#[Deville's Desk > Asks Answered]

[georgeplease]

The One Where We Have to Fuck or Die

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Fred gives Reader his test vial of a new love potion for the store. They quickly realize if they don’t have sex then it’ll kill her.

Tags: Porn Logic, Aphrodisiac, fucking like rabbits, both reader and Fred are in their late 20s-early 30s

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

It started as a normal Saturday for (Y/n). She had slept in, made some breakfast, cleaned her flat, and had been getting ready to relax for the rest of the day. That was until a familiar owl had found its way to her window, dropping off a letter with her name scrawled across the front. The handwriting was all too familiar, making her roll her eyes as she retrieved it from the owl before sending him on his way.

Having met the twins in her first year at Hogwarts was a pivotal moment, developing a fast friendship with the both of them after a prank gone wrong. That fateful afternoon sparked a 12 year long friendship between the twins and her.

Yet, there was always something between her and Fred, others may say they were destined together, they chose to believe they were just really good friends. It’s part of the reason he could send a letter like this, asking for her to rush down to his shop and help him. As annoyed as she would act, she would always rush to his side.

It didn’t take long for her to get dressed and make her way to Diagon Alley, easily finding her way through the busy street to her favorite store. As (Y/n) entered the shop she turned waving to George as she passed through toward the back. The store was as crowded as it usually was for a weekend, causing her to weave through several other customers before she was able to each the employees only section. The letter she had received from Fred to come to the store said it was an urgent matter, but having known him long enough, she was positive he was lying. But yet, here she was.

Not wasting anytime, she pushed into his office, seeing him sat at his desk, feet resting as he smirked upon seeing her enter.

“Well, if it isn’t my most loyal test subject.”

“What is it now, Fred?” She asked, crossing her arms, clearly not assumed by his mood.

Standing up, Fred walked around his desk, handing her a glittery pink vial, causing her to raise an eyebrow as she grabbed it from him. Looking at it, it was clear what it was supposed to be, having seen many of the Twin’s famous love potions before.

“A love potion? Don’t you already have several different kinds?” She asked, curious as to where this was leading.

“Not just any love potion, this is specifically for our older couples. You know, to help them spicy up their lives.”

“Like Viagra?”

Fred raised an eyebrow, not understanding what that was. He quickly shrugged it off, turning back to his sales pitch. “No, no. This is better than any muggle product.” Moving behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders. “What’s the number one reason most people get divorced?” He gave a second for her to think before answering for her. “That’s right, lack of passion. Imagine how many people we could help if we sold passion in a vial. How ‘bout that?”

“Work on your sales pitch, but I do like the idea.” placing a hand in her chin, she observed the vial closely. “I figure you want me to test it?“ Looking over her shoulder she sees Fred nod. “Have you tested it on anything else?”

“Tested a few drops on some plants, didn’t kill them so it should be fine for human consumption.”

“That sounds promising.” She teased, sliding away from his grasp. “What’s in it for me?”

“Besides being so horny there’s no way you won’t have an amazing orgasm once you go home?” He teased, before continuing his pitch. “Usual price, 50 galleons and unlimited supplies if you so need it.”

Fred stuck his hand out, waiting to see if she’d take his offer. After pondering for a few seconds, she reached out with her free hand shaking it. A deal with the devil, some would say.

Uncorking the vial, she pressed it to her lips, swallowing the liquid. Luckily, he had been able to get it to taste more pleasant than his other attempts, reminding her of fresh strawberries with cream. Her eyes moved to look at the ceiling, waiting for the desired effects to happen. Awkwardly she began to look around the room to pass the time, feeling a little weird to test this kind of potion in front of her friend, but money is money. And she trusted that Fred would not kill her.

As she took a look behind him, her attention was drawn to his work station. Her eyes were drawn to the ingredients he had used, haphazardly tossed about. There were the components to making a love potion, a rather simple potion. No, what caught her eye was the other ingredients he had mixed, a good amount well known aphrodisiacs along with an odd collection of ingredients that have her an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Walking over, she got a better look at them, understanding why she felt so uneasy. Mixing these ingredients together are well known for causing the person who took the potion to die if certain conditions weren’t met.

Wide eyed, she snapped to look at Fred, her body feeling warm as she felt it begins to take effect. He seems none the wiser to his fatal error, his arrogant smirk pissing her off. Throwing the empty vial at him, she turned on her heel to face him.

“You fucking moron.” She spat, panic raising in her voice, her legs subconsciously clenching together as that heat began to grow between her legs. “You didn’t make a better love potion, you made an aphrodisiac with poison.”

Fred’s face contorted, not understanding why she seemed so ticked off. His brows pushed together, as he walked over to her, trying to better understand the situation, while also a little ticked off she had thrown the small vial at him. He began to watch her more closely than before, thinking that something about his potion had caused her reaction.

Trying her best not to act on the deep ache, she moved farther from Fred. The feeling was almost too much, her hand subconsciously moving toward her crotch, wanting to swirl circles to dull the ache. Instead, her other hand moved to hold the other one, interlocking her fingers together behind her back.

“What are you on about?” Fred asked as he moved closer.

“Fred, this potion is going to kill me. How fucking dense are you?” (Y/n) ran a hand through her hair, tugging at it to try and regain her focus as her thoughts grew more perverse.

“You’ve gone mental. Don’t tell me you never been horny before, love?” Fred teased, watching the way her face flushed like a virgin.

“I’m being serious.” She said, fanning herself as she felt her body warm up. “You’ve basically just signed my death warrant if I don’t get shagged as soon as possible.”

“So you’re saying, you need dick not to die?” He laughed, almost not taking her seriously.

“Shut up.” She spat, moving away from him as he moved closer.

“Have you gone sick in the brain?” He asks, reaching to take her temperature, which she skillfully dodged. “Honestly, woman, if you wanted me that badly you didn’t need to make up such an insane lie.”

“Fred, fucking listen to me.” She said, stepping forward and grabbing his face to look at his ingredients. “Think real hard about what these ingredients do. I know potions wasn’t your strong suit, but fucking think.”

As Fred surveyed the ingredients, he tried his best to recall his potions class. As his mind ran through all the things Snape had said, he came to the same horrifying conclusion she had come to moments ago. His head whipped around, noticing how want she looked, her eyes struggling to stay locked on his face, and the way her legs shook as they clenched together.

“Oh, I fucked up.” He mumbled, his brain racing as he tried to think of an antidote. Fred bolted from his spot, looking at what ingredients he had left. His mind was racing trying to figure out how to make an antidote before his potion killed her.

Her eyes watched him, panic rising through her body as she felt how the heat began to rise within. The potion Fred had brewed was a lot more fast acting than she was expecting. Even though her brain was being quickly consumed with impure thoughts, she began calculating how much time she had before it would inevitably kill her, but her thoughts kept getting interrupted.

Her eyes trailed down his body, wanting nothing more than to pull his trousers down and go wild with him. It felt insane, she had known him since they were teens and they had never once come close to hooking up, despite all the rumors that had swirled saying otherwise. Speaking of rumors, her mind couldn’t help but focus on the rumors of how good Fred was in bed, remembering how they spoke so highly of his ability. How the girls he did hook up with swore he was the best fuck they had ever had.

Letting out a drawn out whine, she stomped her foot, closing her eyes tight as she tried to fight back from thinking of him like that. It felt so shameful, like she was no better than a common pervert to think that way about Fred. Shaking her head, she used all her brain power to push the impure thoughts out, which she was successfully able to do.

Given the large amounts of aphrodisiacs he had mixed in, she figured they had less than 30 minutes before the effects became irreversible. No matter how fast her and Fred worked, she would still be dead before he figured the correct concoction. The only solution was that they had to have sex now. Eyes widening, she felt a new emotion besides instensely building lust, dread.

“We don’t have fucking time,” she cursed, her breathing becoming more labored as she tried to speak, “we have to do it.”

“It?!”

“It!!!” She shot back, already moving to throw her shirt off her body, exposing him to the way her chest heaved.

Fred nearly had a heart attack seeing her chest. It wasn’t like he was a virgin or anything, he had seen his fair share of tits, but this was his best friend. His insanely hot best friend he has had a massive thing for for years now, but still his best friend. His best friends who was surprisingly good at removing her clothes as fast as she can, most of her clothes now thrown about his office. His best friend who looked as if she was going to jump him any second now.

“We don’t have time for you to guess who to brew the antidote, unless you’d rather I die than fuck me.” Her voice was strained, trying hard to focus on her words than succumbing to the lust.

Fred didn’t respond immediately, causing her to look at him, worried he might just let her die rather than fuck her. Most of her clothes were already thrown around the room, she felt way too exposed for a serious moment like this. Raising her eyebrows, she shot him a concerned look, silently pleading that he wouldn’t just let her suffer for his mistake. It seemed to have knocked some sense into Fred, who quickly responded.

“Right,” he stuttered out, “you’re right.” He quickly said, beginning to unbutton his shirt, his mind racing with a million thoughts. “I am so bloody sorry, (Y/n).”

“Shut up, if you get all sad and shit it’ll be difficult for you to get hard.” She replied, trying her best to seem cold and calculated. Her thoughts were only occupied on getting this done as soon as possible, no need for feelings. “You can think of ways to make this up to me after I’m no longer dying.”

“Wait,” Fred said, making (Y/n) stop in her tracks, “let me just…” he reached over, pushing her close to him before apperating them both into the apartment above the store, right in his room. “This will be better.”

The environment from his office to his room was definitely better, no longer could they hear the muffled sounds of customers from within the store. Fred’s room was messy, clearly he hadn’t assumed this would be how his day would be going. As he threw his clothes onto the floor where the rest of his laundry seemed to end up, he tried to think of sexy thoughts to get himself aroused. But looking back at his friend, who was giving him the most fuckable bedroom eyes he had ever seen did the trick.

(Y/n) ripped off her underwear, tossing them into the room before laying on the bed, crawling backwards as she let out a shaky moan, her mind unable to fight off the lustful thoughts anymore. Her hand reached between her legs, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but only making her more needy. Some part of her felt humiliated, to be reduced this easily from a potion, no longer able to spit out any kind of insult at him as she stared up at him. All she was able to do was speak directly from her lust, not able to cover it up with any kind of quick witted reply as she normally would.

“Fuck,” she shakily moaned, her eyes then locking onto Fred’s, “need you. Badly.”

Now, here’s how Fred’s usual hook ups turn out. He charms them into his bed and then shows them how it’s done. Never in his life had he ever been lost for words, yet a situation like this rarely occurs. So you must forgive him for not knowing what to do watching his best friend of over ten years touch herself and talk to him like that.

Fred made his way to the bed, sliding in between her parted thighs. He felt like a total prat for even struggling to take control of the situation and fuck her. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Fred steadied himself, reaching down to stroke himself a few times. His cock stood tall and proud, making her clench in need as she looked down.

As he lined himself up with her entrance, he found the situation awkward given their history. She deserved better than a standard fuck, a little romance and, though he hates to say it, a little passion. Looking down at her, his hair falling perfectly over his face, he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

(Y/n) looked at him incredulously, already completely naked in front of him. The rational part of her brain wanted to tell him no, to keep their feelings out of this and just do what they have to to keep her from an early grave. But god, did she want to kiss him. To not feel like this decision is inevitably going to ruin your friendship.

She quickly nodded her head, her lust answering for her as she shot forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

It should’ve been awkward, like kissing a sibling. They both should’ve hated the kiss, but instead it was electrifying. Their mouths melded perfectly together, as if they were meant to be.

As they made out, Fred got to work, rubbing the tip of his cock against her cunt, trying to coat it in her slick before he slid in. His eyes almost rolled back when he felt just got wet she already was, groaning into her mouth as his hips subconsciously pushed forward. (Y/n) whined against his mouth, her eyes screwing up as the tip of his cock bumped into her inflamed clit, mumbling out his name.

It was all too much, her body felt on fire as she began to beg him to fuck her, tears welling as the potion came to a head. Her head was swimming with lust as she felt his length press against her.

Fred began to push in, trying to go as slow as possible. God, it felt way too good to be true, as if she was meant for him the way she perfectly sucked him in. As he pulled back from the kiss, he couldn’t help but watch the way he stretched her open.

“You feel s’good,” Fred groaned as he was fully sheathed in her.

“Fred-,” her voice called out, the air from her lungs having been knocked out from the feeling. Her nails were digging into his back as she felt him bottom out, his words almost too much to hear at the same time. “Move. Move now, need it,” it would’ve sound like her usually bossy tone if it wasn’t as whiney as it had been.

His hips moved back, almost agonizingly slow before snapping forward with enough force to move her up the bed. She couldn’t tell if it was the potion or if Fred was actually this good in bed, but it was driving her crazy how good she felt. A part of her feared she may be ruined for life, that nobody else would ever make her feel this good ever again. Not that she’d ever admit that to him, his ego already too inflated for his own good.

“Need me that bad that you’ll beg for it?” He smugly spoke, his hips snapping forward to accentuate his point. “Need me to fuck you nice and hard?” He teased, clearly not feeling as awkward as he once did.

Reaching out, his finger masterfully found its way to her clit, swirling around it. (Y/n) threw her head back, loudly whining as she ground against him. Her hands went to cover her face, embarrassed that she knew the potion wasn’t entirely to blame for how horny she felt in this moment. That fucking her best friend was better than any rumor she had ever heard.

“Come on, tell me how good you feel, (Y/n).”

God, did she want to smack him upside his smug head, to wipe that grin off the cocky bastards face. But she couldn’t hide the way his words made her feel, how he cunt clenched tightly around him each time he spoke. Bringing her arm over her face, she attempted to hide from him, too flustered by his dirty talk. Nobody had ever talked to her like this and she definitely didn’t expect Fred would be the one to do so.

His hips started to slow, causing her eyes to snap open. Panic began to rise in her chest, both sides of her brain not wanting this to stop. It was a bluff, he felt way too good to stop. And he didn’t want her to die either.

“Need you to tell me how bad you want this cock.”

Exasperated by his sudden need to hear her, she let her lust driven brain speak freely. Throwing her head back, she didn’t even filter her thoughts out.

“Please fuck me, need to feel you fill me up. Feels so fucking good, Fred.” Her hips attempted to grind up against his, but felt his hand hold her down. “Wanted this, wanted to feel you stretch me out for so long.”

“You’re so bloody perfect.” Fred’s his snapped back into hers, a new sense of vigor taking over as he pounded into her. “Gonna make this pussy mine.”

His eyes met hers and for the first time they saw each other since this whole mess started. She stared up at him with her pupils blown out in lust, but with so much trust in him.

His hips stuttered as he felt unbelievably close, his mouth opening as his eyes shut, letting out a groan. “Oh, fuck. Feels so good. Not gonna last much longer.”

As he spoke, her hips began to rise, grinding against his groin as she met his thrusts. The deep need to release filling her mind to the brim. Her head moved to look at the clock on the wall, but Fred’s hand moved to stop her from looking.

“Focus on me,” he spoke, his voice deep as his hips began to hammer into her harder, “just focus on me.”

Looking into his eyes, seeing how he looked at her for the first time was eye opening. All the love and adoration he felt for her as his hips continued to pound into her made her legs lock around him, keeping him in place. Throwing her head back, her vision turned white, her voice cracking from the intensity she felt as her body tensed up around him, finally releasing.

And Fred was right, this was one of the best orgasms of her life. Mind shattering, earth breaking, pure bliss from such a tiny vial of poison.

His hips began to slow as she clenched around him, sucking him deep. Feeling him twitch inside her as he shot his load into her, his hips pressing firmly against hers as he released his seed. Her eyes clenched shut and her nails dug into his shoulder blades, hard enough to leave marks.

Unexpectedly, he leaned down, pressing a passionate kiss to her lips, his hips still pressed firmly against her. (Y/n)’s hands flew to his hair, tangling into his ginger locks as she kissed back, riding out their climaxes together.

Once the emotions came down, he rested his forehead against hers, savoring the remaining moments before he had to pull away. Looking back down, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then pulling out, apologizing as he saw her wince at the feeling.

As Fred pulled out, (Y/n) felt her body begin to feel normal again, no longer under the control of the potion. Between the mix of sweat and the feeling of his cum leaking out of her, she felt that her thoughts were finally hers, no longer clouded by lust. Looking over, she saw Fred running a hand through his hair, seeing him in entirely new light than before. And suddenly everything made sense to her.

All those failed dates, countless nights spent wondering why nobody ever made her feel like this. It all clicked into place in her mind.

They were both laid in Fred’s bed, staring at the ceiling, coming to terms with everything they just did. No longer with the looming threat of death, it gave them a moment to reflect on what this meant for them. It was clear that they could not ignore this and move on from it, not when they both felt the same.

Fred makes the first move, moving closer to her, doing that thing where he pokes at her head when she’s over thinking. He gets one of those smiles that just lights up the room before he speaks to her.

“Soooo… round two?” Fred half heartedly joked.

Her hands reach to grab her pillow and push it into his face, softly smothering him. She playful pulled away from his embrace, needing to run to the bathroom to clean the mess.

“Shut up, I need to get cleaned up.” She spoke, trying to sound irritated but the smile on her face betrayed her.

He playfully reached out, missing her warmth next to him as she searched the room for something to cover herself with.

“Hopefully that afternoon crowd will keep George busy, because I’m not done with you.” Fred yells after her, laughing at her embarrassment as she wrapped a blanket around her and ran down the hall to his bathroom. “I have years to make up for not doing this.”

“Yeah, you can think of ways to make up for nearly killing me while your waiting.”

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[pathologicalreid]

too violent for tears | s.r.

in which you get a Secret Service agent assigned to you after receiving a threat against your life (Spencer is less than thrilled)

who? spencer reid x fem!reader content: angst content warnings: death threats, jealous/protective!spencer, blood, guns, snipers, emetophobia warning, anxiety, trauma/shock. word count: 3.53k a/n: this was supposed to be like 1k, not sure what happened there.

You were tapping the toe of your shoe against the carpeted floor in the elevator, the fibers stomped down by FBI agents over the years. When the door dinged, Felix, your newly assigned Secret Service agent, nudged you behind him, leading the way out of the elevator and to the bullpen.

Giving a wave to the familiar face who held the door open to you, you and your escort quickly garnered the interest of the BAU. Members had started trickling out for the day, but the A-team was still around. The last to leave, as always.

Your boyfriend was flipping through a book when he glanced up to see you, his expression softening at your arrival but morphing into confusion when he noticed the well-dressed man who would under no circumstances let you walk in front of him. Instead, you followed him single file until you could lean up against Spencer’s desk. “Hey,” you greeted him casually, hoping he’d ignore the six-foot former football player standing in his midst.

He peered up at Felix, sizing him up before rising to his feet, “Who’s your friend?”

“I’m borrowing a member of the president’s goon squad,” you offered, half-heartedly trying to make a joke.

Shifting on your feet, you watched as the two men reached across the desk between them and shook hands. “Agent Felix Sheffield, United States Secret Service. I’ve been assigned to Miss Y/L/N’s detail for the foreseeable future.”

“Detail?” Spencer responded quizzically, raising a brow at you as if to say What the hell is he talking about?

Your shoulders slumped forward helplessly. “You didn’t answer your phone when I called,” you tried to explain yourself. In your defense, you’d called his cell three times before deciding to put it off.

Knowing Spencer, his cell was probably buried somewhere, covered by enough papers and pens to fully muffle the sound of your ringtone. “What is going on?” He asked, glaring at your assigned agent as if he was the enemy.

“So, I was checking my email this morning, and I found an email that made me laugh, so I showed it to my boss, and it turns out it’s a death threat, and they take that stuff seriously,” you told him, your voice fading to a whisper toward the end. Even with your hushed tone, you felt the eyes of every member of the BAU train on you. To your embarrassment, Hotch and Rossi were now peeking out of their respective offices, trying to see what was going on.

Spencer’s eyes shifted to you. “You showed a death threat to the White House Press Secretary because you thought it was a joke?”

“Actually, she showed it to the Chief of Staff,” Felix interjected, playing the devil’s advocate.

You frowned at the Secret Service agent. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“I’m just supposed to keep you safe,” he clarified, nodding as if he was proud of himself. He smoothed out his suit jacket, fixing the button before he looked back to Spencer. “Don’t worry, I’ve got her.”

Spencer crossed his arms in front of his chest, straightening up and staring Felix down. “Well, you don’t need to stick with her while she’s here,” he said, adjusting his suit jacket so his firearm was visible.

Felix tilted his head to the side. “I have orders.”

You took a step back, wary of the turf war that was beginning—over you, no less. “Hey, guys—”

“I understand that,” your boyfriend interrupted, “but your UnSub isn’t going to get in here.”

The invading agent gave Spencer a dubious look. “No one armed has ever gotten in here when they weren’t supposed to?”

You cringed, recalling a few stories Spencer had told you about people in the bullpen, including an incident where the glass door needed to be replaced. “I’ll keep her safe,” Spencer assured him.

He didn’t like that answer. “My orders are not to leave her unless she’s safe inside her home.”

“And when I go to the bathroom, hopefully.” You tried to get yourself back into the conversation, but the two men had resorted to glaring at each other.

You glanced over your shoulder, sending a pleading look to JJ, but she didn’t seem any more ready to jump in than you were.

Mercifully, Felix’s phone rang just when you thought he was going to break. You took the opportunity to get closer to Spencer. “I thought you guys were seconds from breaking out the ruler.”

“What?” Spencer asked, furrowing his brows.

You shook your head. “Nothing. Hey, it’s just an email, but they have to take this stuff seriously. I was visible in a briefing today, and people had things to say.”

Spencer didn’t respond, waiting for you to elaborate on the content of the email you received.

Swallowing thickly, you shifted on your feet as you recalled the message that you would not soon forget. “I just… we made a statement about the NRA, and they took it personally. Sent some photos of a rifle and what they wanted to do to me,” self-consciously, you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. “People get, uh, creative,” you told him, though you were sure it wasn’t new information to him.

Spencer looked pale, but if he had any concerns, he didn’t voice them to you. He didn’t have time because once Felix was off the phone, he was back to torment him. “I definitely recognize you from somewhere,” he said, pointing at Spencer with his cell phone.

Hesitantly, you sat down on the edge of Spencer’s desk, his warm hand resting casually on your shoulder. “He scored the winning runs at the FBI-Secret Service game last year,” you said.

Felix’s smile dropped from his face, recalling the loss that had been personal to many on the opposing team. “Are you ready to go?”

To his chagrin, you ended up sticking around the BAU for another hour, waiting for Spencer to finish some paperwork before the Secret Service drove you home. You’d been warned against the metro. You’d been warned against most public places.

Ditching Felix at the front door, you were introduced to Caleb and Sally, who would be positioned at your front door and balcony, respectively. In an exhausted haze, you and Spencer ended up on the couch, pressing yourself against him so closely that you were practically sitting on his lap.

You were supposed to be reading; that’s what you usually did after dinner. Your book lay open in your hands while you stared at the jumble of letters on the pages, next to you, Spencer turned yet another page, keeping his place with his fingertips.

Nothing was making any sense to you; even the familiar leather of your couch felt foreign beneath your legs. Things like this were never supposed to happen to you. You were a low-level staffer in the White House, but the one time you end up on camera, it turns into a case.

Spencer turned another page, so invested in his book that he hadn’t noticed your bookmark was still in place.

Your eyes flickered to the balcony. Sally was facing the street, and you knew that Caleb was right outside the front door. Thumbing the worn corner of your book, you considered asking Spencer if you could just go to bed, but his eyes seemed so affixed to his book that you didn’t want to interrupt him. You didn’t want to go alone.

It’s just a guy with a sniper rifle; you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t mean anything. People in the public eye received them all the time. If you ever wanted to further your career, you’d have to develop a thicker skin.

It’s just a guy with a sniper rifle; you repeated to yourself, shifting slightly on the couch. You moved away from Spencer, cheeks warming when he moved his placeholder hand to pull you back to him. Squeezing your thigh before returning his fingertips to the page he was on.

It’s just a guy with a sniper rifle; you leaned your head on Spencer’s shoulder, smiling despite yourself when he placed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. You relaxed into him, looking back at your book when it happened.

A loud popping sound came from the street. You practically tossed your book in the air in panic, looking around for a place to hide while Spencer calmly set his book down on the side table. “Hey,” he said with no harshness in his tone. His voice was so gentle that it was almost a coo. “It’s okay,” he put his arms around you while you watched Sally talk into her radio, “It’s just a car backfiring.”

You tried to take a deep breath, air catching in your throat and leaving you to choke on nothing. You erupted in a fit of coughs, covering your mouth with your arm while Spencer rubbed your back.

“You’re safe in here,” he whispered, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “No one’s going to get in,” he reassured you, propping his chin on top of your head, enveloping you in him.

Feeling like a fool, you’d forgotten that your first line of defense was Spencer. He wasn’t going to let you get hurt. “I’m okay,” you muttered, keeping your eyes wide open when all you wanted to do was close them.

He hummed like he didn’t believe you, and he was right to think so. “It’s alright to be scared.”

You shook your head, pulling away from him and wiping a hand down your face. “I’m not; it’s just a guy with a sniper rifle,” you said your mantra out loud this time.

Spencer’s gaze narrowed at you. “Just a guy with a sniper rifle?” He was clearly bothered by your lackadaisical attitude toward your current set of circumstances, but letting him think you were indifferent was better than letting him know you were terrified. “You do know what sniper rifles do, right?”

His question was rhetorical, but that didn’t stop you from lifting your chin to respond, “They’re like giant party poppers.”

Relaxing his posture, you watched as recognition flashed in his eyes. You didn’t mind the fact that he was actively profiling you, so long as it meant he’d stop asking questions. You were afraid that with too many more questions, you’d break, and that was something you couldn’t afford right now.

So, he let you deflect, leading you into your shared bedroom with both hands, keeping your fingertips in his. You wondered, not for the first time that night, if asking to get his gun from the safe and leave it on the nightstand was too much.

Refraining, you laid down on the bed, sighing as Spencer dragged his hand up and down your spine, waiting for you to fall asleep before he considered it for himself.

“Really?” Felix asked, putting his hands on his hips while you crouched to tie the laces on your shoes for the nth time that day. “You’ve spent more time tying your shoes than we have walking,” he observed.

You hummed in response, “They keep getting untied.”

“Double knot them,” he suggested unhelpfully.

Rising to your feet, you took your coffee cup from the Secret Service agent and took a sip. “Then I wouldn’t be able to get them off. They’re new; the laces just need some grip.”

He didn’t look impressed with your explanation. “You should’ve worn different shoes then,” he chided you, turning around when you motioned for him to keep moving through Quantico.

Unfortunately, these were the only non-work shoes you owned, and they’d be easier to run in than any of your heels. That was, after all, the reason why you elected to wear them today. “Have you always been this way?” You asked begrudgingly, “Or have you been jaded by years on the job?”

“I’m not jaded; I’m just doing my job,” he responded, looking out warily for any sign of danger. Oddly enough, you felt safer here than you did at work; the presence of people you’ve known for years brought you comfort. It helped that your boss suggested you take a day off—a rarity in your line of work.

You stumbled slightly, a flash of light out of the corner of your eye disoriented your vision, exacerbated by your untied shoelace. “Wait,” you said to Felix, getting him to turn around and handing him your coffee again, but he refused to hold it, leaving you to set the cup on the pavement.

Crouching again to tie your shoe, you were pulling on the laces when you heard a sharp whistle. It’s only ever been described to you before, but you looked up from your shoes to see Felix just before he toppled over. You ducked out of the way of his body, frantically holding your hands over the fresh wound on his chest before you realized he wasn’t moving.

If you had been anywhere else, you would’ve been surrounded by chaos, but all around you were agents pulling their weapons from holsters and looking to the sky. You stood on shaky legs, allowing them to carry you to a corridor. You stumbled over your shoelace and rounded a brick column, gripping the cold stone as you hurled into the bushes, the distinct burn of coffee poisoning the foliage in front of you.

Dry heaving, you slid down the column, covering your hyperventilating chest with your palm and trying to listen to the cacophony of the world behind you. Everything was muffled, and your eyes had blurred despite the lack of tears in them—why couldn’t you cry? Someone had tried to kill you; you should be inconsolable. Instead, you were numb, so remarkably unfeeling that you might as well be dead. Your nose stung, and you moved your hands, the blood covering them had begun to dry, sticking a violent handprint over your heart.

You started to hear things, your name being called, familiar pet names thrown into the wind, but it all felt so far away. People were speaking in an entirely different universe than the one you were currently residing in. You tugged your skirt over your knees, your eyes pausing on the dried blood, encrusted between the ridges and fine lines of your hands. It was like you’d been through some sort of gruesome fingerprinting ritual.

Brown hair curtained in front of you; someone ducked their head behind your column, relief flooding her eyes as she knelt next to you. It took you a moment to recognize that Blake was speaking to you. “Huh?” Your voice felt like it was coming from someone else; a doppelganger sat on the concrete next to you.

She held her phone to her ear, inspecting your eyes as she talked on the phone. Her fingers pressed to your wrist, checking your heart rate. You weren’t sure if it was racing or slowing, you wanted to ask, but it felt as though your mouth had been filled with cotton.

You couldn’t get yourself to stand; the dexterity that you’d developed as an infant escaping you while you sat limply on the ground, flinching when footsteps seemed to shake the earth around you.

The golden eyes in front of you glowed in the sunlight, your cheeks cupped by familiar palms, forcibly pulling you out of whatever hell you’d buried yourself in. The world seemed to move very fast before it completely stopped, your head lolling to the side for a moment before Spencer righted it for you.

You didn’t remember much of the interim, and somehow, you’d ended up on a bench. Spencer was on the ground in front of you, gingerly cleaning debris from scrapes on your knees before bandaging them.  

“Do you guys need anything?” JJ stopped by to ask. You knew everyone was trying to keep their distance from you, giving you space to breathe. Rossi draped a blanket over your shoulders in silence.

Placing a gentle kiss on your knee, Spencer looked up at you before responding, “Could you try to find a water? Or juice, something cold.”

The blonde nodded, giving you a concerned look before walking back into the building, taking Penelope with her. The technical analyst had come out after the all clear was declared; everyone wanted to check in on you. Even Matt Cruz was out, over by an ambulance talking with Hotch and some agents that the Secret Service had sent out.

You took off your shoes, sock-covered feet touching the concrete in an attempt to ground yourself while Spencer tried to take one of your hands in his. You had a death grip on the bench beneath you, and he peeled your fingers off of the metal one by one so he could start to wipe off the dried blood. “He said he always had to be in front of me,” you spoke, your voice nothing more than a mumble, but Spencer had years of practice decoding it.

“That’s protocol,” he reminded you softly. Of course, you knew that. Somewhere in your trauma-addled mind were the rules that the Secret Service had presented you.

You pursed your lips, “But if he’d—”

“Honey, you’ll drive yourself crazy if you try to think of what could’ve been different,” he told you. A sharpness emerged in his voice, one you only heard when he was worried about you.

When your instinct was to run, you hadn’t thought what it would be like for Spencer to run outside and find your protection dead and you missing. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to read the initial email, but he’d likely figured enough to know that the person who was after you had no interest in keeping you alive. “I didn’t…” You gasped, “I wasn’t…”

Spencer’s face fell, pulling himself up so he was sitting next to you on the bench. “Hey, it’s okay,” he hummed. “Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

You looked around frantically. “Did they get the shooter?”

He nodded. “You’re completely safe.”

Behind him, Felix’s body remained under a sheet, preventing anyone from taking photos, but outside of the cover, you could see his blood. It had seeped out of his body, mixing on the concrete with the coffee you had knocked over during your escape. When Spencer reminded you not to look, you went back to watching him meticulously clean your hands. “I threw up,” you told him, why you felt it was pertinent, you weren’t entirely sure, but you told him anyway.

“That’s okay,” he reassured you. “It’s a manifestation of stress when you go into fight-or-flight.” He didn’t add the fact that you hadn’t consumed anything other than coffee, which likely didn’t help your nervous stomach.

Confused, you frowned at him. “I didn’t fight.” You corrected him, “I ran.”

He paused for a moment, squeezing your hand even though feeling hadn’t returned to your extremities, “You told me you tried to help Felix before you hid, and that’s a fight in and of itself.”

“I did?” You asked, not remembering that prior conversation.

Spencer was solemn in front of you. “You’re in shock,” he observed as if your question had been the final clarification he needed to diagnose you.

You shook your head. “I’m not bleeding.” Though, looking at all of the blood that had gotten on your clothes, it would be easy to make that assumption.

“Emotional shock, baby,” he reminded you gently. “That’s why you can’t feel your hands,” he said.

The memory of telling him you couldn’t feel your hands evaded you, trying to think of the moment you’d told him you were numb, but nothing rose to the surface. You couldn’t even remember the moment your hearing had returned; at some point while Spencer and Morgan helped you walk to the bench, you thought. “My head hurts,” you murmured, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you hit it when you fell?”

“I don’t remember,” you admitted. You didn’t even remember falling until Blake had brought Spencer bandages for your knees.

Nodding in understanding, Spencer set down the damp towel he had been using and looked at your eyes, probably checking your pupils before he carefully wrapped his arms around you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck while he spoke to you gently, “I’ll keep an eye on it. You don’t have to worry about anything, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

You hiccupped back a sob, moving your face to allow for easier breathing. Tears seared your lash line before you finally blinked them out, quiet cries muffled by Spencer’s shoulder as your body finally felt the release it had been seeking.

“Oh, honey,” Spencer cooed, pulling you closer to him. He didn’t care about who was watching; he only worried about being there for you. “I’ve got you.”

His words rang in your ears as you sobbed, your trembling arms reaching around him, pins and needles striking your fingers as you gathered the fabric of his jacket in your hands. Oddly enough, a sigh of relief escaped your lips.

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[grandline-fics]

Terms of Endearment

DESCRIPTION:  You call them by a term of endearment without realising 

WARNINGS: none that come to mind.

CHARACTERS: Law, Kid, Shanks, Marco, Zoro | Ace, Sabo, Luffy

WORDS: 2,943

A/N: I decided to use Zoro as the final character. Since he and Ace tied in the poll, I might make a second one of these and use Ace and any others people may want.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

LAW

He knew it was irrational to be jealous of an inanimate object. Law knew that it’d be childish to use his Devil Fruit to take it out of your hands and claim your attention for himself. While he had enough restraint to not do that, the temptation to do so was still there. His eyes zeroed in on the book in your hand. He glowered and wondered if it was really that good, did it really deserve such intense, rapt attention that you were giving it. Your eyes were alight as you took in the words, your fingers already tucked behind the next page and ready to turn it as quickly as possible. Law watched you carefully, almost praying for your expression to turn to one of sudden boredom but it didn’t come. 

He supposed he was to blame this time, a lot of this was new to him. While your relationship had only turned to a romantic one recently, you’d both been close for a lot longer. Long enough for you both to be able to spend time together while doing entirely separate things. You only pulled your book out because he had medical charts to look over and update. Law made a mental note to try a bit harder from now on to make the time you had together one of quality.

Finally he sat back in his seat and rubbed his eyes, letting them relax from pouring over the extensive pages now neatly piled on his desk. Slowly he stood and walked to the sofa you were perched on, unmoving and seemingly unaware he was approaching. Law tried to bite back his jealousy once more, wondering how annoyed you’d be if he ‘accidentally’ sent that blasted book out into the depths of the ocean. 

When he sat down in the space beside you, he smiled softly when you leant back so you were against his side. One of your hands dropped to rest on his arm that was around your waist, your fingers lightly making soothing patterns against his tattooed skin. Law supposed this did count as quality time since it meant he could relax with you in a way he couldn’t with anyone else. He allowed himself the time to settle further against the cushion and press his lips against the back of your head. “Don’t forget you and Bepo are on duty tonight.” He reminded you, still having to act as your Captain when necessary. 

“Yes, love.” Your answer was light and casual that he didn’t realise what you’d said at first. Then it echoed in his head ‘love.’ His eyes widened and he peered at the back of your head. There was no way he misheard that. You’d called him love, not Law, not Captain. Love. There was no mistaking the way his heart skipped a beat in reaction. It sounded so right, so effortless the way you said it and he found himself wanting to hear it again. It was also clear that from your lack of reaction, you hadn’t realised what you’d called him because you were partially distracted. Law smirked and for a moment reconsidered his earlier distaste. Perhaps your book wasn’t so bad after all.

KID

Kid didn’t want to admit it but he was powerless against you. He was stubborn and hotheaded and did what he wanted even if someone had sound logic to convince him whatever he had planned wasn’t wise. If anything if someone did attempt that nonsense with him, he’d be even more extreme with his conviction to do as he wanted and would even think of a way to make his actions even more outlandish and dangerous. Even Killer had a hard time keeping the captain in a somewhat mature state of mind. You however were a different story. Anything you wanted, it was yours all you had to do was ask. 

Kid just never knew how to let you know that was the dynamic between you both. He was never afraid to speak his mind, if anything he yelled it to ensure everyone knew his thoughts. Yet he seemed to bite his tongue from confessing how he truly felt with you. He’d much rather have you beside him every day and enjoy the playful teasing and jokes than make things real and risk you not seeing him that way. Killer had told him one night to just confess already and trust that you felt the same. Kid had rolled his eyes and promptly kept his feelings buried in his chest. It was better, they were safer there than spoken out loud and unable to take them back.

He walked into the kitchen one evening to see you and Killer preparing the crew’s dinner. You looked over at the sound of his naturally heavy steps coming closer and smiled in greeting to see him stop in the doorway. “Here to help, Captain?” You asked, already knowing the answer before it came. Your smile grew when Kid let out a loud laugh and made a show of folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the doorframe. 

“Not unless you want me to poison the crew.” He smirked.

“You’d nurse us back to health if you did infect us though, right?” You joked before looking back to the food you were meant to keep an eye on instead of getting distracted by your handsome Captain. You had to keep reminding yourself to behave and actually respect the chain of command. To let yourself imagine he may genuinely feel the same as you did would only lead to heartbreak in the long run but still you flirted and teased him whenever you could. You supposed you were just a glutton for punishment. You slowed in stirring the food and looked around for the seasonings only to see the small jar on the counter near Kid. 

“Could you pass me that?” You asked nodding your head at what you needed. Kid followed your gaze and immediately pushed himself away from his comfortable position to lift the tiny item. He stepped forward and passed the seasoning into your waiting hand, hating and loving how the brief moment of his fingers skimming against yours brought him such a burst of joy. “Thank you, darling.” You smiled, turning back to the stove. While you hadn’t noticed what you’d said Killer did and he stopped cutting the vegetables to look Kid who was frozen in place, his eyes wide and cheeks turning the same bright red as his hair. 

Darling? The fuck did you mean darling?! Kid’s mind was short-circuiting as he scrambled to gather his wits together and make sense of it all. Had you called him that subconsciously because  was it possible that you felt for him too? God he hoped so because getting to hear you call him something so sweet again would be perfect.

SHANKS

One of the great things about sailing with an Emperor of the sea like Shanks was the fact that there were many islands under his protection. Any time you landed at one for a visit or even for the excuse of resting from a long stretch of sailing, the locals welcomed you all so warmly that it turned into one big celebration. None of you needed to worry about night watches, chores or other duties and could just sit back and enjoy the peace until Shanks decided he wanted to get back on the waters again. 

As a crew, you were all used to just passing out and sleeping wherever you were at that time and waking up with aches from the uncomfortable positions you’d all ended up. However the town you were staying in was large enough to provide some rooms for you all in one of their inns. Some of you still needed to double up but the beds were extremely comfortable and who were you all to refuse such generosity? One night when the drinking and partying was only just beginning you slowly rose from your seat with a stifled yawn and forced yourself to finish your drink. Shanks was first to notice your movements. “Going for another round of drinks already?” he asked, coming across casual but he knew you weren’t yourself. 

“Nah, I’m turning in early.” You announced, playfully flipping off the crew when they started to boo you for being boring. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blame Beck, alright. I haven’t slept the last two nights. Goodnight.” You gave no further explanation and disappeared up the staircase to claim a room to sleep in. Shanks looked towards his righthand man with a small scowl. He hoped you hadn’t implied what he thought. Beckman could sense his Captain’s silent interrogation and waved away his worries. “Calm down Cap, you know I’d never make a move on them. It’s just been bad luck we’ve had a share a room together and I snore…apparently.” He explained with a shrug and long drink of his ale. 

Shanks had accepted the answer, knowing Beck would never lie to him. Yet as innocent as it all was, he couldn’t ignore the way he’d felt sick at the thought of you being with another of the crew.  While nothing had exactly happened between you both, it was painfully obvious that there was something there. A playful dance you both engaged in without making an actual step forward into committing and admitting you’d had feelings. Roughly Shanks rubbed his eyes, now wasn’t the time to be thinking on such things, not with alcohol in his system and you not being there to talk to like the adults you were. 

The rest of the night had helped to take his mind off things but it was all undone by the time he entered the room he’d been staying in the entire stay and saw you sleeping soundly in his bed. He was the only one in the crew that didn’t have to share his room with anyone else so why were you here? He approached the bed and shook your arm, watching your eyes crack open and he immediately felt guilty. You really did look exhausted. “Why’re you in my bed?” He asked, trying not to laugh as your eyes slipped closed again. 

“Furthest room…no snoring. Please honey, lemme sleep.” Your voice was thick with sleep and your breathing was growing deeper again. Shanks might have appeared calm but that was the first time you’d ever called him something like that and as far as he knew you’d never called anyone else on the crew something similar. That all but cemented his decision that things needed to be talked about when you were both awake and rested enough to deal with things. Finally he let out a sigh and climbed into what would be his side of the bed while keeping respectable space between you both. “Fine, only because it’s you.”

MARCO

Your relationship with the ship’s doctor was a fairly new one. You had both known each other long enough to know the general likes and dislikes and the atmosphere on the Moby Dick among the crew was always one of familial harmony so there was never any uncomfortable tension. You were both content to just take things easy and enjoy things as they developed naturally without needed to force things into a certain timeframe. Marco’s personality being so relaxed and carefree was infectious in general and it was no different in your relationship.

Marco stood from his desk and stretched, ready to find you and enjoy the rest of the day with you now that all pressing tasks he’d needed to complete for the day was done. He was just about to leave when Izou entered to talk about organising a banquet for Ace’s birthday. As the two were discussing everything you appeared and smiled at them both before entering the room. 

“Babe, did you see my-” Anything else that came out of your mouth was unfortunately drowned out by the increased heart rate in Marco’s ears. Instead he could only watch as you were busy looking for whatever it was that you’d lost. Marco would have considered himself steady and able to handle most situations but hearing you call him babe for the first time had certainly thrown him and you seemed oblivious to the fact that you’d done so. The only person who truly reacted was Izou, his laugh snapping Marco out of his trance and catching your attention too. “Babe, huh? Didn’t realise things were so serious with you two. Maybe we could plan the wedding too.” Izou teased. 

“What are you talking about now?” You asked with a small smile. You were used to Izou’s teasing like a brother figure would but sometimes he just didn’t make sense. When Izou saw that you weren’t aware of your subconscious slip-up he grinned wider. 

“You called Marco, babe.” He explained. You rolled your eyes and let out an amused laugh. As far as jokes went, it wasn’t the worst one he’d told you but he could do better. Suddenly you became concerned when Izou’s smug grin wasn’t slipping and you had to think. What had you said to Marco when you entered the room? Slowly you pulled your gaze to your boyfriend and he nodded. “Well looks like you two lovebirds need some alone time.” Izou all but sang as he left, no doubt hurrying off to tell Ace and the others about Marco’s new nickname.

“So…” You cleared your throat nervously and gave a small laugh. “Want to forget that happened? I swear I didn’t realise I’d even called you that.” The last thing you wanted was to make Marco think you were forcing him to a point he wasn’t ready for. Thankfully his broad smile was enough to make you relax, his naturally warm aura soothing your brief worries before they had a chance to escalate. Marco stepped closer to you, settling a hand on your waist. “Well even if you stop now, I bet all the others will start. Honestly I’d much rather hear it from your lips. Can I hear you say it again?”

ZORO

Zoro kept a firm hold on your shoulder as you stumbled, trying to twist weakly out of his grip. Any other instance he would release you if his touch made you uncomfortable but this was a completely different situation. After defeating a group of lackeys, one managed to make one last attack before falling unconscious. You’d been quick enough to intercept whatever it was he threw towards you and Zoro but when it was destroyed it still released a cloud of strange smelling gas. Zoro had been a safe enough distance but you weren’t so lucky. 

At first you’d insisted you were fine but after walking a few paces your balance started to sway and your mind was beginning to cloud. Zoro became concerned by the glazed look in your eyes as you tried one more time to pull out of his unwavering hold, glaring at him. “Jus’ let me go! I don’t know you.”

His eyes widened at your declaration, not only because you sounded so dazed and confused. It was not like your usual bright and familiar way of speaking that made him happy to hear but it was also because hearing you say you didn’t know him filled him with more concern than he was willing to admit. He needed to find Chopper quickly to treat whatever it was you’d been hit with. For now he had to try and keep you calm and prove you were safe with him. “Course you know me. We’re crew-mates, remember? It’s Zoro.”

Abruptly you stopped and bumped into his chest, lifting your head to stare at him, trying to force yourself to focus on his face. Your hand reached out and clumsily gripped his face, tugging him forward enough for you to see his features better. Zoro could see your pupils were blown wide, whatever had been in that vial was some sort of hallucinogenic and he hoped that that was all it was. It could be better dealt with than a poison. Not that seeing you so wary and untrusting of him was any better. Your suspicion didn’t subside when you finally let go of his face and shook your head. 

“You’re not Zoro.” You finally declared, trying once more to get away from him. This time you succeeded only enough to make it a couple of steps but without him there to keep you stable you fell forward. If Zoro hadn’t been there you would have landed face first into the pavement but he caught you swiftly around the waist and lifted you to settle you over his shoulder, deciding that this way of carrying you was the best option. “Definitely not Zoro.” You weakly grumbled into his back as he began walking again. 

“Oh yeah, why’re you so sure of that?” He asked, deciding to at least play along.

“You’re too grumpy…” You explained and added as you fell unconscious. “Zoro’s grumpy but he’s a sweetheart. My sweetheart.” Immediately the back of his neck heated and he froze in place but he couldn’t say or do anything else because thankfully Chopper, Usopp and Nami appeared to regroup and find Luffy. Zoro quickly explained to Chopper that you’d been hit by something but offered no further details. 

“Did you get hit too, Zoro? You’re looking really red.” Chopper asked in concern. Quickly Zoro cleared his throat and shrugged as he laid you on the ground so Chopper could treat you. 

“Uh yeah, might have been. Don’t worry about it though.”

[biteofcherry]

Touch the Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; possessiveness; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; jealous Reader (though she claims otherwise); non-lethal poisoning; sex; turned on by violence;

word count: 6.8k

Author’s Note: I know you've waited a bit for this next chapter. I didn't exactly have trouble writing it, my muse was simply interested in other projects. But I'm always a hoe for dark Steve, so returning to him was inevitable. As it was inevitable for Steve's dick darkness to start corrupting Reader in small doses. Or, maybe, he gives her boldness to act out on instincts she would otherwise suppress, because they're not proper 😏 For a brighter side - Princess gains a genuine new friend! 🥰

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 8. Tempestuous as the sea

~ * ~

You could blame the slow process of writing on the tiredness, but it was honestly the fault of delicious macaroons you’ve been reaching for every single sentence. At least with the sweet bite the mundane typing of a bland report felt a little more exciting. Once you ate the final macaroon, only the boring part would remain. 

Of all the excitement and challenges that came with running a health center, the bureaucratic side of it was truly exhausting. 

A knock on the door of your home office startled you mid bite. 

Before you swallowed and managed to invite him in, Steve was already pushing the door open and strolling inside.

You glared at him, but didn’t comment on the intrusion. Knowing your husband, he’d say that he came in your pussy just this morning and you had no objections to it, so why fuss over a damn office. 

Pointing out that you didn’t exactly invite him into your pussy either, was a futile argument. Especially since you didn’t stop him, or even elbow him in those perfect, stupid abs of marble. 

Quite the contrary. You rocked back against him and begged, until he rolled you fully onto your front and savaged you. 

You were still disgusted with yourself for that. As well for the sex two nights before. And the one in the shower. Or the Sunday humiliation, when it became clear that the chef was in the kitchen preparing your fancy dinner while you were screaming the house down as Steve wrung three orgasms out of you, one after the other. 

So disgusted. And still giving in to the temptation that was the devil himself. 

Who walked around your desk and leaned against it, looking down at you curled in the chair and with your cheeks stuffed with sweets. 

A strange feeling knotted your stomach. 

You were barefoot, wearing a pair of leggins and a hoodie. Crumbs of gooey sweetness were sticking to the corners of your mouth. Steve was barefoot, too; which meant he came home for the rest of the day, with no plans of leaving. He had a plain, tight T-shirt paired with dark jeans, his leather jacket already taken off. He stared at your face, only briefly glancing at the almost empty plate of macaroons.

This scene was so… domestic.

Instead of unwrapping that terrifying thought, you diverted your attention to the royal red envelope in Steve’s hand. A beautiful calligraphy shimmered in gold. 

“What’s that?” You asked, swallowing the rest of your macaroon. 

Unexpectedly, Steve leaned forward. Tip of his tongue licked at the corner of your mouth, swiping the sticky sweetness. Then it plugged between your lips that opened on a soft gasp.

The kiss was short, but intense and depraved. As it always was with Steve. And your treacherous body chased it as he pulled back.

“Lemon would pair better.” He hummed, resuming his previous stance.

“What?” You blinked, confused. Your head was still swimming in dizzy fog from that unexpected kiss. As well from the fact nothing more followed.

You were married, but there was nothing marital about your relationship with Steve. There were no sweet kisses good morning or goodbye, or hugs and cuddles. If either of you initiated physical contact it was to fuck. 

But now no touching, or undressing followed. The unexpected kiss remained just that - a shard of affection a normal newlywed couple might show each other.

It messed with your mind. And pulled at a cord in your chest.

“With your taste.” Steve explained; corners of his mouth curling in a hungry smirk.

Which, really, should be followed by his mouth descending on other parts of you. 

Instead, your body filled with heat both from the kiss and his words while Steve returned to tapping the envelope against his thigh, unbothered. 

Swallowing, you pushed that spark of need down. Steve was already too aware of how eagerly your body responded to him. Especially, since you stopped fighting it too much when the desire sparked low in your core. You weren’t going to further your humiliation. 

“So what’s with that?” You asked, pointing at the red envelope. 

“An invitation.” Steve showed you the beautifully addressed front. “For Mr and Mrs Rogers.”

You ignored his pleased smirk when he said the last part. It still evoked annoyance. The realization other people were now calling you by his last name fueled that irritation. 

“To Stark’s annual post expo gala.” He said it with a roll of his eyes.

Clearly, he wasn’t thrilled. You doubted it was because he had no regard for technology and knowledge. As much as you hated to admit it, Steve Rogers was exceptionally smart and up to date with many areas of expertise. 

From what you learned about your husband over the weeks, he wasn’t a fan of boring, social chit-chat and fake politeness. Which is why he preferred his direct, brutal methods of communication. But even he couldn’t fully escape socializing with the people he had on payroll and leash. 

“I assume it’s expected of me to go with you,” you glared at him, even though a small spark of excitement flickered in your chest.

You’ve been to a few fancy parties and fundraisers, but to attend something of this caliber was a thrilling novelty. 

For one, you’d get to dress up. You liked it, once in a while, to feel like a modern sort of Cinderella, who gets to swirl around in a pretty dress and eat expensive snacks. Secondly, it was a tempting opportunity for you as a director of the health center to lure in new benefactors. The project you’ve been working on was one that would need a solid dose of funding. 

There was also the aspect of meeting people in similar fields. Stark’s expo focused on technology mostly, but that area leaked into medical fields, as well. There were a lot of neuroscience breakthroughs in the past years, which served psychiatric and psychological fields. It could prove beneficial, if you spoke to some experts.

“Princess,” Steve tilted his head, “fuck the expectations.”

You almost sagged in disappointment.

“But-” he continued- “I have a few things to settle with some people and they will be there. It saves me a lot of time to do it there. And since I’m going, you are going, too.” 

He dropped the envelope onto the desk then cupped your chin with his hand. You hated how you didn’t hate the jolt of pleasure his touch evoked. 

“First official outing as newlyweds, Princess. Gotta make an impression.” There was near cruel mirth in his blue eyes.

“Pffft!” You snorted, attempting to pull away from his grip. You still haven’t fully accepted that once Steve had his hand on you, he was unlikely to relent.

Well, your mind didn’t accept it. Your body has become a whore for it. 

“I doubt I’ll be making any sort of impression on the corrupted men who kneel for you,” unless they were disgusting pigs interested in ogling Steve’s sidepiece. “Though I guess I could use you, for a change. Your name could be impressive enough for some schmucks to donate to the center.” 

“Tell them you’re mine and they’ll fund you three centers.” Steve said it so casually, without any hint of cockiness. In his eyes, it was a simple truth. 

“I’m not yours,” you hissed, more annoyed at the heat you felt creeping over your skin.

At that Steve smirked. 

He released your chin and stood up. He didn’t even counter your claim, as if it was the most pitiful lie that didn’t require any argument because neither of you believed it. 

He stole one macaroon before leaving your office. 

You quickly stuffed your mouth with the only macaroon left, in case he would take that away from you, too. Then you returned your gaze to the project document. Suddenly, with the prospect of potential donors, you felt a new wave of energy and motivation to write it all out. 

You clung to the claim that it was the same motivation filling you with excited lightness as you donned on a beautiful evening dress three weeks later. Adamant on enjoying the fancy party and working for the center’s goals, you pushed away the nagging thoughts of going there as Steve’s wife. 

Not that you thought anyone would be interested in that, anyway. You weren’t a famous socialite, or a model, and you considered Steve to be terrifying enough that no one would imagine him getting married. Much less gossiping about it.

The smaller argument you weaved - about you not even matching your outfits, ergo no one would recognize you as a couple - died the moment you descended the stairs to where Steve was already waiting for you. 

The only time he wore a suit was at your wedding. His usual style was rougher, more practical and intimidating. A jagged chunk of volcanic rock, still pulsing with burning lava. So it was quite shocking to see him in a dark blue two piece that was cut so perfectly that his broad shoulders and tapered waist seemed more prominently outlined than when he wore jeans and tight shirts. 

The shade of his suit was dark enough to hold that dangerous, intimidating aura, but the shiny blue hue matched your choice of dress perfectly. 

He was the night sky to your moon glow. 

Steve didn’t mask the hunger in his eyes as he looked at you. Though you were thankful he didn’t utter anything about not making it to the gala, because he wanted to sate that hunger. 

He did, however, order you to turn around; with that rough, low voice that had your clit tingling. Despite the vow you made to yourself two months ago, to not so easily comply with his commands, you did as asked. You found yourself staring at your reflection in the large mirror in the entryway, your body heating up from the sudden lewd imagery of what could happen if Steve put his hands on you. Would he make you watch as he…

His ice blue eyes sparked a dark satisfaction, undoubtedly reading your body well enough to suspect where your thoughts have wandered.

But he didn’t mock you. Instead, his touch was a gentle brush that evoked goosebumps as he placed something shiny and heavy on your chest. 

He clasped the white gold necklace at the back of your neck as you stared at the incredible rock nestled in a cushion of diamonds that were so crystal white they appeared to be frosty snow. 

The rock in the middle was a hue of sundown orange, mostly transparent, but with a flame encapsulated within. Like the heart of a star. 

“Once upon a time,” Steve’s fingers trailed over your exposed collarbones and down along the delicate chain of the necklace. “There were six rarest jewels in the world. Called the infinity stones.”

Memory of Batroc asking about them flashed in your mind and you held your breath. 

The rumors were true, then. Steve was the ghost from the legend, who tore through the Greek magnate’s citadel and stole the rarest gems, without leaving a trace. If this was one of them, were the rest nestled in the rings on his fingers like you presumed once before? 

“This one is called the soul stone.” Steve traced the outline of the pendant with his fingertip, dipping it into the valley between your breasts. Your nipples hardened instantly.

“Fitting, since you’re the devil who stole mine,” your retort had no bite. Not with how breathless you sounded.

Steve chuckled, slipping his hand over your breast and lower. His fingers splayed across your belly as he pressed closer against you. His breath was a warm tickle on your skin as he brushed his lips along the column of your throat.

“I stole more than that, haven’t I, Princess?” He smirked at the flash of fear in your eyes, which dissolved into stubborn defiance. 

“Yes. My peace and chance at happiness.” You glared at him in the mirror. Which didn’t dent his amusement. 

With a chuckle, Steve kissed your neck then scraped his teeth over the spot. Thankfully, not hard enough to leave any evidence, but making your pussy clench. 

You scurried away towards the exit, before he decided to humiliate you by leaving a hickey that anyone could see. 

You tried not to show how Steve’s touch on your lower back affected you, neither on your way to the car, nor when you entered the lavish gala at the Stark Tower. You doused the warmth of comfort with a flute of champagne when Steve spent the first solid hour keeping you at his side and introducing you to various people. As his wife.

It was only after you two returned to the main hostess and Tony’s wife, Pepper, who greeted you at the entrance and then smoothly roped you into a social conversation, that Steve murmured something about attending to business.

He left you with a brief kiss to your cheek and a brush of his fingers sliding from the small of your back over your ass. Unapologetic about doing it publicly.

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at his retreating form. 

“Ah, newlyweds.” Next to you, Pepper let a dramatically dreamy sigh. 

Your gaze shifted to her, only to notice she was most amused. Unlike some of the women whom you were introduced to, she didn’t look at you with envy or disdain. Which had annoyed you, because really there was nothing to be jealous of. Well, mindblowing sex perhaps. But that was it. Nothing more. 

If they wanted Steve so much, you’d happily give him away. If he only let you. 

Pepper seemed genuine in her friendly approach, witty responses and warmth. The only flaw you found in her so far was the fact she was friendly with Steve, too.

Not overtly, in a way betraying carnal interest, or former relationship (which you sensed from a few other women at the banquet). But the platonic friendliness toward someone like Steve was alarming in itself. 

“Oh yeah,” you snorted, lifting your glass of champagne to your lips, “I’m sooo head over heels for him.”

Pepper’s laugh was soft and tinkling like velvet bells. Nothing fake, or annoying in the sound of it. Quite the opposite, you were surprised how it put you at ease after mingling with people who wore fake politeness like a family crest.

Crinkles appeared in the corners of her eyes as she looked at you and you couldn’t help but respond with your own grin.

“People often mistake my sunny disposition for naivety. They're very wrong.” Pepper said, taking a sip of her strawberry gin & tonic. 

“I know you didn't marry Steve out of love.” She stated bluntly, without judgment or conspiratory whispering. “But watching you two, some things are unmistakable.”

She lifted her left shoulder in a shrug, sparkling amusement in her eyes turning into a knowing look. Your heart halted before setting in a slightly panicked flutter. 

There were little moments when you felt certain cracks in your hard hateful shell, but you hoped that you managed to quickly hide them behind walls and under a mask. You didn’t want Steve finding more of your weaknesses. It was even worse, if someone else saw them.

Pepper barely met you and if she noticed how comfortable you felt at times beside Steve (when you forgot to remember you’re supposed to hate him and be disgusted by his touch), then the bastard must have been aware of them, too. Crap.

Still, you arched your brow as if you had no idea what she was implying. Pepper’s amusement deepened, she wasn’t buying your cluelessness. 

“There may not be romantic affection, but he sure gives you attention.” She said, angling her body so you stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the grand ballroom.

Before you snorted that you’d rather never have drawn Steve’s attention, she vaguely pointed at the room full of people. Expensive suits and dresses worth more than your half year salary, diamonds dripping, chests puffed. Women polished to perfection glued to the side of their men, sweet smiles offered on painted lips.

“That's something only very few women here experience. It’s rare.” There was a hint of disappointment in her tone, but you doubted it had to do with her own relationship. 

Tony Stark was like a hummingbird on energizer and coke - he fleeted from one conversation to the other, growing bored, acting pretentious asshole. He stopped for longer only with a few people. But every half an hour or so, he would search for Pepper and the way his attention zeroed in on her left no room to doubt his love for her.

She grounded him. Gave him a moment to recharge, even as she called him out on some of his antics. 

Many of the women at the gala, who accompanied their husbands, or partners, were there as an accessory. Beautiful, adding to the status, but few were even acknowledged by their company. 

“I’m not sure having Steve Rogers’ attention is exactly a good thing.” You pointed out. 

Everyone here may officially pretend he was a ruthless businessman, while they all knew the bloody truth. He was a mafia boss, a brutal king of the underworld, who wouldn’t blink an eye flaying someone open here in the light of the crystal chandeliers. 

No one wanted his attention on them, not really. 

“Not for most.” Pepper agreed. “Though some of the women might disagree.”

“Are you talking from experience?” You maintained a neutral, indifferent tone (mostly because you didn’t think there was ever anything between Pepper and Steve); yet there was a tiny flicker of something angry that ignited at the prospect.

It stirred with a growl and clawed out a few times that night, when a few of the women made it obvious they were wet and willing for Steve.

“God, no!” Pepper snorted, pretending to shudder. “I’m not that adventurous.”

“Yeah, bungee jumping without rope might be less of an adrenaline rush than being with him,” you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth tilted in a grin. 

“Well, it seems only fair to give back in return. What would perturb the dark overlord?” Pepper pretended to seriously ponder, tapping her finger against her lips.

“I could try setting Bucky on fire.” 

Pepper’s laugh resounded with the same melodic chime as previously, but much louder. Not a single fake note, her burst of laughter was real. It enticed your own laugh to bubble out; both of you falling into a fit of giggles behind your drink glasses. 

You drew the attention of many people, who either watched you with suspicion, or glared offended. You didn’t care. And when your gaze connected with Steve’s, who looked your way from the other side of the room while some men were babbling next to him, you didn’t even pretend to be gloomy.

“Now that was the height of entertainment tonight.” Pepper looped her arm around yours, still smiling brilliantly ear to ear. “For me, at least. Now, how to repay you for that? I can tell you all the spicy gossip. We could get drunk and no one would dare to say anything to either me or you.” 

“Not gossip, but information.” You finished your champagne and reached for another flute as a waiter passed by. “I need to know more about this swamp my so-called husband treads through. And I need to milk some of them for money for the center.” 

“I know just the right people for that,” she nodded with determination and steered you toward the first potential benefactor. 

Pepper’s company was a wonderful balm and entertainment rolled into one. She was a graceful hostess, smart and perceptive professional, but also a bubbly imp who didn’t spare you the details about some sordid affairs. 

Though she could excuse herself with her duties, she stuck with you the entire time. She also managed not to smirk at your glower when she pointed at three women who have in the past fucked Steve. 

However, her smile turned mischievous as she spotted someone over your shoulder. She reminded you of the lunch date in three days that you happily agreed to, then smoothly glided away before you managed to properly say goodbye. 

Words stuck in your throat as you felt the familiar solid warmth at your back. Steve’s shadow cast over you first, then his heat and scent engulfed you. Like a mythological fate, always reaching its grasp for the heroine, no matter the hard fight towards the light, your personal devil softly pulled you back into his clutches. 

His hand touched your back and he spun you around. 

“Having fun, Princess?” He looked down at you. 

Icy blade of his gaze cut down men bigger than life, but, despite the first instinctive flash of fear, you felt it slicing through the layers of your clothes and defences. 

Plate by plate, you quickly reinforced your shell, to at least endure a few hours more before Steve got under your skin again. 

And into your cunt, because with his hot looks and your four glasses of champagne that was inevitable. 

“I don’t think parties of this kind are meant to have fun.” You scrunched up your nose. “But I managed to sway some rich snobs to potentially fund that educational project for the center. Leon Stavros seems keen to donate half the sum.”

You announced with a proud tilt of your chin and a smile. Tame enough to not share the actual happiness you felt with Steve. You wanted to boast about your little success, but you had to remember that he was the bane of your existence.  

Steve’s hand on your back settled heavier, while his other slid along your arm. He took your hand in his, outstretched your joined arms and in a single move swept you onto the dancefloor. 

“You’ll have to use his money for a different project.” He continued your conversation as he led you across the floor. “The psychoeducation and resources for caretakers project is already fully funded.” 

It took you a moment for his words to register, because you were still scrambling to catch up with the fact that a heartbeat ago you were standing off to the side and now you were dancing across the ballroom. 

It was truly mind boggling that your psychopath husband was a damn good dancer.

“What? Who?” You blinked, when it finally dawned on you what he said. You even cast a glance around, wondering who managed to deliver the funds so quickly.

Something sharp pierced through your chest as you realized there was only one person who knew before everyone else and could fund a project with a single transfer. Your gaze flicked back to Steve’s handsome face.

“Steve…” 

Heaviness of the situation turned worse by the second, because he wasn’t showing that smug, triumphant look, which would at least remind you to hate him. 

“You were determined to get that project running.” Steve replied easily. There was no affectionate passion in his next words, but still they chipped at the walls protecting you - “What you want, you get.”

“Thank you.” At the moment you didn’t know how else to respond. How to treat this gift. 

You could think of it as his manipulation to get you further into his sticky web, but he already had you at his mercy on all accounts. No, it flashed too much thoughtfulness.  

To preserve the comfortable setting of animosity, you asked cheekily - “What if I want a divorce?”

You were determined to keep asking for a divorce every chance you got. Officially, you believed it was because you wanted out of this fucked up marriage. Secretly, you were thrilled with the various ways Steve responded to that demand. 

“Then-” he pulled you even closer, his cheek brushing yours as he leaned down to whisper into your ear- “you get a fucking so hard, any silly ideas drip out of you permanently.” 

Steve delivered on the hard fucking, even though you haven’t mentioned divorce again that night. 

You blamed the champagne and happiness at having your project funded for making you sit so close to him in the car on your way back from the gala, rubbing your heated body against him with unrestrained need. Steve was merciful enough to not wait it out until you lost the battle with your own will and initiated sex yourself, but instead dragged you over his lap, rolled up your dress and fingered you into a dripping, screaming puddle before you made it home.

Then he took you hard, in front of that fucking mirror in the hall. With you completely naked, wearing only the necklace and watching yourself give in to the monster completely. 

You nearly passed out when he fucked you again in bed. Your almost unconscious state didn’t stop Steve from using you thoroughly and then spilling thick ropes of white cum all over your body, white drops landing around the jewel sparkling on your chest. 

Though your body was wonderfully blissed out each time you and Steve had sex - which was becoming an almost daily thing - you still refused to use the blissful adjective to describe your marriage. Or any positive adjective, for that matter. Even as the comfort of sitting next to him or sharing meals increased; or how he casually draped your legs over his lap, massaging your calves while he typed murderous decrees on his phone. 

The word domestic echoed in your head often, but you drowned it in screams of his victims, gunshots, Steve’s cold and sinister commands. 

You shouldn’t feel at ease and comfortable around the devil who kept you chained to him. You gave yourself a pass for enjoying mindmelting orgasms, it was a small reward for your suffering, but you wouldn’t let yourself get accustomed to being a wife. Not to Steve. 

So you pretended to be only mildly annoyed when he strolled into your office one day, bringing lunch as if he was a normal loving spouse, and announcing that you’ll be hosting a dinner at home. For the mayor and his wife. To his credit, Steve didn’t imply you had to be the one preparing said dinner. Having a chef was another benefit of your doom. But the expectation of playing the sweet wife and hostess to the corrupted pair of a politician and socialite made your blood boil.

Or maybe it was the fact that mayor’s wife was one of the few women Pepper confirmed to have been fucking Steve in the past.

No, you told yourself as you put on the soul stone necklace when preparing for said dinner. You didn’t care who he sank his cock into. You didn’t care, if he returned to that and left you in peace. 

But your conviction shattered to sharp, jagged pieces when mayor’s wife made obvious moves at your husband, with her own fucking husband sitting right there at the table! 

You were appalled. By her rudeness, of course. 

Mayor played a clueless idiot, probably too scared of Steve to fight for honor. Or maybe he was actually gaining something from having his wife almost drop to her knees and swallow Steve’s cock whole. You played indifference, because why should you care? 

So maybe your knife and fork scraped against the plate so loud that everyone at the table cringed in pain, when the mayor’s wife briefly touched Steve’s arm and mentioned missing their passionate art discussions. It was nothing. Just a spasm in your hand. And you gulping down half of your wine glass all unladylike was because you needed to soothe an itch in your throat, not because the floozy licked her lips and made a suggestion Steve should go with her to the new exhibition. 

Though Steve hadn’t replied to Miliana’s advances, focusing on the not so subtle business talk with her husband, he didn’t refuse her either. Which made you want to reach for the knife he had custom made for you and stab him with it, when later that night he had the audacity to touch you. 

Steve merely chuckled, absolutely amused. Mockingly asked if you were jealous. Which you were not! 

Tension slowly dropped after that, as days passed and you haven’t seen that skank’s face. Unexpectedly, however, the mayor requested an official visit to the center. It was a short one, a half an hour so the press could write about his interest in healthcare and supporting new community focused projects. You also suspected he wanted to kiss Steve’s ass.

You didn’t have a reason to deny him, especially since the press would also mention the center and new projects, which would be helpful. It was even better, because he came only with some of his office staff, no wife at his side. 

But then, just as you were breathing in relief that the circus was almost over, the mayor had the balls to invite himself over to your house for dinner the upcoming weekend. 

In true political bullshit manipulation, saying how his wife loved your chef’s scallops and couldn’t wait to taste them again and how your house provided comfort to talk business with your husband. 

At this point, you were wondering if the slimy asshole was a cuckold. 

He was bending backwards just to give his own wife an opportunity to touch your fucking husband. Maybe he really was into that. Maybe he wanted to watch. Maybe you should’ve vomited when you relayed the request to Steve and he shrugged that he’s free Saturday evening: if the greedy idiot wants to crawl begging for more scraps. 

Your appetite evaporated, as you spent days fuming at the prospect of another weird dinner when a shameless woman would be drooling after Steve while you were sitting there right opposite of her, in your own damn home. 

No, this time you wouldn’t stand for it. You would make Miliana associate your house with something most unpleasant. And a small vial stolen from one of the medicine cabinets at the center was going to help you with that.

It was surprisingly easy, really. It should shock you how calm you were as you prepared for the dinner; how a soft smile graced your lips as you set the table while the chef prepared delicious food. But now that determination guided your hand through the plan, earlier fiery aggravation melted away. 

Briefly, you wondered if the same calm took over Steve when he took lives. 

You shook that thought away, since you weren’t attempting to kill anyone. Though when a memory of her hand on Steve’s arm flashed in your mind, your fingers itched to grab a knife. 

Applying a little drop to the bottom of a crystal glass and another on the rim, smearing it along, you felt an odd kind of satisfaction unfurl in your chest. There was no hesitation, no worry about potential mix-up. No, you were certain Miliana would once again seat on Steve’s left. Just like the last time. It was cunning, since it appeared all innocent - her sitting on her husband’s right, just you were sitting on your husband’s right, the men facing each other. 

Your smile widened when the couple entered your dining room and sat exactly like you predicted. Politely fake conversation flew as the chef brought out first dish and his assistant poured wine into glasses. 

The scallops tasted even more delicious, in your opinion. Especially when after a few sips of wine the mayor’s wife had to quickly excuse herself to the bathroom. 

Few minutes later the mayor’s phone vibrated, which led to him frowning at the screen and excusing himself as well - undoubtedly to aid his wife. When he walked back into the dining room a while later, he looked nervous and embarrassed, paler too.

“My apologies. It appears my wife and I have to leave promptly, it was unplanned, but can’t be avoided.” 

You made a sound of worried pity, but continued to cut into your own food and eating it without an ounce of genuine distraught. Steve arched a brow in surprise, but nodded his head, which seemed to bring the mayor immense relief. The man was more scared of offending Steve than for his wife’s health. 

It was less than a minute when you heard their car take off from the driveway. The sound of it and the fact they were no longer polluting the space of your home pleased you greatly. 

“Mhm, these scallops are really delicious,” you hummed, licking your fork. 

“Princess,” Steve tuned the petname in a sing-song tone. “What did you do?”

Slowly, you looked his way. He didn’t seem angry, nor worried. He angled his body towards you, propping one elbow on the table and drumming his fingers in a steady rhythm. He wasn’t asking if it was your doing, he already knew. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t permanently damage one of your mistresses. She’s just gonna spend a day or two glued to the toilet.” You snorted, clenching your fingers around the fork. “But maybe next time she’ll reconsider coming into the house where your wife lives.”

Dark gleam flickered over Steve’s ice blue eyes. 

He leaned forward, moving his hands to grip the edge of your chair and yanked it at an angle toward him. Your legs were between his, his hands gripping the sides of your chair, veins protruding in his forearms as his muscles tensed.

“Your possessiveness gets me hard.” He chuckled darkly.

“I’m not possessive!” You objected immediately, crossing your hands over your chest. 

“You demanded I marry you, the ruthless fucking king of the underworld. So now you have to deal with having a wife. And your reluctant queen won’t stand for any more humiliation.” You spat the last part, boldly leaning forward and glaring at him with all the accumulated hatred. 

“Princess,” Steve inched even closer, not the least bothered by your outburst. Quite the opposite, he appeared to love it. “My dick hasn’t even twitched for any other woman, since I tasted your lips. There’s no pleasure in standing their fake, exaggerated despair, when I have your sweet pussy so responsive to my darkness…”

Your retort died on your tongue when suddenly one of Steve’s hands gripped your chin.

“Now-” he tightened his pinch on your chin, his voice smoothly transforming into a cold warning. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.” 

“Miliana doesn’t have enough spunk and her husband is too much of a scaredy wimp to retaliate in any form.” He showed zero empathy toward them. “But there are eels and sharks swimming around us and some of them would dare to bite back.”

Holding your chin, Steve forced you to lean closer. His breath tickled your mouth as he inched forward, as well.

“And if anyone dared to put a finger on you, it would end in a bloodbath.”

Only Steve could make a psychopathic threat sound like a seductive, velvet vow of a lover.

Your brain screamed that it was wrong, that you should be disgusted by his words and scared of how easily it came to him to take lives. Yet your insides filled with heat, one spreading through your chest and a wave of it pooling low in your abdomen.

“Don’t go on a murder spree, because of some macho obligation.” You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You. Are. Mine, Princess.” Steve punctuated each word with a brush of his lips against yours. “To harm or disrespect you means to hurt or disrespect me. I have no mercy for those. I would cut off the limb, with which they hurt you, and carve out their intestines. Then fuck you while their blood pools at your feet.”

“That’s disgusting,” with how breathy you sounded, your claim felt like a lie.

One that Steve read right away.

“It turns you on.” He chuckled, grinning. 

“I know that you get so wet from the scary, unhinged things that I do.” His other hand slapped your knees apart.

“I’m not-” you frowned, ready to deny that as well. Even though your body was already primed for him.

Words went forgotten when Steve picked you in a swift move and deposited you in his lap. The hand on your chin moved to grip the front of your neck; the cool sensation of his rings digging into your soft skin made you gasp. The sound nearly stopped in your throat, because he tightened his grip. And it made your arousal burst stronger.

His right hand ventured between your spread thighs. His fingers easily slipped beneath the flimsy fabric of your underwear and teased your slick folds.

“Soaked.” Steve triumphed, running the ring-adorned knuckle of his index finger up and down between your folds. “Sweet, good-hearted Princess who lives to help people, cumming on her brutal husband’s weapons and cock.” 

The mere mention of his thick cock made your pussy pulse. The image of his gun and of the knife sliding along your skin and pressed so close to your most sensitive areas caused a shiver to rock your whole body.

Steve chuckled at your body’s reaction. He laced kisses and licks along your jaw, continuing to tease your cunt.

“As for you wanting to be a queen at my side…” he sucked your earlobe lewdly, making you moan. 

“Do you know what a queen’s role is?” He whispered right into your ear before pulling back slightly.

“To stand fierce and unbending beside her king.” He withdrew his hand, kissing your lips when you pouted at the loss of delicious stimulation. Fingers sticky with your slick, he ran his palm up your belly and over your breast. Then to your arm. 

“And to give him an heir.”

Steve’s eyes locked with yours as his wet fingers circled your arm, thumb pressing right over where your contraceptive implant was hidden beneath your skin. 

“Are you ready for that, Princess?” He asked, rubbing the spot in sinfully slow circles, as he would do your clit. “Are you ready to take out this little implant and let me breed you properly?” 

Your brain was too scrambled, even though Steve barely touched you, really. The adrenaline from poisoning a woman who dared to flirt with your husband mixed with desire that the fucker so easily ignited in you. 

The unexpected mention of impregnation? In that dark, raw way only your husband dared to speak to you? For a short moment your mind simply stopped working.

“No!” You clenched your eyes, letting the last remnants of reason fight against the threat. 

Steve didn’t seem perturbed by your refusal. Perhaps it wasn’t even something he was interested in, just another means to torment you with and make you yield to his command. 

“Until then, you remain my Princess.” He declared, cutting off your airflow for a few seconds and taking possession of your mouth. 

When he let you breathe again, you felt dizzy and pliant. Your own hands clenched on his shoulders as Steve stood up abruptly. He kicked the chair away and placed you on the dining table. 

Plates and wine glasses tumbled over, food and wine spilling across the tablecloth and dripping down on the floor. You felt the sticky wetness soaking into your back as Steve splayed you on the table, but you didn’t care. Not when he was holding you down by your throat with one hand and ripping your soaked underwear with the other. 

Then there was the sound of a zipper and Steve’s low, sexy groan as he gripped his hard cock and stroked it a few times. 

Steve held your gaze as he tapped his dick against your pulsing clit and then nudged it into your opening. A needy whine vibrated in your throat, tempting the fingers around your neck to squeeze just a tad tighter. 

He slammed into you in one stroke; dark victory flamed in his eyes as your body jerked and your pussy clamped around him. 

Buried to the hilt, with his hand around your throat and the other holding your leg bent and pressed against your chest, Steve looked down at you. Danger pulsed off of him like a dark aura, reminding you how defenceless you were.

“Don’t ever fucking endanger what’s mine.” He warned.

You glared at him, indignant at being referred to as his. But then he snapped his hips back and into you again, and your ire flowed into brain short-circuiting pleasure. 

“My good, depraved Princess.” Steve praised, fucking you hard. “Creaming around my cock so prettily.” 

You fisted the tablecloth, mewling as each of his thrust drove you closer to the peak. It was so rough, so raw and based on urges you never considered yourself to have. You hated it. Hated Steve. Hated what he made you into. And you screamed his name as you came.

[hotchner-edu]

Pandora's Box | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: During a girl's night with the BAU girlies, a game of truth or dare may just be the cause of Aaron's odd behavior.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!F!Reader

Warnings: mentions of the devil's tango

The smell of freshly microwaved popcorn and cheeto puffs clung to the air of Penelope's apartment unit, the ringing of near-delirious laughter complementing the scent.

Emily is laying flat on the floor by Penelope's sofa, hair splayed out as she clutches her stomach. "Oh my god! You did not do that!" She laughs out, tears gathering in her eyes as JJ blushes a little and shrugs.

You four are gathered in the living room, fingers stained from snacking while playing the team's favorite party game— truth or dare. It was the night of the long-awaited girl's night, and you were all practically bouncing off the walls.

"It's not my fault! Anyway!" JJ chuckles and tries to change the topic, turning her head toward you, eyes glimmering in mischief. "Y/N, truth or dare?"

You groan and shovel some popcorn into your mouth. "Truth."

Penelope and Emily giggle in the background, knowing JJ always had some hard hitters when it came to truth or dare.

JJ grins widely and leans forward a bit. "Who in the team would you do seven minutes in heaven with?"

You let out an outraged gasp. "Jennifer Jareau! What are we? In high school?"

The blonde just laughs loudly and grins. "Oh come on! You only hate the question because you're the one that has to answer."

"Exactly." You deadpan jokingly and groan, preparing to answer when Emily interjects.

"And you can't say any of us!"

Frowning, you narrow your eyes at the woman. "Well, I was going to say you."

Emily smirks cheekily and slides her phone toward herself as she sits up, finally recovering from her laughing fit earlier. "I know, but that's cheating."

Huffing, you watch her throw her phone aside somewhere as they all stare at you eagerly. "Geez... okay, fine! Hotch! I'd do seven minutes in heaven with him." You practically shout in faux exasperation.

Penelope squeals and shakes your shoulders as JJ and Emily raise their eyebrows.

"Really?" Emily asks in shock, chuckling and leaning back on her arms.

"Well, yeah. I mean... hello. Are we all going to pretend he's not sexy?" You ask bluntly, inciting another round of squeals from Penelope as she gets ready to endlessly tease you about your admission.

JJ shrugs with a satisfied smile, pleased that you chose to answer so boldly. "Honestly, I thought you'd say Spence."

"Spencer is cute and I love him, but... c'mon. Like I have to restrain myself from slamming my head into my desk every time Hotch raises his voice at someone. And god! Don't get me started on his arms." You gush, playing up your lovestruck tone but being completely honest.

"Easy tiger." JJ mumbles under her breath with an amused smile.

Emily wiggles her eyebrows and grins. "Oh? Come on, don't skimp on the details."

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. "You guys are vultures." You say jokingly and throw a piece of popcorn at her.

Penelope munches on a cheeto and shakes her head. "No, no! You never told us you felt this way for him, so we need answers!"

You concede, feeling tired of bottling up your crush anyway. "Alright, alright. Yes, I like him. I mean, it's hard not to." You explain sincerely before becoming playful again, "I think he covered me from an explosion once and I almost died feeling his hands on my waist. Like, how is it possible for someone to have such delicious arms."

"Delicious?" Emily echoes with an amused snort at your choice of adjective.

JJ snickers and nudges your foot with hers. "Careful, you're about to start drooling."

You nudge your foot back against hers and try to suppress the heat that's creeping up your neck. Unfortunately for you, Penelope is just getting warmed up.

"So, would you... y'know... do the devil's dance with him?" Penelope asks coyly, giving you a teasing smile.

"Hey, my turn is over now!" You say and chuckle, shaking your head at their antics.

Though, you should have known that they wouldn't let you get away that easily.

The three of them stare at you with puppy eyes, causing you to squirm on the spot. "Geez, yes, I would. I mean, he seems like he could use the stress relief." You joke before quickly adding, "And I'm only telling you guys because you guys look ridiculous with those expressions!"

"Ridiculous or not, it worked." Emily smirks victoriously.

Luckily, they seem to take pity on you after grilling you so hard, and they move on with the game.

The next morning, you're starting to regret having stayed up with the girls until three in the morning. Your eyes feel like they're being pressed down by bowling balls as you yawn for the fifth time in ten minutes.

Emily is in a similar state as you, head lazily propped on one hand as she sluggishly signs off on some reports in front of her.

“Let’s never do that again.” You grumble just loud enough for Emily to hear, rubbing your eyes.

She chuckles under her breath and nods a bit in agreement, eyebrows raising a bit. “Yeah, or let’s just get drunk and pass out like normal people.” She jokes.

You both snicker softly until you see JJ hurrying toward Hotch’s office with a stack of files in her arms. “Ah…” you say with a slow blink.

“3… 2… 1…” Emily counts down playfully, just as Aaron stands up and leaves his office.

“BAU team— conference room, now.” He calls out smoothly, his eyes catching yours for the briefest second before he’s practically marching off.

You stand up and stretch your arms, watching as your team starts heading over for a new case briefing.

Glancing back toward Emily, you frown tiredly. "How is JJ so peppy today?"

"Perks of motherhood?" Emily suggests and shrugs.

You and her slowly trudge toward the stairs, catching up with Derek who seemed a bit hungover.

The man pauses and glances between you and Emily, grinning playfully. “You both look like hell. Fun night?”

“Not as fun as yours, I’m sure.” Emily chuckles as the three of you walk into the conference room. You’re about to head to your usual chair when you see Aaron sitting in the chair next to it.

You pause in your step and look back at Emily. Of course, seats weren’t assigned, but there had always been an unspoken rhythm of the team occupying the same seats.

Tilting your head a little, you can see some of your team members momentarily questioning it, but shrug it off as they sit down.

“Huh…” Emily says under her breath and hides a smirk, tapping your lower back to usher you to sit down. Aaron had stolen her usual spot, but she didn’t seem all that perturbed by it.

You sink down into your chair, keenly aware of your proximity to his warm body as JJ hurries to the head of the table to turn on the monitor.

As she begins to summarize the details of the case and the descriptions of the victims, you’re only half listening. Aaron keeps subtly shifting in his spot, and his knee even bumps into yours a few times.

You would definitely need to reread the file on the jet.

Aaron speaks up as JJ concludes with the details, voice low and level. “The request is urgent, so wheels up in thirty.”

The team begins moving immediately, and as you’re closing the file in front of you, you feel Aaron’s hand land on the back of your chair as he gets up. You tense a little as you could feel how close his hand was to your shoulder, trying to suppress the heat crawling up your chest.

As everyone files out of the meeting room to go grab their go-bags, Emily is immediately joining your side as she speaks under her breath. "That was weird."

"It was nothing." You try to brush it off, ignoring Emily's uncertain look.

Well. Maybe it wasn't nothing.

The moment the team arrived at the New Haven precinct in Connecticut, the atmosphere was off, to say the least. Of course, it was never enjoyable to have to look at pictures of mutilated victims, or deal with officers acting independently, but the feeling you were getting was a bit ominous.

"Is it just me or does something feel different?" You whisper to JJ as she finishes up a phone call.

She looks at you and tilts her head a bit, eyes filled with concern. "Not really... why? Do you think something's off with the profile?"

You shake your head and look away sheepishly. "No, not with the case. Just... with the team?" Your words come out as more of a question as you try to articulate the emotions swirling inside of you.

"Oh. I haven't noticed anything, but we can talk when we get back to the hotel if you want?" She offers with a kind smile.

"Yeah. Thanks, Jaje..." You say softly and try to redirect your focus back onto the case.

Stepping back, you get ready to return back to discuss the unsub's possible hideout locations with Spencer.

Before you can get far, you hear JJ calling for you again. "Could you tell Hotch that the city's agreed to hold a press conference in two hours?" JJ speaks up, eyes telling you that she had a lot on her plate at the moment.

"No problem. I'll see you in a bit." You nod at her and smile before spinning on your heel to look around for Aaron.

You spot him almost immediately, hunched over a desk and flipping through some papers as the police chief hurries away from him, barking out orders to some of the officers scattered around their desks.

"Hotch. JJ said that a press conference will be held in two hours. Spencer and I have narrowed down some locations, so we'll need to work quick." You practically word vomit, trying to ignore your racing heart.

Aaron straightens up and turns to look at you. "Alright, good. Rossi and Prentiss are on their way back too." He says, reaching back to the desk for his cup of coffee, still steaming as he raises it up to his face.

Your eyebrows rise up a bit and you smile softly. "Another cup? That's like your fourth one today."

The man gives you a small smile and nods, letting himself relax a bit. "Yeah, just for some stress relief." Despite how casual his tone was, the inflection of his voice for the very last words has you freezing on the spot.

You choke on your spit a bit, and he keeps his eyes on you. "Are you alright?" He draws out, mouth twisted in concern, but his eyes swirling with a bit of humor.

"Perfect." You wheeze out a bit and give him a strained smile before hurrying away.

Fortunately, you're not forced to overthink his words and the flashbacks of your girl's night confession to go with it, as the unsub makes a critical slip-up after JJ's press conference is broadcasted.

It's only after the unsub is being transported away for booking that you're able to come back down from the adrenaline. You're sitting beside Emily on the curb stretching your tired legs as she scrolls through her phone.

"So he really hasn't called you back? What an asshole." You mumble with a frown as she updates you about the guy she's been going on dates with for the past month.

"Back to the drawing board, I guess." She sighs with a noncommittal smile. Suddenly, you see her tense up, face drawn into a disbelieving gape as she pauses in her scrolling. "Oh my god."

"What? What's wrong?" You ask and turn to face her in worry.

"I called Hotch." She says blankly, slowly looking up at you with shell-shocked eyes.

"Okay...?" You trail off in confusion, eyebrows knit together.

"On Sunday. It says here that I called Hotch." She shows you her phone screen and there at the third slot of the call log is Aaron's contact. It wouldn't have been alarming to you had you and the girls not been together for the entirety of Sunday, but you all were, plus the call history was timed to have occurred at eleven pm.

"No way... check how long the call was." You whisper hurriedly, watching as she hurries to press the information button, nearly calling Aaron on accident in the process.

"Three minutes..." She breathes out in shock.

"No way..." You lean back and slap a hand over your mouth. "I think he heard my confession about him."

"What?" Emily hisses at you in panic, looking around at your teammates who were scattered around the sea of haphazardly parked Buicks.

You nod and rub your temples. "Earlier at the station, he made a comment about needing a stress relief."

"Okay, but that could mean nothing." Emily tries to reassure you, sputtering a little as she tries to come up with alternative explanations.

"I don't think so, Em." You groan and lean your head against her shoulder. "We've both noticed he's been acting different."

"Oh gosh... Did I butt-dial him?" She asks in shock to no one in particularly, laying her head against yours.

Chuckling dryly, you suddenly remember how she had been tossing her phone around during the game. "Yeah... I think it's even worse because I was sober when I said it."

"If it makes you feel better, I've done far more embarrassing things while sober." She says, staring off into the distance.

"I believe that." A small huff leaves you, tone subdued as a small smile of acceptance takes shape on your face. "Oh, and Em?"

"Hm?"

Your eyes flicker to Hotch's figure in the distance as he chats with Derek, arms crossed across his chest. "If I give you my resignation letter, will you give it to Hotch for me? I think I'm going to flee the country."

Much to your chagrin, Emily bands together with Spencer to convince you to not resign, having the younger agent ramble on about the adjustment process of finding a new job and the statistics of people who struggle with getting acclimated to a new work environment.

So rather than slipping your neatly packaged resignation letter onto Hotch's desk, you've taken to hiding out in Penelope's lair while you finish up your paperwork for the case.

Luckily, your bright-eyed friend allows you to pull up a chair at her desk, not even making a peep when you accidentally knock over one of her figurines.

You're hunched over as you write hurriedly, posture taking on a form that would make shrimps envious. As you're finishing up the last few pages of the report, a knock on Penelope's ajar office door draws both of your attention.

Standing with a hand on the door handle, Aaron is gazing at you with his eyes squinted a little due to the dimness of the room. "Y/N, can I speak to you for a moment, please?"

His voice is calm, giving no hints as to what he's feeling as he cracks open the door a bit more. Penelope gives you a side glance before slowly swiveling her chair back around to pretend to work.

"Sure." You say almost inaudibly, awkwardly making your way out of the door as his eyes follow you.

Once you're both out in the hallway, he shuts the door and nods for you to walk a few paces forward to minimize the chances of your lovable tech genius eavesdropping.

"I'm almost finished with my report, sir." You say softly, stopping when you both arrive at the end of the corridor.

Aaron lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes his head. "That's not what I'm here to talk to you about."

Mutely nodding, you wait for him to continue as your eyes move down to stare at the glossy floor.

"I'm sure you know by now, but Prentiss accidentally called me this weekend while you guys were talking." He says softly, beginning to look a bit shy. "And I just wanted to ask if you had meant what you said that night."

Your face is blistering with warmth as you try to deduce the best course of action. "I... yes. I'm sorry. I know that it must have been weird to hear, especially because I'm your coworker. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Aaron rests a hand on your arm to stop you before you can offer to resign out of shame, a warm smile painting his face. "It's okay. It wasn't weird for me... I just wish I didn't have to find out from a butt-dial." He chuckles and rests his hand on your arm.

You practically melt at the touch and you blink in shock. "Oh..."

"Honestly, I'm a bit out of practice when it comes to this kind of thing, but I was wondering if I could take you to dinner this Saturday." He asks softly, looking shyer than you've ever seen him before.

"I would like that." You respond breathlessly, not sure if you were dreaming.

Aaron grins and looks down at his shoes for a second as he tries to compose himself. "I'll pick you up around seven, if that works for you?"

"Yeah, that's perfect." Whatever future plans you had for Saturday were automatically being scrapped anyway.

"Great." He nods and gazes at you, his hand moving from your arm to your hand. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he steps back and allows you to get back to work in Penelope's lair.

As you're trekking down the hall with a giddy smile, you hear him calling your name. You turn around and see him smirking at you a bit.

"And just so you know, I like having my arms around you too."

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

Can I request for frat jaehyun doing this to sweets to fluster her after she was being petty with him over a small little disagreement hehe!

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSM56UL15/

Yessss! You're really getting the vibes!!!

(cw: profanity)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ the booktok door trend ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Sometimes your boyfriend made it so obvious that he was an only child. There were just habits and queues he didn't pick up on, that people with siblings or basic manners could have picked up on. He was horrible at compromising, he didn't like to share, and it wasn't always the best attitude to be around, especially when you weren't in the right mood.

He was sitting at his desk, looking more like a stereotypical fratboy than you'd ever seen him look before. He had a t-shirt on with the sleeves cut off and cut open practically down to his waist, a pair of gym shorts, and a backwards baseball cap on his head. You greeted each other with an exchange of pecks on your cheeks before you settled yourself onto his bed.

Time passed by in a comfortable silence while fratboy!Jaehyun studied and you scrolled through your phone. You groaned when you got the 10% of battery left notification and dug through your backpack to look for the charger you usually kept there, except, it wasn't there. It wasn't in the big pocket, not in the small pocket, not under your notebooks, how annoying. "Baby, can I borrow your charger please?" You ask with a tired sigh.

He looks up from his notes, "I'm sorry, Sweets I'm using it right now. I only have the one."

"But you're studying right now, you're not even on your phone. My phone is about to die and Kira is texting me about the guy she likes," you try to reason.

"My battery is pretty low too," Jaehyun replies.

You sigh, standing from the bed to grab his phone to check the battery for yourself, "really, Jae? 58% is low? Just let me use it for like 10 minutes please."

"If it were a grade, it would be an failing grade. You should bring your own charger, that way we don't have to fight over the one?"

You roll your eyes, too grumpy to try to correct his bratty selfishness today, "whatever."

You grab your stuff while grumbling to yourself. Then he has the audacity to ask, "Sweetheart, where are you going?"

You don't even turn around as you answer, "my charger is in my dorm, while I walk home I'd like to know that I can make an emergency call if needed and I can't do that with a phone that's dead. I have to go now since you don't want to share. I'll talk to you later."

You barely get to the door and pull it open when you feel his hand on your wrist turning you around to face him. He presses you against the wall gently, while his hand come up to pull the cap from his head. You watch as the hat spins between his hands and promptly fits back over his head before one of his hands comes to land right beside your head.

He's looking down at you now, leaning into your personal space with just a few inches between the two of your faces. Your breath catches in your throat while your face heats. His eyes shine with a glimmer of smug victory at your reaction. His voice is a low, husky whisper, "you're not going anywhere."

"Jaehyun-," you go to contest, but he presses a single finger against your lips.

"I read some of that book you left here yesterday. You highlighted a scene a lot like this one, do you like it?"

Realization dawns in your eyes, "did you not share your charger because you wanted to try this on me?"

Jaehyun hides his embarrassment with a rumbly chuckle, "and so what if I did?"

You lean up, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "well, I'd have preferred you not be an annoying little shit leading up to it, but it was hot."

"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk, "is it something I should do more often?"

You open your mouth to answer, but are once again interrupted by someone else. "Get off my goddess on earth, you horny former fuckboy devil. Here, Sweetheart, I borrowed your charger yesterday without asking and I got you some snacks as an apology," Haechan tells you, the difference in his tone when he talks to Jaehyun then you makes you laugh.

"Thank you, I thought I was going crazy just now," you smile sweetly at Haechan.

"You ruin everything," Jaehyun harshly whispers to Haechan so you won't hear him.

"I do it on purpose, you stupid sack of shit," Haechan bites back.

You roll your eyes as you plug your phone in. It's a good thing that Jaehyun is getting the full sibling experience here. It'll humble him.

[bbrissonn]

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝 - 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ in which your agent forces you into a relationship for PR, but when you find yourself developping feelings for the boy, everything goes to shit

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ disclaimer: english is not my first language and this is not proofread so please excuse any errors and if any words are missing add them in your head :) also this is a work of fiction, this doesn’t reflect how these boys act in real life, and it isn’t how i imagine them acting 

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ warnings: angst angst angst, no happy ending cause bitch does the song sound like a happy ending 😭, mention of sex but no nsfw content, swearing

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ pairing: luke hughes x reader

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ wc: 8.7k (including lyrics)

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ guts masterlist

Want it, so i got it, did it, so it’s done Another thing i ruined i used to do for fun Another piece of plastic i could just throw away Another conversation with nothing good to say

You were currently sitting in your manager’s, Chris, office alone, two other chairs next to you as you waited for him to return with his “special guests”. You truly had no idea what this was about, you never had meeting with guests, or whatever he meant. Your confusion only grew as you heard your manager’s laugh as he walked back into his office, another man in a suit next to him as he too laughed out loud, and a boy who looked about your age walking in behind them. 

“Y/N, this is my friend, Mike, and his client, Luke, he plays for the New Jersey Devils.” 

“Hi.” You answer looking briefly at the two before looking back in front of you. The last thing you wanted to do at the moment was have a social party with two strangers. 

“Excuse her behaviour, she’s been a little one edge lately. You two make yourselves comfortable.” Chris said as he walked to his desk chair, pulling out some papers from one of his drawers. Meanwhile, Luke took a seat next to you, sending you a small smile, which you didn’t bother to return, and Mike sat on the last chair. “Ah, don’t you just love a freshly printed contract!” Chris added, looking at his friend before the two shared a small laugh. 

“Contract?” You and Luke both ask at the same, looking at your respective managers. The two stayed silent for a couple of seconds, before Chris cleared his throat. 

“Mike and I have been talking for a bit, and we’ve both come to the conclusion that this is an excellent step for to the two of you to take to help your careers.”

“Career? I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.” You sassed as Luke shifted awkwardly in his seat. He knew who you are, how could he not. Your first big time movie had released only a couple of weeks ago, it was all he would see whenever he watched TV. But the movie had not been doing has good has your manager had hoped, no brands or magazine really reaching out to work with you. 

“Luke’s an uprising star in the NHL, Y/N, big prospect here, lots of attention on him. It wouldn’t hurt for you to get some of it.” 

“Well if he’s so beloved, what’s he need me for?” You asked, pretty much ignoring the two other men present in the room. At that, Mike stepped him, coughing slightly to bring the attention to him. 

“Luke’s been involved in some… worrying headlines lately. Being seen with you, seemingly in a committed relationship would do him some good.”

“Relationship?”

“Commited?” The two of you exclaimed once again. The last thing on your mind at the moment was being in a relationship, you had to focus on your career. 

“I’m not dating a stranger!” You said, drifting your gaze from Mike over to Chris, who was already looking at you with a pleading smile. 

“You two don’t need to actually date, as long as the media believes you do, what you do in your private time is none of our business.” He explained, his words almost sending you off of yout chair. 

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever head!” 

It took almost an hour for Chris to convince you to sign the contract, which somehow had crazier terms than the idea itself. Your “relationship” would last for 8 months, meaning during the length of Luke’s season. To make it even worse, no one outside of this room could know about the contract, meaning you would have to pretend to both your families and friends. Thankfully, the boy who would be your fake boyfriend was not as ugly as other men you’ve seen, sure he was far from your usual type, but he had some positive traits as well. His height being the first thing to catch your eye when he first walked in. Plus, he was an athlete, and it was hard to ignore his muscles showing throught his thigh polo shirt. He didn’t seem like an asshole either, so maybe there was a chance the two of you could somewhat get along. 

“So, what’s your favourite colour?” Luke asked as both of your managers left the small room for a couple of minutes, insisting the two of you got to know each other a bit. You looked over at him as his words hit, was this really the first thing he was going to ask you? You just rolled your eyes as you looked down at your lap. “Look, I’m just as happy as you are about this. And if I’m being honest, I’m not really interested in knowing more than needed about you.” He added, shifting slightly in his seat to have a better look at you. 

“Green.”

“Green?” He scoffed, making you send him a look, almost challenging him. 

“Yeah, green.” You sassed, making the boy smirk slightly.

“Like a- like a bright green or-”

“Are you mocking me right now?” You questioned, not finding the smile on his face amusing.

“No, no, just… interested, you know. There’s lots of greens out there.”

“Forest green.” You answered, keeping it short in simple before looking away and back down at your lap. 

“Not gonna ask mine?”

“Not interested.”

“Dark red, for sure. Although, you can never go wrong with maize and blue.” 

“Maize and blue?” You quipped. It was now Luke’s turn to give you a look. 

“Maize and blue. Michigan, baby!” He said with enthusiasm, earning himself a look once again. You took a second to look at him, really look at him. He  looked like a baby. 

“Michigan?”

“Michigan.” He repeated with a grin. 

“You from there?”

“Sorta.” He responded. You raised your brows at him, clearly indicated for him to expanded his answer. “Born in New Hampshire, moved to Toronto for like 10 years, then we moved to Detroit, been living there ever since.”

“And maize and blue, that’s…?” You trailed off.

“University of Michigan! Maize and blue, wolverines.”

“And I’m guess you went there.”

“Sure, did. My eldest brother too.”

“Cute.” You said, your voice filled with sarcasm. “When you’d graduate?” This was your way of finding out how old he was, without directly asking. 

“Didn’t.” Great, a college dropout. 

“You dropped out?”

“Yeah, to come here. If it makes you feel any better, I did attend all my classes, got good grades. I’m not some idiot.” He explained, you could tell he was feeling a little annoyed by your question. 

“Okay, well when would you of had graduated?”

“2025.” If you had a drink in your mouth, you would’ve spat it right out. This guy, this college dropout guy, was 2 years away from his graduation. You were right, he looked like a kid because he is one. 

“Gosh, how old are you?”

“Turned 20 last month. Why?” His words made you stand up, ready to storm out of the room and hunt down Chris. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not doing this. Gosh, you’re a kid. I can’t pretend to be in a relationship with a kid!” You exclaimed as you went to push the door open, only to realize it was locked. Great. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“Don’t asked a women her age!” You snapped as you still tried to push the door open. “24.” You whispered as you realized there was no way this door was going to open, at least not thanks to you. “25 in January.” 

“You’re like… the same age as my brother.” Luke whispered to himself, his face turning into a grimace at the thought. 

“See, even you find it weird! Let’s just tell them it makes us uncomfortable. You’re too young for me, and I’m too old for you.”

“Never said you were too old for me. What if I like older?” He smirked as he made himself more comfortable in his chair. There was no denying his attraction towards you. Your instagram had popped up tons of times on his explorer page, and he never shied away from liking your posts. 

“You just said I am your brother’s age. Do you not find that weird?”

“Well, if we’re getting technical, he’s born in 1999, and from what I understand, you’re born in 2000. So you’re not his age, you’re just like 3 months younger than him.” He explained, his smirk still plastered on his face as you dropped down on your chair with a sigh. This was going to be the longest 8 months of your life.

I thought it, so i said it, took it ‘cause i can Another day pretending im older than i am Another perfect moment that doesn’t feel like mine Another thing i forced to be a sign

“So, what do I do exactly?” Luke asked from besides you. The two of you were currently on your way to some award show, meaning you would have to walk a red carpet. A red carpet with Luke. 

It had been about three weeks since you had sign the contracts, you and Luke had spent some time trying to get to know each other. He tried to put in some effort, ask you question as simple as your favourite food, and some more complexe, like what made you move from North Carolina to New York. You barely put in any efforts to answer his questions, simply because you weren’t interested in him getting to know you, and vice-versa. The two of you had been spotted a couple of times by fans, but you never held hands, or displayed affection towards each other in public, not like you did in private, but no one really knew what to take away from the pictures. 

“Just, stand there and smile. There’s gonna be like a thousand cameras, so just keep your eyes moving, ignore their questions and yells. When the workers tell you to move, you move.” You explained, your eyes looking outside the window. The red thigh dress hugging your skin perfectly, your heels the same colour, you looked gorgeous. Luke was wearing a black suit with a red tie matching your dress. 

“You gonna pretend like you at least enjoy being within 5 feets of me.”

“Aha. You’re so funny, I’m dying of laughter.” You responded, you voice in the same monotone voice you always used with him. “You make a fool of yourself, or me, and I will rip your eyes out with my own hands.” 

“Kinky.” Luke smirked as the car came a stop. The boy looked over at you, your eyes were closed as you took a deep breath. You hated this things, you hated walking down that carpet, papparazies with cameras in your face like wild animals. You hated it. Your eyes snapped open, and a giant smile appeared on your face.

“Let’s go.” 

Luke stepped out of the car first, everyone around holding their breathes as they waited to see who else was going to come out of the car. The boy stretched his hand towards you, a small nod of his head as you slowly made your way out of the car. The cameras were flashing around you everywhere, and you could tell Luke was getting a little overwhelmed. 

“Ignore them, just walk with a smile on your face, nod a bit.” You whispered to him as you leaned in close. Then, the two of you made your way to the door, you fingers intertwining with Luke’s without you even noticing. As you crossed the door, Luke let out a small “woah”, his eyes rooming around the entrance. He had been to his fair share of events for the NHL, but none of them were like this. Everything look expensive, everyone looked expensive. He was completely starstruck. So much he didn’t even noticed a worker coming over to the two of you and giving you instructions. 

“Luke?” You asked, making the boy snap out of hi trance. “We gotta go, come on.” You whispered before guiding the boy to where the worker had gone. “You okay?” Your voice was so low the boy wasn’t even sure if it was real of his imagination playing a trick on him. 

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“A lot.” 

“Yeah.” He answered as you looked over at him. The boy could’ve sworn he had seen the corner of your mouth lifts slightly, before your head snapped back to the worker. 

“Alright, you too, once she’s done, you two can go. Remember to smile, you both look perfect, enjoy the night!” She said with excitement as the girl in front of you moved to the next area of photographers. Luke heard you take another deep breath before slowly making your way onto the carpet. 

“Put your hand on my waist.” You whispered, a smile on your face, as you let go of his hands, that you hadn’t even realized you were still holding. Your hand landed near the top of his shoulder as you put one of your foot out and bent your leg. The slit of your dress riding up you thigh as flashed surrounded you. You felt Luke’s hand glide across your lower back before settling on your waist and pulling you a little closer to him. You instinctively leaned your head on his shoulder as you plastered your best smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“This is exhausting.” The boy sighed as the two of you finally sat down at your table. 

“Welcome to my world.” Thankfully, the two of you were able to avoid any interviews, and once you were done with the carpet, you were free for the rest of the night. 

“You nominated for anything?” Luke asked as he reached down to the menu on the table. You had warned him that he wouldn’t be able to pick was he ate, everyone was getting the same thing, besides of course people with allergies and such. Chicken. Not his favourite, but not the worse. 

“Me, no. The movie is, but I doubt we’re gonna win.” You answered, only two of your co-stars could attend, the other one being busy with a new project. Sadly, you were seated a couple of tables away from them. 

“Why not?”

“Because when you go up against movies like Avatar, it’s hard to win.” Luke didn’t asked any other question about the awards after that. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you should’ve won.” Luke whispered to you as the cast of Avatar made their way onto the stage. You looked over at him, the two of you hadn’t spoken since before the show started. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean Avatar’s good you know, classic. You’re movie was great.” 

“You watched it?”

“Before the whole… you know. My brother, Jack, we were looking for something to do and he made us go. You look hot in black.” He mentioned, clearly referreing to the long black silky dress you had worn in the movie. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“Is it working?” He asked with a smirk, only making you roll your eyes. 

“No.” Silence. One minute, two minutes. “You didn’t mention you knew who I was.” This was probably the first time you had been the one who made the effort to keep a conversation going. Luke smiled as he shifted in his seat slightly. 

“To be fair, you don’t really like when I talk, and when I do, I doubt you listen.” He answered. You couldn’t tell if he was taking a jab at you or not. He probably was. 

“Just because I am not interested in what you have to say, doesn’t mean I don’t listen.” You said, almost like you were defending yourself. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sassed. “We’re at every different points in our lives, we have different interest, our brains don’t think the same way. I mean you’re pretty much a college frat boy, and I am about to be 25. You play hockey, which I know nothing about, and I act and model. Totally different.”

“I modeled for American Eagle once.” He stated, and you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But as you looked over at him, the deep shade of red on his cheek answered your question. 

“You modeled for American Eagle.” You repeated softly, trying your best to hold in a laugh. 

“Just… laugh. You wouldn’t be the first one.” He mumbled with a small smile on his face. You let out a small giggle.

“That’s interesting. See, we could talk about that.” 

“It was… like two years ago. It was like with the school or whatever. My buddies were, like ruthless. It was horrible.” He explained, making you giggle even more. 

“They at least pay you well?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was good.” 

“Good on you.” The rest of the night, you and Luke surprisingly talked a lot. You hated to admit it, but you were warming up to him. He was sweet, there was no denying that, and you did feel bad for how you had acted before. 

“Y/N!” Chris exclaimed as you answered his phone call. You and Luke were now back in the car, on your way to your apartment. 

“Hi.” 

“How was your night?” You looked over at Luke, his eyes focused on his phone as he texted his brothers, who were apparently freaking out about his outing with you.

“Better than I expected.” You answered honestly. 

“Good, good. Have you been looking online? They love the two of you together, you’re all the media is talking about right now…” The man kept going but you paid no attention to his words. You eyes fixated on Luke. He had a soft smile on his face as he typed away on his phone, chuckling every now and then. You hated to admit it, but this night had gone far better than you had imagined. Luke was… well he was something. Maybe these next couple of months wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

Well, sometimes i feel like i don’t wanna be where i am Gettin’ drunk at a club wuth fair-weather friends Push away all the people who know me the best But it’s me who’s been making the bed

“I mean, it’s been great! Just, so proud of her, and excited for her. She’s been working really hard for years, and I mean, yeah, just, she deserves this.” Luke answered the reporter, the lie slipping so easily from his mouth. You were now two months into this fake relationship, and your friendship with Luke had grown. You two actually spent time together now, enjoying the other’s company. You had been quite present in public with him, and fans were quickly growing for your relationship. 

The lies came out so easily about your relationship. How you had met, how long the two of you had been together, all of it. It almost worried you how good he was at it, of course for you, it was just acting, but this was totally new to him. Gosh, he was so good at it that sometimes it almost felt real. Like right now, his hand on your waist, holding you close to his side as he spoke with a large grin. 

“Think they like me more than you, now.” The boy joked as the two of you sat down. You were now at a movie premiere, your movie premiere. This project had been completed long before you ever met Luke, yet it was still so easy for him to lie about how proud he was, and how hard you worked. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how much effort and passion you put into this job because he wasn’t there, yet the lie sounded so natural. 

“Yeah might have to let you come alone next time.” You joked with a fake smile on your face, one that Luke knew too well by now. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You do it so easily.”

“What?”

“The lying. Just, I don’t kno- nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“No, no, hey, talk to me.” Luke whispered, his hand reaching for yours. His touch felt so natural, so right, that you had to remind yourself why he was doing it in the first place. You were surrounded by people. 

“I just, you’re a really nice guy, Luke, and this industry it can… can do stuff do stuff to you, bad stuff. Stuff that changes a person, and I’d hate for that to happen to you, and for me to be the reason.” You admitted, looking down at your lap. You almost felt pathetic. 

“I am not gonna lose myself. Trust me, I’ve got 2 older brothers and a bunch of guys that keep me very humble on a daily bases. They keep my grounded, my whole family does. Even with hockey. And I am tougher than I look, you know.” He joked at the end, elbowing you slightly. You smiled softly at him, nodding your head slightly. 

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He whispered back, his pinky connecting with yours. “My parents are always asking about you, you know. Jack and Quinn, too. Well, pretty much everyone in my life.” The boy added after a couple of seconds of silence. His words made your body stiffen. 

“Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, wanna meet them? That way you can see for yourself how humble I’m being kept.” The boy added. 

“Sure, yeah.” You answered, your voice shaky as you looked around the room. 

“We can just start with Jack, he’s the worse one though, but he’s the only on that lives here, so. But we do play Quinn in like 3 weeks, so my parents are gonna be in town…” 

“Jack first works.” 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ 

“Can’t believe my brother actually convinced you to date him. I mean little Lukey, with you.” Jack said with a teasing smile on his face. By the ton in his voice, you understand he meant the “with you” part as a compliment, almost saying you were too good to be with his brother. 

“Jack-”

“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. I taught you well, Lukey.” The older boy added with a proud smile. You looked over at Luke, who smile at you apologically. You had spent your evening at the brother’s apartment, Jack had tried his best to cook a meal for the two of you, but you ended ordering instead. 

“It’s getting late, I should get going.” You stated, peaking quickly at the time at your phone. 

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Luke said, standing up quickly from the couch and you were fast to follow his move.

“You can stay over if you want. Its getting pretty late.” Jack said nonchalantly, making you look over at Luke. The two of you had never spent the night over at the other’s place. Well, actually, Luke did sleep over most of the times after events, but he always slept in your spare room. You knew they didn’t have a spare room, and sleeping on the couch was too risky as it could be seen form the kitchen. 

You and Luke shared a quick conversation with your eyes, refusing to stay over would probably wave form red flag. 

“I’ll leave the two of you alone, don’t worry. Just, please remember that I do sleep in the room next to yours, Luke.” Jack said with a smirked as he stood up from the couch, joining the two of you. He ruffled Luke’s hair slightly, before giving you a smile. 

“Good night.” He said before turning around and making his way to his room. After his doors closed, silence took over the whole apartment with you and Luke standing in the middle of the living room. 

“So…” 

“You really don’t have to if you don’t want.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll stay. He seems really happy about it, so.”

“Right, yeah. Uhm, I’ll get you some clothes.” Luke said before guiding the two of you over to his room. Ten minutes later, you were laying next to him on his bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie of his. 

“He’s not as bad as you said, you know.” 

“That’s ‘cause he just met you. He’s an ass, really. Once you get to know, like really know him, he’s gonna be the most annoying person you’ve ever met.” Luke said with a scoff, making you smile slightly. Luke’s bed wasn’t exactly the biggest, meaning the two of you were laying shoulder to shoulder. 

You looked over at him, only to find him already looking at you. And then before you knew it, he was pulling you on top of him, your lips connected as his hands roamed your body. 

There was no denying the the two of you felt quite attracted to the other, and as you got to know him more and more, you attraction only grew and grew until you felt like you didn’t even have to pretend anymore. This was turning into something real for you, and you could only hope that the boy felt the same. 

The next morning, you woke up alone in the bed, wearing nothing but Luke’s hoodie. The first notification on your phone being from him. Hey, had to leave for practice, didn’t wanna wake you. Left a key on the counter, i’ll call you tn :).

Only he didn’t call, didn’t text either. And when he showed up at your place the day after, it was like nothing had happened. You wanted to talk about it, you needed to talk about it, but he had quickly made it very clear that he had no interest in that conversation. So, you stayed quiet and pretended it didn’t happen, that nothing happened. 

I’m so tired of bein’ the girl that i am Every good thing had turned into something i dread And i’m playin’ the victim so well in my head But it’s me who’s been making the bed

“It was so nice to meet you, sweetheart. You should come visit this summer.” Ellen gushed as she hugged you tightly. 

“I will.” You lied with a smile. Your 8 months would end right when summer would start, and you honestly had no clue what would happen after that. 

“Maybe we’ll see Luke a little more if you do.” Jim joked as he and Ellen waved at you as they left the apartment. Jack had offered to drive them to the airport, meaning it was only you and Luke in the apartment. His apartment. You hadn’t been over since that night, a night that almost felt like a secret. Like if you were to talk about it, or mention it, the world would explose. Like you were walking on breaking glass, and bringing it up would be that extra pressure that would make it snap for good. 

“You stayin’?” Luke asked as the two of you stood by door. 

“I don’t wanna be a bother.” 

“You won’t.” Luke said softly, his hand reaching for yours. “I want you to stay.” 

Those words, those 5 small innocent words, somehow lead to you once again waking up in nothing but his hoodie. You were alone once again, but you could head the two brothers arguing about something stupid in the living room. You quickly found your underwear and a pair of sweatpants before making you’re way to the two boys. 

“Y/N!” Jack exclaimed as he saw you slowly walking down the hallway. The older boy was sitting on the couch, while Luke stood behind him. But the younger boy quickly made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around. 

“Morning, baby.” The boy said softly, making your eyes grow wide. Baby. Luke had just called you baby. You never used nickname, never had and never even talked about it. 

“Hi.” You mumbled against his chest. 

“Y/N, tell your boyfriend that you always brush your teeth before you eat, not after!”

“Gosh, Jack, leave her alone.”

“Why would you brush your teeth before you eat? You’re just making them dirty again.” You answered Jack, making the boy’s smile drop, while Luke just let out a chuckle. 

“I made pancakes.” The boy mumbled, guiding towards the kitchen and away from Jack. 

“You trying to poisson me?”

“Not yet.” Luke chuckled as he placed a cup of coffee in front of you. The boy leaned against the counter as he watched you slowly started eating the pancakes in front of you. 

“Are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” The boy mumbled as he walked past you, pressing a small kiss to your head before heading towards the bathroom. His reaction and action to your questions made his answer quite clear. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“What’s up with you?” 

“Mm?”

“What’s up with you?” Luke repeated, making you look up from your phone. The two of you were currently sitting on your couch, a hockey game playing on your tv. 

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“That’s bullshit. You’ve been on your phone the whole night.”

“I’m busy, Luke.” You mumbled. It was a lie, you weren’t busy, you were just not interested in having a conversation with him after what had happened last week. Thankfully, he had left for a roadtrip with the team that same night, meaning you had one full week where you could just not think about him. The two of you texted a bit, but nothing more than seeing how the other was doing. The second the team’s plane had landed, the boy was quick to make his way over to your apartment, catching you completely off guard. 

“Yeah? Busy doing what? Scrolling on Tiktok?” The boy mumbled as he stood up from the couch. His action made you look up at him. “If you didn’t want me here, you should’ve just said so.” He added before walking away towards the front door. 

“You could’ve just texted, ask if you could come, not just show up at my door with no warnings!” You said as you followed him, making him scoff as he finished putting his two shoes on.

“That’s what this is about? I didn’t ask if I could come see you? We haven’t seen each other in a week, Y/N, sue me for thinking you’d want to hangout. For thinking you’d want to talk, catch up, see how I am doing-”

“Talk? You want to talk? Where was that attitude last week Luke?”

“What are you talking about?” The boy asked, making you scoff at him. He couldn’t be serious right now. 

“Why do you refuse to acknowledge the fact that we’ve had sex, twice now. Every time I even try to bring it up, you shut me out. So, I am sorry if I am not in the mood to talk to you when you please, Luke.” You snapped back, your voice filled with annoyance. Luke rolled his eyes at your words, making you bit your lip out of anger. 

“I can’t deal with this right now.” He said as he threw on his jacket. 

“See, you’re doing it again!”

“What is there to talk about, Y/N? We had sex, so what? Don’t be making a big deal out of this. Don’t act like this is something real, okay? We’re friends.” Luke said harshly, making your body freeze. The boy was gone before you even realized he was moving. Was this not real? Was all those nights spent doing nothing but talking about life nothing? Or how easily his lies would slip out of his mouth, were they really lies? 

Gosh, you felt like an idiot. Luke’s sole problem with this whole fake relationship thing was the commitment, he didn’t want that. He was a 20 year old just starting off his life, he didn’t want to be tied down right now. He didn’t have the time to be truly committed to someone right now, and you felt stupid for thinking he did. Stupid for thinking that those sweet comments he would make in front of camera were anything but sweet comment for the camera. Stupid for thinking some stupid contract would actually change Luke’s playboy attitude. I mean, that was the reason his manager wanted this relationship; clean up his image. That’s all you were, someone to clean up his image, to let other people know that Luke Hughes wasn’t just some guy going around fucking every girl he met. That’s all you were. 

You stood in front of you door for what felt like hour, praying and hoping that the boy would walk back in and tell you it was just a joke. That he didn’t mean those things and you meant more to him than he let on. That you weren’t just his friend, or his fake girlfriend. But he never came back. Never said the words you wanted to hear the most. Never. 

The next morning, you texted him asking if the two of you could talk. Nothing. No answer, no reaction, just silence. He had seen your message, and you couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of your message thread. Seen. 1 hour. 2 hours. 3 hours. The sun was starting to set and the word seen was still plastered on your screen. You felt even more stupid than you did the previous night. Laying awake in your bed, waiting for something, anything. Any sign of life that let you know that he was out there thinking about you. 

And a sign of life you were given. Of course, it wasn’t the one you wanted, if anything it was the opposite. You cursed yourself as the first tear fell down your cheek, and then even more as the tears kept falling. No way. There was no way this was real. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that to you, right? 

But he did. On your phone screen, staring back at your tear stained face, were photos of Luke in a bar, his hands all over a girl as his lips danced with hers. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course he did, the contract didn’t mean anything to him, it was just to keep his manager happy. 

You knew he knew this would get out. That people would see and it would reach you in only minutes, but he didn’t care. You were the last thing on his mind as he walked into that bar, his eyes roaming the room to find someone, anyone, who could help take his mind off of you and the stupid contract. People knew who he was now, he gained followers like crazy as the public became more and more in love with your relationship. And here he was, blatantly cheating on his fake girlfriend simply because he could and he wanted. 

There was no way Chris would make you keep your promise of 8 months. No way he would make you look like the stupid girl who went back to her cheating boyfriend. Right? No, no, Chris wouldn’t do that you. Although you weren’t so sure anymore, you thought Luke wouldn’t do something like this, and he did. 

And every night, i wake up from this one recurrin’ dream Where i’m drivin’ through the city and the brakes go out on me I can’t stop at the red light, i can’t swerve off the road I read somewhere it’s ‘cause my life feels so out of control

The next morning you woke up with your phone blowing up, which made you quite confused since you had made sure to put it on do not disturb last night, meaning the only one who could be reaching you right now was Chris. You had fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. You hated this. You hated that you let your guard down with the boy, hated that you let him, gave him the power, put him in a position to hurt you. You hated what you actually felt for him. You wouldn’t call it love, but your heart was his and only his. It was stupid, I mean you had only known him for barely 3 months. 

“What the hell happened?” Chris asked as soon as you answered his call. You tried your hardest not to let the tears fall again. Sitting up in your bed as you looked over at your clock, 10 a.m. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You whispered, your voice breaking slightly. 

“I’m outside your door.” The man said before hanging out the call. You slowly made your way out of bed, walking to your door and letting the older man in. Chris tried his best to hold in a gasp as his eyes met you. Your hair was a mess, but that’s not what caught his attention, you face did. It was red, really red, so were your eyes. Left over mascare from the previous day lingering around your eyes. 

“Y/N/N…” He said softly as he followed you to the couch, where you threw your body down before wrapping yourself in a blanket. “Are you okay?”

“Please… please tell me the contract’s done.” You begged, your eyes tearing up as you watched Chris looked down at the floor. 

“He won’t… he won’t let us. I asked, I mean this looks bad for him, but Mark he’s… he’s not letting up.” Chris explained, his voice low and soft as tears started falling out of your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“We argued. We did… we hooked up, twice. And it meant more to me than it did to him. He got mad, stormed out, and I haven’t heard for him in almost two days, so.” You explained, trying your best to keep your voice stable. Chris let out a deep sigh at your words, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“I’ll talk to Mark, again. See if we can find a middle ground.”

There was no middle ground. You had signed the contract. Luke had sign the contract. And although Mark was not happy with his client, you had signed the papers. Which led to you sitting in Chris’ office, Mark next to you and Luke on the other side, later that day. The last time the four of you had been in the same room, you never would’ve guess what the next couple of months were going to be like for you. Never in a million years did you think you would grow to actually enjoy the younger boy’s presence, and you certainly never believed you would actually have feelings for him. 

“All right, so, papers were sign-”

“Can’t we just sign other papers to say we agree to end it or whatever.” You quickly cut Mark off, making the three men look over at. 

“Y/N…”

“No. I am not gonna be painted as the dumb girl who goes back to a cheater! This was supposed to be good for my image!” You said looking at Chris. He knew you were right, so did Mark and Luke. This was supposed to be a good thing. 

“Y/N-”

“No! I am turning 25 in a week, Chris, I am too old for this stupid high school drama. I don’t care about the stupid contract! I am done with this.” You said sternly before standing out and leaving the room. Of course, Luke was quick to follow you. 

“Y/N!”

“Fuck off, Luke.” You called out, not even bothering to turn back around. Of course, just to your luck, the elevator took forever to come up, giving Luke the chance to catch up to you. 

“Please, just hear me out.” The boy begged as he stood besides you. His words made you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. Thankfully, the doors opened and you were quick to enter and press the button to close to door. Unfortunately, Luke was quick to place in hand in the way, joining you inside. 

“Hear you out? What is there to hear out, Luke? You’ve made yourself very clear, so, please, just leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!” The boy said before pushing the emergency button, making the elevator stop. 

“What are you doing?”

“Let me talk.” 

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Luke. I get it, okay? You’re young, and you wanna enjoy your life. You don’t want to be tied down, I get it. I can’t give you what you want, and you sure as hell can’t give me what I want, so just back off.” You whispered before pushing the button. Thankfully, you weren’t far away from the first floor, meaning about 3 seconds later Luke was standing in the elevator all alone. His eyes fixated on you as he watched you made your way out of the building. 

He was such an idiot. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Every year was the same. You’d go to sleep the night before your birthday, expecting to feel completely different the next morning. But then you’d wake up and feel the exact same. 

25 was no different. If anything, you felt even more pathetic this year. You were 25 crying over a 20 year old who only thinks with his dick. Everyone always looked like they had their lives figured out by that age, relationships with someone they were convinced they were going to marry, or kids on the way, a stable work income, dreams they wanted to fufill. You had none of those. Well, since your fake relationship with Luke, producers were a lot more interested in what you could bring to their movie. But that attraction only came once you were by a man’s side. 

This 20 year old little boy had brought more success to your career than you ever did before. Pathetic. Even more pathetic that the same 20 year old could not give two shits about you. Pitiful. Yeah, that works better. 

You had no plans for the day, ever since the whole “cheating” drama went down, you had stayed inside. You didn’t go on social media, there hadn’t been a single sign of life from you, and honestly you didn’t have the energy to give you. You couldn’t be bothered to give you because you were too busy mourning the lost of a relationship that didn’t even exist. 

You spent your morning on the couch watching some stupid reality dramas, trying to make yourself feel better. Hoping that maybe there were some bigger idiots out there. And as you watched the same girl cry over the same guy for cheating on her for about the tenth time, you realized maybe you weren’t so pathetic. You had made it clear to everyone you wanted to be alone today, you didn’t have the energy to socialize right now. The only people you were planing on seeing were your food deliveries guys. 

So, when the sound of your doorbell echoed through your apartment, your brows furred. It couldn’t be food, no you were currently eating it. You were left even more confused as you opened the door to see no one. Looking down, your eyes met with a large basket filled with flowers, treats, stuffed animals and much more. A larged card with your name written on it with a handwriting that you could recognized all too well. You could see him out of the corner of your eyes. Granted all you could see was the top of his head as he had stopped halfway down the staircase as he heard your door open. But he was there. You weren’t sure what you should do. Do you look at him? Keep pretending you don’t? Do you even take his gift? 

Your head was telling you to go back in, take the gift, throw the card away and just fill yourself with sweets. But your heart had the better of you. You missed him. You hated that you missed him, but you did. Luke almost let out a yelp as your eyes met his. He didn’t know you could see him. The two of you stared at each other before you softly nodded towards your door. 

The next thing you knew, the two of you were sitting on your couch, Luke’s gift basket on your coffee table as you stared at the wall. Luke’s gaze was fixed on you, you knew it was. You could feel it. 

“I miss you.” He whispered so lowly you could barely hear it, but you did. You didn’t know if you should believe him or not. You let out a small scoff at his words. You weren’t falling for it. “I’m being serious, Y/N.”

“You don’t miss me, Luke. You miss the attention I gave you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Because the second that attention was gone, you went to someone else to give it to you.”

“I want to be with you, Y/N, and I am so fucking sorry for what I did. And I know sorry is never going to make it to you, but please-”

“You want to be with me? You want to really be with me?”

“Yes! The only reason I never mentioned the fact that we had sex was because I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same way I did about it.”

“But I did! And when I finally told you, you pretty much told me to go fuck myself and that it meant nothing to you! And now you really wanna sit here and tell me it meant more to you than a quick fuck? Please, Luke, I wasn’t born yesterday.” You snapped, looking over at him. “You embarrassed me. You made me feel stupid for thinking you would ever want something more than a quick fuck. And that wasn’t enought, that you had to go and hookup with some random chick in a public place, knowing people would find out, that I would find out about it. Now I look like the idiot who got cheated on by some kid.” 

“Look, I messed up, I know I did. I freaked out and ran away, when I should’ve just been honest with you. But, please, let me even try to make it up to you. I want to be your boyfriend, Y/N, I really do.” 

“I turned 25 today, and when you turn 25 it makes you realize that you have no clue what’s going on in your life. I mean I’ve got about 15 to 20 years until I can’t have babies anymore. I want to get married and have kids soon, Luke. And you’re no where near wanting that in your life. Maybe you are being honest, maybe you do really want to be with me. But I mean what I said in the elevator, you can’t give me what I want. I don’t want to wait another 5-6 years for you to be ready to settle down. I need someone who’s ready right now.” You explained. Luke knew you were right, his older brother had gone throught the same realization last summer. 

“We’re at different points in our lives.” Luke mumbled the same words you had told him during your first real outing in public together. Gosh, you wish you could go back and do so many different things that night. You wished you hadn’t let your guard down, maybe this whole thing would’ve never happened and you’d be out celebrating your birthday with your friends and fake boyfriend. Maybe. 

“Yeah… and if I’m being honest, I don’t think I could ever forgive you. You made me look like a fool to everyone, Luke. And maybe I was just being stupid with my feelings or whatever but I atleast thought we were friends, and you’d never humiliate me publicly like that.” You said harshly, making the boy look down at his lap. “I deserve better.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t be better.”

“You should leave.”

And i tell someone i love them just as a distraction They tell me that they love me like i’m so tourist attraction They’re changin’ my machinery and i just let it happen I got the things i wanted it’s just not what i imagined I’m so tired of bein’ the girl that i am Every good thing has turned into something i dread And i’m playin’ the victim so well in my head But it’s me who’s been making the bed

The next day, you were freed. The whole contract thing was done. Chris had told you the reason it hadn’t been before was because Luke didn’t want it to be done. But that something in him had changed last night and he had agreed to end it. It felt odd really, you never guessed you could miss something that never really existed so much, but you did. You cut all public ties with Luke and his world, making it quite obvious to the public that your relationship was over. 

You went back to your old life, pretending none of it had happened. Pretending that Luke Hughes hadn’t walked into your life three months ago and flipped your wold upside down. You didn’t talk about it, you refused to talk about it because you weren’t sure you’d be able to answer any questions without crying. You felt even more pathetic about that. You and Luke had never officially been together, neither of you ever flat out say you liked the other. So why were you so hung up on him? Maybe it was the way he always knew how to boost your confidence before a red carpet. Or maybe how attention he paid to details. You didn’t know, and you didn’t like it one bit. 

What made it even harder was that Luke was went back to how his life was before. A different girl in his bed almost every night, and now since he was linked to you, even more attention was brought to it. It was hard, seeing the boy you were so hungup on kissing all these girls. But all the negative attention that came with it almost made you feel better. This whole situation was supposed to do some good for both your images. 

Now a month later after your “break up”, you were the girl who go cheated on, but was thriving in the industry, while Luke was a cheating whore. It made you feel good. Good to see that people on the internet stil hadn’t lost their minds and sense of logic completely. Good that maybe you did come out of this stronger and more liked than before. Good that you were about to start working on the biggest project of your career so far, and Luke would be stuck being reminded of his actions every time he opened his phone. 

But you still felt pathetic. You weren’t sure you’d ever stop feeling pathetic. Pathetic for lying to all your friends and family, lying to his family. Pathetic for not answering any of Jack, or Quinn or even his parent’s messages. But you couldn’t. What were you supposed to say? Oh, I am actually not that sad because we never really dated, it was just a contract. I mean, that would be a lie, but part of it would also be the truth. It was just a contract. You both messed up, and you needed to stop acting like this was all Luke’s fault. 

You shouldn’t have slept with him, you shouldn’t of had let him ignore the fact that you slept together for so long. You did this to yourself in a way. You knew going in about Luke’s behaviour, you knew the second the contract was over, he’d go back to his old ways. You knew. But you still let yourself fall for it. You could even say you were to blame for it. You kissed him first. You kissed him. Both times, you iniciated it. So, who was really to blame here? 

Somethings i feel like i don’t wanna be where i am Countin’ all of the beautiful things i regret But it’s me who’s been making the bedMe who’s been making the bedPull the sheets over my headMaking a bed, oh-oh

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (6)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 4.5K

a/n: drama and revelations incoming! thank you for waiting, my dearest friends! please be kind to this chapter, I swear the next one is coming VERY soon :)

as always, I love hearing your thoughts, theories, unhinged reactions, whatever lol. I love you all!!! Y’all are the bestest!!! 💜

🐙 Masterlist / Thoughts?Asks?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

This is the ultimate middle finger to your father.

It’s right there in your inbox, glaring at you—a promotion confirmation email.

Your father, the man who was never present in your life. The one you once craved validation from as a child. That craving eventually twisted into repressed anger, then dulled into apathy. 

But emotions aren’t linear. 

They move like waves, anxiety washing over you one moment, grief pulling you under the next, mourning a man you never even had a relationship with.

Shame he's dead now (may he rest in peace), because there’s no one left to shove this achievement in the face of.

But why does it feel like you've just swapped one kind of emptiness for another?

Maybe it's because, despite everything—the resentment, the bitterness, the years of proving him wrong—a part of you still wanted him to see this. 

And now that he's gone, there's no one left to witness it. 

You sigh as your thoughts shift to something else.

The cabin trip.

It's been a week since that interesting trip.

There's still that tension between you and Jungkook, something unspoken, but lingering. You haven't seen him in days. Either you're too busy, or he's avoiding you, because when you grabbed lunch with the group yesterday, he didn't show. 

Busy, Yoongi said.

"Did you know that zoning out can mimic a light form of sleep? It gives your brain a mini recharge."

"Huh?" You blink and turn to see Min Yoongi perched on your desk, quietly chuckling to himself.

Speaking of the devil...

"What random trivia are you spouting now, Yoongi?"

"I've been calling you but you're zoning out again," he says, flicking your forehead. "What are you thinking about? And don't say work, I know your face when it's non-work thoughts."

"Oh? And what does that face look like?”

"Like you have feelings."

"I do have feelings."

"Yeah, sure. We call it rage."

“It’s called RBF, Yoongi,” you deadpan. “You should know. No one RBFs harder than you.”

"Hey! What are you talking about? That was a long time ago. I'm soft now." Yoongi grins smugly, arms crossed like he’s daring you to argue.

You squint at him, tilting your head. "You do look soft today… I wonder why." Your eyes scan him as you try to pinpoint what makes him seem extra soft and sweet today.

Yoongi just watches you, his grin widening, like the answer is right in front of your face.

"Oh! It’s your shirt! What do they call it? Boyfriend look? You look so boyfriend today!" you exclaim, pointing at him. "Yellow really suits you! But I already told you that!"

You had mentioned it once—casually, in passing—not expecting him to care. But, surprisingly, he’d started wearing more pastels, especially blues and yellows, instead of his usual blacks and whites. 

Yoongi smirks, brushing the tip of his nose. "Yup, that’s me."

"Yup! Soft and squishy, like milk bread. Look at this—" You reach up and squish his cheeks, fingers digging in while he tries to dodge.

"Yah—!" He flails, bumping his elbow on the divider with a thud.

"Ow!" he whispered through a pained breath, and the two of you stifled your snickers, struggling to keep quiet in the office.

Then, like a shadow peeling away from the wall, Jungkook appears. Sharp features set like stone, gaze locked on Yoongi.

“We've been waiting for you in the conference room, we couldn’t start without you." he says, voice cool, calculated, and without so much as a flicker of acknowledgement toward you, he's gone.

The air stills but Yoongi was quick to his feet.

"Oh, shit, yeah." Yoongi jumps. "Weekly team meeting." He shrugs before following Jungkook.

Confirmed: Jungkook is avoiding you.

So... which is it going to be?

Are you going to ask the question “why”?

Or is Yoongi right again?

"Like you have feelings."

Yes. You do. Because apparently, being ignored after being fingered kind of stings.  

News of your promotion spread like wildfire within your group, and Taehyung wasted no time organizing a "quick" celebration to toast to your well-deserved success at Dino's.

So right after work, everyone gathered in the familiar bar.

"Where's Jungkook?" Jimin asked Taehyung.

"He said he’s got something lined up."

"Bullshit. More important than this celebration?" Allie quipped.

"Yeah, he said he couldn't move it ." Taehyung answered.

"Move what?" Jimin pressed, this time directing his question more toward Yoongi.

Yoongi shrugged. "I don't know, he didn't tell me exactly. Something about an art exhibit.”

"Art exhibit? Man of culture. By himself?" Taehyung muttered as you all headed out of the building and started walking.

"Nah, I think it was with someone," Yoongi said casually, but Taehyung’s head snapped to him.

"Wait, like a date?!" Allie covered her mouth in mock shock.

"I don't know," Yoongi drawled, clearly tired of the interrogation. "He didn’t tell me, okay? All he said was it was hard to get tickets for that– not a ticket, so I assumed he's not alone."

"Ohhh... okay," Allie hummed dramatically, dragging out the words. "I thought he was avoiding YN."

Taehyung smirked. "Yeah... actually, that’s what I thought too."

"What? Why?" you shot back, already regretting engaging.

"I mean..." Taehyung shrugged. "He was acting a little different toward you after the cabin trip. We knew at first, he was a little shy around you, then he warmed up. But now he's straight-up dipping on us after I teased you with Yoongi."

"Taehyung, jeez! Love your theories. How do you come up with this stuff?" You shook your head, nearly laughing.

"I have eyes." He pointed to them dramatically. "And hear me out, okay? I swore you and Yoongi would eventually hook up or, I don’t know, just get together at some point. It was only a matter of time!" His voice pitched higher when you rolled your eyes.

"Bro," you groaned, shaking your head.

"I mean, why not?" Taehyung pressed. "You’ve been friends forever, you're both single—"

"You and Allie are both single. Jimin’s single. Why don’t you all date each other?" you shot back.

"Come on, you know what I mean! You and Yoongi go waaaay back," Taehyung pressed. "You like older men. Yoongi is older. And Yoongi likes… well, actually, I have no clue what his type is. But one thing I do know?" He pointed at you. "He’s not warm and soft with everyone—but with you? He is."

Yoongi, who had been quietly sipping his drink beside you, finally let out a low chuckle. You turned to give him and Taehyung a deeply unimpressed look before elbowing Yoongi. "You could jump in and shut this down, you know."

"Nah, I’m enjoying this," Yoongi smirked.

"People can have purely platonic relationships despite the years, you know?" You rolled your eyes, exasperated.

"I could date you, Allie," Jimin chimed in with a charming grin. "But we all know you like tall guys… and sadly, all I’ve got going for me is a great ass."

Allie paused, and shamelessly checked him out. “Hmm… fair point.”

"Alright, enough about Jimin’s ass," Taehyung snickered before turning back to you. "Anyway, I swear I thought—thought—Jungkook had a little crush on you. Just a gut feeling." He shrugged before smirking. "Though I’m not sure if he’s your type… I do know you like older men. Probably those daddy issues at work."

Yoongi nearly choked on his laugh, coughing into his sleeve. "Wow."

"I know how much it matters to you... I know that you got daddy issues," Taehyung sang the now-familiar song by The Neighbourhood with a grin, dragging out the lyrics like he always did whenever this topic came up.

"Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Kim." you muttered. The waiter arrived with your orders, and you were relieved when the conversation finally shifted to your promotion and what it entails, instead of your… issues.

The week flew by faster than you expected. Starting Monday, you’ll be stepping into your new role, and it  involves traveling to client sites whenever they expand or open new branches. It’s exciting... and exhausting just thinking about it. 

Which means less regular office hours, less desk chats with your friends. Your schedule will now revolve around client demands, and while that’s a win for your career, it’s kind of a loss for your social life.

So you made sure to clear your Saturday night for the company’s annual awards event—a night that’s less about trophies and more about mingling with stakeholders, VIP clients, and colleagues over cocktails and dancing. If there’s one thing your company excels at, it’s throwing a party. People go all out, dressing to the nines like it’s the Met Gala—and honestly, the break from the usual 9-to-5 grind is refreshing.

“Okay, which one do you think?” Allie asked during your coffee break in the pantry, shoving her phone in your face. Two mirror selfies—one in a sleek black gown, the other in a white halter dress—stared back at you. “Which one is better? Which one’s giving more classy old Hollywood vibes?”

“Hmm…” you tapped your chin. “Both are stunning, but the white one? That one pops against your skin tone. Very Marilyn Monroe on the red carpet.”

“Oh my God, yes! I was thinking that too!” Allie beamed. “Ok, sold! White it is!”

“You got your outfit sorted?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“Yeah, kinda. I’m stuck between this emerald green dress with red lips, or this black velvet dress I’ve only worn once.” You shrugged. “I’ll try them on later and send you pics to pick.”

“Yesss! Fashion show in your apartment, I can’t wait!” Allie wiggled her brows excitedly.

“Oh gosh,” she groaned, glancing at her phone. “I’ve got a Zoom meeting in, like, two minutes.” She shot you a kissy face before speed-walking back to her desk.

You chuckled, watching her go.

Yeah… you were going to miss them.

You stand by the water dispenser, zoning out as your water bottle slowly fills. The faint hum of the refrigerator fades into the background, your mind drifting somewhere far away.

Then footsteps pull you back to the present. Someone’s entered the pantry, but you don’t bother turning around. You keep your eyes locked on the water bottle, watching the steady stream.

“Oh my God, you’re so funny! I can’t believe you don’t play golf! I feel so silly asking you to join us!”

A sweet, high-pitched voice cuts through the quiet pantry.

“Yeah?” A low chuckle follows. A familiar one. “No, I don’t.”

You grit your teeth. 

Jungkook.

“You should let me teach you,” the girl coos. “I’m a great teacher.”

“I bet you are. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.” His voice is so casual, so maddeningly smooth, you roll your eyes right then and there.

Ugh.

You stare at your water bottle, still filling, taking its sweet time like it’s savoring your misery. You glare at the bubbling stream like, WOW, WATER. AMAZING.

Almost full... just a little more…

When your water bottle finally fills, you grab it quickly and turn to leave. 

Almost made it. Almost.

“YN! Oh hi!”

You stop dead.

“Congrats on your promotion! Well deserved!” Ria from Marketing beams brightly.

“Oh. Thank you! Appreciate it!” you reply, smiling politely.

Jungkook’s eyes are on you now. He’s leaning against the counter, one hand lazily gripping his coffee cup, watching you with that same unreadable expression he’s been wearing since the cabin. 

But his gaze drags down your frame, slow, deliberate, before flicking back up to your face.

Worse? 

He looks so damn good  in his gray shirt, sleeves pushed up showing his tattoos. A silver chain resting at his collarbone, glinting obnoxiously. 

And his hair? Pushed back. 

Your pulse jumps, and before you can think better of it, you flash him an equally fake smile.

“Well... gotta go! Meetings!”

You spin on your heel, your heels clicking sharply down the hallway, each step punctuated with purpose, and you swear you can still feel his eyes on you.

What’s his deal? Seriously. It's really starting to bother you. 

The black velvet dress won.

Allie’s excitement was instant when you sent her the dress options, but the shrieking voice note she sent after seeing the black one? Iconic.

“OH MY GODDDD! THAT’S THE ONE! YOU LOOK INSANE—LIKE, WHO EVEN ARE YOU?”

And honestly? She wasn’t wrong.

The black velvet dress hugged your curves perfectly, its sleek straps framing your shoulders and revealing just enough skin to feel sultry yet refined.

Your hair fell in soft waves, paired with your favorite black stilettos, a smoky eye, and a bold red lip. It's a perfect balance of sexy and classy.

There’s no way you’re not showing up tonight. Your gorgeous friends are going to eat it up—no doubt about that.

You can’t wait to soak up their energy. You need it to carry you through the many jet lags that’ll inevitably drain you in the days ahead.

The moment you stepped into the grand hotel ballroom, your eyes immediately landed on Jimin and Taehyung. They stood near the corner, chatting with a small group. Jimin, effortlessly ethereal in an all-white suit, and Taehyung, impossibly dapper in a dark green suit only he could pull off.

Noticing you, they smiled warmly and waved. You returned the gesture, motioning toward your assigned table before weaving through the bustling crowd.

Impressive. 

The event felt grand. Crystal chandeliers glowed above, and the room buzzed with lively chatter. Waiters in sharp uniforms moved smoothly between tables, serving cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Your company had clearly spared no expense, and judging by the laughter and clinking glasses, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

You found your table easily enough—a circle of familiar faces from your department. Four men occupied the seats, and their collective glance flicked your way the moment you approached. A quick once-over, followed by polite nods. Not exactly welcoming, but not hostile either. Just... guarded.

You were used to it by now. Ever since your promotion to Senior Manager, there has been an undeniable tension. You were younger than all of them, but you'd earned the role. From your first day, you'd outperformed expectations, closing deal after deal and driving major revenue growth. Your promotion had been inevitable, yet still a bitter pill for some. While they remained professional, you could sense the discomfort that lingered beneath the surface.

"You look good, YN," Peter chimed in, one of the younger members of the team. Of all your teammates, he's been the most friendly. His voice carried a lightness that cut through the awkward air.

"Thanks, Peter. You don't look so bad yourself," you replied, offering him a small but genuine smile.

"Oh, thanks! Feels nice seeing everyone all dolled up," he added with a grin. His excitement was contagious, and you couldn’t help but mirror it.

"Yeah, I know! Everyone looks amazing tonight." You turned to Mr. Hoang, one of the quieter and older members of the team. "I love your suit, Mr. Hoang."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Oh... thanks," he said, a bit stiffly. "My wife picked it out for me."

"She has good taste. You look great," you replied warmly. His expression softened, and you knew your effort hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Socially, you wanted to be closer to your team. 

Professionally and strategically, you knew it was important to be on good terms with everyone. Tonight felt like a chance to break some of that tension, even if just a little.

The microphone at the front crackled, pulling your attention to the stage as the host greeted everyone.

You scanned the room, searching for your friends. Since you were from different departments, you were all scattered across the venue, but you hoped to find them soon. With the host still presenting something on the screen, you decided to slip away to the washroom.

As you weaved through the crowd, your steps faltered.

Yoongi and Jungkook were walking toward you.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

It was offensive how good they looked.

Yoongi was effortlessly refined in a tailored gray suit, his hair brushed neatly, exuding his usual air of quiet confidence.

But Jungkook…

…was a goddamn problem.

Dressed in an all-black suit that fit him like sin, his dark hair fell in a perfect mess. And then, as if the devil himself had crafted him, there was the lip ring, gleaming under the ballroom lights, a stark rebellion against his otherwise pristine look.

What the fuck?

How is this legal?

He looked like trouble wrapped in temptation, and it was unfair how someone could look like that.

“Damn, YN, you clean up well,” Yoongi teased, stopping in front of you.

You blinked yourself back to reality, clearing your throat. “Well, you don’t look bad yourself, Yoongi. I barely recognized you.”

Jungkook, on the other hand, said nothing.

No. He just looked.

A slow, deliberate once-over—eyes dragging down your body like he was memorizing every detail—before finally, finally meeting your gaze again.

And then a tight-lipped smile. That’s it. No words. No reaction. Just that.

Wow. Okay???

You forced a polite smile in return, barely masking the fluster creeping up your spine. You turned back to Yoongi, pretending you weren’t internally combusting, when—

“Miss YLN! Great to see you. I’ve been meaning to catch up now that I’ve heard of your promotion! Well deserved! I’ve got a proposal I’d love to run by you.”

You turned to see an important client, beaming at you expectantly.

“Oh! Hi, Mr. Yamamoto! Yes, let’s grab some drinks and chat,” you replied smoothly, flashing him your best professional smile.

And with that, you excused yourself from the two gentlemen before tearing yourself away, resisting the overwhelming urge to glance back.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling.

Seriously.

Hours of being dragged from one conversation to another with important clients and VPs had you trapped in endless small talk. Ironic, considering you worked in sales. Socializing felt exhausting, but you liked knowing their plans and goals while sipping cocktails. You liked knowing your cards.

Your phone buzzed relentlessly. As expected, everyone was looking for you.

Allie: yn we've been looking for you, are you seriously working rn? Jimin: we’re here at the bar now. Taehyung is already tipsy Taehyung: im not. jungkook made me try sangria and its seriously so good.

The mention of Jungkook’s name made your spine straighten.

Seriously, what was Jungkook’s deal?

Was he weirded out by the cabin hookup?

Bothered that Yoongi saw?

Or maybe it was when Taehyung started teasing you with Yoongi?

Or all of the above?

You hated guessing games. You never had time to overthink stuff like this, you didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for these mind games. Whatever game Jungkook was playing now, it was frustrating, and awkward.

But fuck, all you can think about is how good he felt.

How his body pressed against yours. How his touch burned your skin.

It’s crazy how you’ve never wanted anyone like this. 

Like a craving.

Something darker and primal, demanding more, demanding everything.

You needed air. 

Excusing yourself, you made your way to the balcony you’d been eyeing all evening.

The crisp night air kissed your face, and you drew in a deep breath. Freedom. Solitude. You stepped into the corner for privacy—until a shadow shifted.

You froze. Too late.

Peter's smile stretched lazily when he recognized you.

Your posture softened, but you were still guarded.

"Oh hey," he said, voice light and easy. "Didn’t know you’d come here."

"Hey," you greeted, still caught off guard. He seemed drunk, but harmless—cheeks flushed pink from the drinks, tie loosened, swaying slightly.

"You okay?" you asked, more out of politeness than concern.

"Oh yeah," he chuckled. "Just needed some air. Long night, huh?"

"Yeah, I better get back," you smiled, turning back toward the party.

"Bet it's tiring," Peter added, voice quieter now. When you glanced back, his smile had thinned, and his eyes lingered on you a little too long.

"What do you mean?" you asked..

"You’re always working your ass off," he muttered, stepping closer. "Don’t know how you do it."

He reeked of alcohol, but something in his tone made you pause.

“We all work hard,” you said cautiously. “It’s a tough job.”

Peter scoffed. “Yeah? I wonder what other jobs you’re willing to do.”

Your stomach turned. Oh, fuck no. You were not doing this.

Snickering, he inched closer, his breath hot and sour with liquor.

You weren’t about to entertain this. Turning away, you took a step back toward the party.

"You’ve been kissing clients' asses all evening. Bet that’s hard for someone so... stuck up," he sneered, voice darker now.

"I suggest you stop coming near me. You’re drunk," you warned firmly, still walking.

His hand shot out, clamping around your wrist. His grip was tight, fingers biting into your skin.

"You’re brave to act all high and mighty when you know your friends will protect you. Do you fuck them? Is that why they’re willing to risk their jobs for you? Maybe that’s why they all stick around, yeah, hoping they’ll get a turn."

"What the hell are you talking about?" You yanked your arm, but his grip tightened.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." He slurred.

Your patience snapped. “I don’t,” you bit out. “You gonna tell me, or are you just gonna keep wasting my time?”

His lip curled. "Such a stuck-up bitch. You walk around acting untouchable, as if you’re better than everyone. No wonder you piss everyone off. Think Yoongi’s your knight in shining armor? Bet you spread your legs for him like the desperate little tease you are. Yeah, bet he pounded you so good he didn’t care about almost getting fired."

"For the last time, I don’t know what you're talking about. Let. Me. Go," you spat, wrenching your arm hard. His grip tightened painfully, and your pulse spiked. His hot breath hit your face, and you realized how dim and isolated the balcony was. Panic gripped you. He was stronger, faster, and clearly unstable.

"I think she said get the fuck off her."

The voice sliced through the tension like a heavy blade. Both you and Peter snapped toward the sound.

Jungkook.

You couldn't see his face. His solid frame was backlit by the grand hotel lights—but you knew that voice. 

Firm. Clear. Furious.

In three strides, Jungkook closed the distance. One hand clamped around your arm—Peter’s grip still locked tight—and Jungkook’s other hand shoved Peter so hard he staggered back, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Peter snarled, but Jungkook didn’t even look at him. Without a word, Jungkook yanked you behind him, placing his body like a wall between you and Peter.

"Touch her again," Jungkook bit out, "and you won’t see the fucking sun tomorrow."

You swore the entire world tilted when Jungkook finally turned his head, pinning Peter with a stare so ice-cold it could burn.

"You want to try me? He chuckled, amusement lacing his words. "Please, go ahead." His voice was too calm, too controlled. The kind that comes before a storm.

Peter swallowed hard. His eyes darted to you, then back to Jungkook, and whatever stupidity had driven him to this point finally died.

Smart choice.

Everything blurred after that. One second, Jungkook was throwing more venom-laced words at Peter, and the next, his fingers were locked around your wrist, dragging you away.

You barely registered the cold night air as he led you outside. The ground beneath you was uneven, the gravel crunched beneath your heels as you struggled to keep up with his long, and urgent strides.

"Jungkook—wait," you stammered, breathless.

He didn’t stop. His grip on your wrist stayed firm, fingers locked.

"Stop, I said STOP!" You yanked your hand free, stumbling back a step. Jungkook halted in his tracks, turning sharply, his eyes startled and almost guilty.

For a moment, he just stared. His expression was softer than before — gone was the sharp anger he'd shown with Peter.

Now, his eyes flickered with something else.

Concern? Hesitation?

His mouth opened like he was about to speak, but he closed it just as fast.

“What the hell was Peter talking about?” you pressed, voice rising. “Yoongi? Almost getting fired? Do you know something? Tell me!”

Frustration bubbled inside you. You hated feeling like a fool when everyone else seemed to know something you didn’t.

“That guy… Peter,” Jungkook muttered, “he’s not someone you should trust, obviously, I should’ve warned you, just didn’t know how. He was friends with… well, the guy Yoongi had problems with.” 

You shot him an exasperated look, one hand flung out in a gesture for him to continue. 

His voice lowered, cautious. “They had some kind of argument, and things escalated. The guy got fired, and Yoongi got suspended for it.”

“Okay? I don't understand. What does that have to do with me?”

Jungkook shifted uneasily. “Yoongi... I think Yoongi should tell you. It should come from him.”

“What difference does it make?” you snapped. “He obviously told you, and you know, so just—god, this is so frustrating.” You ran a hand through your hair, heart hammering.

“He didn’t,” Jungkook admitted quietly. “He didn’t tell me... I just figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Your voice rose again, and a few heads turned. Irritated, you grabbed Jungkook’s arm and pulled him behind a tree for some privacy. “What the hell is going on?” you demanded, voice low but now shaky. “Tell me what you know, for Christ’s sake.”

Jungkook exhaled deeply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"He caught that guy—the one who got fired—with deepfake videos of you on his computer."

Your breath hitched. You knew nothing about this. Who else knew? Did everyone know except you?

"The guy’s computer crashed, and when Yoongi fixed it, he found folders, pictures of you. Nothing explicit, just random shots from the office…but it was creepy enough that Yoongi reported him right away." He exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "Things… got heated when Yoongi confronted him."

“When did this happen?” you asked, your voice quieter now. Your heart pounded so loudly you could barely hear yourself speak.

“Right before I started,” Jungkook said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His brows pulled together, eyes scanning yours carefully. “Remember when Yoongi said he was taking PTO? The one where he went on a fishing trip with Jin?"

You nodded. Of course you remember that.

"It wasn’t a vacation…" He continued, his voice low and softer now. "He was suspended. He, uh, punched the guy. People saw. Management had no choice.”

So what, I’m the only idiot who didn’t know?” Your voice shook in anger, humiliation, disgust. “Everyone else knew? And I’ve just been walking around like some clueless dumbass while they all pitied…hated me behind my back?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, shaking quickly, almost desperately. His teeth sank into his lower lip like he was physically trying to stop more words—more confessions, more revelations—from slipping out. “No. I don’t think a lot of people know. Yoongi told no one.”

“Then how did you find out?” you pressed, your voice firm.

A beat of silence.

“I hacked the HR files,” Jungkook muttered, almost sheepish.

Your hands curled into fists. 

You needed to talk to Yoongi.

Now.

Because what the fuck?

taglist: @taekritimin123, @vantelover1306, @random-musingsss @likewtaf @jeonmaleficent @almatiarau, @kxthx-b, @lively-potter, @jk-190811, @ilovejungkook9999, @goldietigers294, @dreamyluna18, @va1-erie, @snow-strawberry, @lovieku, @daskewl @jksusawife @daskewl @pp0810 @cherryreadsfics @boyfriendtaekook @michuga @kchukes @ahgasegotarmy116 @michellekosmos @pitchblack0309 @hoseokteardrop @blueberriesm @jkslaugh97 @mysteriousgeminizone @jimintopiaaaa @marvelbun @rayyrayy10 @onlyoursol-ace @rkivesarchive, @vjoon9495, @sang-09, @kp0pficdump, @imeverycliche, @macanooni, @milkxgukk

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[uasyndrome]

Red Tape & Red Cheeks

PRO HERO! Bakugou x ASISTANT! Reader

warnings: none

The agency lobby buzzed with life—sidekicks reporting in, radios crackling with mission updates, and somewhere in the distance, a vending machine suffering Bakugou’s wrath for giving him a diet drink.

You adjusted the stack of documents in your arms and sighed. Working as Bakugou’s assistant wasn’t easy—but it was never dull.

“Oi! Dumbass!” His voice cut through the hallway like a grenade blast.

Speak of the devil.

You turned, already bracing yourself, and nearly crashed into him.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” he grunted, taking a folder from the top of your stack without asking.

“I was walking straight until your yelling made me flinch, Dynamight,” you replied coolly, stepping around him.

His crimson eyes flicked down, taking in your tight black slacks and neatly rolled sleeves. You didn’t miss the quick scan. He clicked his tongue.

“You’re dressed like you own the place.”

“I run the place. You just punch things.”

Behind him, Kirishima wheezed out a laugh. “Bro, she got you good.”

Bakugou shot him a death glare. “Shut it, shitty hair.”

But Kirishima only grinned wider and tossed an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’d make a great hero, y’know. You keep this guy from burning down the whole agency.”

You smirked. “Someone’s gotta save the city from him.”

Bakugou’s jaw flexed, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. You felt it—the way the air shifted slightly around him, not explosive, but charged. He turned away without another word.

You followed him into the main office, the door swinging shut behind you with a soft click. The quiet was sudden. Heavy.

His desk was a mess of mission reports, cracked coffee mugs, and protein bar wrappers. You started tidying instinctively.

“I didn’t ask you to clean,” he muttered, eyeing you from where he leaned against the window.

“You never ask. You just grunt.”

“…Tch.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

The sunlight slanted through the window, casting gold onto his arms, the tight sleeves of his hero costume rolled to his elbows. His gauntlets were off, and his palms were scarred, worn. He looked tired in a way that made your chest ache.

“Long mission?” you asked gently.

“Annoying.” He exhaled. “Got back-to-back patrols.”

You slid a new schedule across his desk. “I cleared your Friday night. Figured you might want the evening off.”

His gaze met yours—quick, sharp. “You do that?”

You shrugged. “You’ll thank me when you’re not passing out mid-fight.”

He stared for a second longer. Then said, quietly, “Thanks.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t sarcasm. That was real.

The rarest of Bakugou species: Gratitude.

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “Wow. You sure you’re not running a fever?”

He scowled. “Don’t ruin it.”

But the edge in his voice was softer. Playful. Almost flirty.

You turned toward the door, flustered, heart thudding in a way it really shouldn’t.

“Lemme know if you need anything else,” you said over your shoulder, voice a bit too light.

“I do,” he said.

You paused, hand on the door handle. “Yeah?”

He looked like he was debating something. Something real.

But then—

“Nah. Just forget it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Classic.”

And then you were gone, leaving Bakugou standing alone in his sunlit office.

Later that evening…

Bakugou leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.

Kirishima flopped onto the couch beside him, tossing a can of soda onto the table.

“So. When you gonna tell her?”

Bakugou’s gaze didn’t waver. “Tell who what?”

Kirishima laughed. “Don’t play dumb. You practically growl at any dude who looks at her.”

Bakugou exhaled slowly. “She’s my assistant.”

“And?”

Bakugou didn’t answer.

In his head, he saw you again—striding across the office in that fitted uniform, mouth quick with comebacks, eyes that never flinched from his fire. He thought about the way you laughed when Kirishima teased him, how your hair looked tucked behind your ear, how your fingers brushed his when you handed him files.

You were hot.

Smart. Capable. A pain in his ass. And… irreplaceable.

Yeah, he wanted to ask you out. Had for months.

But he didn’t know how to do it without fucking it up. Without making it weird. Without losing the one person who handled him without fear or hesitation.

So he stayed quiet.

“Whatever,” he muttered, voice low.

Kirishima gave him a knowing look but let it go.

Bakugou stared at the office door where you’d walked out hours ago.

He’d never say it—but it was your smile that stayed burned behind his eyes long after the mission reports faded.

[annievrse]

pest control

trafalgar law x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb cw: suggestive but nothing crazy!!

"You're so cute."

Law finally lifts his head from his paperwork. "What?"

After numerous tries to get your boyfriend's attention, you capture him, and you aren't letting him go that easy.

"I said you look like a fruit," You shrug quickly from where you sit on the couch across from his desk. The book in your hands sits limply as you focus solely on him.

"That doesn't make any sense," Law says, shaking his head, his pen dangerously close to the page. He'll return to work if you don't say something soon. So, flustered, you close your book.

"You ate a devil fruit."

"Okay, and?"

Your mind races to keep the small talk going, but you come up short. "I don't know, something about fruit."

Sighing, Law raises an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

"Yeah," You deflate, noticing you've lost his attention. When you see his discarded hat on the desk, an idea sneaks into your mind, but think against it when you realise you must stand up to get it, which would ruin your dramatics.

Instead, your book falls to the floor as you dramatically flop to the other side of the couch. You sigh, waiting for Law's eyes to flicker to you.

When they don't, you sigh again.

Law exhales deeply. "You gonna pick that up?"

Smiling smugly, you shrug. "Maybe, maybe not."

He doesn't dignify you with an answer.

You search your brain for something, anything, that'll get him to focus on you. He's been in this office for far too long.

"Is it hot in here?" You ask, unzipping the top half of your jumpsuit. With your deep knowledge of the man, you know this is one of the things that gets his attention. So when he doesn't even look up, you give up.

"I'm leaving."

"What?" The pen stops scratching on the page. Law freezes where he sits and furrows his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I'm bored. Maybe Bepo can—"

"C'mere, sit on my lap."

You tilt your head. "Won't I be distracting you?"

"More than you are now?" He quips, a smirk on his lips. "No."

Your cheeks warm, and you trudge over to him. Your fingers find the zipper of your jumpsuit, and you start pulling it up.

Law is quick to interject. "Leave that down."

Quirking your lips, you suppress a giggle. "Yes, captain."

"Pest," He mumbles, spreading his legs so you can sit down.

His strong thighs under you have you reeling, and obviously, Law knows. "What's wrong? Still bored?"

Shaking your head, you rest your cheek on his shoulder, your arms circling his neck. "Just wanted to see you."

Law knows better than to coddle you, but the way you cling to him has him thinking differently. But, unbeknownst to him, your smile against his skin turns from angel-like to devilish when he puts his pen down.

"How about we go to the bedroom, yeah?"

Nodding, you tighten your grip when he stands up, his hands finding purchase under your thighs. You kiss his neck and slide one hand into his hair, pleased with the goosebumps that gloss his skin.

And even as he transports you to the room and carries you to the bed, you hide your smug grin.

I think it's safe to say your plan was successful.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

back of the hall

pairing: lee minho x reader tags: drabble. suggestive. college au. established relationship. part of the emmieverse special—see here

lecture halls. always so boring.

struggling to decipher whatever the professor is drawling on about due to the bad octaves of the room. trying to take notes while the slideshow is skipped through too fast. resisting sleep while that one student wants to “play devil’s advocate”.

you are halfway through your second coffee when you realize minho has stopped pretending to take notes. you feel his intense eyes burning through your right temple.

his laptop screen is dark, his pen idle on the page. he is staring at you. again.

"what?" you whisper, glancing toward the front where the professor is still rambling about semiotics. "do i have something on my face?"

"no," he murmurs, voice low, amused. "just thinking."

"about?" you query, suspicious.

"how distracting you are."

you blink. “i’m literally just sitting here, trying to listen. unlike some.”

he leans in, elbow on the desk, fingers curled over his mouth like he’s trying to hide that smirk of his. "yeah. and it is the most unfair thing that has happened to me all week."

your breath stutters for half a second. not because you are flustered—definitely not—but because he says it with this maddening calm, like it’s a fact. like gravity. like the way he always saves you a seat and pretends he is only doing it for the view.

"you’re so dramatic," you mutter, eyes flicking back to the lecture slides.

"mm," he hums. "maybe. or maybe i just really want to know what you would do if i kissed the side of your neck right now."

your body reacts before your mind does. a small, involuntary shiver you try to suppress. he sees it. of course he does.

"don’t," you warn, even softer.

"why not?" his hand hovers like he is daring himself. "we’re in the back row of this huge hall. nobody’s looking. everyone is either rushing through slides or asleep."

you shoot him a look, sharp and exasperated—but your legs are pressed tightly together, breath shaky. he grins, all teeth.

“after class,” you whisper.

“promise?”

you do not answer. just close your laptop slowly and say, “my place. and you better bring your notes this time.”

his smirk deepens. “i’ll bring something.”

tysm for ur prompt anon :)

taglist (ask to be added here): @burlesquerade @makeitworse @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325 @slut4junho

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Babysitting Little Nero With Dante

Dante X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Suggestive themes, steam, cuteness overload, fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

(A/N:) Finally got time to write today! Life has been so busy that it has been hard to sit down and write. But I made time today cause this needed to see the light of day! It's been swimming around my brain for like two weeks now and it was just too cute not to write! I'm still on my DMC/Dante kick! So enjoy this imagine that turned into this monster! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Naps in his chair at his desk were special to Dante. His office was his home and it was the place he could be himself more than anywhere else. So when jobs were few and far between you could find him in the Devil May Cry office napping, playing pool, or jamming to his favorite tunes. At this very moment with his feet kicked up and a magazine covering his face, Dante was sleeping his life away. Well he was until the phone started ringing startling him from sleep. Dante sat up with a snort, the magazine falling to the floor before he reached for the handset and rubbing at his sleep filled eye.

"Devil may cry," he mumbled with a yawn.

"Caught you napping didn't I," you teased from the other end. "What kind of business you running Dante."

"Babe," Dante yawned again, "I thought you were still here with me. Why are you calling?"

"Can't a girl go out on the town and have some fun while her lazy husband sleeps his life away," you giggled.

"You could have woken me up if you wanted to go somewhere," Dante replied.

"It's okay. You do have a tough job and you looked so cute sleeping in your chair I couldn't bear to wake you up. But I called you to tell you that I'm bringing home a surprise."

"Strawberry ice cream?"

You had to laugh at Dante's hopeful tone and you hated to disappoint him, "No not ice cream and not pizza either."

Dante deflated in his chair and pout pulling at his lips as he continued to press the receiver to his ear. "Then what's the point of you coming home?"

"Okay now that was just rude," you scolded. "No I wanted to let you know that I have a guest coming back with me. So I need you to put all your pointy and shooty things away. It's too dangerous leaving them in reach of our guest. So if you would be a dear, anything that can kill or maim needs to be put away. I won't be long so I'll see you in a little bit Dante."

"Babe wait," Dante scrambled to get you to answer him. "What are you...."

The other line went dead and Dante was left with the dial tone buzzing in his ear. He set the handset back in the cradle and rubbed a hand down his face. Everyone thought that he was the spontaneous one (which he was) but you had your moments, leaving Dante stunned. He rose to go do as you ask but he couldn't help but run around in circles trying to figure out what you had cooked up while he had been sleeping. Removing Rebellion from it's spot on the wall and strapping Ebony and Ivory to his back Dante set them in the bedroom before going back for the Sparda sword. He was just closing the bedroom door when he heard the office door open.

"Dante I'm home," you called as you removed your coat.

Dante couldn't help but feel a little nervous as he rounded the corner and what he saw was the last thing he ever expected. You were bent over trying to help Nero out of his coat, the little boy pouting a little bit as he took in the drabby surroundings.

"So this is the surprise," Dante asked as he stood before you before turning his gaze down to his brother's son.

"Surprise," you took Nero's hand and pressed a kiss to Dante's cheek. "Vergil called while you were asleep. I answered and he asked for help watching Nero. I agreed immediately cause Vergil sounded like he was in a little distress."

"You mean to tell me that my brother doesn't have a babysitter for his only spawn?"

You glared and Dante knew immediately that he messed up, "Excuse me? He is our nephew and I know how you feel about your brother but think for one second if we needed help with any of your kids would Vergil help."

"No," Dante retorted, "and I wouldn't ask him in the first place!"

You sighed tightening your grip on Nero's little hand. His blue eyes going back and forth as you and Dante argued.

"It's okay Nero your uncle loves you. He's just stupid," you yelled behind your shoulder and Dante replied by sticking his tongue out at you. Which you returned the gesture but you added a disappointed glare to the mix. Dante stood there for a moment interlacing his fingers together behind his head as he contemplated what just happened. Guilt began to gnaw at him as he thought back to the confused look Nero had given him. Sure Dante's relationship with Vergil was rocky at best but he shouldn't compare the kid to his father. Dante sighed and rubbed at this neck before walking where you had disappeared with Nero.

He hadn't seen Nero in awhile and Dante knew that in this moment of life was crucial for them to have a good bond later. And he didn't want to make you mad either and he could tell that you had been disappointed in him when he had said such things. So he knew that he had to do the right thing and that was apologize to both you and Nero. Stepping through the kitchen Dante noticed that you had made an improvised booster seat out of old phone books for Nero at the small kitchen table. You sat right beside him as you had laid out different coloring books, crayons, cards, and board games for you both to play. Nero focused intently on his coloring page before you asked him for a particular crayon only for him to give you one that you didn't ask for.

"Nero this isn't purple," you spoke gently not wanting to upset the boy. "This is blue."

"I know," Nero replied. "I think it would look better colored in blue."

You laughed and shook your head at the Sparda genes making themselves known, "Fair enough."

Dante cleared his throat causing two sets of eyes to stare in his direction. He scuffed his boot on the floor, "I'm sorry for the way I acted. Can I color too?"

You looked back towards Nero, "What do you think? Should we let Uncle Dante join in on all the fun?"

Nero seemed to contemplate the choice before he nodded in agreement. Dante pulled up a chair sitting on the other side of Nero at the table. You ripped out a sheet in the coloring book you were working in and handed it to Dante before tossing him a box of crayons.

"Best coloring gets to pick the movie tonight," you challenged and Nero came alive. His focus intensified and you winked to Dante who chuckled.

"So Nero," Dante finally spoke after a few seconds had passed. "How old are you now?"

"Six," Nero replied not looking up from his coloring.

"Wow! Big man huh? Do you like playing cards?"

Nero shrugged.

"Know how to play poker," Dante asked next.

"Dante," you scolded.

"What?! I was just asking," Dante pouted and you sighed.

Nero won the coloring contest so tonight he could pick out the movie you all would watch. Then you, Nero, and Dante played a few rounds of Go Fish with the deck of cards you had bought. But it was becoming apparent that the Sparda men were starting to become restless. While Nero had Vergil's DNA you could tell that he had some Dante as they both had a lot of energy to burn. A trip to the park was the perfect solution for both boys you had apparently volunteered to babysit.

"Nero would you like to go to the park," you asked after you had tidied up the mess you all had made of the kitchen table.

"I wanna go to the park," Dante shouted peeking back into the kitchen.

You laughed, "I was asking Nero. But I will take your vote under consideration."

"Yes," Nero answered nodding his head excitedly.

"To the park then," you announced before trying to keep both Nero and Dante from running out the front door.

Walking the streets of Redgrave made you wary as you weren't ignorant of the things that lived in it's shadows. You held onto Nero's hand tightly while Dante held the other hand. With Nero between you both, you wanted to keep him safe and secure. You knew how the demons felt about Sparda just from the times you had seen Dante fight against them. With Nero just being a child he was innocent and helpless against the creatures of evil. Dante seemed to sense your thoughts as he had Ebony and Ivory strapped under his coat and his blue gaze held yours. He nodded in agreement that nothing would harm either of you. But you didn't want to think about anything horrifying happening as you wanted to focus on Nero having a good time with both you and Dante.

The park wasn't overly crowded at this time of day and it made you feel better because with less bustle you could keep a better eye on Nero. It made you feel better too that Dante was on the playground with Nero. Going down the slide and helping his nephew with the monkey bars. You laughed at all the antics especially when Dante launched himself off the swings only to not stick the landing as his boots had slipped in the loose rocks. His pride more wounded than his rear, Dante sulked back to sit beside you on the bench.

"Did baby get a boo boo," you cooed ruffling his long silver hair.

"Just my pride," Dante answered. "You can kiss my boo boos better though at a later time and in private." He smirked causing your cheeks to flush.

"Naughty boy," you retorted before going back to keeping an eye on Nero.

"Hey Nero when we're done we'll go for pizza and ice cream," Dante shouted causing you to shake your head at his nephew's enthusiastic celebration. There was definitely some Dante floating around in Nero's DNA.

"And earlier you didn't wany any part of taking care of him," you glared.

"I'm looking at this with the grandparents' philosophy," Dante answered haughtily.

"And what is that philosophy oh wise Dante?"

"Load 'em up with sugar and send 'em back home," Dante grinned.

"No wonder Vergil barely tolerates you. You're not his grandpa Dante, you're Nero's uncle," you glanced away for one second to shoot at glare at your husband.

"Yeah I am," he nodded. "his one and only. Congratulations kid! Besides it's the ultimate form of telling my brother screw you than a sugar overloaded kid that refuses to go to sleep."

You shook your head, completely exasperated with your husband.

A couple play filled hours later and Nero was completely tuckered out. Dante went and got pizza and ice cream to go while you carried Nero back home. His soft breathing stirring your hair as he cuddled into the side of your neck. Your heart melted as you stroked his silver hair. So much like his father and uncle but still so different. You couldn't help but wonder what having a child with Dante would be like. He never seemed interested though. You couldn't help but wonder if the incident that had happened in his childhood had to do with it. You figured it was the main reason, but you never pushed Dante and you respected his wishes. He did the same for you as well, that's why your marriage worked so well.

Back at the Devil May Cry office, you laid Nero on the couch as you waited for Dante to get home with the food. You set up an area so Nero could eat at the coffee table in front of the TV and there would be enough room for the pizza boxes and drinks. Dante strolled in a few minutes later and you took the tubs of ice cream and showed him where to put everything else. Once he sat them down he knelt beside the sleeping Nero and starting to try to get him to wake up.

"Hey buddy," Dante shook him gently. "Foods here. It's time for you to pick a movie."

Nero stirred and you made your way back into the room with them. Nero chose Monsters Inc. and as Dante started the movie, you made Nero's plate and poured him some soda. Before the movie was over the food had been annihilated and Nero was once again passed out on the couch, though this time sporting a stylish strawberry ice cream mustache. While Dante switched off the TV you took a wet rag and cleaned Nero's face. Just as you were finishing up a knock came from the front door.

"Gotta be Verg," Dante walked to the door. "He's the only one that would knock."

Vergil was standing on the other side of the door and he looked more weary than when you had saw him earlier when you picked up Nero from him.

"Thank you for watching him," Vergil nodded at you, completely ignoring his brother.

"What? No hello kiss for your little brother," Dante teased.

"Dante," you scolded. "Don't torture your brother." You turned to Vergil after scooping Nero in your arms. "It was no trouble I enjoy having Nero around. Dante does too though he probably won't admit it."

Dante rolled his eyes while you passed the sleeping Nero to his father. Vergil nodded before he started to leave.

"Wait," Dante's voice stopped his twin cold. Dante took in his sleeping nephew's form before kissing his little forehead. "Be good kid."

With a nod from Vergil, Dante shut the door after Vergil had left. He seemed to deflate before yawning and stretching.

"Well that was fun," he bounced back quickly.

"You exhaust me," you groaned. "I'm going to bed."

Dante chased after you, scooping you up and causing you to yell.

"You promised me that you would make my boo boos feel better," Dante wiggled his brows.

"Not in a million years Sparda spawn," you pinched his cheeks before Dante deposited you onto the bed. He slammed the door shut and pounced causing you to squeal.

You squished his cheeks while forcing him away from your sensitive neck, "I love you."

Dante grinned, "I love you too. Let's take care of the little Vergil spawn more often."

"Nero," you corrected though you couldn't help but giggle. "And yes lets."

[retireddaddyric]

“You’re nobody.”

Synopsis: (y/n) is a journalist who always throws shit at Daniel Ricciardo but she gets to interview him after he retires and things get steamy!

Warnings: 18+, insults, swearing, degrading, bad words, spanking, sex acts, unprotected sex.

Note: this is all fiction. English is not my first language, so I apologize in if there are any errors.

You never liked him. That’s why every written piece of yours about him had titles like “The devil behind the God of the paddock”, “Daniel Ricciardo: the driver who never really made it”, “The clown of a fake circus”, “All honey, no badger”.

His ego was big, his fans crazy, everyone loved him, even those who claimed they didn’t. He laughed everytime and everywhere, you asked yourself for years if he laughed in bed too or if at least there he would take things seriously.

In fact, when people used to show him your articles in his paddock days he just laughed confidently at cameras and left with witty answers. He didn’t like people who questioned his skills and you did, always, stabbing him exactly where it hurt.

You didn’t hate him, but you thought he was a mask. That his behavior was built behind cameras, that he was good on track but he was more interested in being a Netflix star. And now that he was retired he had all the time in his life to start his acting career.

“The end of a lame career, the start of a stellar one in Netflix”, said your last article about him which was published the day Redbull sent him home.

During his racing days you would even come cross each other in the paddock, looking at each other from distance with a challenging stare but none of you ever spoke to the other. You wrote shit about him, he would bring it up during interviews throwing strays at you but never saying your name out loud, never giving you the satisfaction of being recognized.

And you didn’t care. You liked being the controversial voice in his hero-like story.

What you didn’t understand though was why of all people who asked to interview him after retirement he refused them all.

Except you.

And you met him in his Monaco apartment, four months after seeing him leave the paddock in Singapore with emotional eyes. That day he smiled too, but his eyes were sad.

You’re sitting at an armchair in his trophies’ room, they look at you like a punch in your face. Your legs crossed, your notebook on your lap and the pen in your hand looking up at him while he stands before a desk, leaning against it, his arms crossed.

You didn’t introduce yourself when you entered his house, he didn’t exactly welcome you in.

He just nodded and asked you to follow him here. No smiles, no shake of hands.

“I thought you were taller, since you always seem like to speak from above everyone.”He smirks.

“And i thought you were more humble, not even being sent home reduced your ego as big as the whole paddock.” You say fast. “Actually I’d never thought you’d face me.”

He smiles. “I’d never thought you’d ask for an interview face to face. I thought you were scared!”

“Scared of you?” You laugh sarcastically, your eyes dropping to his big nose, that squared jaw.

He smiles looking down at you, finding you extremely hot for not having fallen to his feet once for all there years. “Admit it.”

This back and forth goes on in between your real questions.

“You were a promising future f1 champion once, what happened in the in-between?”

“Sometimes the track decides for you. The checkered flag can’t always be yours.”

He smiles and looks at how you uncross and cross your creamy legs.

“Some say you lost your confidence and that lead the teams to drop you off.”

“Pression isn’t really something you can escape in this sport and I’ve had a lot, if you’ve really followed the sport.”

“Do you miss it?” You say making him look back into your eyes.

“There are other ways to feel your heart beat fast.” He scrolls his shoulders, smiling.

“Would you change anything if you could go back?” You look at him in the eyes with a piercing stare.

“I’d rather lose everything again than lose myself.” He says proudly.

“Isn’t it ironic? Going from being one of the most feared on the track to being the most liked on social media? Is really the helmet what you like better?” You smile venomously.

“Likes on instagram don’t give me the adrenaline rush.”

“But your career ended without glory. Do you think people still follow you for your talent or because you became a shining toy for sponsors and magazines?”

“Oh you tell me since you’re here to get a piece of me.”

“I think it’s easier to become a celebrity than to admit your reflexes got less sharp.” You try to hit the nerve.

“If you think being a formula one driver means just being fast you’re even more naive than what you look. But I forgive you, not everyone can keep the pace.” He crosses his ankles looking at you with a bastard smirk.

“With all these fast answers one would think you’re just a character and not a man. Is there still something real underneath?”

He smirks. “You like to provoke people. I could like you if you didn’t feel the need to throw shit at me every time.” He says looking at the recorder on the armrest of the armchair.

“I don’t throw shit, I just want to see if you can hide behind the helmet once more.”

“You wanna challenge me?”

“I just wanna see for myself if all those good things they say about you are rooted on a real soil.”

You look at each other for a long moment.

“Drop that pen before I start answering with my hands.” He says low.

“You’re scared words might bare you more than how hands could.” You provoke him.

“I’ve got no problem of baring myself, not even at being looked at while I do so.” He smirks. “You, on the other hand, are still keeping that pen in your hand, you need it to feel in control?”

“No I need it to make you keep talking.” You say rising your eyebrows and tapping your chin with the pen.

“I’d rather show facts than talk. Because you provoke people but then you slam your foot on the brakes.”

You hit the recorder button, the red light turns off.

“I never hit a brake in my life.” You say dropping your pen on your notebook.

He walks towards you looking down at your lips.

“Then hold on tight.” He says grabbing the notebook and making it fly above his shoulder.

His hands grab you by the hips and he picks you up effortlessly sitting you on the desk.

His hand grabs your face forcing you to look up at him. The other one is at your thigh on your jeans.

“You wanna know if you like me too?” He whispers huskily.

“I don’t like you.” You bite your bottom lip. “I’m convinced of this.”

He smirks. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Try harder, cham-“

His mouth is on yours, kissing you like a starved man, leaving your insult in mid air.

You feel your insides burn, you kiss him back with the same hate, the same violence. He pushes himself between your legs pulling you closer to his body by your ass.

“All that mouth and look where you are. In my hands.”

“Are you even capable of keeping me in your hands or is it all scene?”

“You wanna play hard, (y/n)?” This was the first time he used your name, it rolled surprisingly good out of his soft lips.

His hands tear your shirt open, he squeezes your tits in his callous hands. You moan throwing your head back as he pulls your bra down in a sharp move and sucks on your nipple, hard.

He pushes you on the table by your throat and uses the other hand to cup your sex from your jeans.

“I bet you’re already dripping.” He whispers darkly touching you.

“You have to work harder, champion.” You breathe heavy, saying the word ‘champion’ in a sarcastic tone.

And before you could finish the sentence he flips you on the table so you’re bent forward on it. He grabs your wrists and keeps them on your back with his left hand. The other one pulls your jeans down fast, violently.

He slaps your ass hard, you moan arching your back.

“You like to play tough but look at the way you spread your legs.” He says pulling your lacy thong to the side and sliding two fingers in, fucking you with them, then three, without mercy.

You moan, your pussy is soaking wet, your hips shake in pleasure. His fingers are expert.

“There you go, you’re pretty wet for someone who doesn’t like me.. is this why you wanted to interview me right?”

“I’m a professional.” You say breathlessly. He laughs sarcastically “Are you now?”

Then he turns his fingers inside, curling them.

“Warm and tight, like it’s made just for a big dick, yeah?” He asks before pulling his hand out and slapping your ass cheeks again, wetting it with his soaked fingers.

“All those articles, all those names and you’re trembling underneath my hands..” he laughs devilishly.

You close your eyes when you feel him unzip his jeans. Then he fists your hair pulling your head backwards towards his mouth. You feel his big dick between your asscheeks, sliding, making you needy.

You squeeze your eyelids waiting for him to thrust inside but he doesn’t. He keeps you still with his hands while he teases you.

“Always late.” You whine while you try to sound in control.

“Say you want it.” He dares you.

You swallow “I do.” You say a little ashamed.

“Louder.”

“I need it.” You shout.

“Words!” He gnarls.

“Fuck me Daniel! I need you cock!” You breathe out of your throat.

He laughs shaking his head “Our elite’s journalist begging to be stuffed.” He smacks your ass and licks your ear. “Dirty whore, it’s humiliating isn’t it, needing the same person you said you never liked, begging him to satisfy your inner slut.”

And with that he thrusts his cock inside you, balls deep. He roars putting a hand on your nape and the other on your round ass, keeping it spread open. Your hips shake, your eyes roll back in your head, you moan loud.

“Fuck..” he mutters, his chest heavy. He looks down at his cock hidden inside your cunt. It’s too god to be a normal fuck. And then he starts moving, deep, hard. A punishing pace.

“You’ll miss my cock more than your fucking pride after this.” He whispers. You whine in pleasure grabbing the end of the desk with both hands. His hand falls on your ass again, smacking the red skin. You jump but moan loud. “Yes!” You shout.

He smiles. “You take me like you don’t wanna let go.”

“Asshole.” You say choking oir.

He keeps thrusting, faster now. His voice is breathy when he says “It’s because you would have been no one without my name. Your articles about me are the reason you are still a journalist.”

“I am a journalist because I am good at my job.” You’re panting, your eyes crossed, your lips parted. It feels too fucking good.

“You’re only good at being a viper.” He hits your cervix with a particular very hard thrust. “And at taking my cock.”

He grabs you by the hair again pulling you towards him and speaking in your ear, his lips brushing against it, the hard stubble scratching your cheek. “Or maybe you did all that because deep down all you wanted was to be taken like this.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You pant, your legs shake, your inner walls squeeze his cock tight from within.

“You never did, still you talked.” And then he pushes your head back on the desk and starts fucking you like an animal, like a possessed. Your blurred eyes from ecstasy look towards the window, out at the blue sea. You never felt this good, nobody ever made you feel this kind of pleasure.

You squeeze your eyes shut and he smirks when he sees you jumping back towards him, taking him even harder.

“Fuck yes, you can’t even fake hating on me now. Isn’t this the failed driver’s cock?” He says husky, his t-shirt clinging to his sweaty chest, his hips hitting so hard you are bruising yourself against the desk.

He grabs your slim waist and with forceful thrusts he makes you come so hard. You moan loud, shaking, your lips biting so hard on your arm you can taste your blood in your own mouth.

You hear him laugh low, breathing heavy. “Who’s ‘finished’ now, uh? Who’s ‘desperate’?” He said reminding you all the words you had called him in your articles all over the last year.

Then he puts both hands on your ass and after some very hard thrusts his cock pulses inside you and he fills you up, squeezing your ass in his strong hands. He groans loud, throwing his head back, his adam apple jumping.

Then he pulls out, you’re laying there looking at the blue outside, panting.

He watches his cum slide down your inner thigh.

“A wasted seat. That’s what you called me after the Bahrain grand prix last year. A broken ghost of a driver.” He whispers, zipping his jeans. “Who’s the broken one now, (y/n)?”

You stand up and pull your thong and jeans up. You adjust your bra and closing your shirt you whisper.

“This isn’t finished Ricciardo.” You threaten him.

“Oh you wish.” He smirks.

(part two anyone?)

[cherie-doll]

Listen, listen. Reader who usually think alot, like, she is highly educated, reads alot bla bla...When cuddling with her man, she suddenly asks him

"Would you defend me if we were in the witch hunt era and I was accused of being a witch ?"

(Would be great if you add Horangi btw)

my roman empire right here, maybe reader is just very interested in witchcraft (the "traditional" meaning that anon is referring to here not the neopagan term we know today)

 ེ ཻ ՞☾ Horangi, König, Nikto, Gaz, Soap, Ghost

Horangi

His eyes glance at your desk; eyes taking in various essays and papers you've written and researched on the witch hunts that happened in the 16th century in Salem and Europe in the 17th century

Maybe this is this your version of "Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

He knows he's got to pick his words carefully when he gives an answer, the amount of times you've talked about this subject and he should've picked something up

"If I did I would've also been hung alongside you" Because he remembers you mentioning that some men were also executed and he probably would have been considered an accomplice

König

König had been comfortable resting his head on your chest until you sort of startled him with this question

"...Yes.." he had answered but you caught onto the hesitation in his voice by the slight raise at the end

He looks up and glances over at the whiteboard you've scribbled over with notes and the term "Hexentum" stands out; the German term for witchcraft

"Most likely wouldn't have made it" he replies and it makes you laugh, the persecution was severe in Austria during that era and was included in the list of regions with the highest trials and executions

Nikto

You've had to ask him this question several times before you got an answer

And when he finally did it was, "It would first be the other way around, you would defend me"

Because unlike other places, the cause of the witch-hunts in Russia was not due to religious reasons as much as it was due to political reasons

The predominance of men in the percentage of accusations included soldiers and government officials and their wives

So imagine being Nikto's wife during that era and having to constantly watch out for him

Gaz

You've asked Kyle this sort of question a hundred times, each time switching it out for something else

He is no stranger to your interest in the witch-hunts as he is the one who takes you to visit Salem every year

At night when you can't sleep you'll go over and over the stories of the innocent women and children who were executed and he lies there listening to you

Soap

"You might've been able to get away with it yourself"

"How so?"

Not every trial resulted in execution + women used to be stripped and searched for a mark apparently left on her by the devil, two Scottish women however disguised themselves as men to be "witch-finders" so they too could do this

Persecution was only if harm was caused by the person doing witchcraft until the 15th century i think

Ghost

Simon doesn't even hesitate when answering "No"

"What- why not?"

"There's no saving yer"

Half-joking, but he was also right, there was no way anyone would've gotten away with the hunts and torture used

From limbs being cut off to being tied up and thrown into a river, surely anyone who was accused and convicted was sure to die

[streetlamp-amber]

don’t leave

tommy shelby x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: domestic violence, typical peaky blinders violence, mentions of blood NOTES: takes place after season one. i might have gone a little ooc with tommy by the end #sorrynotsorry. i’m also thinking of making a part 2 to this. maybe. i don’t know.

“Oh, come on! I’m harmless!” You cried in defence as you watched two men tie your wrists then your ankles to the chair you were shoved in.

The last man of the trio observed you, taking a drag from his cigarette before throwing it on the floor. “You shot me. Twice.” He said, monotonously.

His piercing blue eyes were staring right at you and you felt your breath hitch in your throat at their intensity. You quickly recollected yourself, hoping he hadn’t noticed the little slip up in your facade.

He had.

“It was an honest mistake,” you shrugged your shoulders. “I thought you were someone else. Everyone knows not to shoot at Tommy Shelby.”

The two men who were occupied with tying you down stepped out of the room once they were done, leaving you alone with the most notorious gangster in Birmingham. You didn't really know where you were, probably one of the Peaky Blinders’ warehouses if you had to bet on it, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little scared. But, nothing could be worse than being with the man you were hiding from, so you found some solace in that thought.

“And who did you think I was?” Tommy asked you.

“No one important,” you brushed off, turning your head to the left to avoid his stare. Your eyes took in your surroundings, there wasn’t a lot of furniture here you noticed. Par for the chair you were tied to, there was what looked like a desk with another chair in the left corner. No machinery, no crates. The rest of the warehouse was completely empty.

“Eh!” Tommy called for your attention, snapping his fingers in your face. “You shot me twice, I think I deserve to know who you thought I was.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “I didn’t shoot you twice, I shot at you twice. There’s a difference, I didn’t even hit you.”

“Small detail,” Tommy said. “Answer the fucking question.” His patience was beginning to wear thin, very thin.

You gulped. What was the point of avoiding the question? “My fiancé,” you finally answered.

“Your fiancé?” He repeated, trying to keep the confusion out of his tone. “Why would you shoot at your fiancé?”

“Because he’s a vile man that I don’t even want to marry,” you told him. If your wrists weren’t tied to the chair, you would’ve crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Can you untie me now? You know I’m not a threat to you.”

“Does he hit you? Is that why you’re running from him?” Tommy asked, ignoring your request.

“Amongst other things,” you mumbled, head hanging low so you could avoid his stare by keeping your eyes on your lap.

“’Amongst other things’,” he repeated your words to himself. “What does that mean? Is he a threat for the people of Small Heath?” He didn't want some low life fuck to come mess up the order of things on his territory.

“Probably, I don’t know,” you admitted, scrunching your eyes closed before looking back up at Tommy. His face was much closer now, maybe five inches separated the tips of your noses as he crouched down with his hands on his knees to be at a closer level to you. “All I know is my brother was in debt to the Billy Boys and promised my hand in marriage to one of those fucks to pay off part of his due.”

“The Billy Boys? Aren’t you a little down south of their territory?”

“Thought I’d be able to hide from them here,” you said. “Until last week, when I saw one of them trying to follow me at the market.”

“And that’s why, two days ago, you shot at me,” Tommy put the pieces of your story together.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Shelby, I was just so scared,” your voice started to wobble with emotion, your tough, indifferent persona out of the window. “Them Billy Boys, they’re the spawn of the Devil himself. They’re gonna kill me after they catch me.”

Through your blurry vision, you saw Tommy rise up and sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

“Alright, we can help you,” he finally said after a few minutes.

You felt the tears roll down your cheek, whether they were tears of exhaustion or fear or relief, you didn’t know. “Thank you Mr. Shelby.”

“But it won’t be for free,” he pointed his index finger at you. “You know how to use a gun?”

You hurriedly nodded your head. “Yes, yes I do. I usually don’t miss my shots, I was just afraid when I shot at you.”

“Well thank God you were, eh?” It could’ve been a joke attempt if his tone wasn’t so serious. “It’ll be useful to have a woman to work undercover when needed. And you will tell us everything there is to know about the Billy Boys and your fiancé so we can know who to look out for.”

“Yes Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy crouched down to cut loose the bonds around your wrists and ankles. “My brother John will accompany you to your lodgings so you can fetch your stuff, it’s not safe for you to stay there if they’ve been following you around. You’ll stay with me on Watery Lane, Ada’s room has been vacant ever since she got married.”

“Thank you Mr. Shelby,” you grabbed his hand as you thanked him and Tommy stopped moving, blue eyes staring at the grasp you had on him. You noticed his unease and just as you were about to release his hand, you felt him briefly squeeze your fingers before letting go.

“Come now, I’ve got business to attend to,” he beckoned for you to follow him and it took you a second to come out of your stupor due to everything that has happened in the last fifteen minutes before you rose up from the chair and walked a little behind him, out of the warehouse.

It had been a month since that day in the warehouse. You hadn’t seen your fiancé or any of the Billy Boys since then, but you also rarely went out of the Shelby house (other than to go to the Garrison). And on the rare occasions you did, two Blinders were following close behind you to make sure nothing happened to you. You still felt greatly in debt to Tommy for taking you under the Peaky Blinders’ protection, so instead of doing nothing while you waited for any “undercover mission”, you helped down at the betting den. You liked how lively it was there, you had never worked in a place like that before and the constant rush helped you take your mind off your worrying situation. You hadn’t seen any of the Billy Boys but that didn’t mean they had left town, you knew they wouldn’t back down until they have what they came for: you.

Working in the den for the last month has helped you make your place in the gang. You spent a lot of your days alongside John Shelby and Scudboat, and they would drag you with them to the Garrison where you played drinking games and got drunk like you used to do when you were younger. You now considered the Shelby family your friends. Arthur and John were like the brothers you wished you had, Polly was a nice woman to have around in this environment full of men, and Finn, sweet Finn, his childish innocence might be fading away as time went by, but playing with him was like a breath of fresh air in your stressful life.

Tommy… Well, Tommy was Tommy. He was hard to read, hard to open up, but he was slowly starting to warm up to you. It was a bit awkward at first, living with him, but one night a little after you moved in, the two of you shared a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen, barely speaking any words but both comfortable with the silence. It soon became a part of your daily routine. Some evenings were short, Tommy would only stay for one glass before retreating to bed, while other evenings, when he was in a better mood, you would go through an entire bottle and talk for what seemed like hours. You did most of the talking, but Tommy would share some of his thoughts, maybe even some anecdotes. You loved the stories of his childhood, about all the mischief he, Arthur and John would put the people of Small Heath through. And Tommy, he loved listening to you.

You liked the life you were building for yourself in Birmingham, amongst the Peaky Blinders. You never thought you would one day leave your small village up north, where life was dull and horrible with your brother. Your mother died while giving birth to you and both your father and your brother resented you for that. Your childhood was pretty rough, it wasn’t rare that you’d show up to school with bruises, it didn’t matter who they were from. Then your brother went up north to Glasgow, and for a while it was a blessing, to no longer have to worry about what he would do to you. But three months ago, he came back and with him was Brennan. They dragged you up to Glasgow for your wedding to this man you had never met before, you who had no say in this decision, and were forced to live with him. You couldn’t continue living like this, Brennan had you fearing for your life more than when you lived with your dad and brother. You didn’t stay for more than two weeks in Glasgow before you escaped in the middle of the night and ended up here, in Birmingham.

So to now find yourself, miles away from the nightmare that used to be your life, with the safety of the Peaky Blinders, it allowed you to imagine a future that wasn’t so miserable.

You were walking down to the Garrison once the betting den was closed, talking with Scudboat about the profits you had made that day while Billy Lovelock followed behind the two of you. You were deep in Peaky Blinders territory, less than five metres away from the entrance door to the pub, when a gun shot rang out.

You ducked in fear, hands covering your ears, and when you reopened your eyes that you didn’t know you had closed, you saw Billy laying on the ground out of the corner of your eye.

Oh no, you thought, this is it. They’ve found me.

“Come on! Come on!” Scudboat grabbed your elbow and dragged you towards the Garrison, but you hadn’t made more than three steps before your friend was shot in the leg, crumbling down. “Go inside!” He told you. “You’ll be safer!”

A part of you felt bad for leaving him and Billy out here, wounded and bleeding, but you knew the rest of the Peaky Blinders would be quick to come help them. You started running, which was a bit hard to do with the heels of your shoes sinking in the muddy, uneven ground with every step you took. Your fingers were inches from the door handle when you felt a strong grip on your shoulder pull you back and slam you hard against the wall, knocking your head against it in the process.

“Ya thought ya could run away from me? Eh, lass?” Your fiancé’s stinky breath wafted against your face. You scrunched up your nose in disgust.

“I don’t know, you didn’t find me for a while,” you sassily replied, pressing his buttons, and immediately regretted it. A sharp sting appeared on your left cheek before it registered that he had slapped you.

“Heard ye fucked Thomas Shelby for his protection,” he continued, resting his right forearm over your throat with a slight pressure. “I oughta cut his dick for that,” his left hand held your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, “and you, well, you’re in for a lot more than a beating once we’re out of ‘ere.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you Brennan,” you angrily spat through gritted teeth. “You’re in Peaky Blinders territory, they won’t let you get out of here with me. And I didn’t fuck Tommy Shelby, I didn’t need to fuck no one for protection.”

“What did I tell you about lying?” He screamed in your face, making you flinch.

With your eyes closed, you didn’t see Brennan reeling back his fist to punch you in the face but fortunately, the contact never came.

“HEY!” Scudboat yelled from where he was on the ground, gripping his wound to contain the bleeding. “Get your hands off of her you fuck!”

Brennan turned around to look at who was shouting orders at him. “And who the fuck are ya?!” He let go of you and stalked towards Scudboat, pulling his gun out of his coat.

You had an out. Your fiancé’s attention wasn’t on you. You could escape, find safety in the Garrison, but you knew how Brennan was. You couldn’t leave Scudboat alone, the man had become your friend over the last month and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing he had died because of you.

So you grabbed a shovel laying on the ground a few metres away and right as Brennan pointed his gun at Scudboat, you whacked him behind the head with your weapon, knocking him out right away. “Motherfucker,” you grumbled to the unconscious body and threw the shovel on the ground before kneeling next to Scudboat. “Are you alright?” You asked your friend, your hands hovering over his thigh where his blood kept oozing from the bullet hole.

“I’m fine Y/N, get inside,” Scudboat waved you off.

“What about Billy?” You glanced up to where the strong built man still laid on the ground, also unconscious.

“Don't worry about him, just get inside!” Scudboat shoved you away.

You did as you were told and sprinted to the Garrison. You pushed the door open only to be met with an empty pub. Your wide eyes roamed around the room. This isn't normal, you thought to yourself. There wasn't even a bartender behind the bar! Usually, around this time of the day, almost every seat should've been occupied, beers should’ve been poured, laughter should’ve been heard. But nothing.

You walked towards the snug, where Tommy and his brothers could usually be found, but instead Jimmy McCavern, Callum Maxwell, Kenneth Morrow and Angus Burns were occupying the room, all four of them staring at you with that look in their eyes that made you want to run away as far from them as possible.

“Y/N, so nice of ye to join us,” Jimmy said, his voice sending chills down your back. He looked comfortable in his chair, with his arms crossed over his chest, almost relaxed, but you didn’t let your guard down.

“Where–”

“Where are the Peaky Blinders, ye ask?” He interrupted you. “They’re a wee bit busy right now, I’m afraid it’s only us.”

“Take a seat, darling, go on,” Angus told you, motioning to the empty chair in front of you.

You did as he said, your hands wringing together in your lap. You knew not to become all witty and sarcastic with these men, obeying them was always the best thing to do.

“So, hope ye had yer fun down here with Thomas Shelby,” Jimmy continued, uncrossing his arms to instead rest them in front of him on the table as he leaned closer to you, “because yer days of fun are over. You're coming back to Glasgow with us, married to Brennan like yer brother arranged.”

It was at this moment that you realised you couldn't escape the Billy Boys. You had been so foolish to think you could leave them in the past, that you started imagining a future without Brennan. The Peaky Blinders could not protect you, you had been foolish to think otherwise.

But still, you weren’t going to lose without putting up a fight.

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m not marrying Brennan.”

“Ye don’t have a choice lass, yer brother promised yer hand,” Callum said.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You asked angrily, tears pooling in your eyes. “This is not my debt, it’s his! You can kill him for all I care, he never cared about me so why should I care about him!?”

“A deal was made, ye can’t back out of a deal with the Billy Boys,” Kenneth said, his eyes telling you to stop arguing.

“No!” You slammed your hands on the table and stood up. “I’m not going. I’m not marrying Brennan. I refuse. This isn’t my deal!”

“Don't make this worse for ye, lass,” Angus warned you, also standing up.

“Fuck you!” You spat and took off in a run, escaping through the back door of the Garrison.

You knew the four men were on your tail, you could hear their heavy footsteps behind you. You tried to remember the directions Tommy had given you to Jeremiah Jesus’ church as you sprinted down the dirty streets and alleys. He had told you to hide there if you ever needed to, and since Jeremiah didn’t partake in the Peaky Blinders’ activities, the chances he would be there were quite high and, honestly, your last hope to survive.

Gunshots started ringing against the brick walls, luckily for you all the bullets flew past you since none of the four men were able to perfectly aim while running. You turned left at a corner and Jeremiah’s church was finally in your vision field, less than a few blocks down. Jimmy and the others still had yet to turn the corner of the street, so you took this advantage to go down a small alley, knowing it would lead to the back door of the church.

You stumbled in the place of worship, out of breath, and Jeremiah came out from the back office to see what the commotion you had created was about.

“Y/N, are you alright dear?” He asked you, helping you walk inside while your left hand clutched at your chest.

You shook your head ‘no’. “The Billy… The Billy Boys… They found me,” you wheezed out.

Jeremiah’s eyes widened at the urgency of the situation. “Come with me, there’s a trap where you can hide in my office.”

The priest led you to the back, closing his office door behind him before moving the rug behind his desk, revealing a trapdoor. He unlocked the latch and lifted the door. “Hurry, get in,” he waved with his free hand.

You lowered yourself in the hole, sitting down in the small space, and looked back up at Jeremiah.

“Do you have a gun on you?” He asked you.

You shook your head ‘no’. “I was with Scudboat and Billy Lovelock, we were on our way to the Garrison. There was no need for one,” you answered.

Jeremiah motioned for you to hold the door open over your head while he rummaged around his office. “Tommy always keeps a gun in here just in case,” he explained to you as he continued his search. “You can never know when it’ll come in handy around here– Ah! There it is!”

He crouched down and handed you a pistol. “I’ll try to keep them out if they come around. Stay safe.”

You nervously gulped before nodding your head. “You too, Jeremiah.”

The priest smiled, an attempt to make you feel slightly better in the situation you were in, and closed the door above you. You heard him lock the latch and replace the rug above the trap.

You remained there for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds you could hear were your nervous, laboured breaths and the gun slightly shaking in your hands. You were about to start praying – you never really believed in God after everything you had been through, but what better place to turn to Him than in a church – when you heard the door to the office open, followed by the sound of feet walking on the floor. Scared, you held your breath and willed your hands to stop shaking as you got in position, gun pointed up and ready to shoot.

The rug was moved and the latch was unlocked. You could feel the beating of your heart grow faster and faster as the seconds went by. The door was pulled open and, upon seeing the gun pointed at him, Tommy raised one hand up while the other lowered the door on the floor.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, raising his other hand up, showing you that he was no threat. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just me.”

When your brain registered that the face in front of you was the one of Thomas Shelby, you let down your arms and sighed in relief.

“Oh Tommy!” You cried out. You dropped the gun on the ground while you stood up and wrapped your arms around Tommy’s neck, bringing him in an unexpected hug.

Tommy was surprised at first, but Scudboat had told him what happened outside of the Garrison and he had received a phone call from Johnny Dogs informing him that Jimmy McCavern and his goons were in town, so he held you against him, trying to comfort you as best he could.

“You're safe now,” he reassured you, his right hand scrunching your hair as it held your head. “They’re gone now, Jimmy’s gone, Brennan’s gone.”

You pulled away, your eyes red with tears. “What did you do to them?”

“I was able to strike a deal that they simply couldn’t refuse,” Tommy answered, his right hand now cupping your cheek. “They won’t bother you again Y/N, not ever.”

Overcome with a wave of strong emotions, you shocked both Tommy and yourself when you leaned forward and kissed him. It didn’t last more than a second for you pulled back right after, bringing your hands in front of your mouth as you gasped. “I’m so sorry Tommy, I don’t know what–”

“It’s alright,” Tommy interrupted you, shaking his head. “Let’s get you out of there, yeah?”

You nodded your head, still embarrassed of your actions, and picked up the gun before grabbing the hand Tommy held out for you. He helped you out of the trap and closed the door behind you while you stood up and put the gun on Jeremiah’s desk. When you turned around to face Tommy again, you found him mere inches away from you. Your breath hitched in your throat, you had never been this close to him before, except when you first met, when he interrogated you while you were tied up to a chair. You looked up at him, his unreadable icy blue eyes staring right back at you, and he was the one to surprise you by closing the distance between the two of you, his lips finding yours again.

Your eyes fluttered close by themselves as you lost yourself in the kiss, your hands finding their place at the base of his neck while his right hand cupped your cheek and his left one held you flush against him by the waist. It was no secret that Thomas Shelby was pretty to look at, but you never really thought about him in a romantic way before. That being said, there was no bone in your body opposed to kissing him. Actually, it even started up a fire inside you, one that you were too preoccupied to acknowledge right now.

Tommy broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours as you both took some deep breaths. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he said with his deep, low voice. “I’m glad they didn’t take you away from me.”

He never told anyone because he wouldn’t even let himself admit it, but Tommy had grown comfortable with your presence in the house. After what Grace did to him, he promised himself he would only focus on the business and his family, but his attachment for you came rather unexpectedly, just like your entrance in his life did. Still, he didn’t want to act on it, whether it was because of fear or because of disinterest in wanting some romantic relationship, he didn’t want to ponder on it too long. But after what happened today, when he heard your fiancé and Jimmy McCavern would try taking you back to Glasgow, he realised he would regret it for the rest of his life if you were gone without him having the chance to pursue anything.

You looked up at him, brushing his nose with yours as you moved your head. “Me too,” you whispered. “Thank you Tommy, for everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, brushing your hair with his hand that previously held your waist. “Just, just stay with me. Don’t leave.”

The vulnerability in his voice made you smile, he had never been so open with you before. “I didn’t plan on leaving anyway,” you answered and kissed him again, safe in his arms.