a country that criminalized PDA and the cohabitation of unmarried couples. He was scheduled to go back to Perth and you back to the New York office of your law firm tomorrow. You hadn’t allowed your daydreams to get this far and you were stumped.

“I don’t know.” The universe was cruel and unforgiving. You checked your surroundings and bit your lip in frustration.

“Follow me,” he whispered. “I know a place.”

You followed the driver a pace or two behind in silence as you tracked the maze of Red Bull hospitality, cutting through the kitchen, hallways and corridors, until you reached Max’s driver’s room. He closed the door and locked it behind you. He grabbed your hands.

“Tell me you don’t want this. And I’ll leave you alone. You’ll never have to see me again.” His voice was low and gruff, in a way you had never heard before. He squeezed your hands, eyes pleading, trying to convey more than he could put into words in the moment.

You shook your head in disbelief that somehow that was the conclusion he had come to. You cupped his face with your hand, thumb rubbing along his stubbled jaw line. Your voice was soft, barely able to get the words out.

“I want this. I want you. Please.”

You didn’t have to say it twice. His lips crashed into yours in a passionate kiss that almost knocked you off your feet. Months of pent-up sexual tension and mutual curiosity were released in an instant. Your hands roamed each other’s bodies, too many places to explore to stay in one place. Your hands finally found a home in his soft, beautiful curls while his hand firmly held the base of your neck. His other hand rubbed circles around your lower back, cautiously moving downwards. You smiled into the kiss and moved his hand to your bottom, granting permission to proceed.

Having the green light, he moved his other hand down to grab a handful of your ass and picked you up. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him as he pushed you up against the wall. The hem of your pencil skirt scrunched up at your waist. The thin fabric of your underwear and the bulge of his pants caused friction against your sensitive clit, and you wiggled your hips to get more from the sensation. You kissed him back with ferocity in an attempt to stifle the moans you desperately wanted to scream out, especially as you felt him harden from the contact. You pouted when he pulled away, only for his lips to land on the sensitive spot on your neck. You threw your head back and closed your eyes, unfortunately with too much gusto causing a loud *thud* when your head hit the wall. He immediately stopped.

“Are you ok?” His concern was immediately replaced by giggles when he saw you laughing. “Shhhh we still need to be quiet.”

“I know, I know,” you said between fits of laughter. “It’s just – are we crazy? We’re in a glorified closet with paper thin walls.” You paused, your laughter slowing. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” you said with a sympathetic smile. He gave you a chaste kiss.

“If it were up to me,” Your eyes rolled back as his lips met the column of your neck again. “I’d wine and dine you so hard,” *peck* “maybe somewhere in Monaco,” *peck* “and then take you home and fuck you on the balcony.” You were practically drooling by the time he pulled away to look at you. “This is nowhere close to being good enough for what you deserve. We can stop whenever you want.”

You looked at him, dazed. His warm chestnut brown eyes were so earnest, but it was hard to keep your head straight with him still firmly pressed against you. You absentmindedly wiggled again but he steadied your hips with his fingers. He pressed his forehead to yours.

“I need you to use your words. Do you want to stop?” You frowned.

“No,” you paused. “But I don’t know if I want to continue here.”

“There’s always tonight.” Skeptical, you raised an eyebrow.

“Go on?”

“Well, I can come to your room once all the festivities are over and everyone goes to bed. If you’ll have me, of course.” You swooned.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I already told you I want you. It’s risky though, no?”

“I mean yeah, a little. But …” he grabbed your wrists and pinned them besides your head. “…trying not to get caught is half the fun.” His hot breath tickled your face. All sense of logic and reason went out the window. As a lawyer, this whole situation went against your very nature of rule following.

“Oh,” was all you could croak out.

“Can I do something for you before we go outside?”

“Please,” you begged, eliciting a wicked smirk from him. It dawned on you that he enjoyed seeing you frazzled. But you enjoyed it too. Considering how intense your job was, the mental reprieve was just as thrilling as his touch.

Peeling you from the wall, he continued to hold you until he sat down on the massage table so that you were straddling him. Free from you prior constraints, you rolled your hips over his hardened bulge as you made out. His hands moved from your ass to unbutton your shirt partially, just enough to expose your breasts. He moved a hand to cup one, gently rolling a thumb over your unlined bra where your nipple lay beneath. He separated from the kiss to make his way south, not missing the opportunity to take you in.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He remembered when you burst into his own room just a few weeks ago to apologize for abandoning him in Austin. Flushed rosy cheeks, messy hair, clothes disheveled, panting - as you were now. He loved how easily he could make you come undone and that only he could ever see you this way. He raised his hips to meet yours when his mouth finally landed on your neck again. You leaned forward and gently bit his shoulder to suppress the noises that threatened to spill from your lips as you bucked your hips. Not trusting your ability to stay quiet, you began leaving a trail of kisses starting at his jaw and down his neck. He stopped you part way down his chest when he realized what you were doing, grabbing your hips roughly. You looked up at him innocently.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You already make me feel good. This is about you.” He hoisted you back up on his lap, positioning so he could pick you up again. You let out a small yelp at the sudden movement, only for him to place you back down on the massage table. He leaned down to give you a kiss on your forehead before spreading your legs and kneeling in front of you. If you weren’t blushing before, your face was now beet-red. His hands lightly caressed the length of your leg, starting at your ankles and slowly making their way up your thighs. Your toes curled in your heels in anticipation.

You took a sharp inhale as he leaned in to leave a trail kisses up your inner thigh. You held your breath when he stopped at your panty-line, his hands playing with the sides of your thong. He looked up at you intently.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Eyes wide, you aggressively nodded and he chuckled at your eagerness. He drew little patterns over and around you, but purposefully just shy of your clit. You bit your bottom lip in frustration, the teasing becoming unbearable. He lightly dragged a finger over the center of your underwear, feeling your wetness through the fabric. As cool, calm, and collected as he looked to you, he too was quite literally bursting at the seams. His hardened cock strained against his pants seeking release. He wished he could fuck you right then and there, but understood the obvious risks you so pointedly observed.

Your legs trembled as he slowly pulled the fabric down. You wanted to scream feeling his hot breath over your entrance. You slapped a hand over your mouth when he closed the gap. He drew little circles around your bundle of nerves with his tongue before he switched to flicking. Your free hand found its way to his curls again, grasping for anything to keep you grounded as you felt like you would float away. Looking up from between your thighs, he saw the rise and fall of your chest and your bra peeking through your shirt. He unwrapped an arm to bring a finger to your folds, pausing to gauge your reaction.

You subconsciously bucked your hips, desperate for more contact. Accepting the sign, he inserted a finger, then two as he continued to lap at your clit. You arched your back in response to the dual sensations, doing your best to focus on your breathing. You wanted to shout his name to the world, to let everyone know that he was yours and you were his. Every obscenity known to man was on the tip of your tongue, but you held it in. His hands and mouth fell into a comfortable rhythm as your hand found a place in his hair again, running fingers through soft ringlets. Your core tensed, pressure pooling in your lower abdomen. He sensed you were close as you subconsciously squeezed your thighs around his head, encouraging him to keep going. He wished he could stay there forever. He looked up again a few moments later to see your eyes squeezed shut and your whole body convulsing around him as you reached your climax. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

You melted into the table as you came down from your high. You gave him a small pat on the head to indicate that you had finished, though your limp body was evidence enough to him. He smiled as he pulled away, giving a small kiss on your inner thigh before sucking his fingers that had been inside you moments ago. You lazily glanced at him slack-jawed. You still weren’t sure whether this was all just a fever dream. He began to wipe his mouth but you grabbed his shirt to stop him.

“No,” you mumbled. You haphazardly pulled on the shirt in your hands to encourage him to meet your lips and he happily obliged. “I want to taste myself,” you said under your breath just as the gap closed.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he had done to deserve such praise but was thankful nonetheless. You felt another wave of pleasure pulse through you as you tasted your own salty essence on your tongue. You began palming him over his pants, moving to unbuckle his belt when he stopped you. Sometimes he even surprised himself with the amount of self-control he had. But he knew it was only because if things progressed, the little he had left would dissolve into oblivion. He would happily go to jail for you, but he was not worried about getting caught himself. The repercussions for you would be detrimental in more ways than one and he wasn’t sure his celebrity would be enough to shelter you from reprimand.

“Nooooo,” you whined as he peeled your hand from his crotch. He gave it a kiss before returning it to your side.

“Not here. Later, I promise.” His cock was pulsating, he tried to think of the Bills, Zak Brown, or literally anything else to take his mind away from the vision in front of him. You moved your hand down to play with yourself, but he grabbed it again. Your lower lip jutted, and you spread your legs wider for him. He was pretty sure he would give you almost anything you asked for with the eyes you gave him. Almost.

“Why?”

“Because we’ll get caught.”

“If I go to jail, I go to jail.” He laughed.

“That’s not what you said earlier. Plus -” he gave you a peck on the cheek. “I can’t fuck you if you’re in jail.” He had a point. You closed your legs, finally conceding.

“Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” Taking your hand again, he helped you to your feet. He knelt before you to pull your panties up, unnecessarily taking his time. He didn’t miss the opportunity to kiss your hips and gave your butt a light tap to close out the encounter. He straightened your skirt, taking care to smooth out as many wrinkles as he could. You bit your bottom lip, your heart felt so full with how delicately he handled you but you also ached for him to rip off the clothes he just took great care putting on.

“You’re being awfully needy.” He continued to dress you as you complained, buttoning your shirt back up.

“What can I say? I’m a strong, independent, needy woman.” He bit back his laugh. He didn’t need you to know this hurt him as much as it pained you.

You pulled him in for a kiss again, though it only lasted a second before he practically pushed you away. You frowned and were about to ask his what was wrong, but looked down and quickly realized his conundrum. You were reminded of one of the few benefits of being a woman: the ability to hide arousal in public.

“Oh – oh shit. I can help…?” You gently touched his chest and began kneeling but he placed your hand back at your side and encouraged you to stand upright.

“Nope. No. I just have to… think of something else for a bit.” You looked at him intently but he was very focused on the ceiling. You didn’t want to make him feel bad, so you pursed your lips together to hold back your laughter.

“Ok. Well, um, I’ll see you later then.” He shut his eyes hard when you went to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry,” you said again, realizing you were not helping the situation. “I’m just - going to go.” You turned around and bent over to pick up your work bag, which incidentally prominently displayed the curves of your rear.

“Oh my God, please just get out.” You immediately stood up straight to find him covering his eyes with his hands.

“I know, I’m sorry!” You walked backwards to the door to avoid any further accidental temptation. “This was fun, I’ll see you later,” you said with a giant smile.

Not removing one of the hands from his face, he waved with the other one. “Just be careful on your way out. But please, for the sake of both of us, you need to leave,” he said with a smile.

“I know, I know, I’m leaving. Byeeee,” you whispered as you shut the door.

You quickly checked your surroundings and made a b-line for the bathroom where you finally had a moment to process what just happened. You looked at your reflection. Your heartbeat had finally returned to normal, but your cheeks were still a little flushed from the encounter. Otherwise, you pulled your slightly tangled hair back in a bun – no one would be none the wiser.

You didn’t look much different, but your sense of reality had been permanently altered.

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sunboki · 6 days

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— BRIGHTER PLACES. a Lee Felix fiction

Chef! Lee Felix x gn. reader

TROPE. cooking class au, childhood friends to lovers, reader is burnt out and slightly depressed, coincidences, fluff, angst

WARNINGS. mentions of depression/depressive episodes, mentions of unrequited love, burn out, reader is used by her boss, felix is the biggest sweetheart to exist

AUG'S NOTES. was intended to be posted much earlier than this but i’m still glad that, with life being so busy, i managed to finish it! this piece is only the start of many emotional pieces over the summer so stay tuned please! hopefully you enjoy 🫶🏼

SYNOPSIS. Thrown asunder beneath crushing assignments, work, and the fleeting hope your “young and free” twenties experience may someday happen, you had yet to realize said experience was right around the corner. Whisked into a mixture of unearthed feelings and past occurrences, presented with a cherry on top by renowned Chef Lee Felix.

or alternatively :

Eventually, the sun will shine again.

Out of any gift you’ve received, you thought the treehouse in your backyard was the most memorable. It seemed like, in this vast universe, everything was right.

Then it wasn’t, then it was. Again and again. A repetitive cycle.

However, your overcast days did have an expiration date, and sunshine would eventually show itself again.

You just weren’t aware yet.

At seven years old, you would spend hours daydreaming, inviting friends, taking naps, and reading in your treehouse. Oftentimes, during the long days of summer, you’d eat lunch up there; lost in this secluded world only you knew about.

When you’re younger, every little thing appears peach-tinted.

The warm fire of a candle on a nightstand, setting dull objects ablaze with its brightness. Shadow puppets, dance parties. So ordinary yet exceptional all the same. Easy to configure from a developing mind as something excellent, fantastical.

Your twenties don’t envelop a hazy glow. Mind now hardened, treehouse still lingering (more like rotting) in the backyard of your parents house, things are more serious, less inviting.

Who knew adulthood would be this lonesome.

Walking from a bar, you fail to appreciate the hum of music from a buzzed radio, the wafting smell of Italian food hidden somewhere in the midst of neon signs and outdoor eateries.

Instead, priorities had lodged themselves indefinitely far into your soul, drowning out the voice telling you you’re you, not the expectations you’re held to.

Further and further did you drift into that intoxicating headspace, until someone—or, in your case, something—had to pull you out.

That something being a cooking—well, baking class. This weekend, an hour and a half. Menu: The Ideal Donuts.

“Think of it as a release,” Sana had told you, this wide, excited smile etching the skin of her face.

Immediately, you wanted to hand it back to her, tell the eccentric best friend of yours to spend such an occasion on herself instead.

Yet, you knew better than to try negotiating with Sana, the girl who has been present through your ugliest moments, who you’ve cried to more times than able to count.

Your intention wasn’t an attempt to make your life as miserable as possible. In fact, each day you strived for a resource, an indication things would grow better, as better as it seemed to be for everyone else.

Though you can only stretch a rubber band so far, and once it reaches its farthest extent, it snaps.

And the recoil stings.

“Okay, thank you.” You respond after a beat of silence, lips pulled into a tight line, investigating the information written on the card.

She pats your shoulder, a sweet smile worn upon pink lipstick.

Lee’s Baking Class.

Lee. The name sounds familiar.

Awkward. Everybody has their awkward moments, but you’re certain this one takes the cake.

The entirety of the class had fallen still, engulfed in a silence you can feel gathering in your chest, sending nausea building like bile in your throat.

His brown eyes merely blink, ignorant to your inner turmoil.

Lee Felix’s brown eyes, shining like muddy globes, seem to encapsulate every ounce of affection. Affection you once had for him, affection you refuse to unearth if it costs your life.

Perhaps that's the stem of the awkwardness—harbored feelings.

How awful.

Just your luck.

“Y/N?”

It even sounds worse falling from his lips. Sweet, just like he is, Felix is.

Felix has always been sweet, always inviting. Seems you accepted without realizing you were never invited to the party.

Staring like a deer caught in headlights, it takes the man clearing his throat for you to acknowledge your position.

“You can uh, find a seat if you’d like?”

‘You can shoot me if you’d like’ you think, very much grateful mind readers don’t exist.

Nodding profusely and scurrying to the nearest table out of the four aligned throughout the room, you find yourself paired with three elderly ladies who quarrel in rabid conversation about baking powder—though it doesn’t bother you, the frenzied chatter leaves leeway to think.

As memorable as the treehouse was, it was also memorable for.. Other reasons as well. One reason in particular being that it wasn’t always just you reading and daydreaming up there, but Lee Felix too.

Since primary school the two of you had been conjoined at the hip. Between friendly rivalries and the fact he was your neighbor, there wasn’t a two day period you weren’t together.

And with that, came a crush.

But it was different with Felix, different because just as you’d been conjoined to the hip as friends, this time, you were still conjoined, but he was your crush.

And it’s a whole lot easier playing off a crush when you aren’t with them 24/7.

Before you knew it, you had fallen head over heels in love. To a degree you realized you can’t, can’t do what you’ve always done, can’t pretend your feelings are nonexistent any longer.

So you fled.

The moment high school began, you located the furthest place available and begged your parents to let you attend. It wasn’t that you hated Felix, more than anything you hated yourself for falling in love–not that it could be helped.

No matter how illogical you deemed it, your heart would prove stronger. Maybe that was your epitome.

Your number one priority had been avoiding him thus far, and you thought you were doing a pretty decent job at it, using the excuse that high school offered better opportunities to mask your internal guilt, and staying on that side of the city when you graduated.

Nonetheless, it seems the effort was in vain, especially now that you’re facing him again.

No. You refuse to dwell on the past, not when you’ve made it this far.

In front of you sits all the necessary utensils. Measuring cups and spoons, coordinating bowls, and the ingredients included as well.

Thank goodness for that, you were scared you’d mess up and Felix would have to step in. Plus, the rules of this game came easy. Participate without contact and leave with a sweet treat in hand.

Except, you’re quick to understand those rules of the game may only apply in your case by the gaze boring into your back.

Great.

“I didn’t anticipate a young lady being so aggressive,” A voice to your right piques, surveying the furious manner in which you’re cracking an egg into the bowl.

Delivering a small smile and claiming you’re simply absorbed in your work, collective laughter sounds from the older women in response.

Taking a thirty minute break while the dough chills, you welcome conversation with anybody and everybody, attempting to evade the blond’s attempt at reaching out.

Way to be a jerk, Y/N.

But, in the end, avoidance is the right course of action.

You can’t afford love, you’re too broke already as a student.

During the times he isn’t circulating, you spare periodic glances, marveling at those charming features of his, still the same as when you were younger but slightly more mature, sharper. Effortlessly kissable raspberry-tinged lips purse when he explains things, helping the participants knead dough with ring-clad fingers. That one’s new: rings.

The third time, you were caught, panickedly looking away as if an accident.

“Y/N I–”

Speeding past while pretending to be occupied with checking the refrigerator holding your table’s donuts, his words become choked watching as you flee in the other direction, hand returning to his side where it extended to you.

You manage to survive the last few minutes unscathed, awaiting the sugary goodness lying just below your fingertips after hastily nodding to Felix in thanks and following the remainder of the class outside.

Success.

Or, whilst fetching your keys and finding where you had parked your car, so you thought.

Steam billows from your car's hood, refusing to even turn on while individuals alike grant you pitying simpers and continue on their exit.

Spoke too soon.

Even worse, your instructor, the man you thought you could run from after all, happens to walk out at that moment, witnessing your real-time destruction.

Not a success.

This was utter failure at the highest degree.

“So.. How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How’s college?”

“Fine. ..And you?’

How you ended up in Lee Felix’s passenger seat is beyond you.

Well, not really. You just hate admitting you took the ride home he offered after your car broke down in the parking lot. In your defense, according to him, he already had to drop by the grocery store nearby.

It’s like an interrogation, your replies quick and unenthusiastic, his unwavering in enthusiasm, unyielding to the coldness you’re giving him.

Like you said, it wasn’t your intention hurting his feelings, nor being spiteful or brash. It was your coping mechanism.

This is how you got over him, or, how you’d like to say you got over him.

“Pretty busy, but I’m managing. How about you? I couldn’t get in contact, but I’m sure you got tons of offers, yeah?”

Seeing his face again didn’t help with the “getting over” part.

..Or the guilt at the “no contact” part either.

“Easy for you to say, you’re the successful one who got scouted by a culinary arts school.” The remark coming out spiteful, you scorn yourself.

That’s another thing. Lee Felix is totally out of your league.

He’ll always be number one, and you’ll always be second place. And not in an inferiority complex way, but in an honest way.

Felix chased his dreams to the end of the earth and got what he deserved out of it, and you thought you were doing the same, only to realize you were chasing him instead and leaving your own aspirations behind.

But that’s on you, not him, and you’ll likely spend the rest of your life wondering how you became so enamored in the first place.

Of course he wears that tear-worthy frown, periodically directing his attention to you while driving, face filled with overflowing concern.

How could anybody not fall in love with him?

“Y/N, you know that’s not true. I may have been scouted, but that doesn’t make me any better than anyone else. We’ve all worked hard to get where we are now, you included.”

Curse how weak you are for him. Why should he reassure you? You’re the prick that left him after countless years together, why is he consoling you?

Easy. He’s Felix.

Before anything else, he’s loving. Felix is the embodiment of love in an individual. He’s self-sacrificing (a trait you swear Chan gave to him), caring, and the most unbearably adorable mother-hen.

And you’re not even close to getting over him.

Street names pass in a blur, leaving a lengthy silence to consume the drive. You distract yourself with a flickering traffic light in need of fixing, watching the man’s finger tap against the wheel to a song on the radio in your peripheral before he speaks again.

“..Do you still talk to Chris?”

His voice, a pleasing baritone now that he speaks slowly, surprises you for a moment.

“Yep.”

Even then you refuse to turn toward him, coming to a halt at a stop sign and simultaneously dreading the manner in which he dips his head lower.

“Hey.. Are you okay?”

You feel like throwing up.

“During the class you–”

“My stop is here.”

The words come out before you can comprehend them, too worried about distancing yourself to care that this is in fact not your stop and a random street instead.

Though hesitantly, he pulls the vehicle to the side.

“But there’s no houses nearby–”

“No, this is perfect,” You pitch, quickly unbuckling and opening up the door. “Thank you, Felix.”

Oh how you wish you never said that, wish you never made eye contact.

He makes you want to scream and cry and dig up all those stupid feeling’s you’d buried in the ground.

Pulling your clothing closer to your body as the evening cools, you grace him a ghost of a smile, shutting the car door and hurrying down the sidewalk while feebly attempting to locate how far your place would be from here.

Yet, he doesn’t drive past you.

Evidently unconvinced but failing to say it aloud, you fight off the warmth heating your face as his car rolls right beside you, following your hasty footsteps while walking.

“Are you sure this is your stop? It’s getting cold!” He shouts, leaning over from his seat to regard you.

This is it. When you had sworn your embarrassment couldn't get any more pathetic.

“I.. I’m fine! Just go!” You shout back, arms waving haphazardly like an embarrassed middle schooler until he finally (and begrudgingly) steers ahead of you, car disappearing in the distance.

At least that’s over.

And yet, it feels like it’s just the beginning. You simply can’t explain why.

However, your main focus remains upon getting to safety. Safety being home.

The word has never sounded this pleasing before now.

So after thirty minutes running in circles to find your complex, you’re granted that much wanted safety, snuggled up in your cushions and turning on a show with evident delight in the mismatched pair of pajama pants and a hole-scattered top hanging off your shoulder.

No more Felix thinking, it’s time to relax.

What a joy.

Well, before your bottomless Pringle’s can abruptly spawns a bottom, hand frantically scurrying in search for more to no avail.

This is the peak of your show! How could someone possibly imagine viewing the climax without coordinating snacks?

And just when you thought you had ultimately settled, you’re thrown into a torrential debate, one that, after much contemplation (and pacing) across the cold tile of your kitchen, sends you huffing and puffing to the nearest convenience store.

Slipping past the sliding doors toward the designated aisle, you had yet to realize who else was roaming around the store.

A peculiar blond being that someone else.

It’s when you turn the corner to check out that you practically ram into each other, fear striking every fiber of your being, his eyes equally wide, but more puzzled than terrified—unlike you.

“Besides, I need to run to the grocery store afterward.”

Crap.

Granted, the probability he lived nearby was likely.

He's not required to stay a 300 meter radius from you anyway, so getting anxious about this shouldn’t be an issue. You’ll simply (hopefully not) say hi and be on your way.

Except, like most endeavors in your life so far, it is an issue.

Because one, you’ve positively blasted your chances of avoidance after the entire car experience (which, frankly, you genuinely debate death because of) and two, he’s.. apparently following you.

Wait, he’s following you?

He, as in: Lee Felix, who ultimately fails at being nonchalant. Walking a few paces behind you, eyes quite obviously trained on your figure.

After your frantic rush past him while darting through self-checkout, the footsteps behind you do little to quell your heart’s rapid pace, only worsening with each passing second.

You aimlessly ignore the sweat oiling your palms, pretending to be occupied with reading a label on your drink, hoping he’ll eventually look away.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he stays right on your tail, enough that while you break into a run through your door, he follows, jarring a foot in the door just as you begin slamming it shut.

Stalker, much?

Wielding the nearest weapon available in a panic, you’re frantic, whacking the unfortunate Pringle’s container with all your might toward the man.

“How.. How are you that fast– Ow! Ow ow- Wait- Y/N-”

Cowering down and covering his head with his arms while you furiously batter the man, it isn’t till a few specific words catch your attention that you stop.

“Your—“ Whack. “Car—“ Whack. “Was finished in the shop!”

Your what?

Hesitantly lowering his arms, Felix wears a sheepish smile, regarding your evidently frazzled, very much frantic appearance.

“For twenty minutes I’ve been trying to tell you.. your car is ready.. in the shop,” He breathes, doubling over with exhaustion.

Meanwhile, you’re still recovering from your own exhaustion. An exhaustion that urged the realization you just beat up your lifelong love interest with a box of Pringles.. who is now in your house.

Lee Felix. In your house.

What a joy.

“....I’m sorry about your head.”

“No, I shouldn’t have intruded like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, wishing nothing more than to melt into a puddle.

“Are you-” He tips his head down, that kindly confused expression of his no help to your pounding heart. “Are you alright?”

Through your wallowing, your ears burn, voice muffled whilst practically drowning in misery.

“Give me a minute, I’m so embarrassed right now.”

It doesn’t help that he laughs afterward. A low, vocal laugh that rumbles in his throat and does little for your mental health.

Placing the discarded can back on a nearby countertop, you jolt when his fingers wrap around your wrists, gently ushering your hands from your face.

“But I was serious about what I said. Y/N, are you okay?”

Oh how tender he refers to you. Careful, quiet. As if too high of a pitch and his voice will shatter the air. You don’t mind.

Because in all honesty, you haven’t been okay. Nothing has been okay. It feels like you’re working, but what for? You’ve lost the sense of purpose from when you graduated, slowly but surely watched your motivation diminish right before your eyes.

And you couldn’t do anything about it.

Chasing your tail in circles, round and around and around again has led you right to what you tried to run from in the first place.

Him; the truth.

And yet, unlike earlier today, you can’t bring yourself to push him away, to ask him to leave. You savor his touch, even if it only lingers on your wrists.

Save me, your skin cries against his grip.

Luckily, Felix joins you in your wavelength, giving you permission to indulge in the abyss of his eyes, fall into the warmth and comfort the past brought in the safety of his arms.

“Felix?” You verbalize, fragmented bits and pieces of life hidden within the words, muffled against the skin of his neck.

You missed Felix, but you’re starting to think you missed his hugs more.

“Yes?”

“I missed you.”

“Really? How much?”

You want to punch his gut, but you can’t will yourself to move.

“Too much.”

He chuckles, carefully pulling away.

“I have to head out, ‘got work early tomorrow. I can drop you off at the dealership when you’re free?”

Yes. This time, you can say yes.

Your feelings will never change from how they always were, especially when it comes to Felix. That’s something you have to accept.

Perhaps tomorrow you’ll get to see him again.

Or perhaps you’ll wake up in your bed in a few seconds and all of this will be a dream.

When he turns his back, you pinch yourself to make sure.

All real.

“Thanks, that’d be great.”

Right before he closes your door, you call out to him again.

“And Felix?”

“Mhm?”

“..Call me when you’re done with work. I’ll pick up this time so… tell me all about those seven years apart.”

At this, he nods—and it’s sort of bittersweet seeing him leave, because this time you know you’ll see him again.

And, though you try, your attempt at sleeping proves useless—caught up in your head after quickly settling in bed, deciding to save everything else for another day.

The ceiling serves as your main muse, eyes unblinking whilst staring upward.

What is Felix doing right now? Your attention flits, scowling to yourself at how much you sound like a clingy girlfriend.

Could you blame yourself though? You’re like a child waiting for Christmas presents. Except, this Christmas you’re unwrapping years upon years of time apart.

Fortunately, after a multitude of hours awake, sleep beckons. And as if a split second later, with the morning sun lighting up your room and stirring you awake do you receive a call.

You planned to ignore and roll over, but it’s a specific someone on your mind that urges you to fetch the device.

“Hello?”

“Hey, what’re you up to?”

“Getting away from you,” You groan, pretending not to hear Chris’s chiding that it isn’t healthy to sleep till noon.

And although you were gonna use last night’s experience as an excuse, you decided against it, hoping sooner or later he’d hang up without any more questions.

“Wait.”

Your silence serves as a sign to continue.

“If he’s sleeping next to you right now—”

“No! No Chris what- where did you hear— what?”

Unable to process how he knew about Felix or if he was talking about Felix in the first place, you leave it to the audibly disheveled man to explain himself.

“Look, I can explain. Sana told me she saw Felix go into your house last night, what was that about?”

Curse how Sana lives so close by.

“Well, for the record, Dad, he didn’t sleep over. We just uh, talked, like adults do.”

Chris exhales a baffled guffaw.

“Like adults do? Never thought I’d hear that from you.”

“I’m full of surprises, what can I say.”

An additional silence ensues, awkwardly tapping your finger on the mattress.

“We um.. we were catching up.”

The man on the other side of the line grins. You can practically see it through the phone.

“..When you said that, you sounded really happy just now.”

“Huh?”

“When you talked about Felix, you sounded really happy. That’s good.”

You study the ceiling a second time, feeling a small smile and tug at your lips.

“He’s good to keep around y’know.”

Rolling your eyes and adjusting your position to face the window, you stretch your arms over your head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You hear the ignition of his car in the distance.

“Whatever you want it to mean,” He chuckles. “I’m glad you got to see him though, I better contact him again now that you mention it, ‘need the Aussies to get together. Call you later?”

“Sure, bye Chris.”

Hanging up and collapsing onto your pillow, you yawn dramatically, gradually rising to your feet to open the blinds.

Then does it register to you this is the most enthusiastic you’ve ever been in a while—especially talking to a Chris—and not intentionally either.

All of which comes down a single name, the one you were reminded to keep around.

Lee Felix.

Picking up your phone, you make another call.

You

I’m on the way

Felix

(Felix liked your message)

I’ll be there as fast as I can!! Sorry, ran out of flour last night 😔

You

It’s all good, what’re you baking?

Felix

Banana cake, want a slice?

You

Yes please!

Redirecting your attention back to the road, you’re careful not to miss the exit this time (as you’ve done endless times in the past).

Almost to the café you planned to eat at with Felix, your phone lights up once more.

Yet, you forgot to check the number—your good mood diminishing instantly.

“Hey Fel—“

“Y/N, I need you in the office.”

Considering this is your boss you’re talking to, you pull into the parking lot, able to see Felix through the window—dressed to an unbearably handsome degree.

“But today is my day off, I don’t clock in on Saturday’s,” Relaying the statement, your eyes narrow at the screen.

“Well you’re going to have to. The office knows how capable you are. we need somebody like you here—we can count on you Y/N.”

You’ve been counting on me, for everything.

That familiar weight settles into your chest, more and more pressure building at a nefarious level. You feel sick to your stomach, wanting nothing more than to drop the call and walk inside into work-free air.

However, you can’t. This job holds you down (in multiple ways), it’s stable, and provides good income—you can’t afford to drop it.

But what are you supposed to say to Felix?

Everything feels too overwhelming at the moment, your lungs feel like exploding, using all your willpower to say something.

“..Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

And you hang up, gripping the steering wheel like a vice.

It’s always like this. The moment you have a good thing, not even a day later everything falls apart.

Never lasts.

You

Sorry, I can’t make it, work called.

Felix

But haven’t you worked a lot this week? Why not take today off?

You

Can’t, see you another time

How selfish, you tell yourself, throwing your phone as far from you as possible.

The moment you get the chance to see him again, he slips out of your fingertips. Or in this case, you let him slip away.

Watching him glance around, delicious slice of banana cake kept in a cute tin in front of him feels heart-wrenching. And you quite literally are the worst person in the world at this very moment.

Each key your fingers press adds to the exhaustion in your bones, growing greater each inhale and exhale your take, eyes scouring the computer screen.

Being in the office is stifling. You’re trapped in a box, a box that shrinks closer and closer every second, caging you in without hopes of escaping.

This is your prison, the jail cell you didn’t realize you’d been stuck in till it was too late.

An entire library of documents pile at the foot of your desk, your head aching incessantly. So once the hour hand strikes 10pm, you trudge out the door, more than happy to be in the safety of your car.

Then you slip, and it all comes crashing down.

As if he read your mind, the one person you’ve been longing for takes over your screen, and your index shakes pressing the green button.

“..Felix.”

The words tumble out, tiny candies filling an already full jar. Too much that the lid can’t even fit on.

“Stay where you are, I’m driving to you right now.”

His response earns a stifled sob, your fist bunching the fabric of your clothing, feebly attempting to calm the incessant beating—seeming to render your lungs with meager air.

No other sentence is spoken even with him on the other line, not until headlights pour over the expanse of your dash—until Felix nearly rips your car door off its hinges to reach you in the driver’s seat.

One hand on your head, the other on your back, he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, your second one in three days.

It’s all you need. All you’ve ever needed, actually.

Another heartbeat with yours, your calm before the storm that kept the calm, to know you aren’t alone in your suffering, that you can suffer together.

Ah, you can breathe.

“All these years and you’re still an awful liar.”

You simply squeeze him tighter, the blond’s laughter shaking either of you.

Guess a single taste can lead to addiction.

“I hate crying in front of people,” You sniffle, cringing back after seeing his shirt’s tear-stained fabric.

“Lucky for you,” Felix tuts, gathering your face in his hands, smiling. “I’m not people, just Felix.”

You roll your eyes, swollen condition of your eyes and cheeks not helping the irritable portrayal.

“I’m sorry, Lix, I’m so sorry. I wanted to see you so bad but work called and they keep piling—“

“Shush.”

He presses a finger against your lips.

“For one second, don’t think about work,” He exhales, face pursed in focus, fingers smoothing the crease lines of your brows.

“I know you’ve been overworking yourself. I’m not your best friend for no reason,” Felix sheepishly smiles, hand slipping from by your forehead down to your cheek, stroking the skin there softly.

Again and again, he watches you break.

Then, he picks you up all over again.

“Can you.. can you understand my frustration? It feels like everyone loves their jobs, but in the end, no matter what I do, I’m stuck in this constant cycle of hell. I can’t escape Felix, I can’t escape.”

Your voice dons into that of panic, into an hysterical fit of tears and rapid breathes, only able to focus back on the man before you after he shouts your name for the fourth time.

“Nuh-uh, no crying. The world isn’t ending, so no tears, hm?” Thumbs smoothing the flush of your under-eyes, he pulls you to his chest, hand gently rubbing your back while another cards through your hair.

“..Are you my mom or something?” You croak irritably.

Felix shakes with another bout of laughter.

“No.”

He slightly pushes you back where you can see his face, brows creasing in a focused, serious manner.

“I’m Felix, your best friend, remember? And I don’t want my friend to cry, she has too pretty of a face for that.”

“But what if her world’s ending?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

And the building blocks are stacked once more, barely able to hear his voice amidst your heart, forging itself free of its cage, your ribs.

“Y/N, look at me angel.”

Of course you follow, you know you always will.

“You aren’t required to cater to everybody, you can’t cater to everybody, no matter how hard you try. You’re human, and humans need to do human things, they need to live, experience exciting experiences. That’s how you make the little time we have here worthwhile.”

He tips your chin up, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“So don’t cage yourself up, please. And,” His voice gets cut off, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

Debating, thinking.

“Let me help you fall in love with life again.”

As if I’m not already in love with you.

If only you knew the same thing occurred in his head as well.

Felix drove you home, and for a second, over the span of a week, it seemed as if everything was finally back to normal.

Then you received a call from such a man, on your beloved Sunday afternoon, asking a rather whimsical sort of question you never anticipated.

No, you exaggerated.

“Are you free tonight?”

Oh. Oh.

Staring at the assortment of DVD’s scattered around on your comforter, you act as if you’re oh so busy instead of planning to rot watching Dead Poet’s Society for the thousandth time.

“Uhhh think so, why?”

Felix clears his throat.

“Well, my baking place wants you— no, I want you, no, wait—“

Your heart speeds up at the sudden confession, bursting into laughter as he sputters over his words like a child.

“Will you.. meet me at the bake shop? If you can’t it’s fine I mean I’m sure you’re preoccupied-“

“No!” You shout, not intending to be so loud, shrinking in on yourself. “I mean, no, I’ll be there. Give me ten minutes.”

Well, ten minutes might’ve been a stretch considering how animalistically you lunge at your hamper, sorting through clothing despite being aware Felix has likely seen every single one of your outfits a million times before

Doesn’t help this is pretty much an unofficial date. Or, hopefully those were his intentions.

Regardless, you don’t plan on wasting a chance like this again.

Standing on the sidewalk, hands situated in the pockets of a midnight black jean jacket paired with coordinating slacks is Felix, his face breaking into a smile upon seeing you.

Catching up with the man, you walk by his side, listening to him talk about meeting up with Chris days prior, about business.

It’s comforting, this small talk. And for a second, you swear you never left at all.

“And then I told him Vegemite was obviously the better choice but he…”

Words halting, you look to where his attention had been stolen, finding an old woman lingering outside the shop the two of you planned to enter. She wasn’t one of the ladies you’d seen before in your group.

Cautiously approaching the woman, it takes multiple clears of his throat for Felix to grasp her attention.

“Excuse me Miss?” He offers, allowing the woman to grab his hands with her wrinkled ones, eyes squinted to assess his face. “Would you like some help? I’m the owner of this shop.”

Slowly, a small smile stretches her face upward, wrinkles forming around her mouth like the petals of a flower.

“Why.. Why yes, young man. I’m in need of more brown sugar.”

Felix perks up at the request, and you follow them inside with your own smile, cherishing his warmth, his gentleness.

Leaning against the unmanned reception, you find the longer you stare at him describing each ingredient to the old woman, the greater that feeling in your stomach grows, eyes becoming watery.

Felix, in his loving, patient glory, is the sun.

He casts his rays over your garden, blooming once wilted flowers.

Forever ago, you believed the two of you sat on entirely opposite hemispheres. He received the day, and you, in your unchanging seasons, eternally remained shrouded in night.

Yet, you forgot the earth tilted on an axis for a reason. And, with time, the sun would rise again.

Lamps briefly illuminating the woman’s exit while Felix helps her outside, you wait till he comes back in to speak, staring at the worried way he ensures she safely heads off through the window.

For a moment, it feels like you’re back in the treehouse, gazing at him as if he painted the stars in the sky.

You refuse to let your anxiety get the best of you, not when the one person whose presence you’ve been longing for comes back in your life.

“Felix,” You voice from across the table. He looks back to where you are.

“If I don’t say it now, I doubt I ever will but..I like you. I have liked you, for a really long time actually. More than friends I mean, I like you… more than just a friend.”

He sort of studied you for a moment, and your heart flies up to your throat, rethinking every instance leading to now.

“Took you that long to tell me?” He murmurs, and when you meet his gaze, you note the small grin on his lips, the way honey seems to swirl in the pools of his eyes.

“I’ve been waiting, y’know. For a really long time,” He finishes, donning that sheepish smile whilst walking toward you, an action that causes you to fall stock still.

Leaning forward slightly, his hands clutch your face, planting the lightest of kisses on your forehead, each of your cheeks, and then your nose, fondly admiring the flush of your skin in the dimly lit room.

“You’re missing something,” You whisper, peeking an eye open.

Felix cocks a bemused brow.

And what is that?”

Without words, you hesitantly tap your lips, and Felix wastes no time, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible prior to savoring your taste on his tongue, remnants of sugar clinging to his bottom lip, transferring onto yours each time he tips his head.

You hop upon the countertop, beginning to apologize in case you messed up his workspace before being shushed again by his lips, hands frantically searching to hold his face, expression pinched, eyes squeezed shut.

It feels as if your heart may just burst, beating at a deafening rate in your ears.

There must’ve been something in the sugar.

“Lix?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to come back over to my place?”

Instantly, his once smugly pleased face dissipates, a hot flush rising up his neck in its place.

“Y..Your place? I mean isn’t it a bit too early to—“

Without elaborating, you drag him off, silencing any of his nervous babbling along the way back to your car.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t take long for either of you to get comfortable.

“..Oh Lix.”

“I can’t- I can’t take it anymore Y/N..”

Sitting beside each other on your mattress, the both of you hold huge containers of popcorn, the newest rendition of “Alien” playing on screen. Felix is coddled in blankets, wincing as the creature gets closer to the girl’s face while you’re already gagging watching the miniature monster crawl out of the bigger one’s mouth.

“This is disgusting!!” He shrieks, hiding his face while you giggle, trying your hardest to watch the grotesque scene.

This is your third movie of the night, and even after years apart, you can still use even slightly thrilling movies to freak him out.

Still entertaining, too.

The longer you stare at him, the greater a fondness seeps into your face, into the lines of your smile, the irises of your eyes.

Months upon months you had been searching for your antidote, ignorant to the fact the antidote in question could be a person.

You hadn’t realized how low you’d gone until you had to be dragged back out again.

A hand reaching out, pulling you up when your legs were too weak to move. Kissing you when the words couldn’t come out of your mouth, holding your hand when you needed support.

Lee Felix, wrapped in your comforter now fast asleep, was your brighter place.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

195 notes · View notes

bbyseok · 1 year

Text

this time, i’m thinking about lifeguard!bakugou. i’m pretty sure i’ve also seen a post or two about him, but lemme get my brainrot out cuz he’s driving me insane..

lifeguard bakugou doesn’t give onlookers a show they don’t deserve, but people will take what they can get with his classic black tank tops and those bright red swim trunks that hang loosely on his hips.

and really, he’s only wearing the red trunks to follow the uniform rules and look the part of being an actual lifeguard. he’s taken up the job over the summer for whatever reason.. and everyone eats it up in the end.

whether it’s at the beach or a pool, he’s on one of those tall, white lifeguard chairs designated for people like him on duty obviously. he’s got his legs spread out, his right knee swinging inward every down and then with his form reclined back as he surveys the water and the area.

there are some days he’s got a towel draped over his neck and shoulders for him to wipe his sweat away, or a pair of tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose to hide his carmine eyes from the world.

it’s sight to see most definitely. and you can confirm—as you’re one of the many people who come to the water solely to look at him. okay, well- that’s partially true. you come with your friends often to actually enjoy a bit of swimming—so what if you know exactly when bakugou’s shift starts and ends?

anyways, it’s not like you’d actually initiate anything from your attraction. you’ve seen the way he’s already turned down multiple flirting attempts from the more bolder people willing to shoot their shot—it wasn’t pretty.

“i’m the fuckin’ lifeguard who’s supposed to watch your asses and you’re givin’ me a reason to drown you,” he had snapped at some particular person who thought that they had a chance. “scram.”

the lifeguard team only tolerates his blunt behavior because he’s actually pretty damn good at the job when he needs to be, and let’s be honest—he attracts a lot of people.

it’s another day of lounging by the water with your friends, relaxing on one of those typical white beach chaise chairs. you spend your time alternating between chatting and reading a spare book you had brought—paired with sneaking glimpses at bakugou, of course.

but something’s different about today. ‘cause you swear he keeps looking at you too.

you don’t wanna get your hopes up too high; perhaps your daydreaming’s getting a little too out of hand or something, but it’s a little too difficult to ignore his burning stare.

perhaps there’s something on your face? is something wrong with your swimsuit? it’s nothing too raunchy or revealing—it’s something you normally wear for these kinds of outings. or maybe he had heard you say something?

before you know it, his shift is ending soon. it’s actually so bad how you’ve got it memorized. he gets replaced with this redhead that’s definitely way more friendlier than him—kirishima, you think is his name, and you and your friends usually linger around the beginning of his shift before leaving.

“psst,” one of your friends nudges your shoulder, sitting up from the chair. “bakugou’s totally looking at you. like—he’s staring in your direction.”

you blink and sit up as well. okay so, you’re not imagining things. “what-? really?” you don’t dare cast your gaze to the lifeguard, refusing to make eye contact. “but- but why would he?”

“i dunno. maybe he-”

you finally glance over and catch sight of the the blonde heading down from his towering seat, and he tucks his rescue tube under his arm. your eyes follow him and his movements as he walks and—oh shit. he’s walking towards you.

your eyes can’t help but widen as he finally reaches your chair and tilts his head down at you, blazing eyes scrutinizing and narrowed. you’re pretty sure you almost drop your jaw on the floor. he’s even more stunning up close.

“oi,” he says gruffly, glaring down at you in some sort of expectance. “quit your gawking at me. you do that way too fuckin’ much.”

oh god, did he really come over to you just to say that? “oh- oh,” you stammer out, “i’m so sorry- i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, i just-” you want to drown out of embarrassment, so it’s a good thing that the water’s right there so you’ll just-

“oh, shut your yappin’,” bakugou dismisses you quickly with a roll of his eyes, and you blink up at him, still a bit embarrassed that he had called you out. there’s a pause that lasts for two seconds before he says, “i’m not gonna be workin’ this shift anymore.”

and now you’re blinking up at him in utter confusion because what? why’s he telling you this? did you make him so uncomfortable to the point that he’s letting you know that he’s altering his work hours? “i don’t understand, i-”

“if you still wanna gawk at me, i’m switching shifts with the dude with the red shitty hair who usually works around this time.” the blonde clears his throat and turns his head away, letting you process his words.

wait. wait. he’s letting you know he’s changing his lifeguard shift with kirishima beforehand because he wants you to. he wants you to be there. he wants to see you there. “o-oh.”

bakugou meets your gaze again. a raspy chuckle falls from his lips then, and you let the image of his small smirk settle into your head as he offers it. “you better be there, pretty.”

(you learn later on that the days he was wearing those tinted sunglasses, he was gawking at you too.)

#bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #rain’s writing #my writing #rain’s thoughts #i just realized these stories are just the different ways bakugou would ask you out in different universes lmfao

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archonsabyss · 6 months

Text

╰─..✶. [ Impetuous Bonds ]

❒ pairing: al haitham x fem!reader [ft platonic bff wriothesley]

❒ genre: fluff! action!

❒ warnings: minor violence!

❒ wc: 5.6k

─❒ authors note: did you know I've been working on this fic since october 4th. It's been rough but the year's over thank god. on the other note, let me officially introduce my wriothesley and al haitham as besties brain rot. and yes I have plans to expand on this brain rot. atlst 2 more ideas which I'll start on as soon as the spark hits again 💐

Amid your contrasting personalities was a semblance of shared interests woven together by a single thread. You, one and the same possessed a deep love for reading, discovering solace in the scripted ink, where letters blended to form words, weaving pathways to realms of boundless creativity. Whether it delved into knowledge, seeking escape, or simply enjoying the thrill of fiction, this mutual passion became a bridge of understanding between you despite your glaring differences.

A sense of harmony prevailed in your relationship which created a captivating paradox that intrigued those around you. People marvelled at the depth of your connection, questioning how two individuals so dissimilar could share such an intimate bond. Some attributed it to the age-old saying that opposites attract, believing it to be fate's handiwork—a calm presence to counterbalance chaos, a soothing embrace against restlessness, and a tender heart to temper the directness of the wordsmith.

Alternatively, it could be argued that the similarities, subtle yet profound, were the secret ingredients of your relationship. A quiet demeanour and reserved nature concealed a dream-like love that left onlookers in both awe and envy. Your love story, tender and understated, defied expectations, leaving a trail of wonder and admiration in its wake. A love, true as an existence of pure gold, if such ethereal beauty could be acknowledged.

To you, what others deemed ordinary, was a world of its own. Normal acts of affection and simple gestures of intimacy felt like your beloved had gifted you the heavens and earth. Perhaps, the extent to which you elaborated on your connection with the acting grand sage felt akin to a tale spun from fantasy, a reverie you indulged in.

You considered that the romanticized nature of your love might have been obscured by the mist of infatuation, that the love you had for Al Haitham may have cast an enchanting illusion upon your reality. But it was okay when no harm or toxicity came from being tucked away in your little head, daydreaming about the man who had long proclaimed himself yours until the day he died.

As the early days of parading around with an unacknowledged crush, and the fledgling phase of your romance grew further in distance, you settled into a life different, happier yet marked by its trials.

You fell in step with each other, occasionally finding them offbeat or at entirely different paces, yet such is the essence of any relationship. Despite this, everything harmonized.

While you weren't a morning person, on rare occasions when sleep evaded you, you'd rise earlier than usual, and frequently, Al Haitham would already be awake. During those moments you would sit together in bed for a few minutes longer or have an early breakfast before the sun had fully ascended, relishing in the silence and warmth of each other's company, and today was one of those days.

While Al Haitham took a shower, you began preparing breakfast, knowing that your errands could only be attended to a bit later on.

Upon entering the kitchen, an aromatic veil of freshly brewed coffee gracefully filled the air, its enticing fragrance embracing Al Haitham as he sat down and reached for the coffee, finding it already thoughtfully poured into two cups, one from which you'd intermittently sipped on while engrossed in preparing food to sustain you for the first half of the day. Despite knowing its warmth had faded as you got lost in preparations, you were certain, albeit acknowledging its unhealthiness, that you'd have another cup once breakfast started. Meanwhile, Al Haitham had long eased into his seat at the island table, his hands cradling a mug, savouring the invigorating bitter heat of his coffee. His concentration remained unbroken as his eyes meticulously skimmed through the arranged stack of documents before him.

It was a simple and ordinary scene, but it was these moments shared that held such immense value.

You felt completely at ease as you moved about the kitchen, exuding the comfort of a face free from makeup, clad solely in the shirt Al Haitham discarded before bed, with your hair casually bundled in a tousled bun.

The kitchen bustled with the promise of breakfast, ingredients for pancakes and eggs scattered like confetti on the tables. In contrast to your relaxed appearance, your lover was impeccably dressed, looking incredibly handsome and sharp. For most of the time you had your back turned to him, unaware that Al Haitham couldn't help but steal glances between you and his papers.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips. Though his face remained composed, it was clear from the emotions in his eyes that he was utterly captivated by you— the subtle relaxation and absence of tension in his gaze spoke volumes.

Whenever you turned to face him, his attention would seamlessly shift back to his work, not out of shame for openly admiring his beloved, but because he understood that if your eyes locked, the temptation to whisk you back to bed would be irresistible.

"When will you join me" He mused after some time, lips hiding behind his cup of coffee as you scowled when one of the pancakes painfully flopped.

"As soon as your food is done" You mutter, sighing in relief when you flip the last pancake, turn off the stove, and turn around to set the plate of food before him.

Al Haitham's eyes lit up with deep gratitude behind the gilded frames of his glasses, glimmering with subdued enthusiasm, his smile a testament to the warmth of his appreciation as his fingers entwined with yours, gently pulling you around the counter and towards him.

With a soft kiss on your hand, he tilted his head, silently pleading for a kiss, his whispered "Thank you" lingering in the air as you leaned in, wishing to seal his gratitude with another kiss when you were startled by a sudden resounding crash reverberating through the house, signalling the forceful swing of the front door opening and closing.

You both turned your heads in the direction of the hallway and in sauntered Wriothesley who had been a guest in Sumeru as well as your home for the past week. He wore a nonchalant smile each time he visited, his hair artfully tousled, and his heavy boots thudding on the wooden floor.

Al Haitham often remarked, like clockwork, that Wriothesley would invite himself inside as if he was welcomed, which he was not by his words, but by your prior blessing to enter whenever he pleased.

Al Haitham let out an audible grumble, his smile fading as Wriothesley's smile grew, begrudgingly turning his attention to his meal, expressing his discontent in silence. You planted a kiss on his cheek and gently pulled away, a move he anticipated, evident from the disapproving glare he directed at his plate while he continued eating.

"Good morning, Wriothesley." You cheerfully greeted, just as you have every time he's made his unannounced─ yet expected entrance.

"I've just brewed a fresh pot of tea for you," You stated proudly, already taking out a cup and pouring the piping hot amber liquid in.

In response, your distinguished guest's grin widens a touch as he offers his thanks and comfortably takes a seat beside Al Haitham.

"When do you plan on returning home? I reckon your presence there is considerably valued─ necessary if you prefer" Al Haitham inquired with a casual and composed demeanour, his tone direct and perhaps a bit blunt, though neither you nor Wriothesley takes offence as you've grown accustomed to his straightforwardness.

With a playful gleam in his eyes, he opted to provoke a reaction by disregarding Al Haitham and answering you instead, "Figured you'd feed me"

"Mind your manners," Al Haitham chimes in flatly, taking a sip of his coffee while casting a sidelong glance at Wriothesley. "My wife's not here to serve you."

"Fiancée," Wriothesley corrects teasingly, his smile appreciative towards you as you set the plate before him and move on to the dishes, disregarding their banter.

Al Haitham's jaw tightened in annoyance at the correction. To him, it was merely a title, a formality. In less than a month you were set to officially become his wife, yet the significance of a ring and title paled in comparison to the deep connection he felt in his mind, heart, and soul from the very beginning. He was undeniably yours, just as you were undeniably his, and nothing could change that.

"Regardless, she's mine and has no obligation to serve you let alone feed you"

"It's not an obligation if she wants to do it" Wriothesley takes a sip of his tea, humming in contentment as the warm liquid touches his tongue and envelopes his throat, satisfied with your skills as always.

Al Haitham reluctantly admits to himself that Wriothesley is right, simply because he knows you. Over the years he has observed, comprehended, and admired you from distances far and near, he's learned almost everything there is to know about you, and your passion for cooking was one of them seeing as you've taken up the role of preparing the meals on most days.

Al Haitham has seen the way you revelled in the process of preparing meals with the mindset that your actions would fill the stomachs of those you loved dearly, even if there was the less enjoyable task of washing dishes afterwards, if it was for him, anything. To his misfortune, that anything extended to the male seated beside him as well.

You snuck a few glances between the two, restraining your amusement by biting your lip as you leaned over the counter and picked at the fruit bowls, knowing you were rarely able to stomach food this early in the morning without feeling nauseated.

"It's been a while since I've gotten to savour a meal made with love, let me enjoy this" Wriothesley smiles, savouring the mix of sugary sweet syrup that he licks off his lips.

"If you must, shut up and drink your tea" Al Haitham mumbles under his breath with an ever so small smile hinting at the corner of his lips, prompting an amused raised eyebrow from the onlooker.

"Why don't you shut up and drink your coffee so I can enjoy my tea then"

"You are insufferable"

"Do you think I'm insufferable?" Wriothesley directs at you, pursing his lips into a full pout just to annoy Al Haitham even more.

"No, Wrio. I think you're rather quite loveable" You said smiling as you leaned your forearms on Al Haitham's shoulders and placed your chin atop his head.

"See," He says smugly, "Loveable"

Al Haitham releases a deep breath, exhaling built-up frustrations, and gradually letting worries and tension fade away, he eases his shoulders, leaning back more into your embrace, while Wriothesley attempts to hide his smile upon witnessing it.

"Do you boys have any plans for the day?" You asked eventually. One of them shook his head and the other simply shrugged. "I have a few errands to run and seeing as you're both available, would you mind accompanying me?"

"That would depend" The grin returns to Wriothesley's pondering face, "I'll take my payment in the form of your baking" He decided, unfolding his arms and placing them flat on the countertop, but in doing so he receives a sharp nudge to his ankles from the tip of Al Haitham's shoe.

Wriothesley winces but doesn't retreat, he shrugs lazily before stating lastly with narrowed eyes directed at his dearest friend in emphasis, "I work enough as it is, Al Haitham. Being an errand boy has become more your thing, and besides, there's no way I'm going to pass up the chance of having your Mrs, bake for me"

Al Haitham pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the forming ache.

You smile sweetly at Wriothesley, thanking him for the compliment just as Al Haitham rises from his seat, dishes in hand and a perpetually sullen and irritated expression etched on his face, wishing for the silence that has been disturbed.

🜙˚─ [˚ ⁀🕯️⟡‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Strolling through the streets of Sumeru to reach your destination, you took the time to observe the peculiar camaraderie between Al Haitham and Wriothesley as they walked a few steps ahead of you, lost in a world of their own, one with a scowl while the other engaged in conversation, seemingly unaware that he wasn't being heard by the former.

Al Haitham's composed and disinterested expression might deceive anyone into believing he wasn't attentive, and there was a chance his noise-cancelling earpieces were intentionally activated to avoid hearing the conversation, but as you observe him closely, you discerned that Al Haitham was indeed attentive, if not wholly absorbed in the Duke's ceaseless chatter.

It was to no one's business but his own, Al Haitham once said to you, for your ears alone, while seated by your dresser, observing you through the mirror as you loosened your corset and unbuttoned your white blouse, revealing skin just above your belly button.

In unspoken words, it was a confession where he admitted he acknowledged his friends more than he expressed. He admired Kaveh's profound passion for the arts and his unwavering stubbornness when they bickered, he also acknowledged with a hint of irritation, the blonde's imperfections and his excessive eagerness to please others through tireless efforts.

What Al Haitham harbours within himself is quite bothersome to his conscious, it is the fact that Kaveh withholds emotional fragility, a presumption he believes you're already aware of, but it does not change how he engages with the latter.

Al Haitham with all his knowledge hardly wishes to entangle himself in the inner turmoil of others, hence, he chooses to refrain from crossing a particular boundary, with Wriothesley on the other hand, presented a slightly more distinct scenario where he found his company rather tolerable if not likable, though he would never dare to articulate it.

Al Haitham turned from the dresser's mirror to face you, drawing you between his parted legs and resting his hands beneath your shirt on your bare hips, he lifted his eyes to meet yours before uttering a sentence you least expected that night before bed. "Would you accompany me to Fontaine?" No further explanation was necessary; you understood the spontaneous mention of a trip to Fontaine. With a wistful smile and a tender kiss on his forehead, you agreed.

The following week, you left for Fontaine to personally wish Wriothesley a Happy Birthday, offering him companionship in his solitude for as long as you could.

What became apparent during that period, was that witnessing Al Haitham being his authentic self wasn't a rare occurrence in Wriothesleys presence.

Wriothesley had a knack for bringing vibrancy to your partner, whether through a spirited debate, an unfriendly competition, or the fact that Al Haitham's eyes had never been more devoid of his usual contentment with a mundane life. This was a side of Al Haitham you've only ever caught brief glimpses of beyond the walls of your home.

The bond threaded through the viscosity of blood coursing within their veins, knowing to most it was nothing more than a misinterpretation of their characters by the way they argued with their teeth bared and claws extended. They appeared mostly harmless. You prayed it would never escalate to physical tests of strength. A chuckle is prompted by the thought, returning you to the ongoing reality of Al Haitham and Wriothesley embroiled once more in their unending dispute.

"I don't see the need for you to be hovering," Al Haitham said. "If I wanted your company I would have asked, which in case you haven't gotten the jest by now, I don't really want"

"Al Haitham!"

Your partner's ears react to the cautionary tone in your voice, and swiftly, his head turns towards you. His eyes widen with innocence, and his demeanour dissolves, resembling a deer caught in headlights. The ongoing argument fades into oblivion, and even Wriothesley's presence is nearly erased as he shifts his focus entirely towards you.

"What?" He asked, oblivious to any issue with his earlier question.

"Could you go buy those spices you brought home last week? We've run out" It's not entirely untrue, but you simply crave a moment of peace from their conversation so you can hurry up the trip and return to the quiet solitude of your home and the warmth of your blankets, and considering Al Haitham is more responsive to your requests, you cleverly recall the need for spice and ask him to handle that quick errand while you wrap up the rest of your grocery shopping.

"Mhm," He murmured, exhaling deeply, placing a slow kiss on your cheek before moving on, going along with your tactic to separate him from Wriothesley who watches in amused bewilderment, hands placed at the top of his hips, "And here I thought I was a dog. You've got a good leash on him. Keep it that way"

"You should stop instigating him," You tell him, amusement glinting in your eyes and tugging on your lips, walking on. Leaving Wriothesley to follow along at his leisure.

"This is my sign to run along"

"Where are you going?" You tilt your head back to glance at him.

"I just remembered something, I'll be back in a bit, promise" In the blink of an eye, he vanishes, leaving you to continue on your way. When you finally reach the bustling Grand Bazaar, vibrant with crowds, you roam the markets and stalls, finding yourself engaged in conversation with Afshin, the travelling merchant, when your attention is abruptly diverted by a sudden commotion.

Across from you, a female merchant had fallen prey to a disgruntled customer, likely the source of the chaos unfolding. A table overturned, boxes strewn across the floor, their contents spilled and some irreparably damaged.

The young woman in her early twenties who stood ownership of the stall, gazed at her belongings before sinking to her knees, attempting to salvage the disarray.

Meanwhile, the customer and what you presumed to be his mercenary guards, hurled disparaging comments about the perceived inadequacy of her trade, their hands clasping the hilts of their swords as though perceiving the young woman as a clear threat.

A sigh escaped you, heart pounding with anxiety as you observed the unfolding scene.

"Give me a moment," You said, Afshin nodded in response, resuming the task of organizing the items on his table.

"Excuse me" Walking towards the occurring scene, you hesitantly intervened, drawing the glaring eyes of the customer towards you.

"This doesn't concern you. Take your nosiness elsewhere woman" He snarled in a manner that made you step back, nevertheless, you stood your ground and faced the Female merchant, offering her a reassuring smile.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Aniya"

"Aniya, what seems to be the problem?" You inquired, assessing the tables and the contents occupying them.

"This man claims my merchandise is not authentic after he has already inspected, bought, and paid for several pieces. Now he asks for a refund without returning the products"

"Look, I don't want no trouble lady" He exclaims, barely standing firm on his short stubby legs. "But if you just give me my money back I'll be on my way"

"What of my labour?! I've spent a good worth of time exploring and producing each of those carpets and materials by hand! You won't find such quality elsewhere for as cheap of a price as I've given!"

His face scrunched in anger, his guards stepping forward with a subtle signal. "If we can't reach an agreement you will pay the price"

"We won't come to an agreement if you refuse to settle your greed" You stated calmly.

The anger that exuded off him was not by any means intimidating, but the mercenaries that stepped forward at the ready, made you cautious.

The tension of the situation gradually grew and you were bordering on a violent reaction, that much you could easily tell given you've been a front-row witness to past events with both Al Haitham and Wriothesley.

As you feel yourself growing anxious, you positioned yourself protectively in front of Aniya, who, though a few years younger, was brimming with unrefined passion and working diligently. The youthful intensity in her gaze spelled trouble, yet it reflected such bravery and boldness altogether, truly embodying the spirit of a genuine merchant, and though it was admirable, it also meant there was no escaping the situation if the fiery spirit possessing her had any influence.

You breathed in steadily, gathering your hyperventilating thoughts and acknowledging your helplessness with Wriothesley and Al Haitham absent. Neither you nor Aniya were fully equipped for a direct physical confrontation, but perhaps, if you could stall them long enough, the result might not be excessively dire. The wisest choice now was to prevent provoking the man to the point that he sends those gruelling tattered mercenaries your way.

The argument─ though you wish not to call it that given you hoped to subdue the situation before it escalated, but with the feistiness of the young Merchant Aniya and the highly obnoxious and demanding customer by the distasteful name of Afif, nothing was going as planned.

Afif was a lord spoiled and rotten in both name and character. By nature, his manner of approach was enough to make your skin crawl and your throat tighten. You wonder who awaits him at home and how they endure such a man throughout their lives, considering you can hardly tolerate his attitude for even a few minutes.

They went back and forth without resolution, and each passing minute had regret swirling hefty within your conscience as neither of them backed down, the mercenaries themselves were growing antsy. With every breeze tousling your hair, it seemed like a word uttered by Afif left you feeling even more frustrated. He simply carried on spouting his nonsense of fair trade─ exposing himself as a hypocrite who disregarded the fundamental principles of fair trade.

In your mind, a silent prayer echoed, hoping for the return of either Al Haitham or Wriothesley.

These kinds of situations were precisely what you aimed to avoid, but your compassion couldn't tolerate witnessing Aniya's mistreatment, and unfortunately, because of it you landed yourself in such a predicament you could neither talk your way out nor pathetically apologize and walk away.

Meanwhile, Al Haitham was en route to the Bazaar when he coincidentally encountered Wriothesley who happened to be returning from his quick errand.

"Where'd you go" Al Haitham asked with a raised brow, causing the dark-haired Duke to pause and turn around, waiting for Al Haitham to catch up before continuing, now with him at his side.

"Look how you contradict yourself Haitham, went from claiming I was hovering to questioning my absence. Such a sweetheart─ truly" He flashed a lazy grin, revealing the pointed tips of his fangs that grazed his bottom lip.

"If you must know, Tea" He wiggled the bag mid-air for Al Haitham to see.

"I felt compelled to ask, not that I care much at all"

"You care enough"

"Unfortunately" Al Haitham muttered with a roll of his eyes, flexing the fingers of his free hand that wasn't holding the pack of spices you had asked him to fetch.

Upon entering the Bazaar, Al Haitham abruptly ceased his argument with Wriothesley. He lapsed into silence as he paused and scanned the area, allowing for his senses to come back to him.

He alongside Wriothesley took in the situation surrounding you and the menacing bodies enclosing your safe space. The ambience was palpable even from his current position.

Wriothesley glanced at Al Haitham who had already begun to pick up his pace and he followed suit.

If given the opportunity, Al Haitham would steer clear of any sort of situation that compelled him into social confrontations. He cherished solitude, finding no necessity for social interaction unless absolutely unavoidable.

He was a man of simplicity, content in silence until he met you, and suddenly, he found a liking for sharing that silence with you. In that regard, both of you shared a preference for confining yourselves within the familiar walls of home, avoiding expending energy on forced interactions.

Even when venturing outside, the dynamic persisted. Amidst a sea of people and bustling crowds, it was as if the world consisted solely of the two of you. Others might cast glances, but your attention remained fixed on the path ahead or each other.

Your ears seemed attuned exclusively to each other's voices, and your hands, not particularly fond of physical contact, found solace only in being held by one another.

But when Al Haitham caught sight of you standing there trying to convey strength through your expression, the subtle tremble in your fingers betrayed you and did not go unnoticed by him.

A cold chill ran down his spine and the sensation of blood draining from his body followed. With urgency, he briskly approached to be by your side, arriving just in time to see rough hands reaching out to seize you. Commotion and reactions stirred among the onlookers, who stood by passively, aggravating him further.

"There seems to be a problem here" Al Haitham intervened, his voice clear, monotone, and confident, arms hanging casually at his sides as he looms over the customer, whose posture shifts the moment he lays eyes on the unexpected presence of the Acting Sage.

Al Haitham's arrival brings instant relief to your anxiously furrowed forehead and your tensed shoulders.

"Acting Grand Sage" Afif mumbles with a touch of trepidation, his once gruesome expression fading entirely.

The tallest among the three mercenaries scowls in response to the sudden intrusion, displaying no fear or concern for Al Haitham in his demeanour.

It's evident that he harbours a strong desire to pummel the interrupter through those demonic eyes glaring at your lover's head. Had it not been for Wriothesley who announces his presence to you by offering a reassuring nudge to your shoulder, you'd have redirected your cowering gaze to the ground.

Wriothesley leans casually against the wooden beam of the market tent, arms folded with a smug air as he watches Afif and his Entourage of folks masquerading as combatants.

Afif squirms under the intimidating aura of both Al Haitham and Wriothesley and attempts to shift the blame, trying to implicate Aniya for supposedly intending to mislead him in the trade, alleging that she was dishonest about her products, as is often the case in trade within Sumeru lately. In this instance, it was not. Aniya's honesty mirrored her ambition to rise as a respected merchant, firm and true.

Afif's initial efforts were futile, and as he came to this realization, fear gradually morphed into anger.

"I don't owe any of you an explanation, this is between me and that deceitful merchant wench" He spat, instructing his mercenaries to seize Aniya. However, their unscrupulous nature led them to reach for you as well, a decision that likely proved to be their gravest mistake.

Standing beside you, Wriothesley, under the Scribe's approving gaze, shrugged and uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders back as the mercenaries lunged forward with snarls.

He was mindful of the limited space and wary of endangering you or Aniya and therefore employed small, sharp, and precise movements. He swiftly evaded a punch from the towering mercenary, causing him to stumble forward in the aftermath of his failed attack. In that fleeting moment, Wriothesley seized the flailing arm of his adversary and firmly clamped his other hand onto his shoulder, twisting it behind his back and rendering him effectively immobilized.

With a vigorous push, he forced the vanquished mercenary to his knees, a disgruntled groan of pain echoed. Simultaneously, the second mercenary, driven by rage and fiery eyes, charged forward, only to be skillfully tripped and sent tumbling to the ground, nursing a bruised ego.

Wriothesley applied the weight of his sturdy boot on the back of the second assailant, forcing his face into the ground. Meanwhile, the first attacker was restrained by his hair, ensuring both remained motionless and incapable of causing further trouble.

"Care to help?" He directed at Al Haitham, paying no mind to the third mercenary who tightly clenched his blade, casting nervous glances between Wriothesley, who effortlessly subdued his fellow mercenaries, his employer, and the aloof scribe who stood in front of you protectively.

The onlookers stared in astonishment at the unfolding scene. Aniya, her mouth agape in amazement, beheld the renowned Duke of Fontaine standing before her very eyes, and besides you, Al Haitham, the esteemed Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru, portrayed a grand demeanour, often misunderstood. She observed his protective stance in front of you and it brought a small smile to her face, recognizing the subtle expressions of love in those gestures. She watched them in awe despite feeling guilt for the entire situation being a result of her actions.

"You appear to be managing quite well without me" Al Haitham replied with a raised brow.

"Leaving me to do all the work, I see" Cracking his neck, Wriothesley awaited the concluding blow from the sole remaining mercenary.

"Classifying it as 'work' would be a stretch," Al Haitham emphasized, "Three mercenaries hardly pose a challenge for you, Your Grace."

Releasing the two mercenaries he held, both now unconscious, Wriothesley did so just as the final adversary staggered forward on unsteady legs. True to Al Haitham's assertion, Wriothesley effortlessly subdued the remaining threat by gripping the front of his shirt and hoisting him off the ground.

"I feel like I'm third wheeling," You remarked.

"Nonsense, Wriothesley just talks a lot" Al Haitham brushed aside, moving past you in the direction of Afif, narrowing the brief gap between them. With the situation now in check, the only task left was tending to Afif before you could all proceed on your way.

"I'm sensing a bit tension though" You teased, nonetheless.

"Really?" Pipes Wriothesley over his shoulder, "On a scale of 10, how good is our chemistry?"

"Can you not entertain this, Wriothesley" Al Haitham looks at you, "And no, there is nothing of the sort nor will there ever be"

"Why not?"

"I am perfectly content with the relationship I'm in," He says, and simultaneously, a metallic clinking sound captures your attention.

You glance towards the source of the sound and find yourself pleasantly surprised. Wriothesley notices the shift in your gaze and follows your line of sight. Al Haitham had grabbed the dangling pair of handcuffs on his hip, right under his nose, and placed them on Afif's hands, all while everyone's attention was absorbed in listening to your conversation rather than observing him.

"What the─" Wriothesley muttered, his eyes wandering to the metal restraints encircling the discourteous customer's wrists. A moment later, upon realization setting in, he checked his side, only to realize with surprise that it was indeed his handcuffs.

"Keep up" The smugness in Al Haithams voice could be heard even without looking at him.

"Well shit buddy, good luck trying to get those off" Wriothesley blinks, expression flat as he stares at his handcuffs knowing the only means of removing them lies in a key only accessible to him – a key that resided in the drawer of his cluttered desk all the way in Fontaine.

"So.." Wriothesley trails off looking around, "What do we do with them now?"

"Let's have them pay a visit to the General Mahamatra, I'm certain he'd know just what to do with you"

"This has no connection to the Akakemiya. I haven't breached any rules concerning it and therefore you have no right to detain me like this! It goes against my rights."

Wriothesley chuckled, bending eye level with Afif. "Your rights have just been revoked, Lord"

"I beg to differ. Would you like a detailed account of all your criminal activities?" Al Haitham undoubtedly possesses more knowledge than he let's on. He's not bluffing, and you wonder what kind of leverage your fiancé has on this insignificant Lord for him submit and cower so quickly.

Leaning in to whisper, he says, "Wouldn't want the Akademiya catching wind of your illicit knowledge exchanges, would we? Or perhaps General Mahamatra is already on the lookout for you, Khada'i. Your nose is in everyone's business, and because of that, I'll ensure you're buried. Now then," he pats his shoulder. Sweat accumulates on Afif's—rather, Khada'i's—face under the pressure of Al Haitham's words. "Sit quietly and await your end."

"You two are enjoying this" You shift your weight to your right leg, hand on your hip.

"Not in the slightest," Denies Al Haitham, while simultaneously, Wriothesley questions, "What gives you that impression?"

Shaking your head, you dismiss the two as the guards lead away the identity-deceiving lord into proper custody. You turn to Aniya once more, and she showers you with endless gratitude for your help and assistance. She expresses concern about what might have happened if you hadn't been there, especially with Afif sending his mercenaries after her, fearing what may have become of the situation then had you not stepped in. The recent situation had drained you entirely of your energy and though Aniya offered to repay you in any way she could, you politely declined, desiring only to be on your way and depart from the public eye, wanting nothing more than to be home with a cup of coffee and your bed.

☣ copyright @archonsabyss all rights reserved // do not copy; steal; plagiarize; reword or repost my works to any other platform! No translations!! All credits to original owners of characters/anime/pictures that are not my own!

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lovebugism · 1 year

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❛ i’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new to me. i love you. ❜ with our boy Steve Harrington please?

i wrote this after watching little women, so this is like that one laurie and amy scene but stranger things coded <3 hope you like it!! (this is 5k words btw and barely proofread 🫣)

The R.V. smells like coopery blood, alternate dimension muck, and nine teenagers who haven’t showered in three days. But despite all that, Steve Harrington is next to you, smiling.

As if there’s anything worth being happy about now.

He tells you about a dream with a hopeful gleam in his honey eyes, like he believes it’ll all come true — like death is staring him in the face. “I know it’s silly, but I… I always dreamed I’d have this really, really big family. I’m talking like, uh— a full brood of Harrington’s. I don’t know, five… Maybe six kids?”

“Six?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh. You turn your body in the passenger seat to face him more, shoulder pressing into the worn pleather. You’ve got your brows raised to your hairline in shock at his admission and a beam on your face you don’t realize is there.

“Uh-huh. Six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys,” he says with an assured nod. There’s a distant smile hinting at the edges of his lips, and he looks at you with it for a moment before turning back to the road again.

“And every summer, I figured all of us Harrington’s, we’d pack into something like this, and… just see the country. You know, the Rockies, the Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone. We’d end up in some beachside town in California and spend a week parked in the sand, maybe learn how to surf or something.”

You can picture the dream so effortlessly, almost like it’s one you’ve had yourself.

In some ways, you did.

Steve Harrington was the kind of boy that filled you with butterflies and childlike daydreams. It was more innocent than lusting, more significant than a teenage crush. There was a time you’d wanted to be with him so badly that you could barely breathe. It kept you up at night, fantasizing about a future with a boy that didn’t want you. It haunted your dreams just as often.

You were, perhaps a bit begrudgingly, a part of that stereotype — a girl who wanted all of the things adults thought girls wanted. You longed for a pretty white dress and a husband that cried when you walked down the aisle. You wanted a small house with a white picket fence, a home that’s always loud with laughing children and barking dogs and loving parents.

It was a future you only wanted with Steve.

But he didn’t love you. Not the way he loved Nancy.

Not the way he still loves Nancy.

It’s not a crime he needs to confess to for you to know he’s guilty of it. You can see it written all over his face, in the way he talks about his future family and flits his gaze from the winding backroad up to the rearview mirror to look at her. He’s picturing her in his head the way you picture him in yours.

Knowing someone else is a part of this dreamt-up family and not you is a bitter pill to swallow.

It has you looking back too, at the gang of ragtag soldiers you’re about to save the world with. You glance over your shoulder at all of them, finding them dozing or outright sleeping in the back of the R.V.

You don’t blame them. The past few days have been hell.

You’re just glad Max has finally found a moment of peace. The redhead lazes between Lucas and Dustin on the couch in the very back. She rests her head on the former boy’s soldier, but you can’t tell if she’s sleeping or not. Lucas has his eyes closed but a smile on his face as he lays his cheek on the crown of her head.

Dustin, on the other hand, looks dreadfully out of place among the two lovebirds. His head is tilted back and his mouth is wide open. Soft snores spill from his throat.

Erica, Robin, and Nancy all sit at the tiny table beside the tinier kitchen. Their heads are either resting on their folded arms or pressing against the window.

The small cushion adjacent to the couch is taken up wholly by Eddie.

Your Eddie.

His long legs are spread and his back is slouched against the side of the R.V. He’s taking up every bit of room the thing has to offer, which wasn’t very much to begin with. His pink lips are parted and slightly chapped. He blows soft exhales from them that make his chest rise and fall with even breaths.

Your hands begin to ache with the want to run them through his wild strands of hair, to ease his head to your chest and let the sound of your heartbeat chase away the nightmares that threaten to plague him.

You want so badly to sleep alongside him, but you know that slumber won’t come as easily to you.

Despite the exhaustion that weighs down your tired bones, whenever you close your eyes, you can only see Chrissy’s mangled body on the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer. The image of broken bones and sucked-out eye sockets is stained on the back of your mind.

It’s something you’ll never forget. Not in a billion, trillion lifetimes.

You’re scared you won’t ever sleep peacefully again.

But you’re glad Eddie’s finally resting. Even if you can’t.

And maybe that’s what love is.

…Love.

You almost can’t believe you’re calling it that. It’s not like you’ve told him as much or anything. You haven’t been together very long, only a few months, but you’re not sure what else to call this feeling. Is it normal for you to want to fight the most powerful dark wizard known to man with your bare hands as long as it means keeping Eddie safe?

The realization that you’re actually moving on from Steve is perhaps more shocking. You were starting to think you’d be fawning over him for the rest of your life, destined to be alone forever while he got married and had kids. But then Eddie came out of nowhere. He swept you off your feet without even trying.

You’d spent so much of your life in love with Steve that you’d forgotten how it felt to be loved. But Eddie reminded you, most ardently so, and you’ve never been happier.

And Steve can see all that.

He can see how you’ve gone to hell and back — quite literally — to keep Eddie safe. He can see how Eddie still manages to make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts, even though death looms overhead like a big, gray storm cloud. It almost makes him angry. Not at Eddie, exactly. And certainly not at you. He’s more so mad at himself for waiting until you were out of his grip entirely to need you like air.

Steve wasn’t an idiot; he knew how you felt about him. He’s known for years. But Nancy was the only girl in his purview for… an embarrassingly long amount of time. Maybe that’s because she didn’t want a single damn thing to do with him at first, and it wasn’t like Steve to back down from a challenge.

But you? You were easy. You were always going to be there. Your love was the only constant thing in his life.

And then it just… wasn’t.

It was like his center of gravity had suddenly shifted or his feet had been knocked out from under him. The loss of you, of something that was never his to begin with, jarred him like he’d been awake with most vigor. Now, he finds himself living in a nightmare — forced to watch you fall in love with someone else while he ebbs slowly from your mind.

You sit with him now — with Eddie — while he and Dustin fuck around with the shields they’d crafted out of tin garbage can lids. You watch them with a smile on your face even though you’re shaking your head at them and telling them something that Steve can’t hear.

You’ve got a sword in your hand, and you sharpen its steel with a rock. The too expensive thing had been hanging on the wall at The War Zone, and you told Eddie you just had to have it.

“I’ll just… take up extra shifts at Wayne’s shop,” you reason with a shrug, gaze never leaving the bladed weapon.

“Do whatever you want,” the brunette boy responded nonchalantly as he dropped four cases of ammunition into the red basket in your hand. He smiled down at you. “That just means I’ll get to see you more.”

It hurts Steve for you to be so far away from him.

You’re just across the small clearing. All he’d have to do is walk over to you, really, but it’s more than just the distance. No matter how close he gets to you, or how far you get from Eddie, your soul’s always going to be with him.

Steve will never have you like that, and that’s what hurts the most.

He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of keeping a stiff upper lip about it. He thinks he’s keeping some deep, dark secret, having no idea that he’s all but spilling his guts to Robin. Honestly, he’s just trying to make conversations while they make homemade bombs out of gasoline and glass bottles, but he’s more than obvious. As per usual.

“How long do you think they’ve got?” Steve asks her out of the blue while he pours the chemicals through the funnel and into the flask Robin holds out for him. He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Because I thought they’d be over forever ago, you know? I mean… it’s Eddie. She’s, like, totally out of his league, right? But I’m pretty sure they just had an anniversary or something because I saw him buying flowers at Bradley’s Big Buy the other day…”

Robin opens her mouth to get a word in, but Steve just keeps on going going going.

“Unless you think they were for someone else? But let’s be serious, right? He’s a freak, but he’d never do that to her. I don’t know… Maybe he’s just the sorta guy that gets her flower for no reason, and it hasn’t been as long as it feels.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure they—”

“Let’s face it, if he’s doing that for her, they’re probably gonna make it, right?” the boy laughs bitterly to himself. He stuffs a rag into the neck of the bottle. “God, I’m such an idiot… Maybe if I’d done those things, I’d still—”

“I swear to god, if you say you’d still be with Nancy, I’m gonna punch you in the forehead,” Robin snapped suddenly. She’s got a foreign sternness to her tone and a glacial hardness in her blue eyes. She glares at him with it. “You don’t love Nancy, Steve. And she doesn’t love you. So stop going for the easiest thing when you know it’s not what you want.”

He sighs. He knows she’s right. “I just—”

“I get it. It sucks being lonely. I’m pretty sure I’m destined to spend the rest of my life alone, so join the club,” Robin smiles, a tad bit cynically, at him. “It sucks being in love with someone you can’t have. Trust me, I get it. But you need to move on.”

Steve swallows. He almost winces at the thought of that — of never having you. He shakes his head as though to get rid of the idea entirely. “I can’t… I can’t do that, Rob.”

“Then what are you gonna do, Steve?” she asks him with a mirthless, but not unkind laugh.

She nods her head over to you. You laugh as Eddie spins you in his arms, both of you marveling at how you’ve just nailed a tree on the far edge of the clearing with the knives you’d thrown at it. Steve can hear the sound of your bubbly laughter from where he sits. Its brightness rivals that of the setting sun.

“Look at her. She’s happy. Finally. So… Just let her be happy,” Robin advises with a shrug. She sets the glass bottle in the box with the rest of them. “I mean, we’re about to stop a dark wizard from ending the world, you know? Some of us probably won’t make it out—”

“Don’t say that,” Steve scolds.

“Some of us probably won’t make it,” she repeats, firmer this time, like it’s something he really needs to hear. “Something could happen to Eddie. Something could happen to her. Do you really want to be the selfish asshole that ruins what could very well be everyone’s last moments together just because you’ve got a bleeding heart?”

She’s being harsh. He knows it deserves it. Now is virtually the worst time to tell you everything on his mind — just when you’re starting to really settle down with Eddie and about to fight some wizard in an alternate dimension.

Something could happen to her. Those words left Robin’s mouth and stabbed him in the heart like a thousand unforgiving knives. Steve can’t fathom anything ever happening to you. Even with the end of the world, with all of you about to fight a war, it never crossed his mind. He can’t picture his life without you in it.

He can’t lose you without telling you how he feels — that he loves you, that he’s always loved you, and that he’s an oblivious idiot who learned that too late.

He can’t lose you at all.

So, against his better judgment and Robin’s sound advice, Steve abandons his work with her and hikes the relatively short distance over to you.

Eddie hasn’t yet let go of you. He keeps his arms tight around your waist and hugs you from behind, pressing the back of you to his chest while his chin sits along your shoulder. His chocolate eyes are stuck on the bullseye you’d carved into the bark of the tree on the far side of the clearing. The four knives you’d thrown, now stuck at the very center of the target, stare back at him.

“This is probably a bad time to be turned on, huh?” he half-jokes, chin bobbing against your shoulder with every word.

“Eddie!” you scold as you wrench yourself out of his grip.

Dustin’s face screws up from where he lounges on the grass beside the both of you. “Gross…”

You walk away from the two boys to collect your knives from the poor oak tree. Eddie whistles lowly at you while you go — as though he’s never seen you in a pair of jeans before. You throw your middle finger over your shoulder at him in response.

That’s when Steve catches you, when you’re finally alone, and with a tiny white lie of needing to go back to the R.V. for more gasoline. You offer to walk with him, just like he figured you might, because none of you wants anyone to go off alone. Not with Vecna potentially watching you.

You walk alongside him through the thick wood, dodging low-hanging branches and uplifted roots. Steve notices the distant smile dancing on the corners of your lips — a beautiful stain Eddie’s left there.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks you suddenly. “You know, when this is all over?”

Your brows raise at his question, mouth falling softly agape and eyes widening with a far-off look. You look stumped by the simple inquiry, like it’s something you hadn’t thought of yet — of any of this being over.

“I don’t know…” you murmur. “Go back to work, I guess.”

Steve laughs. “We’re gonna save the world tonight, and you’re gonna be back in the office on Monday?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll take a sick day,” you joke, just to hear him laugh again.

He lifts a splintered tree limb to get it out of the way for you, then ushers you to walk ahead of him. You mutter a low and shy “thank you” as you walk beneath it. He lets the branch fall again as he follows behind you.

“What about you, then?” you retort. “What are you gonna do after? Since going back to a nine-to-five is so unreasonable.”

“Actually, I was thinking about writing an opera,” Steve quips with a straight face. “I would be the main character, of course—”

“You’re such an idiot,” you giggle with the shake of your head. The airy, sunshine sound makes him smile down at you. His honey-tined gaze swims with longing. You don’t catch it because you’re not looking back at him.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

You tilt your head to catch his stare. Your eyes sparkle and your brows arch with a look both soft and stern. “Honest answer?”

“Of course.”

“I think you should go work for your dad. Try and… I don’t know… make something for yourself—”

“Alright, that’s not…”

“—Because you can’t work at Family Video forever, Steve!”

“You’re not playing fair,” he concedes quietly, laughing under his breath and shaking his head.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less — you did preface an honest answer, after all. It doesn’t make him feel any less bad about it, though.

You’d supported Steve through a lot of shit. Every mindless fight with his parents, every breakup that had him swearing he would never love again, every aspect of his douchebag phase that almost ruined your friendship. You were always soft with him, but never dishonest.

So when he told you that his dad offered him a well-paying job in Indianapolis, it didn’t surprise him when you told him to take it. Despite all the other shit (his broken relationship with his father and his incessant daydreaming of settling down with Nancy, namely), you knew he wasn’t happy in Hawkins.

“Fuck your dad, Steve. This isn’t about him,” you’d said. “You should take it! Starting building your life in the city! And when you’re finally making more money than your stupid dad, you can rub it in everyone’s stupid faces.”

Steve, of course, ended up turning it down.

The salary was high — too high for a boy just out of high school — but he figured no amount of money was worth a wounded pride.

Steve was scared that it was all a ploy, another thing his dad could hold over his head, another accomplishment that wasn’t really his. And, truth be told, he was less enthusiastic about leaving Hawkins without you. He isn’t quite sure where he’d be in life without you guiding him through a significant portion of it. It made it nearly impossible to picture a life that didn’t have you at the very center of it.

He happily took to be Robin Buckley’s schmuck at Scoops Ahoy (and then again at Family Video) and Dustin Henderson’s unofficial chauffeur instead. He didn’t mind being a casualty of rattrap small town as long as it meant he didn’t have to stray too far from you.

But here you were now, right next to him in this lonesome forest, and still so far away.

You meet his boyishly forlorn expression with a sincere, tight-lipped smile. “You know that I’m right.”

“Yeah, I do,” he scoffs in response. “That’s the problem.”

“When we kill Vecna and save Hawkins for the… thousandth time… You should take that job. I mean, screw your dad, you deserve a life outside of all this shit—”

“So do you,” he argues.

“I’ll make it without you, Harrington. I’ll try to, anyway,” you quip, turning your gaze up to the family of birds sitting high in an oak tree and wishing you were one of them. You shrug to yourself. “I’ll keep on being a secretary at the car shop… Maybe settle down with Eddie.”

That makes Steve stop dead in his tracks. He laughs bitterly to himself, a quiet and venom-coated scoff. “Right. Because living with his uncle in a one-bedroom trailer is such a dream.”

It makes you stop, too, and turn on your heel to face him. You’re surprised to find him so many paces back. Steve sees a flash of hurt strike like lightning across your features, but he’s too hurt to apologize.

“I get it,” you concede with a small, cynical smile. “You don’t like him. You never have. But… He’s a good guy, Steve. If you just got to know him—”

“It’s not that,” he mumbles, cutting you off before he has to suffer through a list of reasons why Eddie’s so much better than he is. The boy’s gaze falls to the forest floor. He kicks a bunch of green pine needles with the toe of his sneaker rather than meet your prying gaze.

“Then what is it?” you retort. “Because I was just trying to help you. I didn’t say to, like, hurt your feelings or whatever. I just know that you want a life in the city, with a big house and a whole bunch of kids—” A laugh spills from your lips as you remember the dream he was telling you about. “You want that picture-perfect life, right? Now you can have it!”

“You don’t know what I want,” he counters quietly.

“Oh, please. I know you better than you know yourself, Steve Harrington—”

“Break up with him,” he blurts.

Your playful smile fades almost instantly. Your eyes search his face for any hint that he might be joking, but all you find is a deeply heartbroken boy. His bushy brows are scrunched together, his eyes glimmering with unshed tears, a puppy-like hurt painting each of his features.

You match his expression of grief with your own. Your face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and sorrow. “Wh… What?” you manage to stutter after realizing you’d been holding your breath.

“I don’t want you to settle down with Eddie,” Steve confesses. A secret he thought he’d take to his grave before ever telling you.

You’re quiet. For several long moments, you’re eerily silent. Even the forest hangs on bated breath. Birds stop chirping, the wind stops blowing, leaves stop rustling. It’s just you and him and a great big world waiting on the both of you.

A frown pulls down the very corners of your mouth. Your eyes go glassy and wide, like a heartbroken baby, and your head jerks back softly, still defensive and unsure.

“Why?” you force through a tightening throat.

“Why?” Steve repeats, finding it somehow within himself to laugh. He takes several short strides to stand with you again. With him closer now, you can see the sadness in his smile and the flush that blotches his cheeks. “You know why…”

You only shake your head in response. The words are far harder to get out. “No…”

“I just… I know it feels like I’m saying it all of a sudden, but it’s… It’s not new to me, you know?” Steve tries his best to explain to you why he’s choosing now, of all moments, to pour his heart out to you. His eyes are as wide and hopeful as the palms he waves out in front of him. “I don’t wanna go into this without you knowing how I feel about you—”

“Steve,” you agonize in hopes of ending his rambling. “Don’t.”

“—And I just want you to know, in case something happens, that I love you.”

“No,” you say with the defiant shake of your head, your chin quivering and your gaze ice-cold.

“Yes,” he replies, just as stubborn.

“Steve…” you choke out when the name gets hung in your throat.

A warm tear falls from your lashes and onto the very apple of your cheek. You wipe it away with the back of your hand and use your free one to bat Steve away when he tries to reach out for you. You stumble back from him, heading back the way you came — back to Eddie.

“Don’t, Steve. Just stop it.”

“Why?” he grieves in the softest voice he can muster, wet and warm with his hurt.

“You’re being mean,” you scold.

“I’m being mean?” he echoes with a sad sort of laugh.

“When it comes to you… I have always been second to Nancy. Always. And I won’t be the person you settle for just because she doesn’t want you, Steve,” you rant, voice fragile like glass or flower petals.

He wants to tell you that he doesn’t want Nancy — that being with the person he loves won’t be settling — but you continue in your lament, and he misses the chance.

“I can’t… I won’t do it, okay? Not after I’ve spent my entire life loving you,” you confess to him, face scrunched in anger. It’s a subtle sort of rage, pointed both at him and yourself.

He watches, feeling totally helpless, while you wipe bitterly at your damp cheeks. Steve’s seen a lot of assholes make you cry. He never dreamed he’d be one of them.

Robin was right. He’d ruined everything. It seems to be the only thing he’s good at these days.

“I’m sorry,” he calls to you as you walk away. “I wasn’t… I didn’t say it to make you sad.”

“You shouldn’t have said it at all!” you shout back, angrier than you’ve ever been with him. You take in a stuttering breath and exhale a shakier sigh, trying to calm yourself down again. “I just don’t get why you waited so long…” you agonize, words wet with tears. “Why did you wait until I was happy? Eddie… Eddie’s so nice to me, Steve. And you just… You just throw this shit at me right before we... That’s not fair.”

“I know…” he murmurs. “I know…”

The world starts turning again.

Birds sing their songs, sounding somehow sadder than before, as though in lament for the brokenhearted boy. The wind begins to whistle as it brushes through the trees. It’s only half successful in breathing air back into your lungs.

A rustling of the brush gains both of your attention’s. It sounds like something is slithering somewhere in the thick laurel — a rabbit, a snake, a dark wizard out to kill a bunch of sad teenagers.

You and Steve are alone, heartbroken, and clear targets for a monster who feeds on traumatized kids.

Though it’s entirely unlikely that Vecna has crawled out from the depths of the Upside Down and into these woods, you and Steve reach for your respective weapons anyway — him for the axe strapped to his back and you for the knives hanging on your belt. You’re ready to protect each other despite your distant anger.

But instead of some shriveled skin creep, you find freaks of a different kind.

The pale human faces of Dustin and Eddie peek out from the brush with curious smiles. They maneuver through the thicket and try to avoid the thorns. “What’s going on over here, huh?” the oldest boy wonders with his signature sparkling grin.

It’s almost scary how you so easily contort your features full of grief into a sickly sweet, artificial smile. You swipe the back of your hand over your face again to clear the tears clinging to your lashes, though it looks like you’re only wiping away sweat.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly with the innocent shake of your head. “Steve was just being an idiot—”

“Imagine that,” Dustin scoffs.

“—And saying stuff he doesn’t mean.”

“That’s not true,” Steve mutters, then clears his throat when the words come out more choked than expected.

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t out here making moves on my girl, Harrington,” Eddie lilts with a playful smile. He reaches you and wraps a heavy arm over your shoulder to tuck you into his side.

His sudden touches stopped surprising you a long time ago. You realized early on in your relationship that he can’t go without touching you for very long.

Eddie squints teasingly at Steve. “Go get your own.”

The boy doesn’t have a comeback at the ready. He isn’t sure of what to say, anyway. Eddie’s jokes aren’t as funny when they aren’t jokesanymore. He was just sort of professing his love to you and getting his heart stomped on in the process. He should probably be used to the feeling by now, but it stings like it’s brand new.

You’re grateful for Eddie’s appearance and the bickering that seems to follow him wherever he goes. It’s easy to get lost in his words, let all the sarcasm run over you, and forget the bullshit that came before it.

“We should head back before the others think we got abducted by Vecna or something,” you urge, desperate to get away from these woods and from this moment.

Dustin listens to you without question because he always listens to you. And Steve listens because he wants an escape just as much as you do. He’d rather go back to Robin and all her “I told you so”’s than keep watching Eddie hold you like he is now.

“What do ya say we skip this joint and have our own fun out here?” the wild-haired boy jokes, already leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth.

“Eddie, don’t—” you huff, but otherwise don’t fight him. It’s only an innocent peck, a loud smack upon your lips, that makes Dustin mutter “gross…” under his breath as he walks away.

And if he heard it, that means Steve heard it.

You keep your eyes open all the while. You feel a bit numb, actually. A little like you’ve just kissed a ghost. You feel as cold as one, as distant and not all there. Eddie holds your hand the entire walk back to the clearing, but you have a hard time feeling it.

You feel a bit like woods surrounding you. You’re all crowded and heavy with sadness. You can’t tell if your grief is your own or if you’re feeling Steve’s too, because you can’t seem to take your eyes off him.

There’s an entire forest within you, you find, and Steve’s carved his initials into every tree.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stevie drabble #st drabbles

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bettdraws · 3 months

Text

In an alternate universe where Elain met Lucien before becoming fae

(an Elucien daydream)

“I would like to show you my estate, Lady Elain” The young Lord Graysen said and brought back her attention to the present moment. “I heard you like nature, would you like me to escort you?”

Elain took a little moment to ponder on what he was saying, her gloved hands resting on his forearm, his face open and waiting for her response, even if through the glimmer in his eye she could tell he already knew she would say yes to him. The man courting her was used to women bending themselves for his affections, constantly trying to make him like them, be the ones holding the key to his affection. And the gods knew she used to also feel that way, like she was special when she was the one those eyes were fixated upon. Lately, she realized, it did not matter as much as it did before.

Elain nodded and smiled as he guided her through the lands on his estate, she was not going to miss the opportunity either way. It was true, she did love nature and she did not have an abundance of opportunities to wander around places like these in her day to day life.

“These lands are very close to the wall, but worry not, they are very safe thanks to our sentries patrolling night and day” Graysen proudly announced. She glanced towards the thick folliage of the woods next to them. So inviting.

“Is it the same for those woods?” She asked pointing to the forest curiously.

“Yes, if we don’t stray too far from the manor, they’re as safe as can be” He said matter-of-factly. “Would you like to see?”

Elain nodded immediately and with a slight bow he directed her through one of the paths into the green thick forest.

Elain wondered if she should take his word for it as they walked further and further into the blooming nature, but any lingering reservations she may have was replaced with the allure of the mystical beauty of the woods, making her question what more exotic things could be found at the other side of the wall he had mentioned. A little nudge she felt in her chest made her curious about the things that her sister Feyre had once spoken about to Nesta, wonder if perhaps she hadn’t yet seen true beauty at this side of the world.

“Have you ever seen a fae?” That curiosity led her to ask her companion, his face incredulous for a moment and a bit irritated too.

“I- No” He said, a bit upset at admitting it. She knew that his family was very much against faeries, raising their heirs to become hunters, building their homes to protect themselves from the magical beings. She could tell that admitting he had never seen and naturally never fought one was a bit embarrassing to him, but she didn’t comment on it.

She had never really formed a strong opinion on the fae. Yes, she was raised to fear them, but after Feyre had come back from beyond the wall and had told them of the incredible things she had seen, and how she had even fallen in love with one of them, her mind could never stop wandering towards that. It was probably silly, and she doubted she would ever see anything related to the other side in her lifetime. But Elain still held her eyes ahead, as if she could see through the forest, to what was beyond it.

“If I ever get to see one, I doubt it will be a long encounter, my whole life I’ve trained to slay them. I hope I get the opportunity one day” Graysen continued and Elain simply nodded. He was brave, she thought.

They were walking by a blackberry bush when suddenly one of the Lord’s sentries atop a brown mare appeared from the forest folliage

“Pardon milord, but- we need your assistance, there has been an incident in the north border” He said, one more sentry appearing at his side, pulling an extra horse with him.

“What is it?” He asked.

“It-“ The guard glanced at Elain for a second. “We have found something you might want to see” He ended with a sense of importance.

Graysen nodded at the sentry and then looked at Elain. “Will you be fine going back to the manor from here?” He glanced at the manor, clearly visible from the place where they were standing.

“Yes, don’t concern yourself” Elain half smiled, not completely certain about how to feel. He let go of her hand and she awkwardly fumbled with her gloves as she watched him quickly near the extra horse. With a swift move he climbed into the saddle and directed his gaze to Elain.

“I’ll see you back at the manor, Lady Elain” He said and with a quick bow of the head he was gone, engulfed by the foliage of the forest surrounding her.

Elain watched him go for a moment, suddenly realizing how strange it was for her to be so… alone. The forest around her was very much alive, though. Birds chirping and wind singing through the leaves, the light breaking through the canopy by the lovely midday sun. It was a shame that the exploring had been cut short, Elain had just started enjoying herself, she pondered, fingers running softly through the leafs of a jasmine vine.

She glanced towards the manor. It was probably the wise choice to just go back and wait for Graysen to be done with whatever it was he needed to do.

It was the wise choice.

But something Elain could not really explain made her take a small step back into the woods. Just a little wandering wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?

She told herself it was the feeling of finally being unrestricted that guided her further and further into the lovely woods. She didn’t know why it made her heart so happy, her limbs so free, she was suddenly smiling to herself, laughing even as she discovered a magnificent owl sleeping not far away on top of an oak tree branch, giggling as she skipped through leaves, passing by wildflowers and vines and apple trees. Even if a bit pathetic, she felt free and alive and somewhere down the line she lost her gloves and both her shoes were now hanging on her fingers, her stockings now the only barrier between her and the warm forest soil at her feet.

That was until she suddenly stepped onto something hard but soft and before she knew what was happening, she was stumbling face first down onto the ground.

“Ow” She groaned as the pain hit her ankle and she tried to gather herself. What in the world had made her fall-

She saw him then. She almost shrieked as her eyes took the sight all at once. Red hair, the most vibrant and rich crimson color she had ever seen, an enormous body, sprawled right beneath her as she sat on hands and knees. Directly in front of her: tan skin, with a few freckles speckled on his chiseled cheeks, a long brutal scar down the side of an otherwise perfectly handsome face, breaking through one of his thick dark eyebrows. Long lashes resting softly on his high cheekbones. And the ears, the slightly curved pointy ears pierced and sporting the most exquisite jewels she had ever seen. Elain gathered it all in seconds, and instinct made her jump and retreat away until her back painfully met the trunk of a tree.

Her heartbeat was pounding on her chest, the adrenaline preventing her of thinking straight.

A fae. A fae was lying right in front of her. She had stepped on… him. She had landed right on top of him too. Her hand pressed to her mouth.

She should run. She should already be running as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

She stared at him once more. He was looking so peacefully unconscious she suddenly wondered if he was even alive. She studied him warily. Why wasn’t she running again?

Gathering her strength she stood onto her two feet and wincing at herself, peered a look closer to him. She had never seen a fae before, curiosity taking the best of her as she took another step closer.

It hit her then that he was magnificent, something completely out of her world. Every inch of him designed for a much more exquisite realm, as much as deadly as he was beautiful.

Common sense urged her to leave him, to run. But something deep inside her commanded her to stay, to inspect. For some god forsaken reason she was not as scared as she should have been when she reached softly and placed two fingers on his throat, just to find warmth and a rhythmic pulse underneath her fingertips. She looked down on his body. Even while hidden under the most exquisite clothes she had seen, she could tell the… male was ripped with muscles, strong forearms leading to big wide hands adorned with golden rings. The steady breathing marked by the rising and falling of his strong chest. Her eyes wandered a bit before coming back up to his face and to her utter shock, finding him staring right back at her with a pair of mismatched eyes.

Elain almost yelped as she was suddenly being thrown on her back, one of those broad hands instantly on her mouth holding any sound she might make, his whole enormous otherworldly body encasing her and making it impossible to leave.

“I won’t hurt you” The male said just as she was going to start screaming nonetheless. “Don’t make a sound” He said, his handsome face inches from hers as she heard dogs barking and coming straight towards them.

The hunting hounds.

“Mmm!” She said, trying to warn him that they would end up being their food in no time.

“Don’t” He murmured. “They won’t sense us”

She looked at him with an incredulous look, her eyes about to pop out of their sockets at how wide they were as he just waited for the hounds to come.

And they did. The enormous dogs barked and passed right by without a second glance. How was that even possible?

Before she could move she heard the sentries going after them. They were following a trace, Graysen with them. They rushed through the forest and then disappeared. The male on top of her just stared ahead, waiting for them all to leave, his hand still unmovable on her mouth as he counted the seconds, while she looked at his long strong neck in front of her. He finally looked down at her again,

“Can I trust that you won’t scream bloody murder if I move my hand?” He asked. Elain nodded once, eyes locked into his mismatched gaze, one eye of russet, one of gold. It was the most enchanting thing she had ever seen and she felt ashamed at the thought.

He nodded as well, hand falling from her face as she gaped at him.

“My apologies, lady” He muttered, still atop her. “I couldn’t let them find me you see.” He slowly got himself off her smaller frame, he pulled himself to sit on his knees, extending a hand to her to help her sit up, she realized.

Warily, she took it, the act of sliding her hand through his warm calloused palm a lot more exhilarating than she had predicted it to be. He helped her up with no effort whatsoever until she was sitting straight facing his impossibly beautiful face. She could not stop wondering how such a being could possibly exist, let alone be talking to her in this moment.

“I’m Lucien” He suddenly said, something about her intense gaze apparently making him lower his gaze for a mere second and run his hand through his molten red hair. Lucien, even his name was new to her ears.

“You’re fae” She said, and that earned her a lopsided smile from him.

“I am” He said, his white smile bright as he displayed his pointy canines to her. Elain couldn’t help but to gape again. “And you’re human I see” He pointed out.

“Well- obviously. You’re in the wrong side of the wall, you know?” Something about his smile made it easy to talk to him and she surprised herself at her boldness. Again, shouldn’t she be running away from him?

“I am aware” He said as his smile turned into a sly smirk.

Elain arched an eyebrow at that, but he only assessed her further, his intense eyes going from her eyes, to her mouth and neck, the disarray of her dress and her muddy stocking clad feet on display. Her cheeks flushed as his gaze stayed there.

“Were you running from someone?” He asked slowly.

“No” She said, his eyes traveling just a little up towards her ankles, as if he could see her little injury from the fall. “I was just wandering through the forest” She said.

“Well, I owe you one, because if it wasn’t for you I might not have awoken in time for that” He said, pointing towards the way the dogs and the sentries and Graysen had gone through.

How had she awoken him?

She was still pondering on that when he said. “I can heal that, if you’d like, it wouldn’t take long” He gestured to her sore ankle, one she didn’t realize she had been softly rubbing. She was hesitant when he added. “Please, as a repayment for… helping me”

She glanced at her ankle, it was sore and… something inside her was still curious, peeking its ears at this new stranger, so different from anything she had ever encountered.

“Will it hurt?” She asked, tilting her head faintly at him.

“Not in the slightest” He put his hand on his heart. “I give you my word”

She pressed her lips slightly as she pondered before slowly nodding her approval. He approached carefully and Elain wondered if she had made the right call as he glanced at her for permission to touch her ankle, pausing until she dipped her chin softly into a nod.

Her stocking was loose on that side, and as he softly took her foot into his big palm, he realized it had come loose from its suspenders, so he simply began pulling at the fabric, making her blush even more furiously when seeing him strip her foot bare.

“Where does it hurt exactly?” He murmured when the clothing item was discarded.

“I thought you could see it” She said with an inhale. Something about a stranger touching her bare foot was finally hitting the mark as scandalous, but she couldn’t get herself to make him stop as his fingers brushed her skin softly, in a way that made her wonder if his intentions were exactly as selfless as he had expressed.

“Clever” He said with a slightly wicked smile. “I did… sense your ankle was hurt, but I can’t see exactly where” He explained as she wondered how that could even be possible. “Is it here?” He pressed on the top of her foot. She shook her head slightly as his eyes found hers again. “Here?” He moved his long fingers towards the side of her ankle and she shook her head again.

“The inner side” She said with a breathy voice that she could barely recognize as her own.

He nodded as his hand moved to where she directed him. The pain concentrating there as he moved her ankle slightly and she flinched.

“It’s not every day that I get awoken by a beautiful lady in the middle of a forest, you know?” He said as little sparks of light began spreading around her ankle as he worked. Elain was in awe as she stared at his magic, almost enough to make her miss the way he called her beautiful.

She hid her blush. “And it’s not every day that I stumble upon a sleeping fae in the middle of a forest too”

He gave her a roguish smile. “Ah, I do have a habit of sleeping around” He teased and she smiled a bit at his sass, right as the last of the pain got swept away, but he still did not put down her foot.

“What were you doing here?” She was compelled to ask as he looked into her eyes.

“I was dropped here by- …it doesn’t matter” He set down her foot at last. “They wanted me to end up ripped to shreds by those hounds just for funsies you see”

“Why?” She asked in horror.

He just shrugged. “They love to play with their enemies and I fell right into their grasp” He said, for a moment he looked around, then back at her. “You shouldn’t be around here… especially alone”

“I lost track of where I was going” She didn’t even know if she could go back through the same path she had taken without ending up even more stranded into the forest. He studied her quietly. She couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel scared of him, even for one moment, when his whole body screamed at how much of a warrior he had probably been forged to be, his muscles rippling through his clothes with every move.

“Were you having fun?” He asked her with a slight smile.

“I was” She admitted. A smile creeping into her mouth too.

“Is that an unusual thing for you?”

She bit her lip, wondering if she should be opening up to this stranger here in the middle of the woods. “I’m not used to feeling… unrestricted” She surprised herself by saying.

“That’s a shame, milady” He gathered himself to stand, and Elain could do little more than gape at how tall he was, more so than what she had expected. He extended a hand towards her again, and when she took it, a small frown crept on his brows as he stared at her small hand in his and pulled her to her feet, not a trace of pain as she stood. When he looked up at her face again, catching her gaze with predatory swiftness, he smirked at her once more. “In my humble experience, there is no greater fun than a female unrestricted” He said and she shifted on her feet as a blush crept onto her cheeks. Scandalous, that’s what this was.

“Are all fae this shameless?”

“Are all humans this curious?”

She realized her hand was still in his when he said it, and she nimbly pulled it away, his broad palm remaining open as it had been. She couldn’t understand what had gotten into her, and why she did not have the mental capacity to look away from his intent gaze.

“As much as I’d love to stay and aid in your adventures” He mused and Elain averted her eyes. “I gotta go, as you probably do too” He said and she looked back at him, his body straightening to take a step away from her. Something deep, so deep inside of her urged her to stop him for a moment longer, and before she knew it she was talking.

“Lucien-“ She said, and his head whipped towards her again, as if hearing his name from her lips startled him for some reason. “Will we ever meet again?”

Something flashed through his eyes as he contemplated her question.

“What’s your name, lovely forest nymph?” He asked her with a sly grin.

“Elain” She said, and again he started, as if something finally clicked. “Elain Archeron”

“Elain-“ He repeated. “You are Feyre’s sister”

“You know my sister?” She tilted her head, taking a small step closer to him. “How is she faring?”

“I’m her friend. She’s well-“ He said, his eyes averting her face for a second. “I’ll send her your greetings-“

“No- I” She said too quickly. “Can this stay between the two of us?”

He looked at her long and hard. His mismatched eyes enthralling her, the strands of his hair falling to frame his handsome face. Elain realized her neck was almost bent in half to maintain their eye contact from where she stood in front of him.

He finally bowed his head just slightly. “Of course, Lady Elain” He said. “And to answer your question” To her bewilderment he brought one of his knuckles and brushed them on her chin in the faintest motion, making her heart start beating hard and fast. “I hope we do” He said at last, his eyes falling from her eyes to her lips and back again. Elain felt herself gulp for air. In that moment she felt her body be transported in a blink of an eye, and before she knew it the beautiful male was gone.

She shook her head and noticed the blackberry bush near the entrance of the forest, she could see the manor from where she stood, as if he had brought her exactly to where she had been before, and then left as quickly as he had appeared.

The faint whisper of his touch still remained on her chin, the smell of him still lingered on her nostrils. And Elain could not understand for the life of her why she could not shake the feeling that she would always be looking for him. Somehow she knew he felt the same. And a faint voice in the back of her mind told her that they would someday meet again.

#elucien short fic #elucien fanfiction #elucien #pro elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elain x escapism #i want elain to be swayed by a roguish fae #human!au #i may do a second part and keep running with this

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turtletaubwrites · 4 days

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 23

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 4090

Ao3 Link

Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: Party's about to start. Can everybody pull themselves together amidst more untimely confrontations?

Author's Note: Heeyyy, so still hella drama, but not nearly as much trauma this time around. And of course, the smut! There's a new symbol for POV shifting. ⏰ paired with one or more of the boys will be a flashback of their past. I hope you enjoy! (Smutty flashbacks occur during adulthood of all parties involved!)

Alternate POV Symbols:

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Grief, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Blowjobs, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Gods, he’s dull.

He stared at you from across the decadent table, though the candlelight dancing in the crystal glasses was all you wanted to look at.

“I hear you’re quite the mathematician,” the faceless suitor cooed, almost pulling you out of your daze. “That you’re actually working at a bank?”

“Yes, I—“

“What a unique hobby,” he patronized, making you fight not to roll your eyes.

Not worth it. Not even close.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

I love the way he touches me.

You stopped your mind, refusing to go down the dangerous road it was headed. Enjoying every last moment of pretend with them was all you needed. You couldn’t lose yourself in comfort and hope so deep that you forgot it was about to end.

Yet, those long, dangerous fingers were so good at making you forget everything.

Mihawk’s touch could be cruel, vicious, intoxicating. Yet, there was something different about times like these as he helped you get ready for the party. Right now, his fingers felt reverent.

He was a sculptor. An artist who valued beauty, and pleasure above all things. You were both his medium, and his muse. You were the clay, and the marble. His teasing, dancing fingers would call you forth, bringing you out to meet the world.

Bringing you to life.

Stop.

Just need to enjoy it. Enjoy his scent, his touch, his hypnotizing voice.

I’ll take these daydreams with me.

“How’s my little rabbit? Would you like an espresso?”

Huffing a laugh after he caught you in a yawn, you felt yourself slipping. Slipping into grief while you ached to savor every moment you could, but your body wouldn’t let you. Exhaustion was ripping you into useless pieces.

“Do I have enough time for a nap?”

The pity in his eyes turned your stomach.

It’s true. This is my last night.

“Of course, darling. I’ll wake you when it’s time to finish up.”

Gratitude couldn’t leave your lips, even after he wrapped your hair in silk, laying you gently on that massive bed. Even as he left you in the dark.

Yet, gratitude filled you for the sleep that came quickly, instead of leaving you to scream against the pain and rage in your heart.

No dreams.

Thank fuck for no dreams.

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

Mihawk snuck out of the darkened suite, flashing his golden eyes toward Crocodile’s heavy steps while he shut the door softly.

Scowling at the swordsman, Crocodile tried to shove down the unease that had been building all fucking day. Y/N. Red Hair. Y/N. Mihawk. Y/N. The stupid, fucking party.

And the thought of how Y/N would react to the party favors.

Crocodile chided himself, wishing he’d explained it to her before everything got fucked. Now his sweet girl was gonna see—

“She’s taking a nap.” Mihawk cut off that spiral, his hushed tone relaxing as he moved away from the door. “I��ll help her finish soon, she just needs…”

“Is she alright?”

Mihawk tried not to let the guilt in his gut pour out of him, meeting those silver eyes before nodding toward the middle suite. Noting the tension buzzing through Crocodile’s large body.

“Answer me,” he demanded, fighting to keep his voice down. The ex-warlord wanted to be farther away so he could let this feeling out, but he couldn’t go too far from her. Not when she needed him like this.

“Our numbers girl is not well,” Mihawk reported, sinking into self hatred as the image of her tired eyes haunted him. “Can we do this party without her? Can we let her sleep?”

Crocodile wanted to ride on his anger, but the weakness in the swordsman’s voice made him pause.

He cares for her.

“Let’s let her decide,” he rasped, resisting the urge to run into that room to hold her, to beg at her feet for her to stay. The thought of her staying because she feared his reaction made his bones ache, not sure of anything he could do that wouldn’t hurt her. He slumped onto the edge of the bed, his own exhaustion remarkably heavier than after a brutal fight.

The crack of wood beneath him made him curse, hoping he hadn’t woken his sweet girl.

“Did you just break the bed,” Mihawk choked, fighting a laugh as the terrifying ex-warlord ungracefully pulled himself up from the caved-in mattress, shards of wood scattered across the lovely carpet.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he sighed, nudging a hunk of splintered wood with a freshly shined shoe.

“I’m amazed that our little green couch has survived this long,” Mihawk teased. He walked toward the larger man, almost forgetting for a moment.

“I like that couch,” Crocodile grumbled, still frowning at the destruction he’d caused so casually.

I’m gonna hurt her without even meaning to. I hurt everything.

“I think we all like that couch,” the swordsman purred, resting his hand on Crocodile’s arm. Guilt was almost stuffing itself down while he distracted himself, focusing on the man before him.

“Is that where you and Red Hair were last night? Enjoying our couch while our girl needed us?”

The words came out in a quiet rage, but rage nonetheless. The fact that Crocodile hadn’t already hurt this golden eyed liar was making him dizzy.

She needs us. It’ll hurt her. Can’t hurt her. Won’t hurt her.

A constant mantra to keep himself from violence. Y/N’s gorgeous, frightened eyes were like a muzzle in his mind. The urge to bite wasn’t trained away yet, his body just one small push away from giving in.

Never again.

He still felt sick.

Mihawk removed his hand, a strange laughter struggling to leave his throat. After what he’d done to Y/N, he hadn’t given a thought to how his new lover might be feeling about his old one. It never even crossed his mind.

I haven’t changed at all.

“Shanks—“

“Your close friend,” Crocodile hissed, clenching his fist, trying so fucking hard to navigate anger without violence.

Fuck. Maybe she won’t miss this asshole if I kill him. Maybe.

“Yes, we—“

“You’re gonna leave with them, aren’t you?” His fears rocked through him. The ones he hadn’t let fully take shape in his mind. “You’re gonna take Y/N, and Buggy, and you… you’re all gonna leave the monster behind.”

Crocodile hated every pathetic sound that had just left his lips. He sat down against the wall to avoid breaking more furniture, but it only reminded him of last night. His sweet girl, trusting him with her deepest pain. Trusting him to protect her. Heat filled his throat, and he wanted to spit it out.

“It’s up to her,” Mihawk whispered, not sure what to feel as he watched this mountain of a man clench his eyes shut in pain, not from battle, but from the fear of losing…

Mihawk joined him on the floor, trying not to care about his coat. He leaned his head back against the wall, too tired to resist these new, uncomfortable urges. This new, uncomfortable need to stop hurting everyone. To care. To try.

“I’m sorry I brought him into bed without asking you.”

Crocodile sighed, too caught up to think about how many times Dracule fucking Mihawk had apologized to him the last few days. One time was wild enough, and it seemed to be a lie.

This time…

“Why did you act like he didn’t mean anything to you,” he whispered, letting this conversation take part of his mind away from his worries about her.

Mihawk let out a harsh laugh, covering those pretty eyes with his hands while he stretched and groaned, arching his back toward the ceiling.

Why is all of this so fucking hard?

“I acted like that because I am a liar,” he confessed, waiting for the sting of a hook that didn’t come. “I lied to myself. I was a coward, and a bad person.”

They both gave a tiny smile, surprised to catch that look on the other’s face when the two ex-warlords met eyes.

“Trying not to be a monster is proving to be a more difficult challenge than I had anticipated.”

Truth, painful truth filled the swordsman’s words, and Crocodile didn’t fight his new, uncomfortable need.

His need to care for all of his beautiful, little lovers. To keep them from pain.

“We’re partners, right? How about we help each other with that,” he offered, spreading his arm out wide, hoping Mihawk would join him. Needing it. Needing all of them. “Maybe mean ol’ Crocodile, and his selfish little prince can learn not to be monsters. At least not to everyone.”

“I thought you hated liars,” Mihawk teased, scanning the other man for hints of violence. Trying to process all of those strange words.

“I’m trying out this new thing,” he huffed, shaking his head while he waited for warmth beside him. “Don’t get used to it.”

Mihawk gave a real laugh now, cutting himself off to stay quiet. He scooted over, resting his head against Crocodile’s chest while that terrifying and comforting arm curled around him.

This is nice, they both thought.

“You know, I was still pretty naughty,” Mihawk purred, unable to resist. “You should probably punish me any–”

“Oh, you’ll get what you deserve, little prince,” Crocodile chuckled. He let himself have just this moment to relax. To feel like things were alright. “Daddy’ll take care of ya.”

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

“You can suck my dick after the show, Red Hair.”

Shanks loved Buggy even more for the laugh he’d managed to pull free from his rotten soul.

“Buggy, please,” he begged, shamefully begged. “Do you have any time to talk?”

The clown narrowed his eyes at his old friend, concern creeping around him at the strain in his voice, the tightness in his eyes.

“What’s wrong,” Buggy hissed, pulling him into the private dressing room. A light blush heated all the way up to his ears from the thought of their last rendezvous here. That heat died quickly, his blood running cold at the bitter laughter that left the red haired pirate’s throat.

What’s wrong with him?

“I’m so sorry, Bugs, I’m sorry I– fuck, I’m being so selfish,” Shanks started rambling, pacing and pacing while his hand flexed, gesturing out with a tension Buggy’d never seen before. “No, I shouldn’t do this now. Not before your show. Sorry, Bugs, you should go have a good show. I’ll just… I’ll talk to you after. I’m sorry.”

Buggy’s floating hand slammed the door closed when Shanks tried to leave, his other hand pulling him around by his cloak.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” he hissed, eyes wide while he tried to figure out what sort of drug could have made Shanks babble like this. Made him look this scared, this sick. “You can’t do ominous shit like this, and then just leave without telling me what the fuck is going on! Did someone fucking die? Why are you freaking out right now?”

“You’re right.” Shanks let out a pained laugh, leaning his back against the mirrored wall. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The clown glared, but nothing else came loose. He shook the other pirate, shaking his shoulders until those desperate, brown eyes met his.

“What you’re doing is telling me what the fuck is wrong with you, shithead.”

“That was always my favorite nickname,” Shanks smiled, eyes going dreamy.

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🤡🔴⏰~~~

“You know it’s silly to keep blaming me for that,” Shanks teased, trailing his fingers along Buggy’s bare shoulders as the clown took off his shoes. Taking too long to undress while they had another fake argument about Buggy swallowing the devil fruit he’d stolen when they were kids.

“Well, I’m just a silly clown then,” Buggy grumbled, tossing a shoe against the wall without much force before kicking off his pants. “Just a–”

“Just my silly clown,” Shanks purred after propping up his straw hat on the nightstand. He pushed that lovely, blue hair aside to breathe kisses up Buggy’s neck.

“I’m not yours, shithead,” he argued, though the fierceness faded into need fast when Shanks’ hand reached around his side to tease along his chest and stomach. Buggy couldn’t handle anything Shanks did or said. Rivals, friends, or this, he was always overwhelmed.

Especially this.

Shanks’ compliments and flirtations had always flustered and infuriated him, but now… Now he couldn’t think anytime his new lover was near. His lover. His boyfriend? His Shanks. He would tease, and play, and make him lose his mind. Could hardly get through a conversation without his face getting hot.

It was amazing. Incredible. Still… unbelievable. Still waiting for his beautiful lover to fall for the next stranger they met. To meet someone as perfect as he was. To fess up that this was just a joke after all.

That I’m just a joke.

Just a silly clown.

Those fears were hard to remember with Shanks’ lips on his skin. With the lovely lies he’d whisper in his ear. With the way he said his name like that.

“Buggy,” Shanks rasped, sinking to his knees between Buggy’s legs at the edge of the bed. “How about I make it up to you?”

Shanks loved saying that. He loved watching Buggy’s eyes flutter, seeing his breath catch.

One day I’ll make him believe me.

The red haired pirate was determined to make his lover feel beautiful. He’d seen the world be cruel, he’d fought that cruel world for Buggy, with Buggy.

I’ll make him smile.

“Do you want me to tell you what to do, baby,” he purred, hands stroking down Buggy’s inner thighs. “Or does my silly clown wanna be in charge right now?”

“Shut up, and suck my dick already, idiot– mmn, fuck yeah.”

Shanks hummed, taking his lover’s balls into his mouth while he started stroking along that perfect length. Buggy always got so hard, so fast, and Shanks’ eyes rolled back at the feel of those thick veins against his skin.

“I said–”

Shanks grinned at Buggy’s order, cutting him off. He swirled his tongue around the tip, moaning softly at the taste of him. He teased and sucked that sensitive head, pulling away with a popping sound while he watched every little twitch Buggy gave him.

“Stop teasing.”

“But you’re doing so well for me, baby,” Shanks praised, his voice and eyes dark as Buggy’s head fell back, starting to beg. “So good for—“

“F-fuck, Shanks…”

“Sorry, Bugs,” he gloated, kissing the tip one more time. “Let me make it up to you.”

“Gods, don’t stop! Please.”

Feeling Buggy shake, hearing him beg, whimper, and whine for him, was one of Shanks’ favorite things in the world. There was no one like him. No one more deserving, no one who needed him more.

He stopped his rhythm just long enough to let Buggy shiver at the slow, tight pressure of Shanks taking him all in, his throat like heaven to the clown that had fallen back against the mattress. The rhythm built again, built until the clown’s still-gloved hands gripped the sheets. Shanks felt a momentary twinge that he hadn't noticed the gloves before, but then his mind was gone, drowning in Buggy, drowning in all that come down his throat, and the sound of his name on those red lips.

“Shanks,” Buggy cried out, back arching from the insane pleasure that Shanks kept giving him. Spilling his need down that gorgeous, eager throat would never stop feeling like a dream. Never stop feeling like this.

The red haired pirate couldn’t help but tease, making his clown twitch when he licked his tip again, drained of every last drop. He laughed at Buggy’s gasp, then crawled up beside him, not caring about the colors on his face when he stole a kiss.

“So,” Shanks smirked as he rested his head on Buggy’s chest. “Did that make up for–”

“No,” Buggy scoffed, struggling to keep a cheesy smile off of his face. “Not even close, shithead.”

~~~⏰🤡🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

“Hey, idiot! Are you on drugs? I told Mohji not to share with–”

The giggle that Shanks let out did not help his case, but he tried.

He tried to figure out how to do or say anything with this weight on him. He felt like he was being crushed beneath all this guilt, this disgust, this fear that he’d ruined his own happiness, and how selfish that thought felt after all he’d done.

And now he was piling it all onto Buggy before his big show.

How do I stop being such a fucking asshole?

Buggy was very close to slapping him. Really fucking wanted to. Why wait–

“I fucked up,” Shanks admitted, his arm hanging loose at his side. He paused again, and Buggy pulled his hands away from the red haired man’s cloak, releasing him, and readying himself to beat the shit out of his drug-addled friend.

“I have too many apologies to give you right now. I’m sorry. I should have said it sooner, and I shouldn’t have come and ruined your pre show yellfest.”

“There wasn’t much to ruin,” Buggy laughed, still watching Shanks like he was a cornered animal. “Apparently I’m good at my job now.”

“You’ve always been good, Bug–”

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Shanks’ breath caught at the sudden anger in Buggy’s voice. Real anger. Not the play anger they always had.

“I’m sorry, Bugs. What do you mean?”

“What do you mean,” Buggy mocked, stepping back as his body disconnected, pieces floating up and around while he snapped. “Your favorite fucking sentence. You always just swoop in, and act like nothing bad ever happened! You act all sweet, say all this shit, and fucking touch me like– It’s not fair! You’re too…”

Red Haired Shanks had never looked like this. All of Buggy’s pieces stopped moving while he stared his old friend. He’d never looked this wrecked, not even when he was blacked out, and throwing up over the side of the ship. He always looked dreamy eyed, or just too fucking relaxed, no matter what was happening. The most negativity he’d show Buggy was just mild, teasing annoyance, and even then, he’d slip into flirting almost instantly.

Right now Shanks looked like he was falling to pieces.

Buggy’s words were knives through the gut, tearing him down, almost dragging him to his knees. That anger that he’d always ignored was brutal. It was evidence of everything Shanks now hated about himself. Every ugly, selfish mistake was real.

He’d truly hurt Buggy.

Now he’d hurt the woman he loves.

And now he might be hurting this strange group of lovers that he’d been so determined to steal his clown back from.

Not my clown.

“Are you crying,” Buggy shouted as he grabbed Shanks’ face, squeezing his cheeks to force him to look up. Buggy’s head flew down, blinking at the tears in the Emperor of the Sea’s eyes.

“I’m sorry for everything, Buggy,” Shanks mumbled, struggling between the pressure in his throat, and the clown’s grip on his face. “I’m not gonna say I’ll make it up to you this time. I know I say that every time, Bugs… but I’d like to talk about it all later. If you want to.”

“Okay…” Buggy pulled his body together, slowly releasing Shanks’ face, and wondering if he was the one on drugs instead of his old friend. “You swear no one died?”

“I swear,” he laughed, finally a sliver of hope showing through his darkened soul. “Although the party hasn’t started yet.”

“Will you watch out for her for me?”

Buggy’s voice sounded light, but Shanks knew how real his request was. That sliver of hope felt pathetic.

I’m the one that hurt her.

“I will.”

Buggy kissed him before kicking him out, and Shanks stood there, frozen in shame until performers cussed at him for being in the way.

Can I fucking drink now?

~~~🔴🤡🔴🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

Beautiful, they both thought while they looked at their numbers girl.

Mihawk’s guilt over treating her like a toy, and dressing her up like a doll was almost forgotten when she’d let him trail his hands over her skin, her hair, let him play with her. Y/N was always stunning, but he couldn’t wait to turn her around for Crocodile to see after he’d accentuated her features.

It was incredibly satisfying to watch that frightening face melt at the sight of her.

What a strange, lovely girl, to bring so many villains to their knees.

The swordsman was already on his knees for her, and would gladly do so again, smiling to himself at the thought.

“Are you ready, little rabbit,” he rasped, standing to offer her his hand. Crocodile could see her shaking at the vanity, and he had to move toward her, coming to stand beside his little prince.

“We’re right here with you, sweet girl,” he promised, wanting to take her and run, to leave the fucking guild behind just to see her real smile again.

“I’m ready,” Y/N cleared her throat, that perfect mask of a smile hiding his girl away. He didn’t even care that she’d lied.

~~~🐊🗡️🐊🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

They weren’t supposed to touch you at the party. A firm rule you’d set in place, needing to be seen as professional to maintain respect with these contacts, even if they assumed the truth anyway.

It was always about the image you showed, not the truth behind it. No truths in this world.

Just need enough berry to paint a pretty picture.

You couldn’t decide if you regretted the no touching rule or not. Which option was less likely to make you cry in front of all the guests?

Here they come.

You almost smirked at the twitching in Crocodile and Mihawk's hands as they stood beside you, watching the line come closer. Buggy had to wait backstage for the show, so his executives and CFO would be greeting the guests.

The guest list was seared into your mind. You had obsessed, going over and over it, making sure that only the right people showed, making sure that their plus one’s were up to your standards.

Each guest could bring a maximum of two personal guards. Crocodile had fought you on that, but he’d finally agreed that not a single rich sleaze bag would be brave enough to meet with a bunch of pirates without security. He did insist that sea prism stone would be confiscated at the gate, and that all the guards would be tested to ensure no devil fruit users would be attending.

You knew every single thing about the guests heading up those steps, yet you still scanned each one as you turned on that Sylvad charm.

Mihawk and Crocodile seemed to radiate the opposite of charm, and you were glad you were part of the greeting party, otherwise the guests might have all run screaming.

“Do you have to be so scary,” you scolded with a laugh. “You’re making my job harder here.”

“Come now, rabbit. You have them all wrapped around your little finger,” Mihawk teased, his voice bringing a flush to your skin that you tried to ignore.

“That’s Mayor Kottley, isn't it?” Crocodile flicked his eyes toward the ostentatious man in a bowler hat that was taking his time strutting up the steps. “The one with the brothel–”

“Shh,” you swallowed a laugh, your eyes wide. You tried to get your face straight, but couldn’t resist asking. “How did you know that?”

“My sweet girl's notes are very thorough, and very entertaining.”

A true smile started.

Almost forgot. I almost forgot it’s over.

That thought made it easier to find your face again, the pride and warmth that had flooded your veins drifting away.

Guest after guest after guest. So many annoying people with condescending smiles. This was not the kind of pretend you wanted.

At least I get to help them all before it’s over. At least I matter that much.

“Sweetheart,” Crocodile interrupted your spiral, his voice reminding you to breathe and smile. “You know what this guild is for, right? Sorry, of course you do…. I just forgot to warn you. We're gonna be doing that tonight.”

“Doing wha—“

“Well, don’t you look lovely, Y/N. And here I thought you hated parties.”

That voice came from a tall, handsome man in a conservative, yet expensive suit. The scent of citrus and cedarwood moved with him when he kissed your hand.

It’s over.

“Hello, Uncle Cedrick.”

~~~~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: Hi!!! How's everybody doing? Please don't kill me for the cliffhanger, there's sooo much going on with this party, lol. Also, I hope you don't mind that I decided against describing reader's dress, hair, and makeup (besides "accentuating features") for the party. I had some ideas, but I figured your ideas would work better for you! Numbers Girl will pretty much always be wearing dresses though since Daddy Croc likes them, and Mihawk enjoys the easy access 😅

Part 23

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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brucewaynehater101 · 17 days

Note

Soooooo, I just had a daydream of comics Bruce and Cartoon Bruce meeting. I don't know what the plot is, but the little scenario in my head sees them fighting. And Comics Bruce says something about The Mission being above family and whatnot, making Cartoon Bruce pause.

And then Cartoon Bruce goes, "You are a sad, pathetic little man. You have my pity."

One of the batkids going: "Did he just quote Buzz Lightyear?"

And then Cartoon Bruce wins, he adopts all of Comics Bruce's children, brings them into his home dimension, and lives the good life after ensuring no World Alternate Shenanigans would occur

All the while Comics Bruce lives his own self-fulfilled prophecy of living and dying alone because none of his own children fought to stay with him. And if they had, it wasn't a very hard battle of wills.

BRUCE DESERVES TO LIVE AS A SAD OLD MAN WHO SHRIVELS UP AND DIES BECAUSE EVERYONE LEFT HIM.

Anyways, yes! I would love to see an AU where comic accurate Bruce interacts with Cartoon/animated or Good Dad Bruce versions. Just one good version of Bruce finding out all the shit comic Bruce did.

For some angst to explore:

Bruce telling Damian Alfred's death was his fault

Bruce hitting Dick, Jason, and Tim

Tim's 16th birthday

Bruce taking away Dick's key to the Manor after Jason died (and how he never told Dick about Jason's death)

Jason getting brainwashed

Steph's run as Robin

Refusing to let Dick tell the others he's still alive during Spyral

There's more (and some really weird ones too), but that's a few that can be referenced!

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #damian wayne #steph brown #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #bruce wayne bashing

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rookthorne · 2 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲

A venture to a club for a performance — the type that better suited the phrase ‘once in a lifetime’ — left you with far more than you could have ever anticipated for when you step out from the double, glass doors.

The secrets within the lustful atmosphere weighed on your own thoughts, as did the vivid imagery of what happened up on that stage: the drag of heated palms over your clothes and the whispered words of praise that would fuel your sinful dreams for a time.

Only, the source of your maladaptive daydreams waited for you outside.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ꧖ Stripper!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ꧖ 7.9k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ꧖ Fluff, extreme spicy tension, emphasised size difference (Bucky is huge and beefy as fuck in this), Russian!Protective!Bucky ჻჻჻ TROPES: Grumpy/Sunshine, Meet Cute ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, size

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 ꧖ I have been waiting for the opportunity for over a year now to create this AU, and I had the push from @sgt-seabass' experience at a certain event that she so graciously shared with me... 😘 ꧖ A special thank you to a certain someone for their help with the Russian flirting... ꧖ I have to say that this Bucky was one of the hardest ones I have ever attempted — there were times I was so close to throwing in the towel. I am so glad I didn't. ꧖ It was so fucking hard to not add smut into this — I am determined to save that for a... special moment.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔 ꧖ It's A Man's World by Sevyn Streeter ꧖ greedy by Tate McRae ꧖ Soaked by Shy Smith ꧖ Crazy in Love by Beyoncé

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 ꧖ @thevillainswhore — you were a literal saviour, baby, thank you so much for sticking with my stubborn ass through this. ꧖ And to quote her when she saw the tropes: MEET CUTE? YEAH, SOME FUCKING MEET CUTE! 🤭

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ꧖ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟮 — Stripper AU — Masterlist ꧖ @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo ჻჻჻ Teasing (January) — Masterlist ꧖ @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗢𝟰 — Nightclub AU — Masterlist ꧖ @anyfandomkinkbingo 𝗡𝟯 — Free Space — Masterlist

𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The crowded line around you bustled and shifted with excitement for what lay ahead in only — you checked your phone for the time — a few minutes. Double, glass doors artistically darkened would part to the masses, passes would be checked, and then you would be directed to and seated in your booked seats.

“What do you think they’ll be like up close?” your friend asked from next to you, their arm looped around yours to stay close. “What about–”

“Let’s just hope we get to see him,” you reminded your friend. “He’s kept a secret for a reason, no one knows if he’ll be at a show until he is there—part of his mysterious charm, I guess.”

As a birthday present from your accompanying friend, you were given a set of tickets to see a coveted show by the Howling Commandos — a group consisting of a few men and their host, Natalia, travelling through the states of your home country and performing risqué dances on a dimly lit stage to a crowd of howling women (and a few men, too).

That wasn’t what you were there for, however.

Within the ranks of the performers that made up Howling Commandos, was a man built like a God — from what you had seen on their social media, you learned that he was called Sarge. He had jaw length, dark brown hair, and piercing, slate grey eyes.

Not much could be parsed from his lack of information — it wasn’t abnormal to be a private performer, it was part of the allure and to gain profit, you suspected, but there was next to nothing known of the brooding mountain of a man that commanded such a presence on the stage that he was only brought out for the biggest of shows.

It was a little disheartening, if you were honest, that your particular show wouldn’t be classed among the bigger crowds — the likelihood of Sarge even being in the roster of performers was slim.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, glancing around the gathered crowd. “I just– I hope we get to see him. Have you seen the way he dances?”

“Oh, yeah,” they replied. A strange, teasing smirk pulled at the corner of their lips, and it made you nervous for some inexplicable reason. “I’m hopeful too, babe—turn that frown upside down, it’s your birthday!”

You managed a small nod and smile in reply.

Not even a moment later, the doors before you parted, opening in a wide arc to reveal a provocatively dressed woman, a staff member of the ensemble. The bass of the music from within the nightclub pounded in your chest, and your heart skipped a beat as you handed the worker your joint passes — they flashed a wolfish smile and gestured you inside.

“She was hot.”

You snorted at your friend’s blunt commentary, though you nodded in agreement. The woman was dressed in what you could only describe as a modest corset and fishnets, topped off only with platform heels and an updo that would make a nineteen-forties housewife jealous.

The interior of the club was remarkably different to the outside. From the blackened windows, you could still see the dimmed glow of the neon’s that lined the outer signs and gutters of the building, but within the establishment, it was a much softer, moodier atmosphere.

Couches made of plush, burgundy velvet were lining booths and tables alike, while stools and tables made up the middle of the floor with a few stylistic chairs thrown among the mix. A stage, high off of the floor by at least four feet, lined the furthest and widest wall from the entrance.

Curtains covered the back of the wall, a combination of blacks, deep reds, and purples making up the canvas of a backdrop.

The music that played over the speaker sounded familiar, and you strained your ears to decipher the song — a classic for a club hosting a stripping event, with a sultry beat that made your skin prickle.

“Well, well, hello there, vozlyublennyy,” a voice suddenly called from the stage.

Your gaze snapped towards the source, and you found a woman standing right at the edge. Black leather met fire-red hair and lipstick; her mouth was curled in a wicked, sultry smile that turned your insides to jelly. The heels she wore made her as tall as a Goddess, and she bent her knees to squat down to better look at you. “Aren’t you pretty?”

“Oh, god,” you whined, hiding your face in your friend’s shoulder. They laughed at your shame. “C’mon, that’s not funny–”

“It is, sweetheart,” the woman cooed, and she offered you her hand to shake; blood red nails turned her porcelain skin paler, and she had a single, silver ring on her thumb. “Natalia—pleasure to meet you.”

You offered your name and your hand, only, she kissed your knuckles and left behind a stain of red lipstick.

Natalia tilted her head as she looked at your friend. “Interesting… very interesting.” Before you could question her statement, the leather of her pants creaked with the movement of her standing tall. “Why don’t you come take a seat over here for me?”

The chairs she pointed to were placed in the VIP section. Your heart thundered against your ribs with trepidation. “But–”

“Aw, thanks!” your friend cried, far too enthusiastically. The grip they had on your arm was iron tight, and you had no choice but to follow the direction they frog marched you in — straight towards the seats that screamed opulence.

“What are you doing– We– You didn’t pay for these?” you rushed, watching your friend sit beside you in the booth. On the centre table was a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne, a tray of hors d'oeuvres beside it. “The fuck is this?”

“Just don’t think about it, babe,” they replied nonchalantly. A sample of food popped into their mouth, and they made an appreciative noise.

The sudden, mysterious determination of your friend set you on edge and made your stomach coil with anxiety. You could not figure out what they were up to, let alone having acquired such tickets to sit so close to the stage, and you realised with one hell of a start, if you reached a hand out from your set, the tips of your fingers brushed the very edge of the platform.

People began to take their seats with ushers directing them, and you took the opportunity to take in the interior again — a large bar was bordered by glass shelves stocked full of liquor, from whiskey to vodka, all the way to tequila.

While you stared around the space, the lights began to dim even further until you could barely see the stage.

“Hello, hello, all of my minxes,” Natalia said, her honeyed voice blanketing the crowd and kicking up the anticipation in the air by several degrees. Spotlights suddenly illuminated her figure on the stage, and you gasped at the sight — black leather pants accentuated her thighs and hips, and the dip of her corset in the harsh light was anything but modest. The red curls you admired moments ago sat over her shoulders.

The crowd cheered and whooped with her appearance; she took a bow. “Thank you all for the very warm welcome, darlings,” she cooed, the slight rasp of her Russian accent making her tone sensual. “Tonight is, as you know, a very special night.”

Her heels clicked over the stage as she strolled leisurely back and forth, holding the entire focus and attention of the patrons in her manicured hand. “We have ventured from far and wide to come here tonight. So it is of both of our benefits if I allow the boys to start the show, but first,” she said, coming to a halt in the middle of the stage. “Some house rules.”

You listened while Natalia listed off the do’s and don'ts for the evening — most of which you couldn’t believe had to be even mentioned. “Some people are pieces of work,” you muttered to your friend. They snorted a laugh and nodded in agreement.

“And with all that out of the way,” Natalia sang, and she tilted her head to search through the crowd. Her hazel-green eyes landed on you — something behind that playful gaze caused a shiver to run down your spine. “I present, Falcon.”

The show that Falcon put on toed the line in so many instances that the room felt like a sauna — a few women were using their leaflets to fan themselves. You watched with heat adorning your cheeks as he bowed to the crowd, then dashed off stage, opposite to where Natalia appeared once more.

Her sensual smile seemed to invigorate the crowd even more, and they whistled as she slunk to the very front of the stage as the music began an interlude. “I’m sure Falcon would not have minded a louder cheer, darlings,” she purred, arching a perfectly manicured brow.

An uproar of cries and screams made her laugh from her perch on stage. “That was much better, excellent.” Her heels clicked over the platform as she strutted back and forth, back and forth — if she were a cat, you suspected her tail would be twitching with the anticipation of cornering her prey. “Our next performer is a crowd favourite, and he is eagerly awaiting his turn behind the curtain–”

“Hurry up, Nat,” a deep voice said from behind the barrier of cloth.

The cackle of laughter Natalia replied with sent a thrill down your spine. “Easy—be a good boy now, Nomad.”

A blond head of hair that belonged to no other than the infamous Nomad appeared between the split of fabric, and he glared at Natalia with a playful heat that only made her laugh harder.

The appearance of him roused the crowd, and for good measure, he winked at a few patrons. “Come on out then, boy,” Natalia teased. “They seem to want you—we must give them a show.”

Nothing prepared you for the intensity of Nomad’s set. The sensual movements and choreography of his routine was mesmerising, and you often found yourself staring into his face as opposed to his body; those eyes never left the woman he danced over, a depth to them something only a lover would achieve.

By the time Nomad took a bow and strode off stage, your heart was jammed in your throat and your mind was flitting with dreams you only hoped would manifest while you slept. It was only early, though. The tickets stated clearly this show would run for at least another hour, if not longer — you looked to your friend whose attention was wholly fixated on the stage. “What are they–”

“Ah, darlings,” Natalia called, cutting you off, and an unnatural hush fell over the crowd. Some kind of electricity shot through the patrons like a lightning strike, anticipation heavy in the air. “You must think that tonight must be over—it is only early, I assure you, the night is young!”

There were a few hollers in reply.

“You need not fret. We have another surprise for you all,” she soothed. Her boots shone in the spotlight as she stalked to the front of the stage, and she squatted in place. Dark eyes met yours, and your breath hitched at the way she seemed to see through you.

Music swelled and pounded against your ear drums, the deep bass of it taking the rhythm of your heart and twisting it to its own beat. The lights dimmed and turned red, casting Natalia’s silhouette over the crowd.

“Please, welcome our very own soldier,” she purred.

A dark figure came out from behind the curtains and loomed over Natalia, even in her high heeled stilettos. They wore a cap to obscure their face; a jacket bulked their frame and covered a red henley, the first and second button unclasped to show the rounded neck of a black shirt.

No matter what they wore, there was no mistaking who just stepped onto the stage, and you felt what little control you had over your body slip through your fingers like sand.

Beside you, your friend grabbed your arm and shook it, squealing excitedly. “Oh, he’s here!”

You blinked, covering your open mouth with a hand — either to clasp your jaw shut or hide your surprise, you couldn’t decide.

“Well, hello there, Sarge,” Natalia greeted, and she circled him; each click of her heels loud against the floor. “I think we have a few voyeurs excited to see you.”

Sarge raised his head to observe the crowd, eyes sharp and bright under the red light. “Da, you would be right,” he said, face passive and void of any emotion. “I better get started then.”

The fabric hugging his chest wrinkled with a sudden roll of his shoulders, and he moved his neck side to side — a physical show of his strength that made the crowd squeal and shriek.

He did not even react.

That same passive stare observed the crowd before he glanced at Natalia. “Ubiraysya otsyuda, Natalia.”

Manicured nails brushed over her forehead while she saluted in farewell. “Have fun.”

“I can’t believe this,” you whispered in shock. The flood of heat that warmed your neck crawled its way up to your cheeks; suddenly unbearably warm while the lights overhead dimmed.

The vision of him on stage was otherworldly — nothing could compare, not even the videos and pictures uploaded to social media of his performances or press. Even his accent was stronger, deeper in person. He towered on stage with his mere presence, let alone his astounding height.

A few patrons whistled and called for him to start, but he merely threw them a heated stare that forced them to quieten down. The respect he commanded made your stomach flutter with nerves.

Next to you, you felt the seat cushion shift, and your friend leaned closer to whisper in your ear, “Happy birthday, babe.”

You blinked and looked at them with wide eyes. “What–?”

They nodded towards the stage. Confused and unable to repress the nervous shiver of being watched, you looked towards the raised platform, just as steel-grey eyes met yours. Sarge had searched the crowd like a famished wolf, and the hunger in his gaze reflected as such.

All of the breath in your lungs escaped in one fell swoop, the exhale turning into a squeak of shock that was not dignified. “Oh, oh,” you whimpered, moving back in your seat until your back was against the plush cushioning. “You didn’t– Oh no—no, I can’t–”

The frantic pleas turned to breathless whines when Sarge smirked at you; a slight quirk of his full, pink lips that froze the world around you. His handsome features came into full view with the sudden beam of a spotlight, and you took them in — a sharp jawline that would cut glass, paired with a straight nose above perfect lips. There was a light dusting of stubble over his jaw that offset the dark brown locks that fell to his neck.

People in the crowd caught onto who he was staring at, and they began to whoop in encouragement.

A gloved hand raised to halt the noise. “A little bird told me that tonight was someone’s birthday,” Sarge said, still staring straight at you. The slack in your jaw was almost painful. “And for the birthday girl, I have a surprise.”

“What,” you blurted.

Small giggles punctuated your stunned silence, the sudden hysterics of your friend almost made it all the more unbearable. The clarity that came with the sudden reveal hit you like a speeding truck on a highway, the mysterious change of seats; how Natalia picked them out from the crowd.

You turned to stare at them heatedly. “You did this?”

A sludge formed in your stomach when they nodded.

“I can’t, I can’t– Oh, god,” you gasped, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of emotion that coursed through you. “I can’t go up there!”

The doubt only gave rise to a sense of confliction — some small part of you yearned to take that stage by storm and have a dream become true, the other, however, wanted to crawl into a ball from the shame of such exposure.

“Yeah, you can,” your friend said, and they gripped your hand. “You’re going to go up there and have the time of your life—don’t let your fear steal this from you.”

Lights around the room dimmed entirely, casting the stage into darkness. Over the pounding of your heart, you could hear the heavy thump of boots over wood, then a solid shadow loomed at the edge of the stage; sans cap, and hair flowing loose down his neck, the few strands that covered his face brought to life the impulse to tuck them behind his ear.

“If it truly makes you uncomfortable, I will leave you be,” Sarge offered. The gravelly tone of his voice made you gulp compulsively from a sudden dry mouth.

He squatted in place, the toes of his boots right on the edge of the platform — you couldn’t help but notice the tightness of his jeans around his thighs. “Otherwise, darling,” he continued quietly, “Allow me.” A gloved hand appeared in your vision, and he smiled softly at you.

“I– Oh, fucking,” you rambled, unable to take hold of his hand. “I can’t–”

“She will,” your friend interrupted, and Sarge glanced at them — his expression had turned passive once more. “She just needs some encouragement.”

“Oh?” Sarge replied, a curious lilt to his accent. He stared at you. “That I can offer.”

The squeak of his boots sounded when he rose to his feet. His looming height only made your heart beat faster and faster against the confines of your throat — you watched his back and shoulders move as he strode back towards the curtains.

The crowd was in titters of anticipation for the beginning of the show.

And to your utter astonishment, Sarge turned on the spot to face you, and started to shed the jacket he wore all while maintaining eye contact — a spell you could not break, no matter how hard you could have tried, you did not want to.

Your jaw ached with the way it fell open in awe once the outer layer of his clothes were removed, leaving him in just his henley and undershirt; jeans hugged his thighs far more prominently now the baggier layer didn’t hide his frame.

“Go on,” your friend whispered, pushing you sideways on your seat to the edge.

“Ah, nyet,” Sarge barked, pointing at your friend. “Let me try to convince moya malen'kaya kukla.”

The seamless transition to his mother tongue made a small, quiet moan fall from your lips before you could bite back the impulse. Sarge, ever the cunning wolf, seemed to have heard it, regardless of the crowd of impatient patrons.

You watched as his index finger beckoned you, a come-hither motion that set the last of your reserved dignity to cinders.

“Idi syuda, viksen,” Sarge called. “Come here. Kneel at my feet.”

The pit of your stomach fell through the floor, much like your jaw, and as though you were bewitched, you rose from your seat to whoops and cheers; rounds of applause that could not be heard over the thunderous roar of blood in your ears.

Sarge stood on the stage, his eyes fixed on you with such intent it turned your knees to jelly, and as you reached the small set of stairs to the side of the stage platform, he moved towards you and offered a gloved hand to help you up.

“Here, darling,” Sarge said softly. One hand held yours while you navigated the steep steps, the other was placed on your lower back when you reached the solid and suddenly very large platform.

Under the guise of directing you, he leaned in close enough for the heat of his breath to be felt on the shell of your ear. “If it becomes too much for you to take—what I am about to do,” he clarified at your startled squeak. “You must tap my arm thrice, like this.” The soft tap of his finger against your arm was insistent and firm. “Understood, da?”

“Y–Yeah, yes,” you replied breathlessly, nodding once. “I– Okay.”

Sarge dipped his head low and grinned, so only you would see. “Khoroshaya devochka, lyubimyy.”

The music swelled and trembled the floor before you could even reply to his quip, and he looked around the stage. “Hmm, over there, I am thinking,” he said quietly, and then you were moved towards the other end of the stage, his hand still holding yours. “Are you ready, darling?”

You blinked, then hesitated a brief second. Sarge picked up on the swirling anxiety that viciously swarmed your mind and body. “Remember, you need only tap my arm three times and it stops. I will signal to Natashka, then she will take you to a quiet room to soothe you.”

“Well, there’s a back up plan, just in case,” you mumbled.

A small smile danced on Sarge’s lips again, the same one that he held only for you back at your seat. “There will always be precautions,” he said, his voice thick with the accent of his mother tongue. It was endearing and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him for how nonsensical and calming his mere presence was — quite the opposite for what you would expect of a performer. “Besides, I do not want to frighten such a beautiful woman.”

“Oh–”

“Kneel, viksen,” Sarge commanded suddenly. You jumped in fright and fell to your knees with little hesitation — the rushed action made Sarge smirk. “Well done, darling.” Leather caressed your jaw, then your chin, and his hand tilted your head up to look into his face. When your gaze met his, he winked and licked his bottom lip before he silently mouthed, “I am starting now.”

His consideration swelled far more than your heart.

A loud voice called over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s make some noise for Sarge!”

The crowd roared a few decibels below deafening.

You watched in the sudden, dimmed lighting as Sarge turned back around and headed straight towards where he stood when he beckoned you on stage. His head was held high while he looked over the stage, and a spotlight caught his profile, sending it into sharp relief against the backdrop of crimson and purples.

Sarge’s beauty was unmatched by any model or actor. His side profile alone was enough to make a small, unbidden whimper fall from your lips.

The leather gloves that covered his hands were pulled off, exposing the skin beneath — swirls of ink lined the back of his hands, while a few patterns stretched artfully down some of his fingers. As for the rest of the artistry that you assumed decorated his body, it was covered by the red henley and black undershirt, let alone the jeans that hugged his thighs.

His heated gaze fell on you as he turned to stand directly opposite you — his feet shoulder width apart and his head tilted to the side so strands of dark hair fell over his cheek and jaw.

From within the crowd, you could just decipher the calls from your friend, and their encouraging cries fuelled your bravery — a blessing in disguise, for Sarge held out his hand and beckoned you towards him, just as he had done to get you on the stage in the first place.

Oh, fuck, you thought.

Instinctually, or foolishly, you placed your hands past your knees and onto the stage, then lifted off of your knees — everything in your body screamed arousal at such a dominant move. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you mumbled at the ground. “I’m really doing this.”

Yeah, you are, the voice replied in your mind — it sounded familiarly like your friend that watched on.

One hand moved forward, followed by a knee; the other hand mimicked the firsts, then your other knee followed suit. The hard surface dug into your knees and palms, but you paid no mind to the subtle ache, your gaze too homed in upon the man that stood watching you crawl to him.

Sarge’s eyes bled from blue to black in the dimmed light, and he grinned; all teeth that shone white.

At last, you met the halfway point between your starting position, and where he watched on, when he held up a hand to halt your crawl. You sat back on your haunches and stared at him, eyes widening while he strolled forward — all the while grabbing the hem of his henley and undershirt, pulling it up to expose a deep, defined v-line.

The crowd moaned and screamed in unison, but it was a dull roar of noise over your mind’s insistent parade of what it would be like to kiss the skin of his hip; how tense his muscles could get in the throes of passion.

Before you could even shake yourself from that particular vision, you blinked and Sarge stood right in front of you — his very exposed hip within reach, if only you just leaned forward–

“Go on, detka,” Sarge purred, tapping the skin above the belt loop next to his zipper. And the bastard teased, “You want to, I can see it.” The impulse consumed you like a forest fire, and your lips met the heated skin in a chaste kiss. “Good girl.”

There was no discerning the patrons cheers any longer, the continued shouts and cheers of their voices melded into one, constant noise.

His fingers deftly worked the belt clasp, and you realised with an audible gasp that the black leather was branded with an inscription that sent a dull, aching throb to your cunt — Sarge’s Girl was decorated with silver filigree and a bold, full star on either side of the words. The buckle clinked as he pulled it free, then the strap where the text sat was pushed towards your parted lips.

“Open,” Sarge ordered, and you complied without a second thought.

His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, and he stepped back slowly, leaving his belt between your teeth. The heavy fall of his boots copied your heartbeat, the pounding rhythm sent your head into a spell of dizziness you wanted more of.

Your lips moved over the strap while your tongue tasted the earthy tones of treated leather; something you needed more of.

The leather dangled down your front, the end of it resting in front of your knees — Sarge tilted his chin up, looking down at you with an unreadable expression, as though he was contemplating something.

It all fell away — the sounds, the smells, the tastes when he kneeled down on one knee in front of you, eyes bright with a sense of mischief, and a smirk that rivalled the devil’s. “Let go,” he said, holding around the strap of his belt, right next to your cheek.

You bit down on the leather with a playful growl, and Sarge smirked as he pulled against your grip gently. “Give it back to me, devochka, before I tame the brat in you for all to see.” Shock flooded your system and forced your jaw to be lax around the hard leather. “Ah, there we go, Viksen. Arms out, wrists together for me.”

Your actions fell on autopilot to obey, and you stuck out your arms, wrists together, just as he asked for. He hummed and looped the belt around them, careful of the tightness of the leather against your skin. “Now, down.”

His hands moved you back onto all fours, the gentle grip of his hands while he did so sent a cacophony of butterflies to soar wildly in your stomach. The leather toes of his boots were all you could see when he got to his feet before, the deep, red henley fell to the floor a second later.

“Give it up for our Sarge!” That same announcer voice called over the speakers, and the crowd did not disappoint.

Warmth spread over your waist, and you realised it was both of Sarge’s hands feeling down your sides — one boot disappeared, then thudded as it landed on your other side.

He was standing over you– Oh, fuck, you almost gasped aloud.

A sharp, loud shriek fell from your lips with the sudden change of altitude — in the blink of an eye, Sarge had lifted you with both his arms around your waist. Your legs were draped over his shoulders, and his face brushed against your navel from the sudden proximity.

You could feel one hand splayed over the middle of your back to steady your frame and prevent you from falling backwards, though it did nothing to alleviate the rush of adrenaline through your body at suddenly being held in the air, with your thighs either side of his head, by one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh my god!” You scrambled to grab at his neck before you could master the impulse, and all you felt was the soft, brown locks of his hair in your fingertips. There was a hot breath on your stomach through your shirt, and the broad shoulders that held you so securely in the air shook up and down — Sarge was laughing at your fear, the bastard. “What–!”

Sarge’s other hand that was held to the side in a show of strength, brushed over the seat of your pants before he squeezed. The contact sent a rush of heat through the whole of your body as you realised just how close to your cunt his mouth was in conjunction with his hand on your ass.

The crowd was still whooping when he fell to one knee and twisted in place, so you lay across the stage — his hands wandered from your back to your knees. You could only see the wicked, hungry grin on his mouth when he peered around your calves; he arched a brow and licked his lips, carelessly fuelling the fire between your thighs.

Your wrists rubbed against the leather strap of his belt, and you subconsciously whined — you wanted to touch, to feel his strength under your fingertips.

“Easy, darling,” Sarge purred. “You will have your fill, obeshchayu.”

The buckle of his belt clattered to the floor with surprising speed, though you didn’t have time to linger on the newfound freedom — Sarge’s slow thrusts against the back of your thighs made a dizzy spell hit you with such force you almost passed out right then and there. “Sarge–! Fuck.”

“Not yet,” he rasped back.

You squeaked and looked down at him with widened eyes — the black of his pupils painted over the grey, bleeding profusely over the once calming seas of his irises.

All of your insides squirmed and vanished with the heat of his stare, and before you could even blink yourself back to reality, you were sitting in a chair on the stage with Sarge in front of you. His stature loomed over you and blocked out the patrons that cheered behind him — feet shoulder width apart and hands on your cheeks to tilt your head up.

The gentleness of his hold replaced the fire in your veins with an unexplainable adoration.

“Lyubimyy, are you with me?”

“Yeah– Yes, I am, just–” You stammered, blinking fast. “I got a bit flustered.”

Sarge grinned. “I know—it was sweet. So easy to entrance, hmm?”

“Hey–!”

“I joke, darling,” he teased. “I am almost done with you. I know you are eager to join your friend again.”

The music swelled over the speakers, the beat and bass reverberating deep in your chest — it didn’t feel like you were on the stage of one of the most prolific nightclubs of your city with a stripper performing with you, let alone talking to you in such a tone of hunger.

You had watched all of Sarge’s performances reverently, far more than you would ever admit, and never before did he treat a patron to such intimacy.

His press gave the same impression of stoic and blithe interest. Never one to talk unless questioned — Sarge was a quiet one, but yet, here he was, speaking to you with a reverence of what you’d expect from a lover.

Something tugged and pulled in your stomach with that particular realisation.

“Are you ready?” Sarge asked quietly, leaning in close while still moving his body to keep the crowd entertained. His eyes were clear and narrowed in on your features, darting from your eyes to your parted lips. “I will stop if you are overwhelmed–”

“No, no,” you rushed, and you reached for him on instinct — a reassuring, grounding presence the beacon you didn’t know you needed. “I’m okay, please.”

“As you wish, viksen,” he replied. “Follow my lead.”

The skin of his palms felt rough over your own hands, and he guided them to his chest, covered only by the dark undershirt — you realised it was a tank as opposed to a shirt. He turned on the spot and fell to his knees, boots tucked beneath the seat you were perched on, and his hands guided yours to the neckline of his shirt.

“We’re in the final stretch,” the announcer called over the cheering crowd. “Let’s give it up one last time for Sarge!”

Your fingers were squeezed by Sarge’s palms, the grip firm as he pressed your hands into his chest while manipulating the thin cloth into your fist. He looked at you over his shoulder with a sly smirk. “Have your fill, darling—pull.”

The fabric tore away with ease under the combined efforts of Sarge’s strength and your hands — black cloth revealed a chest covered in artistry, rippling with the movement of guiding you to strip his chest bare.

A small moan fell from your lips and into his ear.

“Settle,” he murmured back with a wide smirk.

You gulped while he turned his head to look out into the crowd, and the smirk he threw you morphed into a grin while he slowly moved his hips back and forth — a show far too intimate, but you could not look away. The low position of his beltless jeans left little to the imagination.

“Now you can return to your friend,” Sarge said lowly, helping you up from your seat while your legs shook. “You took it so well, darling. Come.” His warm hands guided you to the edge of the stage, where the stairs were situated, and he took each step down with you.

Your heart thundered and skipped the longer he stayed beside you, and finally, he helped you to your seat before moving your hand to his lips. A soft kiss brushed against your knuckles, and he smiled softly. “Goodbye, viksen.”

You watched him turn back around to walk back up the stairs, the muscles of his back and shoulders tensing and rippling with each step, and the time passed in a daze from that moment onwards.

Through the hazed lust, you barely acknowledged your friend who welcomed you back to the table with eager chitters and whispered demands after Sarge disappeared from the stage through the side exit.

The feel of his hands on you lingered, even after the soft touches of him guiding you back to the sanctuary of your occupied booth, and you found you didn’t want that sensation to ever leave.

The last of the performers dwindled on stage while patrons shuffled around to gather their belongings. It wasn’t often that the Howling Commandos lingered at a venue, given they were a sought after group of performers, they often had tours that were demanding beyond reason — though it was different this time.

After following them for so long, it was rumoured and then later confirmed on social media, that this show was the last for them for some time — no one knew for sure how long their rest would last, but it was well deserved regardless.

It was how you found yourself bouncing on the balls of your feet in anticipation beside the stage. Nomad, Falcon, and Natalia were mingling amongst the crowd for photo opportunities for the lucky few who purchased the extra bonus of a meet and greet.

You were not unfortunately one of the few, as much as you wish you were — the treat of being brought on stage was already too much for you to cope with and process.

The sound of footsteps of giggles emanated from your left, and you glanced over to find your friend on the approach. “You good?”

“Yep,” they said, popping the ‘p’. “Let’s go get some drinks!”

“But–” You tried to protest, but it was of no use — the grip your friend had on your arm was tighter than a vice as they dragged you out of the door and into the street. The night life of the strip of nightclubs was wildly alive with partying crowds and drunkards stumbling all over the place. “Oh, hell. Do we have to?”

They looked from left to right with a tight grimace pulling their expression taut. “I mean, no– Oh.” A scarily menacing smirk danced on their lips, and just as they opened their mouth to speak, they were cut off by a shout.

“Viksen!”

You whipped around to search for the source, when your mouth fell open in shock. Down the closest alleyway, leaning against the brick wall of the club he just danced in, was Sarge — a freshly lit cigarette dangled from his lips while the rings on some of his fingers glinted from a flickering streetlight opposite where he stood.

The black V-neck shirt and leather jacket bulked his frame even more than the hooded get up he wore for his performance, and he still wore those tight jeans and boots.

Smoke billowed from his mouth and nose while he threw the cigarette to the pavement, where he scuffed the lit end with the toe of his boot. “I never thought I would see you after the show,” he called, and he strode forwards, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “It seems luck is on my side tonight.”

The closer he came, the more your insides melted — while he looked nothing like he did while he performed, he still exuded a lethal confidence that cut your resolve to shreds, and that smile of his didn’t help, not one bit.

Your friend suddenly gripped your arm and rushed, "I just remembered I'm staying with a friend tonight. Can you make it back home safe?"

“I–”

Sarge stepped closer and tilted his head. The passive line of his mouth while he looked at your friend smoothly changed into a softened smile when he met your gaze. “I will take you home, darling—if you would like?”

The pocket of his jacket chimed with the sound of keys. “I did not park far from the club, and I do not tend to enjoy…” He looked back towards the club where his fellow performers lingered behind. “I prefer to selectively spend my time with those I choose.”

“Well–”

Brown strands of hair fell forward as he looked to the floor, his posture turning open with the sudden show of bashfulness, and under his breath he spoke, “Ideal'noy byla by kompaniya krasivoy zhenshchiny, a ne etikh idiotov.”

You swallowed around the slither of fear that clutched your stomach in a vice — being alone with the man you were beginning to form a crush on was not ideal, not without preparation or a wing–

From the corner of your eyes, you saw your friend staring at you pointedly with wide eyes. Go with it, they urged, unspoken and greedily.

A deep breath rose your shoulders shakily. “Yeah, that– That would be nice,” you replied softly. “I, uh– I don’t live too far away.”

Sarge looked up with a blindingly bright smile, and it made your stomach flip and riot in place. “Good—that is good.” He looked at your friend again — you couldn’t help but feel heartened by the plain stare he gave them. “Do you have a way to get to your friend’s home?”

“I’ll call a cab.”

“I will wait with you,” Sarge said, and he set his shoulders. “I cannot leave you without knowing you will get there safely.”

“A real gentleman,” your friend teased while their fingers flew over the screen of their phone. To your horror, they glanced up at you and smirked. “I like him.”

The air rushed from your lungs in a shocked exhale while Sarge moved inexplicably closer at the statement, his arm brushing against yours in a feather light touch. He didn’t move to rebuke their words, nor did he make any noise of acknowledgement; eyes intently scanning the surrounding crowds as he would if he were guarding something precious.

It was a comfortable silence that stretched between the three of you while you waited curb side for your friend’s lift to arrive — a surprise that you would chew them out for endlessly later, but you were nonetheless nervous to be left alone with the mountain of a man beside you.

Passersby paid no mind to you as you waited there, surreptitiously shuffling your feet in place to inch closer towards Sarge. The warmth he emanated drew you in and you couldn’t resist the temptation to just be close — no matter the people around you, or the way your friend kept flickering their knowing gaze to you, a slight smirk still playing on their lips.

“Oh, here we are,” they said suddenly, their head turned towards the road where a car was starting to pull up. “My ride—perfect timing.”

Sarge moved forward and opened the back door wordlessly, inclining his head in farewell but uttering no words in their parting. You hugged them goodbye and tucked your chin into the juncture of their neck and shoulder. In your ear, they whispered, “Be safe, have fun; wear protection.”

“Come on,” you hissed, pulling your lip up in a grimace. “That’s not fair–”

They hugged you tighter, not allowing you to pull back from their embrace. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? The way he offered to take you home?”

You hesitated, but you truly could not see how it was any more than just friendly interaction. “No…”

“Enjoy his attention, babe,” they said softly, rubbing their hands up and down your back. “Just text me when you get in his car and then again when you get home. I want to know how he kisses you.”

Before you could scold them again, they pulled back and skipped to the open door of their lift. They looked up at Sarge and smiled. “Take care of my girl, yeah?”

“She will be safe,” Sarge replied simply. “I would not let anyone hurt her.”

Heat flooded your stomach and crawled up your neck while Bucky shut the door gently behind them. Through the tinted window, your friend waved goodbye, and you did the same as they were taken away; swept to their own respite and leaving you to fend for yourself against the butterflies that ran riot through your whole body.

The car’s tail lights disappeared around the corner at the other end of the street, and with it, your courage. It was suddenly overwhelmingly nerve wracking to be standing there next to Sarge, the cold breeze of the night biting through your poor excuse of warmth as an outfit. Your arms moved to automatically cradle your front, your hands gripping your biceps, when Sarge spoke, “Are you cold, darling?”

You blinked and met his gaze. “No, no, I’m okay,” you lied.

Sarge tilted his head, the strands of dark hair brushing against his cheek and brow. “You are not a very good liar.”

The words were said in such a deadpan statement it made a laugh erupt from you, and that made a smirk pull at Sarge’s lips — one that he reserved for only you. “Alright, yeah, I’m a bit cold–”

You couldn’t even finish your admission before a jacket — Sarge’s leather jacket — appeared in front of you. “Here, it will keep you warm. I cannot allow you to be in any discomfort, not if I am able to prevent it.”

“But–” You tried to protest, looking at him with widened eyes. What you wouldn’t give to wear that jacket, be enveloped in his warmth and distinct scent that filled your senses to lift you off your feet, but then he would– “But you’ll get cold too!”

Sarge narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Takaya upryamaya zhenshchina.” The gravel of his voice sent a shiver entirely unrelated to the sudden chill down your spine. “YA tebya obozhayu.”

“Hey, I don’t speak Russian,” you whined, pouting at him. “What did you say?”

Sarge only chuckled and shook his head while he placed the jacket gently over your shoulders, prompting you silently to slip your arms into the sleeves. “Never you mind, Malen'kaya Lisa.”

“Stubborn asshole,” you teased half-heartedly, though you burrowed into his jacket with a hum of contentment.

“Me?” Sarge laughed, and he took a single step back after adjusting the collar to better sit on your smaller frame. “How am I stubborn when you are shivering and refuse– Ay, moy bog, you are too adorable.”

The way his eyes brightened as he looked down at you suddenly hit you hard — the force of it leaving you breathless. Maybe your friend was right… “So,” you began nervously, and your hands fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket.

Sarge smiled softly. “I did not introduce myself.”

“You don’t go by Sarge–”

“Nyet,” he laughed again. “No, darling. That is the name for the stage—only for my performances.”

“Oh.” The warmth from his jacket suddenly grew overwhelming with your embarrassment. “I didn’t–”

“Do not worry, Malen’kaya Lisa.” Sarge grabbed your hand and moved the cuff of his jacket from the back of it, where he placed a soft kiss. “My friends call me Bucky, if you so wish– Actually,” he paused for a second, then, “Please, call me James. Sarge and Bucky are for everyone else—vy zasluzhivayete chego to svoyego sobstvennogo.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” you replied with a nervous chitter wavering in your voice. “But, okay, James—nice to finally meet you.” The smile James gave you when you offered him your name made the butterflies ditch the fluttering riot for absolute pandemonium.

“Let me take you home, darling.” James took a step closer. His arm went around your shoulders. You let out a breath when you were pulled into his side — the comfort of being so close enveloped you, and “First, I would like to accompany you for a stroll. The night is young, viksen.”

You couldn’t help the snort of laughter at his words, and the blinding smile you received in return lit you from the inside out — you would do anything to see it again. “Are you trying to be old fashioned?”

James looked at you with a quirked brow. “Did it not work?”

“Maybe it did.”

“Nu, krasivaya devushka.” He leaned in close, his lips dancing over your temple, where he placed a soft kiss. The hot gust of his breath tickled your ear. “Allow me the pleasure of you on my arm for the evening.”

vozlyublennyy = beloved ubiraysya otsyuda = get out of here moya malen'kaya kukla = my little doll idi syuda, viksen = come here, vixen khoroshaya devochka, lyubimyy = good girl, darling detka = baby obeshchayu = I promise ideal'noy byla by kompaniya krasivoy zhenshchiny, a ne etikh idiotov = company of a beautiful woman would be perfect, rather than those idiots takaya upryamaya zhenshchina = such a stubborn woman ya tebya obozhayu = I adore it Malen'kaya Lisa = Little Fox moy bog = my god vy zasluzhivayete chego to svoyego sobstvennogo = you deserve something of your own nu, krasivaya devushka = well, pretty girl

🤭

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #alternate juneiverse 2024 #babb2023 #rookthorne's works

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nwarrior777 · 3 months

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The problem with fatfetish is not in it existing, but in not-exsisting of alternative positive image of fatness in media, and not-exsisting of range of narrative in depicting fatness as something sexy in kinky images.

It's like media have two options for fat characters: 1) background comic relief in mass media 2) fatfetish art in internet niche. with not much of smth else

Respectful representation of fatness is big important topic for it's own discussion, but focusing on kinky art - fatness presented as smth sexy there, but it's almost always one narrative (usually food related)

And, i think, if we would have more ways of depicting sexiness of fatness, especially in kinky art, and bring sexiness of fatness in mass media, it would be easier to accept for people, that having kink for big bellies & softness is same as kink for muscle body, 6 packs, bdsm or any other kinks which are people fine with (kinks is smth totally ok to have, for the record)

Like, there are """cringe""" art of muscle kink too, and people have a little laugh about it sometimes, but nobody says that loving muscles is bad or disgusting - yes, because of fatphobia, but why are people so fatphobic still? Because they are not used to see positive images of fatness around and taught from childhood, by media narrative too, that fatness = bad. And they see all the scenarios you can imagine of muscles or thinness being sexy around, in media all scales. It's chicken and egg situation - one thing boosting another: we don't have positive image of fat > people learn "fat = not normal, bad" thought > they don't even think about questioning it because all the world around them is keeping this rule > a lot of people becoming media industry workers, and > they keep media not-including fat characters, keeping status quo > new generation, repeat.

In result we have this vicious circle. And we can break it, by making more fatness inclusive media, and going back to kink talk - we need more ways of depicting fatness as something sexy: new narratives, new plots in films, new lyric in songs, new art aesthetics.

I mean, you can have great time daydreaming that food scenarios, but wouldn't it be also cool to see sexy fat characters in other roles? Imagine - Sexy Fantasy Fat character, who got so much power that their body has to be bigger to keep all that. People went all horny then Detroit Become Human released - imagine cool fat robots, so fragile and complicated in their core parts, that they need big fat parts made of smth soft to prevent damage if they fall. Or fat characters in art, in just usual hot images narratives, but they drawn in a way, which make their fatness looking like hot detail, or even hot focus of the art.

I know we have progress and there are more and more examples of that i say. It just still few. So, let's go work hard and make more

#yeah it's sequel for my post about fatfetish #previous one was unreflected selfhate cause i thought if my goal is to draw fat people respectfully i can't have kinky desires for fat body #and i felt shame #but now i thinked some thoughts and well #you read the post #shock but you can draw fat people s ex y #kin ky even #and not making it offensivly #wow what a concept

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rhoorl · 3 months

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Working Title | Chapter 20

Pairing: Dieter Bravo/OFC Series Rating: Mature, 18+ Word Count: 5.4k Series Masterlist | AO3 Chapter 20 Chapter Summary: The girls head to LA for the audition. Chapter Warnings: Brief alcohol mention. Swearing. Alternating POVs. Some angst, Body image issues. People being mean online. Allusions to Dieter's past. A/N: I can’t believe we’ve made it to the penultimate chapter of this series. This has been my first foray into fanfic writing and these two mean so much to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for reading and spending some time in this little world!

“Cheers,” Sam smiled clinking the neck of his beer with Dieter’s glass.

The two made some small talk, mostly about the show and whether or not they thought it was actually going to be picked up or not.

“Do you have anything lined up after this is done?” He studied Dieter, who sat absentmindedly swirling his Old Fashioned in one hand.

“Nah, I haven’t come across anything that interests me. Might take some time off.”

“Must be nice,” Sam scoffed, wincing as he ran his hand through his hair. He hated it when his mouth worked faster than his brain. “Sorry, that probably sounded worse than I meant it. I just…I’m not in a position to take a lot of time off you know?”

Although he had been working for a while, Sam still hadn’t gotten his “big break” so every project felt really important to him.

“No man, it’s all good. I get it, I’ve been there. Hell…five years ago no one wanted to hire me. I’m just now starting to get people to somewhat take me seriously, again,” he chuckled to himself as his mind wandered to a dark place before quickly returning to the present.

“Well, they can’t take your Oscar away huh?” Sam offered a small smile and cleared his throat to change the subject. “You thinking of going out to see the girls sometime in Toronto? I’m trying to plan a trip.”

“Yeah, I was …ah…actually thinking of maybe renting a house out there. You know, since I’ll have the time,” Dieter scratched the back of his head.

“No way! That’s an awesome idea! Belle must be so excited about it…” he scrunched his face and Dieter took a sip of his drink. “She knows right?”

“I haven’t told her yet, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise,” Dieter smiled softly.

“Oh well, I’m sure she’ll feel a whole lot better taking the job knowing you’ll be there,” Sam offered, taking a swig of his beer.

“She say anything to you?”

“Not in so many words. But based on what Indy and I were talking about…you know…with she and I…I can only imagine the same applies to the two of you,” he set his beer down and looked Dieter in the eyes. “She’s fallen really hard, you know that right?”

Dieter chuckled, “Well however hard she’s fallen I’m like 10 times worse.”

Both of their phones buzzed at the same time as they both quickly lunged for their respective devices.

“Ah, well looks like they made it on the plane,” Sam smiled, tapping away.

Belle: Made it on the plane!

Dieter: I hope you have a safe flight. Try and sleep. You’ll be there when you wake up.

Belle: I wish I could sleep on planes. I’m checking what movies they have

Dieter: Do they have any of my stuff? That will make you fall asleep. 😜

Belle: No silly watching it would make me miss you too much.

Dieter: 💗

Belle: gotta go - they’re telling us to turn off the phones. I love you 😘

Dieter: Wait! Since I can’t hear you say goodnight, can I get a picture?

Belle smirked, feeling the warmth in her cheeks as she snapped a quick selfie.

Dieter: Good night beautiful. Tell me when you land. xo

Indy sported the biggest smile as she switched her phone to airplane mode. Glancing over she caught you staring at your lock screen — a selfie of you and Dieter from your hike around Waimea Canyon.

“Thanks for coming with me B,” she nudged your arm with her elbow, pulling you out of your daydream.

“Of course, this is exciting. Are you getting nervous?”

“Nah, I got this,” she winked.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah babe, of course,” she turned her body towards you. “What’s up?”

“Have you and Sam talked about things? Like what’s going to happen next?”

Indy looked down, playing with the hem of her shirt with a small smile. “Yeah…we’ve talked about it. Truthfully it makes me a little scared. I really like him B and I…I don’t know what’s next for us. Sure he can come out and visit, but he needs to work too.”

“For what it’s worth, he really likes you too,” you covered her hand with yours, rubbing circles with your thumb. “And I think he’s a great guy so I’m rooting for you.”

She rested her head on your shoulder, “Thanks B. At first I thought this was going to be just some on-set fling or whatever but I can see this going somewhere,” she smirked as you looked at her with a silent squeal.

“I knew it,” you winked.

“Try and get some sleep, ok? I know how you get,” she smirked as she rummaged through her bag to find the novelty sleeping mask you got her years ago. The “Sleeping Beauty” stitching, a nod to her Disney Princess past, was starting to fade. She put on her noise-canceling headphones and was asleep before the wheels left the tarmac, leaving you to sort out how to entertain yourself for the next five and a half hours.

You aimlessly scrolled through the various television shows and documentaries given as in-flight entertainment options, unable to find something that grabbed your interest. Once the flight attendant delivered your ginger ale and pretzels, you decided to get serious about finding a movie. Doing some quick math, you figured you could probably watch at least two.

When you reached the “C’s” in the menu, your stomach did a little flip seeing the thumbnail for Cliff Beasts 6. You remember when the movie came out and how you had to drag Indy to go see it, tolerating all of the teasing because you just had to see the latest Dieter flick. You’ve endured so many different films and TV shows just to get a chance to watch him; Cliff Beasts 6 was no exception. His over-the-top, cartoonish accent made you laugh despite the absolute trainwreck of a plot.

Seeing Dieter on the little screen mounted in the seatback in front of you gave you butterflies. The last couple of weeks were such a whirlwind. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever meet him in person let alone everything else that’s transpired. You felt like you were living in an alternate reality.

With a smile now permanently affixed to your face, you watched and focused less on the movie and more on how quickly you’ve grown to love this man. His nervous energy, his smile, his laugh, his hair, of course. The way he knew how to strike that balance of gentle and comforting with a little edge that made you want to give him anything and everything. By this point, you were about halfway through the movie and your eyelids were starting to feel heavy.

The guys decided to call it a night after a couple of drinks due to Sam’s early call time (and the fact that he hadn’t read through his scenes yet). Dieter’s call time got pushed back, but he was desperate to return to his room to wallow and track Belle’s flight.

Once in his suite, he made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water along with a box of cookies, and went to his room. Instead of sitting on his side, he settled into Belle’s side of the bed, traces of her perfume and shampoo still on the pillow. He searched for her flight on his phone and studied the route while eating a cookie, the crumbs falling on his shirt and onto the bed.

The girls had a few couple hours until they were to land in Los Angeles and his mind was abuzz, flipping through various thoughts like a Rolodex. He hoped it was a smooth flight and wondered what Belle was doing, wishing she was able to get some sleep. He was curious about how the audition would go for Indy. He knew she was a lock for the role so he needed to stop thinking of “ifs” and start thinking of “whens.”

Sleep was a lost cause so he grabbed the remote. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep until he knew she was safe on the ground. Flipping through the channels, he came across Alien and decided to stop and keep it on as background noise as he continued to do some research on his tablet. He found a couple of places in Toronto and fired off emails to Liz so she could investigate further.

Time crawled by. Something else was on TV but Dieter didn’t pay it any mind. He was scrolling through photos on his phone, landing on a candid he took of Belle one morning. She looked so peaceful, a hint of a smile on her face as she lay on her side facing him, the sheet just barely covering her.

He closed his eyes wishing she was next to him. He ran his hand over his face, his breath hitched just a bit smelling the smallest trace of her musk still on his fingers. It sent an electric pulse down his body, remembering how just a few hours ago her mouth was where his hand had drifted to. His slow strokes picked up as he replayed some of their more intimate moments in his head. It didn’t take long before he found his release, left panting as he reached for his phone.

One more hour.

He cleaned himself up and stepped outside smiling as he looked across at the adjacent balcony, remembering that morning. He stared out into the darkness, hearing the rhythmic sounds of the waves crashing onto the beach below. It was lulling him to sleep, but before he closed his eyes he set an alarm on his phone.

You were woken up when the flight attendants made one last pass through the cabin before taking their seats for the approach to LAX. “Psst,” you gently shook Indy.

She groaned, pulling off her sleeping mask with a pout. “I need the largest, most obnoxious coffee concoction when we land.”

“You got it,” you giggled.

You reached for your phone, itching to be able to turn it off airplane mode so you could text Dieter. The moment the tires made contact with the tarmac, both you and Indy were furiously tapping away at your phones. You felt butterflies when a message came through before you could send one.

Dieter: My bed felt empty 😞 Hope you were able to get some sleep. I miss you.

You grinned like an absolute idiot at your phone at the selfie he sent complete with his signature arched eyebrow and pursed lips. He was in bed underneath the covers. His broad shoulders took up the whole frame and his hair was as unruly as ever, but what stood out to you most was his sweet smile and gentle, but tired, eyes.

Belle: Just landed 🙂 You’re still up?!

Dieter: I took a little power nap 😉

Dieter: I wanted to make sure you got there ok.

Beside you, Indy whispered into her phone to Sam using a baby voice. Normally this would have made you cringe, but seeing her this happy was actually really sweet.

Belle: All good. Safe and sound 🙂 You should get some rest.

Dieter: For later tonight? 😏

Belle: lol whatever gets you to sleep a little

Dieter: Yes ma’am

Dieter: Keep me updated. Even if I fall back asleep it will be nice to wake up to your name on my phone.

Belle: 😘

Belle: I’ll try not to bother you too much

Dieter: You’re never a bother sweetheart

Dieter breathed a sigh of relief knowing the girls made it safely. The anxiety of the last several hours coupled with the lack of sleep finally caught up to him and before he knew it, his eyes fluttered closed as his phone slipped from his hand and onto the carpet.

Getting off the plane through the airport and to the car service was a bit of a blur thanks to the small gaggle of paparazzi armed with cameras, cellphones, and ring lights. Seeing the paps at a place like LAX was pretty standard given all of the celebrities, but what was uncommon was for you and Indy to be the targets of their attention. Once they spotted you, they descended, shouting both of your names as Rhys tried his best to shield you while ushering you to the waiting car. They yelled all at once and you could only make out a phrase or two from each.

“Are you dating Dieter Bravo?”

“Did you and Dieter break up?”

“Belle, can you give us a smile?”

“What the fuck?” Indy huffed as she scooted into the back of the SUV behind you.

“How’d they know my name?” Your face scrunched up as you looked out the back window.

“Someone must have tipped them off, I swear I didn’t set that up!” Rhys looked back from the front seat before turning around to furiously type on his phone.

You and Indy exchanged a confused look. “I can see them knowing you Ind, but me?”

“Well, you are dating Dieter fucking Bravo…” she smirked, before switching to a more serious tone. “I’m sorry B, it sucks. It’s one thing if he were here with you; I know how unnerving this whole thing can be. But you rocked it! Your first paparazzi swarm!” She gave an encouraging smile, trying to make you laugh to get your mind off the path it would inevitably go down.

You sat a bit dumbfounded, trying to process. You are dating Dieter fucking Bravo. You are in love with him and he’s in love with you. But all of this kind of attention wasn't something you wanted. Your mind started to spiral thinking about what life would be like with Dieter outside of your little bubble. Whether going out on a date or taking a trip to the grocery store, he was recognizable and your life would always be on display for others to judge and scrutinize.

Deep in thought, you didn’t even register the SUV pulling up to Indy’s apartment. She quickly unlocked the door and ushered you all in, knowing there was limited time for her to take a quick shower and freshen up. Rhys stepped out to make a couple of phone calls while you laid out your kit on the vanity in her bedroom. Once you were all set up, you plopped on the bed and pulled out your phone. Even though you figured (and hoped) he was asleep, you decided to fire off a message to Dieter.

Belle: Sorry it’s been a bit chaotic but we’re at Indy’s now. Audition is at 9 so I’ll be kinda MIA - Rhys says I have some meetings today too. Hope you're getting some sleep 💕

A notification for Instagram popped up which you ignored, opting instead to clear out some emails. But then another notification came through, followed by another and another, and soon your phone started buzzing with texts and other alerts. As you opened Instagram Rhys sprinted into the room.

“Have you seen them?” He asked in a huff, rushing over to you.

“What? What happened? Is everything ok?”

“Y-yeah, it’s just….the photos of you and Indy are starting to circulate.” He looked a bit worried and you weren’t quite sure why.

“Circulate?” You scoffed, trying to put on a calm exterior despite the anxiety brewing in your chest. You fidgeted with the sleeve of Dieter's sweatshirt you were still wearing.

“Just the typical accounts but some…others picked it up too,” his mouth twitched as he averted his eyes.

You furrowed your brows and Rhys opened his mouth to say more as the en suite bathroom door opened.

“I’m ready!” A bathrobe-clad Indy announced before her face dropped seeing Rhys stressed and you confused. “Wait. What happened? Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, walking over to put his hands on Indy’s arms. “It’s just that the photos from the airport are starting to make their rounds.”

You can’t see the look on Rhys’ face but something in his voice tells you he’s trying to tell Indy something without tipping you off.

“Have you seen anything?” Indy looked past Rhys, her eyes boring into you.

You shook your head, “No, what the fuck guys?! I literally just sat down. Is there something I should know?”

Rhys and Indy exchanged a look before she walked past him, coming to sit next to you on the bed. “Here let me take a look.” She unlocked her phone and started going through her tagged posts.

Indy had the best poker face but you knew her tells. To the untrained eye, they wouldn’t know the difference but decades of friendship made you all too aware of her microexpressions. The slight purse of her lips, an eyebrow twitch, or a shift in her posture – she was uneasy about something.

“You’re making me nervous, Ind.” Your mind started to race through all of the possibilities but had a sneaking suspicion that the reason both she and Rhys were acting weird was because your appearance was being scrutinized. And if that was the case it was honestly so unfair. You had just come off a red-eye and weren’t expecting to have a bunch of cameras shoved in your face. You tugged awkwardly at the hem of Dieter's sweatshirt as Indy kept scrolling.

Indy let out a frustrated sigh as she put down the phone. “I seriously don’t know what gets into people. They act like they know us, know our lives, and they don’t…” She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“What’re they saying Ind?” You say with a bit more bite than you intended. You appreciated her trying to shield and protect you from the online fodder but it was completely unrealistic to think you wouldn’t read stuff.

“Look for yourself,” she turned her body toward you, her eyes watching as you unlocked your phone and started scrolling. There was one thread of comments and replies that grabbed your attention.

>>Omg they look like a hot mess

>>They look pissed off

>>It’s early in the morning they’re probably not awake. Jeez give them a break.

>>How do you look in the morning?

>>They look kinda sad

>>Oh that’s the girl Dieter is dating huh?

>>Do you think Dieter broke up with her? Is that why they’re back in LA?

>>They haven’t posted anything together ever at least Indy and Sam kinda soft launched

>>It’s probably not serious then. Remember his last chick? Dude wouldn’t shut up about her

>>He’s definitely still shooting. I saw a photo of him at a bar in Hawaii last night

>>The guy was probably hammered huh?

>>Oh no that was probably bad news

>>Wait is THAT who Dieter is dating now? Woof

>>Guy must be desperate

>>How do you go from a Victoria’s Secret model to that?

You skimmed through the rest of it as you felt your blood pressure spiking. People were throwing out wild, unfounded speculation and there was a small contingent doing a deep dive about you and your family and friends. Your mind goes into a tailspin as you read through more. You couldn’t make out the words, but you heard Indy next to you on the phone trying to get in touch with Sam, frustrated when she got his PA instead.

Meanwhile, you felt that all-too-familiar pang in your gut. You experienced a taste of this when you and Dieter were first spotted in public, knowing that it wasn’t going to be the first or last time people would make comments about you. But something about this felt so unsettling and so invasive. You were a normal person trying to support her friend on what was essentially a job interview. It also made you uncomfortable that the focus was on you and not Indy – she’s the star of the show here not you. Why aren’t people coming up with theories about why she’s in LA when she should be on set in Hawaii too?

The conversations around Dieter were also surprising and a bit confusing. You were on what you thought was a Dieter fan account yet people were speculating about everything from the two of you breaking up to him cheating on you to you both getting secretly married. It hurt to see so many quick to paint him in a bad light – assuming that he had done something wrong.

Indy hung up the phone and you could feel her eyeballs on you but you just kept scrolling.

“What are you thinking B?”

You shook your head, “This is all so confusing. How does us at the airport turn into all of this,” you waved your phone around.

“It, unfortunately, comes with the territor-”

“Can it Rhys!” Indy snapped. “That’s not helpful right now. Look, apparently Sam and Dee went to the hotel bar after we left, had a couple of drinks, and then went back to their rooms.”

“Wait, you don’t think he actually….”

“No, no not at all,” she squeezed your leg. “No. And it’s ridiculous the way these people spiral off the smallest thing…have you tried calling him?”

You shook your head, “I’m pretty sure he’s asleep. He had a later call time than Sam and sounded like he was up most of the night.” Your mind drifted to a negative place briefly before shutting down that train of thought.

“Well, just try, I’m sure Liz is lighting up his phone too.”

“She is. We’ve been texting,” Rhys chimed in.

You called Dieter a couple of times and it went to voicemail. After the third failed attempt to reach him, you took a deep breath, took off the sweatshirt, and looked at Indy, resolved to not let this derail an important day for her. “We need to get you ready.”

“O-ok, yeah, c’mon let’s go.”

Since it was part audition/part screen test, you were thankful to just have to do minimal makeup and a simple blowout, allowing you to go on autopilot and think. You suddenly felt like you were back in your apartment after you found out Ryan left. The thoughts of unworthiness were quick to make themselves known after they’d been dormant for weeks – the weeks you’ve known Dieter. You were happier, and stronger with him, and being apart only made you see how weak and fragile you were.

You were annoyed at yourself that comments from people you didn’t know could affect you so much. But words hurt. And it doesn’t help that so many of them keyed in on parts of your body you were self-conscious about. But then there was another voice trying to push through to remind you that all of those things they called out were the things Dieter loved. He celebrated your body, eager to show you his appreciation as you became more comfortable with him.

Thoughts then traveled to Dieter, wondering what his state of mind would be like when he finally woke up and Liz brought him up to speed. You smiled a bit to yourself knowing that his first thoughts would probably be about you and wanting to check if you were ok. But you knew his next instinct would be to turn inward. He hadn’t shared everything, but there were demons from his past he still had to contend with every day. And you couldn’t help but think that seeing people attack you because of your relationship with him was going to send him down a self-loathing spiral.

For a brief moment, your mind wandered to a territory that scared you – whether all of this was worth it. You continued to work in silence, catching Indy’s eyes in the mirror every so often. She acted like she was rereading her lines but you knew she was trying to gauge your feelings and meet you where you were.

“Ok, ready.” You set down the can of finishing spray and fluffed up her hair in the mirror.

“Wanna talk about it?” She grabbed your hand, stopping you from quickly packing everything up.

“There’s nothing to talk about. C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

“Of course there’s stuff to talk about.”

“I’m. Fine.” You snapped, instantly regretting losing your temper. “Sorry Indy, I…it’s just the same old shit when it comes to,” you motioned up and down your body. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not a productive conversation.”

She didn’t push it and just hugged you, figuring an embrace would tell you more than she could with words. Rhys interrupted your quiet moment urging you both to get a move on so you weren't late. Indy did one last sweep of her apartment, hoping it would be a long while before she saw it again.

Dieter tossed and turned all morning, his hands seeking Belle only to find an empty, cold space next to him in the bed. He was about to close his eyes again and will himself to sleep when the hotel phone came to life with a shrill ring. Covering his face with a pillow he reached for the phone and brought the receiver to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Well thank fuck you’re alive. Goddamit I’ve been calling you and texting you all morning. I was about to go get them to open the door if you didn’t pick up. Where have you been? Are you ok?”

This wasn’t the first time Liz had woken Dieter up and berated him, but something about her tone this time caught his attention.

“Lizzie,” he cleared his throat, starting to sit up. “What’s wrong?”

“Were you asleep? You know you’re due on set in like half an hour, right?”

“I forgot to set an alarm…didn’t get much sleep last night. I wanted to make sure the girls got there ok. Are they ok? Did something happen?”

“Where’s your phone?” A slight hesitation in her voice.

“Uh, I thought it was right here…” Dieter felt around the bed before peeking over and seeing the phone face down on the floor. “Ah there it is, must have fallen….holy shit, what the hell happened?”

Dieter turned over his phone and was pretty sure he had a notification from every app. He saw a bunch of missed phone calls from Liz and Belle, hell even Sam and Meredith had rung him. His list of missed texts was from the same bunch with the addition of Danny, Indy, and even Rhys.

“Goddamit Liz. Gimme the rundown. Are they ok?” Dieter swung his legs around, feeling dizzy as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

“She’s fine Dee, they’re ok. The damn paps swarmed the girls as soon as they left the airport. Couple of the blogs caught it and it’s what you expect – people talking about her, how she looks, and trying to find out more about her and Indy. Luckily she’s a smart girl and has a lot of her shit locked down so there’s not a ton for people to find. But it’s only a matter of time before someone comes out of the woodwork wanting their 15 minutes.”

Dieter scoffed, knowing that all too well. When he was at rock bottom it felt like every person he’d ever met was willing to go to a gossip rag to talk about him. It was the usual suspects - jilted lovers, disgruntled past co-stars or assistants, all the way to his old dog’s vet. Anyone and everyone who wanted to give their two cents about Dieter found a way to get their story out.

His annoyance turned into a feeling of helplessness. He knew how these comments would hurt Belle and with her so far away he couldn’t be there to comfort her. Hell, she wasn’t even gone for 12 hours. It was unfair that he couldn’t protect her from a life he’d unfortunately grown accustomed to. He worked a lot on himself to build back a fraction of the confidence he used to have. It still stung to see things written about him, so he could only imagine the negative headspace she was in because of this all.

“I need to call her.”

“That’s not it Dee,” Liz cut him off before taking a deep inhale. “They’re also talking about you. People have no idea that she’s there for Indy’s audition. They’re assuming both girls left set early due to an incident.”

“What incident?”

“Well, no theory has stuck yet, but it’s the greatest hits.”

Liz didn’t have to spell it out for Dieter to know that once again his past was coming around. He ran his free hand through his hair and then down his face as he tried to quell the frustration. It felt like no matter how much progress he made, people only thought of him as that womanizing, drug-fueled party animal from years ago.

“I need to call Belle.”

“They’re in meetings right now. I’ve kept in close contact with Rhys. He was there when they saw the photos and started reading through the comments.”

“How’d she take it?”

“As best as you can imagine. Rhys said she kind of shut down on the drive over but turned it on once they got there and started meeting with everyone.”

Dieter’s heart sank, imagining the spiral she must be on as she tried to keep it together for Indy. All the studio execs probably had Google Alerts set for both of the girls as a precaution and as a means to suss out any potential liabilities and issues, so they no doubt knew about Belle and Dieter’s rumored, but very real, relationship. It pained him that he couldn’t be there to comfort her; maybe if he was with her the focus could have been on him instead.

The smallest hint of a smile came across his face. He felt a combination of pride and awe in her strength – that she could compartmentalize all of these feelings and seemingly put on a brave face for Indy’s audition. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for.

“I need to talk to her….do you know how much longer they’ll be?” Dieter tried to sound even keel but he knew Liz could see right through it.

“I mean, they should probably be done soon. They have to get back to the airport, their flight leaves in a couple of hours.”

Dieter took a deep breath, trying to quell his anxiety. “Well, I’ll have my phone on me. Maybe if I can get downstairs Mere can get me ready and I can - ”

“Dee,” Liz cut him off. “Listen, I know your first instinct is to try and fix this, but she’s a big girl. Being with you isn’t going to be a cakewalk, you can’t shield her from this kind of stuff forever.” He stayed quiet for a moment, rubbing his temples. “What’s bothering you champ?”

“I…I just don’t want all of this to scare her off…like it’s going to be too much. That I'm too much. She didn’t ask for any of this, you know? What if she ends up deciding she’d rather not deal with it?”

“Dieter,” Liz paused, knowing she needed to be a bit more delicate than her normal tough love. “You love her right? And she loves you? Shit is going to be hard. I know it’s scary, but you have to just trust in each other. What do you want from her?”

“I don’t want anything from her. I…I just want everything with her.”

“Well, she’ll be back in…” Liz checked her watch, “eight hours. You can profess your ever-dying love then.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Thanks. Hey, did you see those emails I sent you?”

“Yup, we’re checking them out – I’ll make sure we check out potential security issues to see if anything is an immediate no.”

“Thanks, Lizzie. I should probably get downstairs. Hey, I’ll have my phone on me. Anything else happens…anything…you call me. I don’t give a shit if we’re filming, you call me.”

“You got it champ….it’s all going to be ok, Dee.”

Previous chapter / Final chapter

A/N: So I know I haven’t always been the best with updating, but the last chapter is written and it will come out on Feb. 26!

Tag list: @musings-of-a-rose / @legendary-pink-dot / @bitchwitch1981 / @mysterious-moonstruck-musings / @gracie7209 / @amneris21 / @pastelnap / @maryfanson / @sunnywithachanceofjavi / @sin-djarin / @winchestergypsy90 / @for-a-longlongtime /@harriedandharassed / @titlee78 / @midnightraain / @poodlebae / @partyofone3413 / @guelyury / @weho2kcmo / @missladym1981 / @soapjay / @darkheartgatita

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