#They want us to look good and be successful and never complain

[clandestinedmeetings]

May I request a hurt/comfort fic with smut? Where reader is insecure of herself due to some hateful comments or rude 'friends' and Leon swoops in and treats her like the princess she is!

AHHHH this was funnnnnnnnnnn. Had to throw in a lil friends to lovers, too, because I am... such a sucker for it.

Lmk if you want me to change anything, and need more hurt! I'm happy to edit to make it closer to what you envisioned :) <3

Constructive criticism is /always/ appreciated, too! If there's something you think could be better, please don't hesitate to let me know! I'm always looking for way to improve my writing~

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Leon Kennedy x f!reader

Synopsis: Reader returns home one evening feeling distraught over recent events. Leon lends a listening ear (and then some).

Tags: 18+ (smut), MDNI, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, roommate!Leon, AFAB reader, cunnilingus, p in v, alcohol consumption

WC: 5,044

A/N: Take a shot (of water, if you're under the legal drinking age) every time I use celestial imagery in my writing. I need new similes/metaphors, goddammit.

Read on Ao3!

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Leon’s never been good with words. 

He’d actually go so far as to say that he’s bad with them—abysmal, even. The most he can usually muster in tense situations is a terse, “Okay,” and an awkward shuffle of his feet. His jokes suck, too, which leaves him with only the talent to dig himself into deeper holes, blush furiously, and pray that people find him charming enough to overlook his utter lack of social skills. 

This tactic had only really worked in his favor once. 

This tactic had only really worked on you. 

He’d met you four years ago at Claire’s 21st birthday party. She’d held it at a bar not too far from home, invited all of her friends, and conveniently omitted that he’d be the only guy in attendance. When he pulled her aside, when he’d hissed and complained and anger had gripped at his chest, she’d pouted. And that was enough to assuage his frustration. 

“They’re great girls, Leon, one of them ought to catch your eye.” 

Leon had rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker, Claire.” 

“Because you’ve had so many successful dates recently,” she’d said sardonically with her hand on her hip. 

No arguing there; his love life had been about as bleak as his platonic social life as of late. The girls he met were either off-put by his awkward demeanor or willing to overlook it, but only in it for sex. The latter wasn’t too bad, he figured, but not what he was looking for, either. In fact, Leon wasn’t sure he even wanted a relationship. He just wanted someone with whom he could laugh. It’d been a while since he’d laughed.

“Claire,” he sighed, “I’m not—“

“—looking for that, yeah. Whatever, Leon. Talk to them. Maybe you’ll find a roommate, then. Solve another one of your many problems.” 

Not a terrible point, but not a good one either. Claire didn’t want to hear that, though. Especially on her birthday.

His roommate moved out a few weeks ago. The first of the month was coming soon. He could afford to pay for one month in full but he’d need a new roommate soon. He’d sulked over to the bar in resignation, ordered a bourbon (neat) and sipped on it while watching from afar. He checked his watch — 30 more minutes, and he could go home. He hadn’t gotten any hits on his ad  yet. Maybe his it needed updating. Maybe he should rewrite it. 

“We can’t both leave at the same time, you know.” 

Leon turned to his left to see you perched on a barstool, espresso martini in hand. You looked positively bored, your face drained of all color, though he couldn’t deny that the fluorescent neon lights overhead suited you. Cute, he thought, pretty.Very pretty. 

Maybe the ad could wait. 

“What makes you think I’m trying to leave?” 

You’d given him a pointed look before taking a sip of your drink. He’d chuckled, “Okay, who do you suggest leave first then?”

“Me, obviously.” 

He’d taken the seat next to yours, one hand in his jacket pocket. “That desperate to get out?” 

“Kinda,” you muttered with a smile. “And I’ve been here longer than you have so it’d be unfair if you got to leave first.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” you’d echoed. 

End of conversation, clearly, but you hadn’t moved. You’d stayed put. You’d angled your legs toward him; he’d mirrored the action. You refrained from ordering a second drink, he did as well. And he was surprised at how comfortable it was, sitting with you like this. Quiet, brushing knees every so often. 

“You have any jokes, stranger?” you’d asked. 

His lips had curled into a smile. “Aside from the fact that Claire only invited me to hook her up with one of her single friends and didn’t tell me until I showed up? Yeah, I got plenty.” 

“Oh, so you’re Leon,” you’d laughed. “She told me about you.” 

Leon flushed a horrific shade of crimson. “Christ,” he muttered, “That’s… humiliating.” 

“It isn’t,” you placated with a mirthful smile, “I promise. She only had nice things to say.” 

“A pleasure to have in class, I’m sure,” Leon quips. He unstuck his feet from the bar floor with a frown. He nearly gagged at the sound it made. 

You’d giggled at that. “Something like that.” 

“What’s your verdict? Was she truthful or was she Claire about it?” he’d asked. 

You’d mulled over this question with a down-turned smile. He liked the way you smiled. He liked the way your eyes gleamed underneath the blue light bathing the bar. “Very truthful, unfortunately,” you admitted without making eye contact. 

Leon stifled a smile of his own and chose to focus on keeping his feet from staying on one place for too long lest they get glued to the filthy floor once more. He’d looked up at you, and had been surprised to find you already eyeing him. 

“Why unfortunately?” 

“Because I’m not looking for anything serious. Or at all, really.” 

That had been unfortunate. You’d divulged that you’d recently gotten out of a tumultuous long-term relationship, and that you were in search for a new place to live. The apartment you two had shared was under his name so you were crashing at Claire’s until something became available. 

“I’m looking for a roommate,” he’d blurted out before he could even consider the implications. You’d furrowed your brows, taken aback by his brazenness, but your surprise quickly melted into acceptance. 

You swallowed a sip of your drink and asked, “Are you a clean person?” 

“Obsessively so.” 

“And you’re not the ‘I can fix her’ type?” 

Leon had laughed at that. “Not much of a handyman, really.” 

“Serial killer? Sexual deviant?”

“No, and I guess that depends on what you consider deviant.” 

The rightmost corner of your mouth curled into a lopsided smile. You drained the remnants of your drink, placed the martini glass on the granite bar top, and asked, “When can I move in?”

When you both reflect on this meeting now, you laugh at the eagerness with which you’d accepted his proposal. You chastise yourself for jumping the gun, for taking his answers at face value because yeah, choosing to move in with a total stranger was foolish. But in the four years since, you’d never come to regret your decision to move in with Leon.

He was terribly respectful of your space, even early on when you’d spend most of your nights crying and lamenting on your past relationship. He’d made popcorn and sat on the couch sharing a bottle of wine with you when you needed support. When you told him you’d expected a proposal on the night your boyfriend had broken up with you, he’d balked. 

Leon opened up to you quickly, too. It wasn’t long before he told you all about his parents’ deaths and unstable upbringing. You told him about your turbulent relationship with your family. You’d commiserated over feelings of worthlessness, abandonment, and isolation. And when the ice cream ran low, you’d both hop in your car and argue in whispered shouts over which flavor to get at the grocery store.

Leon was, for all intents and purposes, your best friend. And you were his. 

In you, he’d found a confidant. In you, he’d found someone who listened and cared and never failed to make him feel seen. In you, he’d found someone who could make him laugh. God, it felt so fucking good to laugh this consistently. It’s therefore safe to say that he’s smitten — that he’s been smitten since he first met you at Claire’s birthday—but he’d never act on it, not unless he was certain you felt same, even if it kills him.

And it does kill him. 

It kills him to see you date other guys. It kills him to see you go through breakups. Most of all, it kills him to see your light dim whenever you’re made to doubt yourself. To Leon, you’re radiant. You’re brilliant and bright, a sparkling star in an otherwise blackened night. You gleam when you smile, you twinkle when you laugh. You hung the moon, as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t understand how you could think any differently. 

But you do. Not frequently, but life gets to you sometimes. 

Tonight is one of those times.

It’s Friday. Leon is laying down with his foot propped on the back of your shared velvet couch, nursing a glass of whiskey and reading the last few chapters of his book when he hears you barge through the door. It closes with a slam. He sits up abruptly, nearly spilling the amber liquid all over his white t-shirt, as you pad down the hall. 

“Hey,” you huff, plopping down beside him and snatching the glass out of his hand. You down its contents without pretense, gagging as it burns your throat. Leon’s brows knit together in concern as he takes the glass from your hands. He gently lowers it onto the glass coffee table. You hand him a coaster without looking at him. He stifles a chuckle, and slides it under the glass. Your nose is rubbed raw, he realizes. Your eyes are bloodshot. You’d been crying for a while. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you whisper.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he mumbles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

“No, there has to be something wrong with me, Leon,” you insist, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes. Static dances behind your lids. You wish it would swallow you whole, wish yourself to be consumed by numbness rather than whatever this fucking feeling is. “This is the fourth fucking time,” you sob, “the fourth fucking time this month I’ve all but been told I’m worthless.” 

“What’re you talking about?”

You take a shuddering sigh before slouching into the couch cushions, palms still pressed to your lids. “My coworkers spoke over every fucking idea I had at our sprint this morning. Then my mom brought up my ex again, and said he would’ve proposed if I’d been more agreeable — can you believe that?” 

Your ex-boyfriend. The one you’d expected to propose. Still a sore spot, but not for the reasons one would expect — you aren’t in love with him anymore, you don’t spare him a second thought most months. You hate his guts; Leon hates him, too. The fact that your mother was still bringing him up years after the fact is cruel, though expected at this point. Doesn’t make it any less hurtful, though, Leon knows that. 

“I can, unfortunately,” he commiserates, slumping down beside you. “Your mom’s a bitch.”

“God, she really fucking is,” you groan loudly. “And to make matters worse,” you continue, flipping onto your side to better face him, “remember that guy I went out with two nights ago?” 

Leon crinkles his nose, “V-Neck?” 

“Yeah, he told me I was a ‘waste of time’ and ‘boring’ because I didn’t like Fight Club.”

“Let me guess, Tyler Durden—“

“—is his favorite character,” you finish with an exasperated cry. Leon can’t help but laugh at that. The guy was a tool; Leon clocked it as soon as he showed up in jeans and a v-neck to pick you up for your date. 

You start to cry again. “God, Leon, I’m so sick of this shit. I’m so sick of feeling like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m fundamentally broken. Like everyone would like me better if I weren’t me. Because when I was with my ex, I was… nothing. I was nothing. I laughed when I didn’t think he was funny. I pretended to like football, I pretended to like the gold fucking jewelry he gave me even though I never wear anything but platinum! It felt like I was giving away parts of myself every time I lied just to appease him.” 

You pause to catch your breath.. “And I get spoken over all the time at work. I’m exhausted. I feel like it’s wrong for me to take up space and I feel like all of my opinions are wrong and God, I just wish I weren’t me anymore.” You’re practically shouting now, rivulets of tears streaming down your face and soaking your plush sweater. 

“God,” you whisper. You cover your eyes with your forearms. Leon doesn’t quite know what to say, so he remains quiet. The room is filled with the sound of your sobs. 

He inhales through his nose then mutters, “I think you’re perfect.” 

“What?” you croak. 

“Nothing,” he sighs. He didn’t realize he’d said that aloud. 

You wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “No,” you say, “What did you say?” 

Leon sucks on his teeth before answering. He wrings his hands before repeating, “I think you’re perfect.” 

“No you don’t,” you scoff.

“I do, actually. And I think you deserve way more than these asshole guys you choose to date can give you. And I think your mom’s a bitch who needs to forget about your ex because that guy was a fucking asshole who took you for granted, too. And your coworkers hardly have a braincell to share between them, so I wouldn’t take what they say to heart in the slightest.” 

You’re stunned by his outburst, by the reddening of his cheeks and clenched jaw. “Leon—“ 

“I’m not finished,” he huffs, sitting up and turning to face you. “I’m… Look, I’m sorry, but I’m so sick of hearing about people treating you like shit. I’m so sick of you coming home in tears and I’m so sick of listening to your insecurities.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a goddamn burden to you, Leon—“

“No—shit—that’s not what I meant,” he clarifies, taking your hands in his. “I don’t mean that I hate listening to you or talking you through it. I mean that…” 

“You mean that what?” 

“I mean that I just…. wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” he whispers.

You swallow thickly before asking, “How do you see me, Leon?” 

Leon looks up to the ceiling now, a mirthless smile on his face. He thought about how it would feel to confess his feelings to you, but never about how he would actually do it. He’d resolved to take them to his grave, actually. You meant too much to him; he couldn’t lose you. But Leon has said so much already, and there’s really no going back at this point, is there? 

“Like you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever fucking met, sweetheart, and I don’t just mean that in a platonic sense.” 

A breath catches in your throat. Your stomach drops, your lungs feel like they’re collapsing in your chest. Leon licks his lips before continuing, “You’re… so fucking brilliant, you know that? You’re intelligent and kind and thoughtful and god, you’re so fucking pretty it makes it hard for me to breathe sometimes.” 

Tears well in your eyes again. A sob threatens to rack your chest but you suppress it only to hear him continue. 

“And to make matters worse, you’re a terrific fucking listener. You care and love more deeply than anyone. You make everyone feel seen. You just… “ he stops only to consider his next few words. With an exhale and a watery smile, he finishes: “You deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on, and doesn’t let a day go by without reminding you how loved you are.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair, breathless and nauseous and uncertain if the pain in his chest is a burgeoning heart attack or deep-seated panic bubbling to the surface. Leon wonders if you’d judge him for throwing up right now. It would certainly ruin his chances with you permanently, not that he had one to begin with. 

But then he feels your hand cradle his cheek. And he feels you turn his face toward yours. And he feels your lips — soft, plush, tasting vaguely of the cherry chapstick you’d let him borrow whenever he needed it — on his. 

Leon freezes, unsure how to respond. Does he kiss you back? Are you drunk and that’s why you’re kissing him? You’re clearly vulnerable — maybe it’s that. 

You press your forehead to his after pulling away. “S-sorry,” you stammer, “I just— I’m— that was—“ 

“N-no, it’s okay—“

“I’m so—“ you interrupt yourself by kissing him again. Leon reciprocates this time, though he does so with some hesitation. His hand cups the back of your head; you take it as a sign to lean further into him, to take handfuls of his shirt and pull you to him. When you break away, the sky parts and you’re awash with a sense of clarity. 

“Leon,” you sigh, “Leon, do you really mean all of that?” 

“Every fucking word,” he breathes. 

“You’re not just saying that because you’ve been drinking whiskey and you think I’m sad and vulnerable and want to take advantage of me?” 

He barks out a laugh. “No, I’m not and that glass that you finished was actually my first.” 

“And by saying all of this, are you saying you’re willing to be that person?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he chuckles, holding the hand tangled in his t-shirt. You release your grip with a chuckle of your own before looking away bashfully. He gently strokes his thumb over the back of your hand. 

You look down at your feet; he looks down at your feet, too. “So,” you say after a while, “you think you can fuck better than they can, too?” 

Leon tosses his head back and laughs heartily. You can’t help but laugh, too, loving the timbre of his joy. He stands, and offers you a hand. You take it with a giggle, standing to your full height to meet him. With a wolfish grin, Leon throws you over his shoulder. You shriek with delight at the suddenness of the gesture, but don’t fight as he carries you to your bedroom and drops you onto your plush queen-sized bed. 

He’s on you within seconds, dazzling white smile plastered on his golden skin as he kisses you. You smile as you kiss him, too. There’s something tender about the way Leon kisses you, like you’ll break under his touch. It’s different, you think, brand new. Gentle. Sweet. Caring. Even as his hands snake up your sweater to settle along your waist. 

You gasp as his calloused fingers rub loose circles along your ribcage. He trails kisses along your jaw and down the column of you throat, pausing only to suck at your pulse point and collarbone. You grab fistfuls of his shirt and move to tug it over his head. His belt is next. Then your sweater.  And before long, you’re pressed flushed against him and savoring the warmth of his skin. 

“God, you really are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers in your ears, voice low and gravelly with lust. You arch into him again, begging that he resume his kisses along your neck. He obliges —of course he obliges— and when he reaches your breasts, he looks up at you through thick lashes. 

It takes you a second to realize that he’s waiting for your consent to continue. Tears well in your eyes once more, both at the revelation that no one had ever been considerate enough to pause and ask for something as simple as this and that he did so without prompting. You give him an enthusiastic nod. He smiles and presses a genial kiss on your breastbone in thanks before taking a pert nipple into his mouth. 

You mewl at the sensation of his tongue lapping loving circles around your nipples, at the feel of his hand cupping your other breast and rolling its peak between his index and thumbs. His name slips from your mouth; he moans in response. 

“Shit, baby, say my name again,” he rasps. 

“Leon,” you keen as he sucks at your breast. He groans again, shutting his eyes as he savors the cadence with which you mutter his name. 

He’s desperate to hear it again, to hear it screamed in ecstasy, to hear it whispered lowly in his ear. Anything. He just needs you. 

He trails kisses down your torso. You move sinuously beneath him, eagerly anticipating the featherlight kisses he places on your hip bones. On your inner thighs. On your dripping cunt. You spread your legs for him; an invitation of the sweetest kind. You knot your fingers in his hair as he begins his ministrations, his tongue lapping at your pussy from entrance to apex. He lingers along your clit, drawing lazy concentric circles around it until you’re brimming with desire. 

“Please, Leon,” you beg, “more.” 

His chuckle is low and dark. It reverberates through your core, heating and cooling the coil tightening painfully within your lower abdomen. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, sweetheart. Let me take my time.” 

You arch into him, eyes wide with disbelief. “A l-long time?” 

Leon gives you an affirmative hum. You whimper as his fingertips dig into your thighs, as he drags you closer to his mouth with calloused hands. “A long fucking time,” he emphasizes before burying his face into your cunt. 

You moan at the feel of his lips, his nose, his tongue licking and sucking and savoring the ichor between your legs. He alternates between the flat and tip of his tongue. He nips at your clit. He gently prods your core with his tongue before slipping inside and coaxing forth a shattering, breathtaking orgasm. 

He holds you tightly in place, devouring you so wholly through and past your climax. It’s overwhelming, asphyxiating, beautiful and damned and in your fractured consciousness, you wonder why you didn’t succumb to these desires sooner. 

It’d be dishonest to deny your initial and longstanding attraction to Leon Kennedy. You’d withheld your curiosity as a matter of self-preservation — you can’t lose another friend to sex, you can’t lose another living arrangement. But that didn’t stop you from fantasizing about it at night. And in the morning. And whenever he’d walk around your shared apartment shirtless or in his gray sweatpants or when he held you when you cried. 

Stupid, you think now, stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Your own hands don’t even come close to comparing to the feel of him. At this point, you’re certain there’s no going back, either. You need more. You need more now or you’ll go insane. 

“Leon, please.” 

He rises to his knees, pink tongue swiping across his plush lips to consume as much of you as possible. His hands, so large and strong, rub the tops of your thighs. “Please what?” 

“Fuck me. Now.” 

He clenches his jaw in frustration. He so desperately wants to keep you like this, wants to take his time, wants to bring you to orgasm with his tongue and fingers at least thrice more before he allows himself to fuck you properly, but he can’t. He knows he can’t, not when you look like this: skin feverish, pupils blown wide, fingers knotted tightly in bedsheets as a means to keep yourself tethered. 

“Condom?”

“Top drawer,” you choke out, gesturing to the nightstand to your left. 

He scrambles to extract one from the back most corner of the drawer, and tears into the aluminum packaging with his teeth. You sit up, hands greedily tugging at the waistband of his boxer briefs, and take his hardened cock in your hands. 

A delicious, gravelly moan slips through his lips as you stroke him from base to tip. Your ministrations are slow, painstaking, and Leon’s finding it harder and harder to keep his resolve. His hand reaches for your throat. It startles you at first, but your eyes roll back as he tightens his grip ever so slightly. 

“How do you want it?” He asks

Your response comes out airy, breathless, needy: “I don’t fucking care.” 

“On your back then.” 

And you oblige, but not before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of you. He smells of cloves and ginger, all warmth and spice, and it’s so intoxicating you wrap your legs around his torso to pull him closer, closer, closer.

He litters your neck with wet kisses, leaving light bruises in his wake. You’d mind if you didn’t have all weekend to help them heal. You’d mind if this weren’t the first time in a while that you’ve felt yourself grow so slick with need that you’re surely dampening the plush covers adorning your bed. You’d mind if they weren’t coming from him. 

From his eager mouth.

From his generous tongue. 

From his fevered kisses. 

You angle your neck to grant him further access; he accepts it with genuine appreciation. 

You whine as his kisses slow, as he takes his time peppering the column of your neck, your décolletage, your breasts. And you’re so preoccupied with the way he sets your skin ablaze that the feel of his cock penetrating your core takes you by sweet surprise. 

He smiles into his next series of kisses, grows harder as you arch into him and dig your fingernails into his back. He allows you to adjust to his size before moving.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he rasps in your ear. It sends ripples of want through your system. “So fucking tight, sweetheart.” 

“Leon,” you whine again, gyrating in desperation for release. 

Stars flit across your vision as he adopts a rhythmic pace. He’s slow at first, soft as you acclimate, but as soon as your teeth sink into the flushed skin of his shoulder and he recognizes the hunger in your eyes, he smirks. 

“I won’t hold back, you know,” he teases.

“I don’t want you to.” 

“Better fucking hold on then.” 

You open your mouth, snarky retort on the tip of your tongue, but a lascivious moan takes its places as Leon’s hips slam into yours. His pace is bruising, rapid, and deep. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix, triggering white spots to bleed into your vision. You close your eyes, you toss your head back into the pillow, you claw at him for purchase. When you exalt his name, it comes out stuttered, choked, garbled behind a stream of curses and erotic sighs. 

He presses his forehead to yours. Your lips manage to find his even through your euphoric fog. It’s difficult to maintain with the way he fucks you, so he cradles your cheek with one hand to keep you steady. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby,” he mumbles into your lips, “so fucking beautiful.” 

You bite his lip; he slips his tongue into your mouth. You taste his whiskey again, bitter and smokey, and moan as the tip of his cock pressurizes your g-spot. You’re close to coming undone, close to bathing in rapture, and you can’t help but feel disappointed for succumbing so soon —you wish you could stay like this forever. 

Thought that disappointment quickly dissipates as your orgasm snaps. You’re engulfed in waves of pleasure so sinful, so profoundly exhilarating. You cum with his name on your lips, and in ecstasy, it evolves into something deeper. An exaltation. A sacred prayer. An incantation summoning forth years of denied attraction. A testament to his patience. 

You come undone before him, vulnerable and raw, and he kisses you again because he’s so grateful that you’ve allowed him to see you like this. Keeping his eyes open as he approaches his own climax is challenging, but ultimately worthwhile because he swears he’s never seen anything—anyone—so beautifully and perfectly crafted for him in his life. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m—“

“Cum for me, Leon. Cum inside me.” 

And now it’s your name that’s ripped from his throat, your name interlaced with prayers and enveloped in the sanctity of his climax. You wrap your legs more tightly around his torso, bringing him closer still. His head drops, forehead meeting yours, as he comes to. 

It takes you both a minute or so to catch your breaths. You pant into each other, remain tangled in your sheets as you bask in the aftermath. 

You expect shame to blossom in your chest. You expect regret, too, but neither come. Instead, you’re filled with a sense of belonging that is only further reinforced when you look into his irises. You dive headfirst into crystalline pools, so warm and inviting, and recognize that it should always feel like this. 

“You okay?” He asks between breaths. 

“Extraordinary,” you pant, “you?” 

“Never been better.”

He presses his forehead to yours, a delightful chuckle racking his chest. It’s hard not to laugh, too, hard not to pull him into a tighter hug. You’d hugged a million times before—he’s always been quite liberal with his affections—and a small piece of you always wondered what it would be like to do so in this capacity. It is, of course, better than anything you could have possibly imagined. 

You grab his face, and pull him into a soft, loving kiss. It’s deep this time, sweet and passionate and above all else, familiar. He scoops you into his lap after he pulls out. He kisses your head, your cheeks, your lips. He holds you, rubs soothing circles along your thighs, whispers sweet nothings in your ear. 

“So,” Leon asks after a while, “verdict? Better than those other guys?” 

“So much fucking better, unfortunately.” 

Leon looks down at your quizzically, “Why unfortunately?”

“Because I actually am looking for something serious now.” 

“So am I,” he blurts out. 

You lean back to get a better look at his face then purse your lips and ask, “Are you a clean person?” 

“Obsessively so,” he quotes, beaming at the memory of the night he first met you.

“And you’re not the ‘I can fix her’ type?” 

Leon laughs again, “Still not much of a handyman, really.” 

“Are you a serial killer,” you ask between kisses, “or sexual deviant?”

“No and only if you’re into that.” 

You wrap a gentle hand around the nape of his neck, and bring his lips down to yours. After a dizzying, passionate kiss, you press your forehead to his and ask, “Where do I sign up?”

And Leon realizes that he may not be so bad with words after all.

[missshame]

My parents made me tell them how I feel and then they got mad and told me to get some help

[hairmetal666]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Separate Yandere Malleus (Hubby), Rook (Hubby), Leona (Lazy), Jamil (Babygirl), Azul (Babygirl), Jade (Menace), Floyd (Menace) and Sebek x Female!Tanjiro Reader SFW and NSFW please?

She’s kind, helpful and supportive, always willing to help others and she doesn’t expect anything in return? How cute (Naive), and after getting a taste of her kindness and care, he’s not going to let her go (And is now very territorial/protective of his soon-to-be wife/wifey)

Why can I see Floyd saying ‘Wifey’? (Rook would just make poems upon poems about how much he loves calling her his ‘Darling’ or ‘Wife’ and would violently tremble in joy if she just looks at him Top Tier Romantic/Stalker)

Sorry if that’s a lot, I’m a little knew to asking about Smut Requests (But I love my Twst Men so much, especially Malleus, Idia, Rook, Jamil and Azul, they just need hugs)

This is SMUT, and consensual, despite being Yandere.

Warnings: Yandere, Stockholm Syndrome(?), naive reader, creampie, breeding(?), unprotected sex, all characters are adults, sex with the intention of having children, slight dumbification, Malleus has 1 dick (sorry monsterfuckers), somnophilia in Malleus’s

Leona Kingscholar

You supported him even in his darkest moments, no matter if he was rude to you back. You were there, and the way you would take Cheka when he wasn’t feeling super great really had him appreciating you in a way that he never thought he could before. So, once you had graduated, he asked you if you would marry him.

Of course, this comes from a much darker place in him. He was never going to let you go, even if you refused him. Luckily for him, though, you were in tears as you accepted his proposal, happy to be marrying the love of your life. You were wed rather quickly, with it being a small ceremony, and it was the first time you had seen Leona cry because you just looked so beautiful walking down the aisle. That moment was one you would cherish forever. 

Now, your wedding night was a different story. With how hard he was thrusting up into you, making you see stars. You could feel his cock pounding your insides, and you were thanking every god in existence that you married this man. You were two orgasms in already, and you were approaching a third, while he still had his first to go.

“Look at you, my naive herbivore being fucked dumb.” Just hearing those words made you falter and stutter your movements, but it didn’t stop Leona. He was making you ride him through your orgasm, and you were so sensitive. He let out a groan as he came inside you, saying, “I’m not stopping until you are filled with my cubs, baby, so you better keep going.”

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew you were the one when he showed you his cecaelia form for the first time. Instead of being disgusted or even afraid, you used a gentle hand as you played with the tentacles that were pulling you closer and closer. Eventually, you found yourself face-to-face with the Housewarden, and you threw your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a kiss. He immediately reciprocated, and he laid claim to you that night.

Years later, you both were married, and he was a successful business owner. You were in the upper-middle class of the ocean, and you both were talking about starting a family. You were already his housewife, keeping the house clean because you both agreed on it (and because he didn’t want you going anywhere that he didn’t have control over). 

You weren’t about to complain, though, because he had you in the missionary position. It’s a bit basic, but fuck did it feel good. He was desperate; desperate to fill you up, desperate for you to feel pleasure, desperate to push himself to another climax despite the overstimulation. Your legs locked around him as he started releasing ropes of cum inside you, and you had the orgasm of your life.

“I love you, honey~” Your voice was strained after about two hours of moaning. He laid down next to you, and you laid your head on his chest. He started drawing patterns on your back, and he said I love you in return. You leaned up and gave him a kiss on the lips, and then trailed it down his chest… lower and lower, until round 2 was started.

Jade Leech

You were his the day you burst into Azul’s office and demanded that your friends be let go of their contracts. Hardly anybody would have that amount of confidence, and he found himself obsessed. He’s stalking you, he’s making sure his brother knows that you are his territory and his alone. You could always smell that he was there, as he didn’t know about your keen sense of smell. But, you didn’t mind it.

Years later, you both were married, and it was an interesting marriage. Your in-laws absolutely adored you, Floyd tolerated you, and Jade was still as obsessed with you as he was back in your NRC days. In fact, he wanted to give you a reason to stay forever, so he brought up the idea of having kids. You had many siblings back in your home world, which you never found a way back to, so it was understandable that you would want a big family yourself.

So, that’s how you got here, you being folded in half, your legs being pressed to your shoulders as he pounded you into oblivion. For the past 4 hours, you have been in every conceivable position you can think of, and this was going to be your final one. If you wanted a big family, that is exactly what you were going to get.

“Darling, how many kids do you want? Do you have an exact number? Or am I going to fuck you and keep you full of children until you say that you don’t want anymore?” Just the thought of having so many kids made you orgasm. You realized that you wanted to be with this man for the rest of your life, and you wanted to be surrounded by a family that the both of you created, and you were definitely going to enjoy the process to achieve your newfound dream.

Floyd Leech

He claimed you as his also the day you walked into Azul’s office, as no one ever had the courage, bravery, or stupidity to do it. When he went to squeeze you, you wound back enough to headbutt him, making him drop you. From that point on, you had become his new obsession. You were the only one who could beat him in a fight, so it was kind of obvious that this would happen.

As much as you Floyd simps would probably want to be married to him, he’s just not that big on marriage. He’s not that big on commitment in general. However, he knows that he’s committed to you because he wants you to be committed to him. Plus, any thoughts against marriage flew out the window when he saw you stretching and yawning.

Hours later, your neck was covered in bite marks, some a bit bloody, but he just licked it all away as his cock was buried inside your cunt. He had cum inside you about 2 times by now, and your muscles were sore from being contorted into a multitude of different positions. He had a newfound need to make you his little wifey who was stuffed with his kids 24/7.

It wasn’t until there was a bit of a bulge in your stomach from all the cum he had released when he pulled out of you. You were on the verge of unconsciousness, but you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you close. His body was warm, the final lull to sleep that you needed. It was a rare but sentimental Floyd, where he watched you, in such a vulnerable state… marriage is the best option to make sure you are his.

Jamil Viper

You were the first thing he could actually call ‘his’. He did not have to give you to Kalim, and he was never going to let that happen. In fact, during his overblot, he made his feelings known to you by keeping you at his side. However, you wanted your Jamil, not the one controlled and bound by the ink. After, in the infirmary, he asked if what you said still rang true, and that was where you had your first kiss.

Skip to years later, and you both were married. He still works for the Al-Asim family, but you couldn’t ask for a better husband. He has told you about his hesitancy towards having children of his own, as they would most likely serve the Al-Asim family as well. You understood, but you still wanted to have children with him. He told you that you could have one child for now, and see where it went from there.

Round 1 started right then and there, in your kitchen. He bent you over the counter, railing you from behind. Before, whenever you both would have sex, he would use protection. This time, though, he went in raw, and it was the first time ever that you both truly felt each other, and damn did it feel euphoric. You couldn’t even think anymore.

Of course, this was not exactly a fitting place if you were going to conceive your first child. So, he picked you up into his arms and carried you to your shared bedroom once you had your first orgasm of the night. There were many more to come (get it?) and you were barely getting started. You will not be able to walk for two days, and you will be walking out with hickies… mostly in between your thighs.

Rook Hunt

When he first discovered you, he immediately started stalking you. However, he wrote you sonnets, limericks, and poetry of other sorts for your eyes and ears. He sang your praises, and to lastly win over your heart, he serenaded you properly, under your window. You told him to wait there, and you ran downstairs and glomped him, making out with him on the ground. If it weren’t for his desire to make your first time special, you would have probably conceived a child right then and there.

However, he did wait until marriage… which was less than a year after you graduated. He had a steady income, and he already had a cottage in the forest in the Shaftlands. He always had a fantasy of a big family in a cottage, being a hunter and having his beloved wife by his side as an equal in the home. He cherished you, making sure that he provided for you in every way you needed. You became a housewife, as you would like to be there to take care of your children.

Speaking of, not a single night has passed since your wedding night where you haven’t fucked like rabbits. Sure, you both were still young, but you had been talking about this since you both were in NRC. You felt like you were ready to take on the challenge of rabbits. So, every night, you were filled with his cum. You were claimed as his, with all the hickies all over your body, with the sinful stretch his cock always seemed to give you… it was heaven in Twisted Wonderland.

It did not come as a surprise that you fell pregnant merely a few weeks after your wedding. The news made your beloved hunter so excited. Now, you could never leave him for your world. You had children that tied you to him. During your pregnancy, he is a devoted lover. He makes sure all your needs are met, and that includes the needs that are in the bedroom.

Malleus Draconia

You were his first friend outside of his retainers. You showed him kindness, and you were not scared of him at all. That alone made his draconic instincts want to kidnap you and keep you all to himself. However, he was able to hold off just a little, and you came to him on your own. The rose you had presented him with remains preserved, even years later, as it is a token of your love for him. He was a bit delulu, but aren’t we all?

It was a big request to ask you to marry him, as you would become the queen of a great nation of mostly fae folk. However, you were up to the challenge, and the people loved you. However, there was great pressure for an heir. Again, you were up to the challenge, but you discussed it with your husband first. You both concluded on a large family, so that the children wouldn’t grow up isolated (and totally not because Malleus wanted to see you round over and over again).

That night, all the staff had been advised to vacate the corridor in which your shared chambers resided, as you were not able to quiet yourself. You went a total of 8 rounds, one of which you were passed out for, but gave him the ‘okay’ to fuck you through that brief nap. Any chance of walking was out of the question. You could barely lift your head, and you had to be tended to by maidservants for a week. Unfortunately, Malleus couldn’t tend to you himself, as being the King meant that he was busy.

The entire realm rejoiced at the news of your pregnancy, and you had the world’s best doctors at your disposal. Everyone was concerned about making sure that the heir survived to take the throne, but they were also a tad worried about them being half-fae and half-human, as it meant that their lifespan would be shorter than a typical fae’s. Neither you nor your husband cared, however, as you were just happy to start a new chapter of your lives together.

Sebek Zigvolt

His pride denied him the pleasure of accepting his feelings for you in the first place, and he instead wrote anonymous poems for you that he would leave at your desk. You had no idea who it could be, so when someone claimed it was them, Sebek shouted that it was he who wrote the poems and not the plagiarist. He looked like he was about to fight the poor unfortunate soul, but you placed a kiss on his cheek, telling him that you accepted his feelings and not the other person’s.

About the topic of marriage… he would prioritize being a knight first. However, when he sees a time in his career, he will definitely get married to you. He enjoyed that he was in Briar Valley often and he just needed to train new recruits, and he would return home to you cooking dinner. As for children, the topic would blurt out of his mouth as you voiced your sadness about being lonely. You loved the idea, and as irresponsible as it was, the way you looked at him with newfound dreams in your eyes, he carried you to the bedroom and started right away.

You had discovered that Sebek had a hidden breeding kink, and he loved seeing your face as he came inside you over and over. The husband you thought you knew was giving into the primal instincts deep within him, and you were loving it. His fangs had made their mark all over your neck and shoulders, claiming you despite the ring on your finger showing you were taken.

The Zigvolt family, as well as Lilia, Silver, and King Malleus, were all excited when you announced your pregnancy. However, only the two of you would know what sinful things took place for this to happen. Know that this is not your only child, even if you don’t actually have another one. He wants at least two, and he is willing to adopt.

[dollfacefantasy]

Wash His Hair

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: you wash leon's hair and try to help him unwind (fluff) (also, a tad hurt/comfort)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: inspired by this post from @peachscentedcandle cause it made me laugh. this post does reference the movie good will hunting, if you haven't seen it you should watch it! (after you read this of course ;) it's really good. but anyways, thank you so much for the support on my last posts (kissing u thru the phone if you reblogged or commented). as before, comments and reblogs are appreciated :) also, the divider is from here!

Leon had been exhausted lately. He tried to play it off, but you could tell. He was so much quieter since coming home from his last mission. He didn’t say much about it, but you knew it had been rough. It stretched longer than expected, and while it was a success in the end, there were some complications along the way that you knew he blamed himself for.

He’d walk around the apartment slower than usual with distance in his eyes. You tried getting him to talk about it, but he’d deny anything was wrong at all. It wasn’t like he wanted space though. You asked him if he’d like to do something to maybe get his mind off it, but all he wanted to do was relax in bed with you. Normally, you’d never complain about that; however, when you knew he was hurting, you couldn’t just push it aside. His avoidant nature was a little frustrating after a while, and if it was anyone else, you’d probably be fed up. But you knew he didn’t do it to be malicious.

You lie in bed with him, softly running your fingers through his hair. His cheek is pressed to your shoulder, his eyes staring at your bedroom wall. You try to watch him without being too obvious with your staring. Your hand on his head slides down to rub his back. You just wanted to help. You try to think of literally anything that might help get him out of this slump. You sit up a little in bed and he looks up at you to see the reason for your movement.

“I’m going to take a shower. How about you join me?” you say, breaking the silence.

It’s like you can see the excuse rising in his throat. The way he tenses a little and his eyes flit away. You could hear the thoughts in his head telling him to pull away and close the walls. Before he can, you speak.

“Please,” you say softly, trying to avoid sounding demanding, “It’ll let you unwind, Baby. I just want to help you. It will be quick and painless, I promise.” You give him a small smile, hoping to lighten his mood if only a little bit.

He looks at you for a moment more, the excuse sinking back down and the anxiety in his mind receding, before he nods. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees quietly.

It wasn’t a completely enthusiastic reaction, but it was a step in the right direction. Your smile widens, and you give him a quick peck on the forehead before you both roll out of bed. The air felt cool after being enveloped by blankets and Leon for the last few hours. You walk into the bathroom, turning the lights and the shower on. You rummage in the cabinet beneath your sink for anything that could make this even more relaxing for your boyfriend who undresses to the side of you as the water heats up.

Finally, you see a bag of shower steamers in the back. After taking one of the chalky pellets and placing it beneath the pouring water, you peel your clothes off. Leon’s gaze is fixed on your body, but there’s no lust in it right now. It’s pure adoration. The love you feel from his eyes causes heat to rise in your cheeks. You extend your hand to him, feeling his firm grasp as he takes it. The two of you step into the shower. You take a deep breath and inhale the fresh scent of oranges rising with the steam. He uses some of the hot water to push his hair back and out of his face. It may have been wishful thinking, but you would have sworn you could see his features already relaxing a bit.

Your eyes are soft as you look into his. You reach up to stroke his cheek a little, and you can feel him leaning into your touch as the warm water sprays over the two of you.

“C’mere,” you whisper and pull him into a tight hug. Your head rests where his heart is as your arms lock around his torso. You plant a kiss on the slippery skin of his chest and slowly start rubbing his back. “It’s not your fault.”

He doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you worry you may have upset him. But he doesn’t move. His arms stay wrapped around you with his chin propped on top of your head.

“Just have your Good Will Hunting moment, Babe. It’s not your fault,” you say again, trying to reassure him a bit without it being so much that he’d pull away.

He amusedly exhales and squeezes his arms around you tighter. He doesn’t say anything for a while, but that’s okay with you. The shower continues pouring down on you and the steam clouds the air further.

“I love you,” he says simply. His voice sounds less deflated. The subtle improvement in his tone makes your heart glow.

“I love you too,” you say, slowly nuzzling his chest. You kiss his collar bone a few times, trying to elevate his mood further. Even though the progress was small, you could feel the shower washing away the gloom that had been surrounding him since he came home. “Let me wash your hair now,” you offer.

You reach for his shampoo, but he stops you, gently grabbing your wrist. He pulls it across the shelf in the shower to where your things sit. “Use yours,” he says softly.

You beam at the request and kiss his cheek. His eyes were starting to lose the fog of exhaustion. He still looked tired but not beaten down. You grab your shampoo and squirt the liquid into your hand. He didn’t care if it wasn’t good for his hair type or anything like that, he just wanted your smell on him.

You rub the shampoo over your palms into a soapy lather. Leon tilts his head down to give you a better angle. You run your hands through his hair, lovingly scratching his scalp as you work the bubbles through his blonde locks. He shuts his eyes and nearly purrs while your fingers massage his head. You press tender kisses to both of his cheeks and nose before directing his head under the shower head to rinse.

The stress and guilt melt away under the hot water and your affection. You’re nearly petting him as you guide the soap out of his hair. He lets out a deep breath after inhaling the steam. He zones out as you start conditioning his hair. He only comes back as he feels you rubbing a wash cloth over the muscles of his chest and arms. His eyes slowly open and watch you spread the soap across his body.

You smile up at him as you move to his abdomen. “You still with me?” you say with a little teasing in your voice.

He hums in response and shuts his eyes again. You soothingly wash the rest of his body and then rinse him off. You quickly take care of yourself as he continues to relax under the flow of water. When you’re done, you give him a sweet kiss to bring him out of his stupor and shut the water off. The two of you step out of the shower hand in hand. You pass him a towel and you both dry off. He starts for the closet, but you take him by the arm and lead him to your bed.

“Don’t get dressed yet. Just sit back, take it easy, and let me help you really relax,” you say before kissing him yet again. He watches you as you get your lotion and begin rubbing it into your palms. You work the cream over his body, paying extra attention to the places you could feel his tension. The smell fills the air and puts him further at ease.

You glide around so you’re kneeling on the bed behind him, kneading the muscles of his shoulders and back. You kiss and nuzzle his neck. He lets out a soft noise of pleasure.

“There you go, Baby. Let it all go. There’s nothing to worry about right now,” you coo as you continue your soothing caresses. He’s like putty in your hands as you continue loving on him.

You finish your makeshift massage once you felt his skin couldn’t be any smoother. The two of you dress in fresh clothes before climbing into bed, getting comfy between the pillows and blankets. You tangle your limbs with Leon and kiss his head. “See, this feels even better than before, right?” you whisper.

He nods and shifts his position so that he’s nearly on top of you. He kisses your neck softly. He was so soft and smelled like you. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“No thanks needed, my love,” you say and return the kiss to the side of his head.

“But I want you to hear it, need to make sure you know,” he whispers.

You run your hand through his clean hair and cradle his head in the crook of your neck. “I know. You don’t have to worry about that either. I like doing this,” you reassure, “Just try to get some real rest now.”

He hums and gives you one more kiss before shutting his eyes. You feel him drifting off above you, at peace for the moment.

[thatsdemko]

happiness comes in ice cream - m.verstappen

masterlist

requested: n

pairing: max verstappen x reader

warnings: mentions of jos + healing inner childhood

a/n: no f1 this weekend means not being disappointed.. but also if you can donate and help imola please follow the link here. feedback is always appreciated xx

max has a pretty perfect life. he’s got a world championship title, an amazing car and team, perfect support, and a perfect significant other. the one thing that stands in his way for true happiness, his father.

you’ve heard the countless stories of how his father, jos, never treated him like a child always like a pawn of success or an adult at the young ages. it saddens you, that he never had a real childhood, and it hurts even more that he thinks the treatment he got was normal.

you told him your upbringings, they aren’t perfect either, but in comparison you can’t complain. your dad never made you walk home because you lost a race. max deserved true happiness, and everyday you see him fight his father more and more for that distance. the distance for a better life.

“horrible race. p2? you can’t let checo out pace you.” jos scoffs his son, you can see the anger in his fathers eyes. the disappointment, like his son hadn’t done enough and tried his best.

“it just wasn’t in the cards.” max shrugs, it bothers him to get second. he’s a perfectionist at heart and wants every race to be his best, but when he looks at you? all of his anger and frustration diminishes.

“you did well.” you chime in, hand reaching for his, he takes it. lips pressing a sweet soft kiss to your knuckles as he mumbles a thank you.

jos just tries to snap his son out of it, you can see in Max’s eyes he’s exhausted from his routine. even if he gets pole position his father is still not happy, there’s just no win. it’s starting to affect your relationship with his family, you can’t look jos in the eyes yet alone stand to have a decent conversation with him.

you try to push a smile, act like things are fine but max notices when the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. he notices when you’re not okay and how his father makes you uncomfortable.

“just leave us alone, okay?” max drops his helmet on the desk in the drivers room, he’s turning to his dad, who expected it was you he was talking to.

he’s shocked, his eyes dart between you and his son, “we aren’t finished we have to talk about improvement—“

“I want nothing more than to just have a talk not about racing. y/n can give me that, you can’t.” he’s lightly pushing his father out the door until he’s able to close the space between you two and his fathers emotions.

max lets out a deep long sigh, “checo looked happy.” he smiles, arms pulling you into his body, lips gently pressing against your lips. you love your alone time with him, the way he’s so affection it’s different than his composure to the rest of the world.

“you look happy right now.” you reach for the Red Bull hat that’s covering his messy dirty blond hair, you toss it aside, fingers running up and down his cheeks, “I like it when you’re happy.”

a smile spreads across his face, “you make me happy.”

“you want to get ice cream? you deserve it for a good race.” you offer, he always said his father never rewarded him for his hard work as a kid, it’s your turn to try and give him the things he couldn’t have.

“I was thinking more about having sex, but I like ice cream too.”

—

Charles takes pole position in Baku, it’s his first time that high up on the board and you both couldn’t have been prouder for the Ferrari.

you can hear Max’s phone ringing in his bag in his drivers room, and you take it upon yourself to turn it off. you know who’s calling, max knows it as well, but he ignores the sound of the text notifications when he walks in the room and just presses a kiss to your lips and takes his hat.

“I thought you did good out there. lots of challenges.” you rub his back with your finger nails following him out of the room and into the garage, where everyone is congratulating him on, a successful, qualifying.

he turns around, hand bringing your knuckles to his lips, “ice cream afterwards?” he asks, the happy spark in his eyes that make you smile.

“ice cream afterwards.”

—

“nothing tastes better than victory, but this is good.” he licks the drops of the melting strawberry and vanilla cold cream down his cone. you chuckle watching the millions of paper napkins he’s holding disintegrate.

“I told you to get a bowl.” you laugh taking one of your clean napkins and wipe the pink colored cream off his face.

he never splurges to gain weight during the season, always trying to stay fit, but when a wins a win he knows the offer for ice cream is up on the table and he’ll never turn it down. he admits, he wishes he got this during childhood, but he’s happy he gets it with you.

“you got chocolate on your nose.” he licks his thumb before swiping it over your nose gently, he takes what’s on his thumb and tastes it, “a little bit of you and chocolate. I like it.” he hums in satisfaction.

“I heard there’s a playground a couple blocks away, we should go use the swings.” you suggest, watching the white cream slip onto his black shorts. he groans using one of his napkins and water to try to wash it away.

“now I have to go home and change, I can’t show up looking like this.”

“it’s a playground, nobody cares if you’re dirty.” you laugh finishing the bowl and set the styrofoam down on the bench beside you, he lets you take a couple of bites of his ice cream to help him finish.

“thank you.” he says, sticky hand reaching to touch your thigh. you want to grimace at the touch, but you know he never had moments like this with his own family. he never had someone to take him for a treat that he deserves, so you let him.

“for what, max?”

“making me happy.”

[papercorgiworld]

The Death Eater Drabbles 2:

Cuts and bruised egos

Mattheo, Theodore, Enzo, Draco and Blaise

Read part 1: Untie me.

You have to take care of your prisoner, which means spending time together.

Find part 3 here

You had been staring at a wiggenweld potion for over 30 minutes contemplating on whether or not to use it to heal your prisoner. You were short on ingredients, so you normally only used it for really bad injuries. And since your new housemate was still complaining and not crying of pain you really had no right to offer him the healing potion. However, you were really not looking forward to cleaning him up and healing every injury. It demanded that you stay in the same room for longer than 5 minutes and not just that you had to sit close to him. Thankfully he was still tied up.

Urgh, this is going to be a nightmare.

Mattheo Riddle

His legs were dangling on the bedside as he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, but as soon as he heard you enter he sat up. “Here to give me my bath?” He asks with a smug smile. You sigh but make your way over and sit next to him. Mattheo’s eyes land on the bowl of warm water and the small towel you’re holding. He wants to say something snappy, but at the same time his face and torso are really hurting. So he keeps quiet and watches you dip the tip of the towel in the water. You try to clean off the blood without reopening the cuts or pushing too hard on the bruised skin. When you see him clench his jaw you immediately pull away. “I’m sorry, I’m almost done.” His eyes never meet yours and he simply forces a smile. “It’s nothing.” You stare at him sympathetically, not buying into his tough act. After a few more soft touches his face looks better. “You have a few small cuts, but they will heal on their own.”

You get up and want to head for the door when he urgently gets up as well, startling you. You watch him as he clearly searches for words, but he just clenches his jaw again. “Nothing.” Is all he says and sits back down on the bed. It’s then that you notice him wince in pain. You press your lips together. Why do I feel so bad for him? “Where does it hurt?” You ask and he looks up. Mattheo just shakes his head. “I’m fine.” You roll your eyes and put the bowl of water on the nightstand before sitting down next to Mattheo. “Right you’re so tough you don’t get hurt or don’t feel pain.” You mock him and he’s clearly annoyed with you. But before he can open his mouth your hand is already on his chest and slides down. When you press down on the sensitive spot on his side a painful hiss escapes him. He curses himself for being so vulnerable. “That’s your good mate, Harry’s work.” You’re a bit shaken by the anger in his voice. “Shouldn’t ‘ve picked a fight with him.” He looks at you, but you avoid his gaze and focus on unbuttoning his shirt. “Not like I had a choice.”

You look up and his dead and angry eyes lock with yours. “You must really enjoy this?” Mattheo snaps with venom dripping from his words. “No I don’t, but I bet most girls would pay money to undress you.” Your attempt to lighten the mood seems to be a success as Mattheo’s death glare falls. You’re done with the last button and examine the bruise on his side. “Nothing a simple healing spell can’t fix.” You pull out your wand and make the bruise fade. “Do you take such good care of all your prisoners?” You smile pleased that he’s calmed down. “You’re my only prisoner.” You answer as you get up. “Sounds like marriage to me.” You narrow your eyes at his horrible joke. “How about I get you some clean clothes?” His signature smirk is back on his face as he watches you leave. Oh please, (y/n), don’t be so nice to me, I might never wanna leave.

Theodore Nott

Theo lay on the bed and was resting his eyes, but when he heard the key flick his eyes flung open. “Missed you.” He quips with amusement ringing in his voice. He rolls to his side. You snort and go to sit on the bed. “I’m here to check your injury.” You push him back on his back. “Going to undress me, this is getting interesting.” Your lips form a line as you shake your head. “Don’t get your hopes up, Nott.” You unbutton his shirt and as expected a large cut stretched over his torso. “I won’t be able to heal it at once, but I’ll do my best to ease the pain.” His smirk fades as he watches you gently dip a towel in warm water to slowly clean off the blood. He winces in pain a few times. “I’ll be done soon.” You reassure him. Theo just huffs, an arrogant grin on his face. “I’ve had worse.” You look at him with a disapproving look. “That’s not something to be proud of.” Once the cut is cleaned you use a spell to heal it a bit and to bantage him.

Theo watches you as you clean the slightly bloodied water with one flick of your wand. “Okay, now let me look at that face.” As you reach for his cheek he pulls away. “It’s not that bad.” You sigh and roll your eyes. “Let me at least check. Otherwise you might end up scared.” Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t you women love a man with a scar?” You let out a laugh. “I guess having a scar can be sexy, but trust me your pretty face already has a few small scars and that’s sexy enough for you.” You lean a bit over him and start cleaning his face. It wasn’t that bad, but it’s definitely better with all the blood gone. “You’re really taking good care of me, especially since I’m your enemy.” He suddenly blurs out, instantly regretting it. You look him in the eyes and give him a soft smile. “You decided to be my enemy, but I never chose to be yours.” You carefully push some of his messy hair out of his eyes. He pulls his face away from you. “You made a choice too.” He says bitterly. “Attacking people is a choice, Theo, but protecting the people I love that’s not a choice, that's just my duty.” Theodore just stares holes into your skull. “That’s a hollow argument, things are never that easy.” Your eyes linger over his bandaged torso. “You’re probably right.” You turn your eyes back to his face and force a sweet smile. “Anyways you look a lot better.” Theo nods softly. “Thank you.” His sincerity touches you. “Now, let me look, maybe I can get you some clean clothes.” I never wanted to be your enemy, (y/n), I never chose that.”

Enzo Berkshire

Enzo was sitting on the bed while leaning against the frame. When he sees you enter he jumps to his feet. “Change your mind?” He wiggles his eyebrows. You smile at his playfulness. “No.” You say and you give him a soft shove so he lands on the bed. “Your actions are giving me different signals. Pushing someone on a bed is clear language to me.” A giggle rolls over your lips and Enzo watches you with admiration. “I’m here to check on the cuts and bruises on your face.” You sit down next to him and push a few strands of his hair aside. You frown as you see one particular deep cut above his right eyebrow. “Hermoine is merciless. She slammed my face into a wall twice.” You don’t look at him as you dip a towel into a bowl of warm water. “Maybe you shouldn’t have attacked them in the first place.” You state as you softly swipe the towel against his face. “It was three against one. I thought that if I surprised them I could get away. I swear I wasn’t really trying to kill them.” You pull away for a moment to watch his expression trying to figure out if he was being truthful. You keep quiet not really knowing what to say. If he was indeed outnumbered he was probably scared.

“I’m glad you’re here with me.” Enzo speaks up as you start cleaning the gaping cut near his eyebrow. You simply give him a smile. When you suddenly pull out your wand Enzo jumps a bit. “No worries, I’m going to heal you so you aren’t left with any scars.” He lets out a sigh of relief and you tap your wand against his head healing him. “I’m not going to hurt you as long as you don’t try to escape.” You say while you put your wand away. Enzo offers you a bright smile. “It’s like I’m in heaven. I’ve got a soft bed and a pretty girl taking care of me. What more can I ask for.” “Maybe some fresh clothes?” Enzo nods and watches you leave in awe. Heaven.

Draco Malfoy

You walk in and Draco huffs in annoyance. He had been pacing around the room in frustration. “Ready for part two of our bad date?” You say referring to his earlier comment in an attempt to lighten the mood. A foul look appears on Draco’s face. “For your own sake let me just check your injury and heal you.” He narrows his eyes at you weighing his options. “Fine. But don’t jab your brute fingers between my ribs again.” You roll your eyes at his dramatics. “How about you drop the attitude and I won’t jab.” He ignores you and reluctantly takes a seat on the bed. Draco watches you carefully as you work your way down every button. “This is straight up embarrassing.” You raise a questioning eyebrow at Draco. “You, undressing me while I’m tied up.” He explains with a harsh tone. You roll your eyes. “Trust me, Malfoy, undressing ‘you’ wasn’t on my bucket list either.” “You probably prefer Potter then? A bit cheap for you isn’t he?” Your eyes fling up in anger, ignoring his half undone shirt that your fingers are still working on. “No, Harry is just my friend. But he’s not cheap. And honestly, I hate rich kids like you.” Your boiling frustration reaches its peak when the last button of his shirt won’t budge. In anger you accidentally rip his shirt. Draco’s eyes widen and embarrassment washes over you. “Sure, says the girl that literally tore my shirt off.”

If looks could kill you would be burying Draco instead of healing him. When he finally drops his arrogant smirk your death glare falls as well. You inspect the bruises on his side and he watches you in silence, adoring your beautiful features. “A quick healing spell and you should be all better.” You announce before pulling out your wand. “Don’t screw this up.” You simply narrow your eyes at him and cast the spell. “I feel better, you did well, I’m impressed.” Draco says in an attempt to sound grateful. You sigh, but refuse to get into another argument. Draco is disappointed by the fact that you aren’t entertaining him with snappy retorts anymore. He really doesn’t want you to leave so soon already. “This was an expensive shirt and you tore it.” You roll your eyes, but look at his bare upper half. You couldn’t leave him like this. “Alright, I‘ll see if I can find you a new shirt.” He nods and forces out a hesitant ‘thanks’ before you leave the room. Draco lets himself fall onto the bed. (Y/n), you can tear off my shirt anytime.

Blaise Zabini

You hadn’t properly set foot in the guest room and Blaise’s playful voice was already ringing in your ears. “Missed me?” You huff. “Not in the slightest.” He’s not convinced and continues grinning. “I’m here to fix up your face and make sure you don’t have any fractures.” Blaise stands up from the bed and walks towards you towering over you. “Just admit, (y/n), you missed me.” You reach for his face, gently stroking over the marks and bruises. Blaise’s playful smile drops. “Your friends would’ve never caught me if they hadn’t snuck up on me.” You frown, not impressed by his arrogant tone. “Pretty sure they said they stumbled into you by accident, not really the same as sneaking up on someone.” You push against his chest urging him to sit down on the bed. He complies, his eyes never leaving yours. “Harry is just trying to impress you.” A smile creeps up on your face. “Harry is trying to impress me? Sounds more like you’re trying to find excuses for being a sucky wizard.” Blaise immediately pushes himself up from the bed. “Am not!” You snicker at how easily he was offended. “Sit.” You command as you push him down again and pull out your wand.

“Maybe I just don’t want you to think I’m less of a wizard because they beat me in an unfair duell.” Blaise confesses and you stare at him for several seconds before looking down at your feet. “I don’t think less of you because you got caught, I just don’t trust you because you, you know, you joined him.” His lips part but no words come out. You offer him a sympathetic smile and get up heading for the door. “It’s complicated.” Blaise finally says and you turn around to look at him. “Yeah.” You whisper softly, understanding that it probably wasn’t his choice to get involved. As you look him up and down you notice how ragged his clothes are. “You really need some fresh clothes. I’ll be right back.” Much rather have a fresh start with you, but I’ll take the clothes.

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: "What did [orcs] taste like?" {*distant sounds of tanoraqui going feral*}

I'm enjoying Chilchuck more in the manga because I notice him more, because he's less front-and-center talkative but in the background he's visibly thinking about things. I certainly noticed and enjoyed this moment in the anime, too, but it's a good example: Chilchuck is by far the best in this party at people, in terms of reading a room, understanding long-term group dynamics, and considering larger social questions like morality. His pattern recognition skills are obviously superb, and he applies them to dungeon navigation, trap- and monster-disarming, and social dynamics. He understands and gives practical advice on the relationships within a successful vs unsuccessful dungeon parties, and the skills of leaders thereof. He can often be seen eyeing the terrible new food consideringly before eating it. He's the one most often calling Laios out about No Eating Humanoids, including picking up on the fishmen eggs. When Laios complains that that's just based on a "feeling", Chilchuck does think about it - but still, when Marcille says of the dryads that maybe it doesn't matter if the plant is humanoid, Chilchuck says with concern, "Marcille..." He's the first to wonder how to make money from the dragon, but it's a practical concern, not greed. He's the only who realizes and convinces everyone that they have to turn back.

It all adds up to a guy who's never read a textbook of moral philosophy or the makings of a stable society in his life, but who could probably expound on them in layman's terms while drunk off his ass in a bar. He's responsible, including wanting to look out for his people, and very practical, and genuinely whip-smart. I'm not at ALL surprised to learn that he observed the systemic abuse of halffeet in the dungeon-delving trade and organized a union against it.

.

Shuro: Just say the highlights, alright?

Laios: We killed the red dragon, got Falin out of its stomach and resurrected her, but then we ran into the Mad Mage ad were separated.

Shuro and Kabru:

...actually, it's interesting how surprised I am, and was when I watched this, to see how...Normal Human Interaction Laios is in this moment? Upon request, he handily gave an efficient summary of exactly the highlights that needed to be shared - both what the others needed/would want to know, and not what they didn't need to know, lest Marcille be arrested for dark magic. Is he more relaxed around his usual crew, and thus acts "weirder"? Is this just a very specific circumstance, ie, it's reasonable to think the whole party has been considering exactly how to describe their adventures to others?

Maybe more notably, he left out monster-eating, which is also a cultural taboo but one that he's shown no sign of respecting so far. One must ask, for a moment: wait, does he respect that it's taboo in polite company? It's true that Marcille and Chilchuck, who'd both dungeoned with him for [mumblemumbletime], didn't know until the start of the story - he's clearly only just started unleashing all this culinary glee, even if he probably did already share infinite useful monster(-killing) factoids. Or is he aware and respectful of the fact that Shuro's definitely of "highlights" definitely only includes What Happened To Falin? This, too, is a level of character insight rarely if ever seen in Laios before.

.

Laios is like a deer in front of a lion... Yeah maybe I do want to watch Kabru flirt with him and Laios get completely flustered... Only if Laios turns it around by (later, after fleeing the initial scene) bluntly asking if Kabru wants to go on a date and/or have sex, and Kabru.exe stops functioning.

.

One must ask, for a moment: wait, does [Laios] respect that [eating monsters is] taboo in polite company? -my considerations 10 seconds ago in in-canon time

nvm, he's back on his bullshit! :) <3

Which! Indicates that his summary WAS intentionally geared toward Shuro's known preference, with maybe a dash of responsible dungeoneer team leader-to-team leader "fyi the Mage IS around"!

.

Ok now for the bit I'm particularly obsessed with...

Shown: man forcibly slamming down an impenetrable mental barrier called "Doing What I Must" in between Traumatic Memories & Moral Qualms and Words, Tone, Facial Expressions, Body Language & Anything Else Someone Else Could Sense:

Shown: Man with aforementioned barrier firmly in place [but still possibly seeing horrors on the backs of his eyelids]:

(Also shown: Man increasingly wishing that this is all some sort of elaborate hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and stress:

.

Then this!

Until proven otherwise, I'm pretty certain that this last panel is the exact moment Kabru's brain started bouncing like a yo-yo wrt Laios. Because!

Kabru invited himself into this conversation as part of his overall quest: to look for a decent King for the dungeon. [ABBA playing faintly in the background] He's officially given up "finding" rather than "becoming", but he hasn't 100% ruled it out as an option - the goal is to get one.

Imagine that Kabru's brain includes a little hexagon like the food matrix, but for necessary aspects of the new King of the Golden Kingdom. In order, Laios goes...

- up several notches in "Likely Ability to Kill Mad Mage" by having defeated the red dragon and met the Mage

- down probably 1 notch in Trustworthiness/Honesty(/Readability to Kabru Specifically, who is prepared to Manage a mediocre candidate if that's what it takes)

- plunges down in the meta-category of Will Prevent Another Utaya by plummeting like a Boeing in the technically-not-on-the-chart category of Triggers Kabru's Trauma by admitting - bragging! delightedly! - that he eats monsters. Kabru's trauma is centered around monsters eating people. What sort of horror is a person who eats monsters? (Yet, perhaps already starting to yo-yo: if monsters eating people is the ultimate evil, what is this reversal...?)

Then Kabru asks a few innocuous, friendly questions about this Absolute Horror, because that's what Kabru does: he lies through his teeth about his own opinions and discomfort in order to put others at ease and (thus) achieve his goals. Laios gives innocuous, friendly answers.

THEN: ORCS. This whole comic, we've had the debate about whether it's okay to eat humanoid monsters, with Laios begrudgingly agreeing to his party's refusal. And orcs aren't even humanoid monsters, they're full-on demihumans! Second cousins of tallmen!

Kabru actually has to take a moment to process this new depth of depravity which he swiftly assumes Laios has sunk to. I imagine WWII air raid sirens are going off in his brain. Laios is But then he leaps this horrific chasm, too, itchy though his knife hand may be - interestingly, his face isn't shown in the comic, but in the show, Kabru retains the exact same friendly, eagerly interested tone of voice when he asks, "What did they taste like?"

- (Sidenote: truly, in all of this, I'm most obsessed with Kabru's ability, willingness and determination to seemingly-blithely hopskotch and/or outright running-jump over any moral qualm for long enough to get the other guy to dig their own grave and/or let down their guard. Who even are you under your infinitely shifting mask, sir. Do you even know? Because I think some of what we've seen that's more "real" is part of the mask you wear to be the Hero Who Will Be King.)

And Laios realizes what he'd implied and says, alarmed at the misunderstanding (though it's not clear if that's for moral reasons or social awkwardness) but still smiling with excited pride, "No no!! We didn't eat them! Due to circumstances, we're currently working with them!"

With them! Laios is yoinked out of, if not the depths, then at least the utmost depths - while also snapping unexpectedly upward in Alliance-Building (pref. Interspecies, Local-Centric). Laios had already rated a 2, maybe 3/5 for his party makeup, but given his known lack of people skills, I can't imagine Kabru expected him to go any higher than that - and with orcs! Orcs who are maligned by everyone else; for whom the Island Lord regular offers a bounty!

Now, this IS predicated on the assumption that Kabru considers orcs a people who should be treated with like a legitimate, well, people, rather than killed like vermin. But I think I'm on solid ground, considering a) Kuro the kobold being a (mostly) respected member of his party and their secret late-night study-friendship; b) Kabru's harshly learned skepticism of the stories Elves tell about themselves and other races, which is where we've seen the heart of anti-orc sentiment; and c) Kabru thinks the Island Lord is a moron.

Mind you, I think the yo-yo-ing is relatively subconscious at this point, and won't start reaching an audible fever pitch until Kabru learns about the black magic in, oh, another 5 minutes or so.

...but I really need to go to bed, so I'll see what overanalysis I make of that tomorrow!

[tarjapearce]

The Immorality Of Love (Pt. 2)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader

WARNINGS: Power abuse, class divisions, slur use, assault, forced medical procedures, no proofread, Victorian Era customs, Angst, slow burn, No use of Y/N.

Synopsis: Pretty Woman but Victorian Era Inspired with Miguel.

Summary: Although a deal is born, the aftermath is something you'd never forget.

A/N: There was a time when venereal diseases were an actual problem and prostitutes were to blame. As a countermeasure, authorities started to do checkups to the courtesans, however even regular work women were involved. Sometimes authorities forced checkups to women that allegedly were sick and they strapped them down. This was seen as dehumanizing by some people. If the woman was sick, she was treated until supposedly cured. If she wasn't, she was let go.

Previous

If one thing Peter had always present in his thoughts was Miguel's stubbornness. Sometimes it proved to be successful other times annoying.

Successful cause of it, he had his empire of machinery sprawled through the city. Companies bought from the richmen that refused to properly treat their employees and the complains flooding his mail had been way too great to ignore or postpone any further .

But this time, his mulishness proved to be everything but good.

Peter was tired, slightly perturbed by the many gruesome things he had to witness in the search of this Violet woman, and he was definitely giving his friend a piece of mind once the search had concluded. If that ever came to happen.

For someone to escape Lyla's radar, meant whoever this woman was, didn't want to be found, or the name was just a ruse to confuse anyone curious enough to dig up about her. Scurrying away from one of the best investigators in the city wasn't an easy feat, he had to give the mysterious woman that.

He had seen the ugly side of the city, a place he often kept in his prayers and helped whenever his job and fortune allowed it.

For the umpteenth time, Peter sighed and rubbed his face, awash with tiredness. Lyla could only chuckle at the parade of emotions wafting through Peter's countenance.

"We'll find her." The short haired woman spoke as she walked through the stony and neverending streets, that blasted their senses with an array of smells their brain could barely name and classify. Peter tailed after her, looking through the mass of people he swum against, watching for his pockets from the invading kid's gangs.

"From all the people he chooses to go with, he picks one that doesn't want to be found. How do we even know if she's real?"

"Cause she's a different kind of worker."

Lyla mumbled as she turned deeper into an alley to finally reach for Tevinter's district. The middle class world.

Both had forgotten that specific clue  Miguel had given them, that had them ransacking through the city for almost a week. Finally, all those trying and tiresome days paid off. They had gone through a couple of Violets in the upper district, the name wasn't that common as they originally thought.

But that just added even more difficulty to the guessing game Miguel had bestowed upon them. Were they looking for a noblewoman? A shop owner? A famous seamstress or singer?

None of that.

It took a moment for Peter to finally understand the kind of woman they were looking for. And it became even clearer as they approached Brasswood Avenue. The preferred street for people that always were up to something, people that lived their lives in the many joyful and licentious ways available. Courtesans included.

Be it the view and the shops around, made Brasswood's streets a centric and well made place for living, during the day. But in the night, it was as dangerous as any other poor district. Safety was a luxury even middle class struggled to get sometimes.

Lyla and Peter asked around. Some outright ignored them, others acted like they didn't know anything at all, courtesans specially. Ladies of the night that refused to disclose information about the mysterious woman and dodged the questions effortlessly.

Peter noticed the protectiveness the women had on eachother, with Violet however the secretiveness was tenfold.

Except for a couple of whistle-blowers that thrived on gossips and watching the world burn for the hell of it.

They gave him your address, just to tip the balance in their favor. But Peter's nature simply thanked them with a polite smile and returned at once with Lyla.

As soon as the investigator and his friend crossed his office doors, Miguel's stilted position relaxed slightly with a deep sigh.

"Any news?" The Duke mumbled  expecting yet another dead end.

His job and the noblesse oblige often nicked his patience away, and whenever Lyla or Peter returned empty handed, his stress shot heavenwards.

The getaway with nobility approached ominously within each day, and the letters from Prince Harry made sure to keep the vexing vacation in the front core of his brain. Disrupting his train of thoughts often. It didn't help the  woman he had set his eyes on, the perfect subject, refused to be found.

The possibilities of you deceiving him, were undeniable. If it took this long it meant the name you gave him was fake. His mind recalled the way you had left oh so hastily out of his manor and the remembrance alone reinforced that thought.

But Lyla's words made his mind to have a bit of peace.

"We've found her."

But Peter's skepticism placed his jumbled mind in the juggler again, "It's a lead. We didn't see her per say."

"Pete, don't be a wet blanket on this, please. I say we've found her. Didn't you notice the way those women clammed up as soon as we mentioned Violet's name?"

"Of course I did, but still, they gave me her address, remember? She lives in an apartment in Brasswood Avenue."

"Now that's a lead, not an address! They didn't specify where! There's a shit ton of apartments in Brasswood, you dumb bread." Lyla quipped with a roll of her eyes.

"Ya, basta." Miguel grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Brasswood you said?"

Peter nodded and Miguel picked up his things after downing his cold and forsaken morning coffee in a go.

"Let's go, then."

"Wait! You're going right now? What about the evening meetings?"

"The last thing I want is to be assigned one of Harry's companions." Explained the Duke as he approached the door, "You're coming or what?"

Peter had no idea what to expect, but he followed anyway. His street smarts could come in handy.

The perfume was not only heavenly, but sure attracted looks from men and women alike. Curiosity and outrage from the women, to see such thing as a working class woman coming out of the perfume parlor with a package in hand.

Some women stared too long and you were brave and bold enough to face their derogatory looks with a careless smirk.

How dare you?

They'd say. Even worst when you had just purchased a popular item and flaunted them right in their noses way before they could get it. Poking at their rich and better-than-thou ego. Their companions were forced to look away.

The layout slowly changed into a less fancy and dainty milieu, but a less produced copy cat version of Manhattan's district. Pretty but bustling with merchants, families, vendors and a bit of working class rust around the edges.

You had taken a carriage and dropped you off a few blocks away from your apartment. The city noise was something it always woke you up in your evening naps. And hopefully this time you'd get a much longer sleep with a new purchase. Ear lids for the noise.

The comfy and self indulgent thoughts were sapped away as soon as your eyes took in a very familiar carriage, parked a street down your apartment.

Swallowing a thick lump, forming in your throat, you entered the threshold of your home and went up the stairs. Ears perked up at the known voice. Rich, foreign and beautiful, yet annoyingly lordly.

To your surprise none other than the Duke and his companion were there.

What is this?

Your mind swirled with so many different questions and emotions.

Would the Duke want revenge? No certainly not, but it was too late to hide as he had spotted you.

Beautiful brown eyes stared your way, finally acknowledging your presence with a surprised blink. As if convincing himself that following his instincts had paid off.

"Violet." He called and his companion immediately set his eyes on you. Scrutinizing and taking in each of your features. Peter blinked a couple of times before removing his hat in sign of respect to a lady.

"What is this?" Alarmed you looked around, and to your little luck, a couple of neighbors were peeping in your apartment's wooden corridor.

Shit.

With a haste you grabbed your keys and opened the locked door nervously, urging both men inside, away from prying and nosy stares.

"What is this? Why are you here?" Suspicion beyond obvious in your voice.

Peter chuckled nervously and cleared his throat at your bewilderment and harsh words.

"The Duke was looking for you, Miss... Violet."

"Why?" your brows puckered in a frown as your arms crossed against your chest, defensively. Peter faked a brief cough as Miguel gave him the silent order to leave. He put on his hat again and headed for the entrance.

"I'll wait for you downstairs." Miguel on the other hand, removed his hightop hat and sighed.

"You're quite difficult to reach."

"What are you doing here?! Never mind. You'll get me in trouble, you must leave."

Miguel took in the insides of your home for a brief second. Both were in the little reception. Wooden boards that creaked under the weight, from the sparse view he peeked inside, he could tell there wasn't many furnishings inside. Just enough to make it hospitable. The delicious smell of vanilla wafted through his lungs, inhaling the scent of fresh bread. After all, you lived above a known bakery.

Your fingers put the package away in one of the nearby tables and sighed, exasperated when he didn't obey your request.

"I'd like you to spend a week with me." Said Miguel with the most casuals of tones as he sat in one of the many seats available. His analytical gaze pinned you on the spot, ignoring your initial protests.

Your brows furrowed impossibly deeper and your eyes widened. Horrified at the petition alone.

Has he gone mad?

If your mind could slap itself, you'd be beating it for breaking your own rules. This was precisely why you didn't overstay the night in a client's house, unless it was absolutely necessary or way too late to go home on your own.

Growing attached wasn't in your repertoire. Much less when royalty or noble folk were involved. It was a world that although gave you enough to live unbothered by a couple of months, you always procured to keep it at arms length. As it all screamed danger.

"I beg your pardon, but... what did you just say?"

"A week, with me."

You had to take a couple of breaths and think of a polite way to dismiss his request, after all, you never knew with men. Your mind was already formulating the right way to deject his advances or any sort of possibility before it was able to ground it's roots, but Miguel's next words put an abrupt halt to those thoughts.

"I'll pay you, of course."

Oh.

Relief washed over your countenance, and you exhaled. He had almost gotten you for a second. Mind drifted off into working mode.

"It doesn't work like that. First, Why do you want such thing? Second, how did you find me? And third, what makes you think I'd accept a job like that so easily?"

Miguel contemplated your words for a second and put his hands up in defense.

"I've got a little holiday celebration with some... people, and as much as I'd love to skip it and tell them no, my invitation has already arrived. And I need a companion for that." His fingers tweaked the ribbon around the neck, "And let's say I have contacts around, it wasn't an easy feat, but here we are."

Your brow quirked and he stood.

"And out of all the courtesans and ladies you could chose, why me?"

"I need a professional. What do you say?"

"How much are we talking about?"

He smirked softly and shrugged, hands crossing against his well dressed chest.

"Name the price." His hand gestured.

Since he took the first bait, you still wanted to test how much he could give away before getting nitpicky.

"Eight thousand crowns."

"Six" He rebutted and you frowned.

"Six and a half."

He smirked and shook his head, "Wouldn't it be five thousand crowns enough?."

Your eyes rolled at his continuous lowering rebuttal.

"I need money to leave Nueva York, your grace, the more for me, the better. Make it six and we've got a deal."

He stretched his hands towards you and enveloped one around yours without much contemplation, "Deal."

He smirked with a nod and your eyes rolled.

"The funny thing is, I would've stayed for five thousand."

He chuckled and slicked his hair back, "And it's even funnier, because I would've paid you eight." His words like butter. And that did the trick to shut you up, with a pout.

"Now, you've got to prepare, Prince Harry and his court-"

"Wait, what? The prince invited you?"

"He's the one sponsoring the vacation as usual. Yes. Why?" it was his brow's turn to quirk.

"No... No. I cant." your head shook firmly, "I can't do this."

One thing was private getaways, but this was something completely different. Mingling with royalty, sure was in your plans, but not like this. Nor this soon.

"You already said yes. Can't go back now." He deadpanned.

"Your grace," You breathed, "in case you haven't noticed, I'm the least appropriate of person to be mingling with people like you."

"I swear, if you keep saying absurdity like that-"

"What? It's nothing but the truth. I know my place. Some royalty like their peasants to know where they belong."

This made his anger and patience to slowly crumble. But the Duke was running out of options and time.

"You want to leave, right?"

And he wasn't afraid to use everything in his disposition for you to accept such endeavor.

"Oh, lord. You're really trying to get me in it."

"I need someone that people don't recognize." His hand explained, "Someone that's a complete stranger and has no background in the scene."

"I'm pretty sure some of your friends could recognize me. And wouldn't that attract more attention towards me? Your lot is quite nosy."

His eyes narrowed slightly at the implications behind, "Enough. Look. It's a week. You get money, I keep annoying people at bay. After that, we part ways."

"I... I can't."

But God, you were stubborn as a mule.

"Jesus. Why the hell not?!"

"Cause I don't have what you like to call respectable clothes, nor the etiquette for such things!." You admitted.

Sure you knew how to read and write and your clients always made sure to be updated in politics and the like, a knowledge that had gained your well earned reputation as a wonderful courtesan. But that didn't mean you were well versed in etiquette and whatever codes royalty were ruled by.

"Haberlo dicho antes. I'll buy them for you, and will give you some lessons." (Should've said that sooner.)

And still, the Duke himself didn't cease to amaze you.

"Why?"

"Why what?" His lip twitched in a mild scowl. Tired of so many questions.

"Why are you going to these extents of doing this just to keep people at bay? Like... You are the Duke! A royal. You can do whatever you want! Literally, There's a shit ton of women that would die to have a-"

"You really think I'd spend my time talking about the latest trend of fashions or how improper the wife of a Baron was after a long day, hearing and reading people complains in my office?" Miguel rolled his eyes, irked. "Dios mio. Look, I just need a yes or no."

"It's not about clothes or fancy things..."

"Then what is it now? I swear if you say something regarding your status again-"

"How can I know I'll be safe?"

"Safe?" That question wasn't something he was expecting.

"Yeah, I mean, imagine the scandal if people knew-"

"Funny you think I care of what people think of me." He mumbled with a flat tinge of voice.

"You must do, to an extent, your grace."

"Your point is?"

"If it happens that I get discovered-"

"You won't." He promised.

"I wouldn't underestimate people in the royalty, specially those around you. What I'm trying to say is that, If I get discovered, someone might attempt something against me, your kind of people love to show off power, or they might try to find out about me."

"You'll be with me at all times if that's what you're worried about." He explained. Trying to get this over with.

"It's not you I worry. It's the people around you that I worry. You have no idea on what I've seen... wives sending to kill their husband's mistresses for less than that. And I certainly don't wanna end up in a ditch cause someone hasn't gotten over you."

A heavy sigh escaped his lips,"And that's why I rather be single."

"Oh?" Another little surprise from him, "I thought you were a married man?"

"I've got no time for that. Let's just stop turning this around too much. Are you in or not?"

"Okay" you nodded, "Okay. Fine. I'm in."

"Great. Good. Will pick you up tomorrow at 9 am so we can start the etiquette lessons."

"No, no. No. If I agree will be with one condition."

"Bendito, dame paciencia. ¿Ahora qué?" (Good lord, give me patience. Now what?)

"Don't ever come here again." He frowns, struck by your words, "At least not dressed like that. Or ever actually. I don't wanna get myself killed."

"Why would someone do that?" His brows pucker, confused, "Are you... on drugs? I can't do this if you're hooked-"

"Now you're offending me. Do I look like a junkie to you?" you huffed while your hands placed themselves on your hips, to anchor down a very upset self, however the importance of appearances in royalty were something you couldn't ignore, as they were everything for the kin.

"I say so, because if you keep coming people will start thinking I have money,  I'll start getting the wrong sort of attention and I could get assaulted, or worse. It's for my safety. Things are turning sour for... street workers."

"Ok. Then let's meet in a place-"

"No. I'll go to you, not backwards."

He stared, amused and equally irked at your stubbornness with a chuckle, but he had no other choice but to to nod,  your throat clears, "So, in summary, I'll be your personal scort for a week, I tend to your needs, treat you good and no strings attached."

"Basically. Do we have a deal?"

Your lips pursed, triumphant, "Deal."

Once again your hands shook in a gentle bur firm embrace. Miguel however pulled a couple of bills to give them to you.

"Get what you need. Something-"

"Classy, I know."

He nodded and put on his hat, with a quick goodbye, he left your place, leaving your spirits confused, yet high.

The idea of leaving Nueva York towards a better future, had been rounding your mind more times than you actually wanted to admit. But now that you had the chance in a silver platter, you'd size every moment of it.

With the money well hidden in your skirt, and a last look in the mirror, you went out the door.

Shopping day had arrived, and the woman within you felt the excitement through every pore of your citrus perfume smelling skin. You didn't overdress, given the amount of packagings you'd carry around that day.

With a goal set, you ventured through the streets of Manhattan, the boutiques you had seen so many times, didn't feel  unapproachable and impossible to afford now that you had a sponsor.

The Duke had given you enough money to buy at least a couple of fancy dresses for the week, accessories included. You'd go for earth-toned colors, leaving the exuberant bright shades for special occasions.

Cause in truth, ever since you started on the world's most antique labor, everything was a new opportunity to learn something. And the royals had been your preferred study subject .

The way they spoke and acted was not only ridiculously entertaining, but it gave you a glimpse of their true selves. Being attuned with people's emotions was something you had perfected over the years, thanks to your profession.

Miguel, The Duke, had taken you by surprise with his petition. And his willingness to pay you for company said allt about how much a recluse or a nitpicky man he was, regarding female companionship.

And now that he had given you a glimpse of what laid ahead, you were both thrilled and scared. He might be the exception of royals having some basic human decency, but by all means it meant he was the rule.

With a guarded heart, but an open and willing mind to learn, you arrived at the first store. Sadly this one didn't have what you needed. Last season's dresses remained almost too rigid in the showcase. And may heavens forbid you wearing those scraps, so you moved to the second one.

Marivaldi's. One of the most exclusive and gorgeous boutiques in Manhattan.

The lovely ribbons adorned sumptuously the front display of the latest trends in the colors you wanted. They had exactly what you were looking for.

With an excited beam and a quick fix of your skirt, you entered the place, the tiny and melodic bell announced your presence to those inside.

A couple of eyes stared your way and quickly resumed their activities. Your feet took you directly to the gorgeous silk and tafetta dress you saw before.

Breathtaking.

Not only the confection was done exquisitely, but the materials were top notch. The kid in you ran rampant in this fancy store. And when your fingertips grazed at the fabric, you could feel the buttery and soft finish of the silk, making your heart shimmy.

You were definitely buying it, as soon as your hand ceased to admire it.

"Excuse me Are you looking for something?"

You turned and saw a dainty woman, a bit gaunt around the eyes with a hardened and somewhat hostile aura, dressed up like she could be part of the exposition.

"Oh! you work here? You have exquisite things in here. I'm interested in this dress. How much does it cost?"

Her next words however sapped all that excitement away.

"It won't fit you, ma'am."

Which clearly confused you since the size tag was in plain sight. The woman's tone however made it all clear.

It wasn't in sale for you. with a frown you spoke.

"Right. I didn't ask if it would fit me. I asked how much does it cost?"

And that only made the woman's attitude to sour completely.

"All you have to know, is that this dress is something extremely valuable and exclusive, and I won't allow such thing to decrease by selling it to anyone."

Snappy and impolite as she was, you tried your best to remain calm.

"Right." A deep sigh, "Is there any other dress you're willing to let me purchase?"

"Not in this stablishment I'm afraid. You see, we're a respectable shop, ma'am."

"Respectable?"

How dare she?

"Yes. Our suits are not made for those for a penchant of a night life or licentious attitudes. This is not the shop for you. You may leave this moment."

The other women around stared your way, some weren't that subtle and hushed words to eachother as their eyes remained glued to your form. Was it the little lipstick you were wearing? It definitely left a stain on your lips and the walking around had made your cheeks take a deep shade of red, and the sun high in the sky hadn't helped at all.

"I do have the money for-"

"Didn't you hear? Leave! And don't you dare touch anything with those filthy hands, you whore. Lord knows where they have been." The other woman on charge spoke intentionally loudly.

All eyes were set on you, your throat bobbed and swallowed angrily.

"Maybe ask your husband about it." With nothing else to say your feet turned around and headed for the entrance. Your words had left a couple of women aghast, but nothing had you prepared for what would unfold next.

"She's sick! Stop her!"

The offended and petty woman shouted, then her helper. None of the other femmes glanced your way, neither stepped in. But why would they? You were a peasant out of place.

You left the store before trouble could actually happen, but it was too late to stop the madness.

"Help! That woman is sick!" you heard behind you, and your heart was now beating so fast it could only match a rabbit's.

"That's not true!" You glared as you looked through your hidden compartments but the woman kept insisting and taking everything out of context.

"She's itching! She's sick!"

People around you started to gather to see what the ruckus was about. Some sneered with disgusted faces, others murmured to eachother as they raked their eyes on your body. Others, still had the audacity to smirk your way.

Your body drained in color when a couple of police officers approached.

"Stop her! She's spreading diseases!"

Liar

Your breathings turned labored, erratic at the sudden fear rising up in your spine.

"That's not true! I was only asking for a dress!"

"Liar!" the women accused and soon the murmurs and voices of people rose, demanding you to get detained.

One officer grabbed you by the arm, but you shook him away, earning the other officer to quickly apprehend you.

"No! Let me go! I'm clean!"

The men roughly pulled you away as you shrieked and tried with all your might to free yourself. Fear rose the closer you got to a nearby station, a doctor was called.

"Stop! I am not sick!"

"That's what they all say" the officer didn't budge and only dragged you in, your screams and pleas echoed through the walls, calling the attention of everyone inside. For them was just another regular day.

But for you, a nightmare came true. One of the reasons why you always carried your medical card with you at all times. A card that definitely fell off somewhere in the push and pull with the guards.

The man dragged you to a makeshift medical facility, but your reluctance only earned you his manhandling as he pinned you down to the bed.

"No! No! Stop!" you cried and even went so far as to scratch his hands away, "I'm not sick!" You begged with tears in your eyes.

But the man only secured your hands as your feet kicked and tossed. The officer went past your skirt, taunting fingers hooked in the hem of your undergarments, not surprised to find few layers and a missing decency skirt.

"A harlot in the daylight? You lot are turning bolder with your ways."

Although your eyes blurred with the fat tears that drowned them, you could feel the man's fingertips taking in as much skin as possible to then pull down the remaining clothing layers down.

"No!" You cried bitterly. And when the doctor showed up with gloved hands your legs were held back.

"Pretty sure you're used to it. Relax."

How dared he? How dared they to treat you like this over the petty comments of a resented woman? How messed up they have to be to believe blindly without a real proof?

Rich being rich.

Your mouth hissed and hiccuped as soon as you felt the doctor's hands exploring superficially your skin, like a routine check. Your jaw clenched, and your hands tightened in fists with such pressure your knuckles turned white.

The officer's leering look, only added a few solid weights to your already heavy luggage of shame and the resentment towards the rich to increase tenfold.

With a sigh the doctor stopped prodding and examining, "Let her go. She's clean."

The officer undid the strains around your wrist, and sighed.

You couldn't help but slap him as he blew a kiss your way.

"You bitch!" He returned the slap. A burning sensation spreaded through your left cheek. The past's echos rang through your brain.

"Enough! Bring in the other one!." the doctor yelled at the agitated man. Before leaving, the police officer threw your clothes at your face and left.

The doctor soon followed him, leaving you a shameful and nervous wreck. Tears rolled down your reddened face. Anger and distress came in hand as you dressed up again and left the place in a haste.

You couldn't bear to be retained against your will in a torture place like that, yet there was little you could do. Rich people's word was an absolute law in this side of town. They held all the power and if they wished so, they could send anyone to jail based off a lie.

Your hand held your injured cheek as the other, wiped your tears. Eyes racking over the streets to find what you were looking for, a postal office.

As soon as you entered, your fingers grabbed pen and paper and wrote down simple and pithy words.

I can't do this. I'm truly sorry.

And you folded the bills Miguel had given you, and ran back to his manor to deliver the money personally. This time you wouldn't leave time to replies.

The sooner you delivered everything, the sooner you could go home and take a bath to try and wipe away all those dirty traces that officer had left on your skin. Bitterness spreaded all over your mouth at the sour event just happened.

You grabbed a carriage and went straight to Babylon's Manor. Where to your surprise, Peter was there, giving some orders to people. But it was better since you didn't have to face Miguel alone.

In a few strides, you called him from the door and Peter approached confused, but it quickly turned into an alarmed face as he watched your cheek swollen and red.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

"Give this to the Duke. Tell him I'm sorry. But, I can't."

Peter gulped as you shoved the envelope with the money into his hands, ignoring his concern.

"Wait! Miss Violet!"

But you were running back to the carriage, and instructed the driver to go off before Peter could reach you.

Disgrace too much to bear on your own.

The servants removed the coat and hat off him, and quickly scrambled away. To his little surprise, Peter was there, working in his fair shares of reports.

The clinking from the whiskey bottles interrupted Peter as he stood. How would he explain that his day was about to get worst?

Miguel downed the glass of whiskey and let a pleased groan at the liqueur's taste.

"Tough day?"

The Duke rolled his eyes at Peter's question. "The world has gone mad, people keep complaining and apparently there was a robbery today on a boutique. The thief was taken away."

"Yeah, I heard about it too. You're trying your best in keeping the city together and sometimes you can only do so much, pal. Sadly I've got bad news."

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose before serving himself a larger potion of whiskey, as if preparing his mind for the upcoming blow.

Instead of words, Peter handed him the envelope and his brown eyes quickly devoured it's contents only to let a growl rumble through his chest.

"Before you explode," Peter tried to reason, "She was scared. And one of her cheeks was swollen. Something must've happened."

"And why didn't you stop her, then?!"

"Cause she left before I could do anything!" Peter yelled back, "She literally came off a carriage, dumped that envelope and left!"

Miguel held his hips, burying his fingers on the clothed flesh of his hips, teeth clenched underneath his pair of plump lips. Screaming at eachother wouldn't help, but it definitely had added a new wave of stress on his mind. But it also left him with the same question. Something had to happen for you to act like that. Scared wasn't something that came to his mind to describe you.

"No puedo más. No sé que voy a hacer con esa mujer tan terca. No sé!" (I don't know what I'll do with that stubborn woman.)

He crumpled the paper eith the bills in it and threw it against the wall, "Tomorrow morning I want her here. In this office. Understood? Take a royal order if needed, in case she refuses."

Peter could only nod, worried of what might happen if he didn't find you, but even more worried about your looks. That cheek was definitely a slap, and by the level of swelling he could deduct it was recent.

Everything revolving around you offered more questions than answers, and Miguel was running out of time.

Ironic as it was, Miguel preferred a stranger's company than his own circle. But now he had seen you and your equally fiery temper, he understood why The Duke was reluctant to let you go so easily. He liked an equal challenge. Something that kept his brain sharp.

He'd look for you first thing in the morning. But first, he'd need to calm his friend's nerves. 

"You'll be fine, pal." It was more a self reassurance than anything. Cause poor of him if you didn't show up with him next day.

Taglist:

@miss-canon-event @del-ightfulling @huniedeux @fayeofthenightingale @nediks @rosewrong-blogs

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

By fire and heart.

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart.

(You are one year younger than Rhaenyra.)

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

You're smart, brave and pretty, agile with swords and archery, you have interests in medicine and history, you feel proud of who you are, the confidence and self-esteem are one of many attributes. You always thought you didn't need no one else but yourself, you're good with it, for you that's more than enough.

You never complained about being the second child or about the preference of your father for Rhaenyra, for you it was fine, after all she was the first born, and your father's desire to have a boy helped to not feel this favoritism.

Your mother didn't have favorites, she loved her daughters, your relationship with your sister wasn't the best but it worked, you always thought Alicent was like her father, your uncle Daemon said it a thousand times «he's an arsehole» and you agreed, you never understood why your father couldn't see it in that way.

Daemon is a great uncle, your favorite person in the world but he always looks more interested in your sister, with you he was like the kind of father you wanted, fierce and protective, teaching you to fight and follow your own ambitions, you were good with the sword thanks to him, you were a good Dragon rider thanks to him, much of the things you like is because of him, your father is not really there for you, your poor mother was always in bed with her pregnancies, and Rhaenyra always with Alicent, you even take your classes with the septa alone, not with them.

After your mother's dead you for the first time felt weak, fragile and alone, the anger started to burn your inside, you were angry with your father, his wishes to have a son took your mother's life away, the poor newborn was alive for less than a day. Poor little thing, his little nose would never inhale the fresh air of the morning, his little mouth would never suspire and his eyes would never admire the majesty of the world or a dragon. Then your uncle making those comments about your baby brother hurt you, but you still admired your uncle more than to your father, in fact you were sure all this situation could be avoided if your father simply named your uncle as his heir.

- DAEMMA! You have to understand! I'm the king, it is my duty to bring heirs to secure the Targaryen bloodline on the throne.

- You already have an heir! Now leave, I don't want to see you, for me... You murdered my mother!

Were lonely nights and days, you rarely left your room, you were sad, angry, depressed. Your uncle was sent to go back with his wife, Rhaenyra was living her own duel, you didn't have a shoulder to cry in.

One night your father requested your presence with urgency. You arrived just in time, Rhaenyra was already there talking with your father.

- What's the meaning of this familiar reunion?

- Daemma, come here. I... I thought about what you said to me a few nights ago.

Your father looked tired and unsure of what he was saying but you were also tired, Rhaenyra is not understanding yet, but you, you have a presentiment.

-You were right, I want to apologize to you, my girls, all this time I wasted trying to have a son and named him as my heir... But, Rhaenyra, you're my first child, all this time you were the answer to my pleadings. I'll name you my heir.

Rhaenyra and you looked at each other in shock, what did he say?, without wasting time both spoke.

- But Daemon!

- Daemon was not made for the crown, but I think you are, Rhaenyra, I believe you would be a good queen, your mother would agree with me.

Rhaenyra is in silence, you're too since you're thinking about Rhaenyra as the first woman who will sit on the throne. Would the council accept this?. You were lost in thoughts that you didn't feel your father taking your hand in his, you realized it until he spoke.

- Daemma, you're my second child and I know you and I have our differences but... Promise me, you will support your sister, swear over your mother and brother ashes that you will always be at your sister's side.

For the first time in years, you and Rhaenyra had a connection, none of you say something, but both understood each other. Both nodded in silence, accepting what the destiny was putting on your shoulders. The three of you held hands while your father explained about the secret passed from the king to the heir, you went back to your chambers, that night you couldn't sleep you had nightmares about fire, blood and wars.

The next day, while your sister was getting ready for the ceremony, you were just there, observing her and Alicent, both were in silence, when your guard knocked on the door.

- Princess Daemma? I have the information you require this morning.

You stood up from your seat and left them, your guard told you about your uncle leaving the castle, so both are running to the dragon pit, he won't leave without saying goodbye, at least not without saying bye to you.

He's with a woman you never saw before, he's allowing her to touch Caraxes.

- Daemon... Leaving without saying goodbye is not what I was expecting from my uncle.

- Daemma...

He approaches you and gives you a hug, caressing your hair.

- The King sends me away, Otto Hightower, that poisonous snake convinced him.

- I thought it was the fact you celebrated while my family was suffering the loss of my mom and brother.

He steps back and simply looks at you and smiles, then takes your hand in his.

- Take care of them and take care of yourself, get stronger Daemma.

You nod in silence while he walks back at his dragon, in a blink of an eye Caraxes Roars and disappears with your uncle. You went back just in time to the ceremony, you were the first one to bend your knee and swear your loyalty to your sister, the future heir.

[poppadom0912]

Love on ice

Characters: Jay Halstead x Reader, Adam Ruzek, Kevin Atwater, Makayla Burgess, Jordan Atwater

Warnings: None

Summary: Jay unveils one of his biggest secrets to help a friend.

A/N: I got some inspiration from one of the chicago pd episodes this season. Thought it would be cute but it didn't turn out as nice as I wanted it to.

Wrapping up a successful case felt good. Damages were kept to a minimal and Jay was certain this case in particular wouldn't haunt him in his dream which was always a bonus.

Jay was currently messaging you, keeping his smile hidden behind his hand so no one would interrogate him. He had been able to keep you his best kept secret for a year now and no one knew besides Will because of your sudden appearance at his door one night but he'd been sworn to secrecy.

Pressing his lips together, he kept down a chuckle at one of your well thought out jokes and put his phone down, promising to call you on his way home. Just as he was going to sign off all his paperwork before signing off for the night, Jay became aware of the conversation everyone was participating in besides him.

"We can skate but she wants professionalism." Kim stressed, leaning back on her chair as she talked about who Jay guessed was Makayla. "She straight up told us no when I offered to teach her myself."

"You did tell her that Jordan is pretty good, right?" Kevin asked, looking at his best friend questiongly before looking back to his monitor.

"We tried that Kev." Adam answered for Kim, pushing his chair back to his own desk. "She needs to see him on the ice first."

Jay felt like he would regret his actions but deep down, he adored Kim and Adam's daughter. Maybe you wouldn't shout at him if it was for Makayla's sake.

"You said she wants a professional skater?" Jay asked, finally stepping into the conversation. Turning around in his chair, he found it funny how everyone looked at him with the same question hanging on the tips of their tongues.

"Yeah..." Kim trailed, going to ask him something but was cut off.

"We've got the day off tomorrow, I know someone if you're willing." Jay discreetly offered, shrugging his shoulders as though nothing was suspicious about how vague he was being.

Kim and Adam shared a glance, having a silent conversation with their eyes before shrugging. "Sure, why not. Send me the address of the rink?"

"You got it."

*****

When Jay came home yesterday night with that stupid sheepish smile on his face, the first thing you felt was fear. You still felt it now along with a newfound nervousness.

Skating had been your livelihood, your blood ever since you could walk. Skating was more familiar to you than some common knowledge but you would never complain.

It was actually skating that brought you and Jay together in the first place.

You met him after practice and bumped into him on your way to the gym. Hitting it off was easy and it was smooth sailing from there.

You never questioned why Jay's friends and co-workers were still unaware of your existence, especially when he had to deal with your past.

You loved skating more than a lot of things so it confused you as to why you were so nervous.

"Y/N, why are you so nervous?" Jay asked you, leaning forward against the guard rails. He refused to get on the ice and insisted on watching from afar. He could see your tells: fidgeting with the end of your sleeve, spinning in circles and refusing to stay still.

"What if I'm not up to her standards?" You asked, gently pushing yourself towards him, letting him take your hands in his before you wore a hole into your shirt sleeve.

"Are you kidding? She'll love you." Jay huffed with a smile at the thought of someone not being impressed by you. "Ruzeks probably expecting some skater I knew back in the days who owed me a favour."

You rose a brow, looking at him expectantly.

"Yes, I owe you one."

Before you could voice or show him your appreciation for his short words, you were stopped by the doors opening and a small group of four entering. You didn't recognise them but Jay definitely did.

"Yo Jay! What's up?" Kevin waved at his friend, Jordan at his side. You both knew of the Atwater brothers joining you which you had no problem with.

"Hey guys, hey Makayla." Jay greeted, doing a 'man hug' and spudding the young girl who eagerly smiled at him.

"This is my girlfriend Y/N." Jay introduced you to his friends. He reached out to you, pulling you closer even though he was on dry land and you on ice.

As soon as your name left his lips, all four heads snapped in your direction, mouths agape and eyes wide in shock. You secretly hoped they wouldn't know who you were but it made sense if they were into skating.

"Y/N Y/L/N. Jay managed to snag Y/N?" Adam asked himself, astonished as to how you two were even dating and how no one ever knew you guys were dating.

You sheepishly smiled, shaking hands with each of them, even Makayla who was frozen.

It was as if you were a celebrity who worked in Hollywood the way she looked up you; her eyes shining in adoration and the brightest smile spreading, her dimples really popping out.

"Hi Makayla." You knowingly smiled at the girl, holding out your hand to shake hers over the barrier. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Glitter was practically sparkling in her eyes as her mouth remained agape at the face she had only ever seen on the tv screen at home. Her dreams were all of a sudden coming true and she found herself struggling to compute.

Adam gently nudged her with his hand on her shoulder, prompting her to return your handshake which she rapidly did once she was shaken out of her stupor.

"You- you're Y/N Y/L/N." She stated the obvious, hand still shaking yours unknowingly.

"That's me." You nodded, gently releasing her hand and going forth to shake the three mens hands.

"I'm Y/N." You introduced yourself to your boyfriends colleagues. "You guys skating with us or no?"

Adam reluctantly shook his head as if ashamed. "Nah, only Jordan and Makayla are skating."

"That's great." You smiled, pushing yourself away from the barrier. "Get your skates on and we can start straight away. Show me what you got."

And with that, Makayla wasted no time in sitting down and getting her skates on, all the men surrounding her laughing at her hastiness.

*****

Jay's eyes were burning from how long and hard he'd been staring at the investigation board. The words were merging together and he could no longer recognise the faces as they all became one big blur.

He desperately needed sleep after being up all night, being called onto a scene just at the two of you got under the covers. It was now midday on a Saturday and everyone just began pouring in once Jay called them all that this was starting to become something serious.

Deciding to rest his eyes for a mere second to reduce the incessant twitching, he internally groaned when he heard the familiar sound of mixed laughter getting louder as they approached the bullpen.

"Oh, you look like hell Jay." Adam said, deciding to go straight for the jugular as he shrugged off his jacket.

"What's up dude? Looks like you've been through it." Kevin said with a bit more empathy, lightly patting the back of his shoulder as a sort of greeting before going towards his own desk.

Before Jay could respond with the most snarkiest remark anyone has ever heard in their life, he was rudely cut off by Kim whose face suddenly brightened, making him physically wince.

"Jay, why did you never tell us you had an Olympic gold medalist girlfriend?"

The bullpen was filled with pin drop silence.

"You have a girl? No way, since when?" Antonio said jokingly, smirking as he riled up the younger detective. "And an athlete? Never thought you had it in you."

"Hmm, thanks a lot Tonio." Jay rolled his eyes, blinking rapidly as he stood up and stretched his arms. "That actually reminds me..."

The officers and detective watch the green eyed man fumble with his wallet and pull out several bills, accidentally slamming it down with way too much force on Adam's desk.

"Y/N refuses your payment and insists all of the skating lessons are free." Jay said, shrugging his shoulders at the confused faces of Makayla's parents. "She also said something about sponsorship and coaching but I can't remember."

"It's official Jay." Adam said with the most serious face ever, begrudgingly taking and putting the money back into his own wallet.

"I like Y/N more than you."

[syoddeye]

the meeting

ceo!price x reader / ~3k words

Folks seemed to like the first installment of this maybe-series, so I cooked up a second part in between drafts of the next chapter of For the Record (shameless plug). Not sure if this will be a whole thing or a series of vignettes. Enjoy!

CW: red flags everywhere, power imbalance, alcohol (mentioned)

You lay low after the company Christmas party and losing the drama wager to Jordan. Heads down, nose to the grindstone, and so forth. You never found the courage to respond to Mr. Price's direct message over the holidays. The shock from receiving a response at all kept you up at night. The message was supposed to get lost in his notifications, buried beneath the hundreds of messages he supposedly got a day. And he had not only replied, he insinuated he wanted to grab drinks. You checked it a hundred times.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas? > World peace. > I'd settle for a drink, though.

You could be reading into it. Flattering yourself. Profile photos were required on the chat app to help put faces to names, so he could have recognized you as the punch girl from the open bar. Most likely, he was making a joke and humoring an underling.

Whatever the reason, his simple reply plagues you well into the new year.

The first quarter is always hectic for The 141 Group. New regulations go into effect, and projects and initiatives kick off, setting the year's foundation. Since your boss Kyle is VP of Finance, it's even busier for him with budget meeting check-ins, payroll reports, and financial policy updates. And if his life is busy, your life is busy because his success is your success.

"Need you to bump everything I have today after three to tomorrow," He murmurs when you collect a stack of documents to copy.

"This is the second time you'll have pushed the meeting with technology directors," You remind him, but make a note anyway. "They'll complain to Mr. MacTavish."

Kyle glances up. "Let them. He's clearing his schedule this afternoon, too."

"Oh?"

"Big man's bringing the C-Suite and a few of us lucky VPs in for a meeting."

A practiced EA, you keep the instant surge of dread from reaching your face. It isn't strange for Kyle, though technically a subordinate to the CFO, to attend such meetings. Mr. Price frequently pulls him into special projects. You simply hoped to avoid the 'big man' for as long as possible. On the bright side, when Kyle never reprimanded you for flippantly messaging the CEO upon return from holiday, you assumed Mr. Price never said anything. Hopefully, he forgot about your message altogether. 

"Need me for notes?" You ask, hovering in the doorway to his office.

"Please. Something tells me it'll be tense." Interesting.

With a nod, you tuck the folder under an arm and pat the doorframe. "Got it. Lunch'll be here soon. I ordered Indian and Thai. Whatever you don't want, I'll eat."

"You're a lifesaver."

"I know."

~~

Conference Room Bravo isn't the biggest meeting space in the building, but everybody knows it's Mr. Price's preference. With an unobstructed view of the water and natural light, you like it, too. Especially since the small group of assistants who attend the more critical meetings sits on a long bench built into an alcove in the wall with a good view of the windows.

You and five other EAs ensure every seat at the main table is set with the appropriate accoutrements. Tea and coffee are on standby. With a three-hour window allocated, everyone will need a spot of caffeine at some point. Fifteen minutes before the scheduled start, you chat and make personal preparations.

"Did MacTavish seem stressed about this?" You ask Jordan as she takes the seat next to you.

She shakes her head. "No. You know him, though. It takes a bit to work him up."

"What about Laswell?" You lean forward and look down the bench at Oliver, the Chief Information Officer's right hand.

The younger man looks up from his laptop. "Same as Mr. MacTavish, kind of. Hard to tell, but she didn't take a smoke break, so…"

"Right."

The conversation drifts to weekend plans until Lucy, the newest EA to Mr. Shepherd, pipes up.

"Isn't it strange Mr. Price doesn't have a permanent assistant?"

It's a fair question for a new person. Since you started at The 141 Group, the desk outside Mr. Price's office has functioned as a revolving door. Guiltily, you stopped trying to learn their names about ten temps in, and since then, it's a coin flip if anyone's there at all. The general rule is if you have something to deliver to Mr. Price, you leave it on the empty desk. 

"Nah, nobody's good enough," Jordan answers. "MacTavish once told me Price is a workaholic with impossibly high standards. Not a good combination for an assistant."

Oliver agrees. "Laswell said as much, too. Apparently, at his place, he has a whole recreation of his office and gets right back to work when he gets home. And, his only staff are the bodyguards."

You would feel sad about that if Mr. Price wasn't a gazillionaire. An older man, hunching over a computer, completely alone in his home…when he could certainly afford staff and delegate.

Still, if he kept himself so busy, it made the fact he responded to your DM quite interesting.

The conversation dies when the attendees trickle in.

Kyle arrives with Mr. MacTavish, the latter of whom flashes a grin at Jordan and you. Close behind is the hulking mountain of a CSO, Mr. Riley, who, as usual, wears a black surgical mask. (The rumors around that accessory are practically 141 Group lore.) Other members of the C-Suite file in and Mr. Price arrives last, followed by his guards who post up at the door. He shuts the door behind him, the click silencing the room.

Your eyes glue themselves to the computer in your lap. Jordan elbows you a little, obviously enjoying the lingering effects of her wager.

As Mr. Price sits down, you finally steal a glance. He's wearing the hell out of a charcoal suit with a blue tie that makes his eyes pop, even across the room. His expression is stern, borderline grim, and thankfully, like everybody else at the main table, doesn't even glance in your direction. He's straight to the point. "Thank you all for making time in your schedules on short notice. Let's get started, shall we?"

~~

An hour and a half in, Price calls for a break. As the most senior EA on the bench, you lovingly pass on refreshment duty to Lucy and Desmond, the most junior. You follow Kyle to the hall.

"Need anything?" You ask when you're a reasonable distance down from the conference room.

"Do you think you can clean up the notes and send them to me by nine tonight?"

Your brows raise. Rarely does the man ask you to work late. He usually doesn't need to, as you pride yourself on efficiency. "Of course. I'll make a physical copy, too. What's your read on it, by the way?"

Kyle gives a tired smile. "You aren't paying attention, are you."

"I take down everything I hear to ensure you have impeccable notes. Listening gets in the way of that," You offer a grin, then glance down at his tie. Crooked. You fix it without thinking and chat more about his schedule tomorrow. A few people pass by in the hallway to use the restroom or stretch their legs, but you don't pay them mind.

"Mr. Garrick?" You both turn to see Jordan's head sticking out of the door. "They're resuming."

Kyle sighs quietly and starts back toward the conference room. You follow.

Settling back into your seat on the bench, you feel eyes on you, but when you look around, there's nothing. Weird.

~~

The meeting concludes on the dot at six. The attendees leave first, as do the rest of the assistants when you volunteer to clean up. Jordan waves goodbye when Mr. MacTavish departs alongside Mr. Riley. You sigh in relief when Price walks out with Shepherd and Laswell, leaving you and Kyle. Your boss swipes through his phone as you collect the trash and dishes, leaving everything for janitorial.

"Do you need a ride?" Kyle asks when you collect your laptop. "I'm heading your way."

"No, I think I'll finish the notes here, wait for rush hour to die down."

Kyle walks out with you and frowns. "If you stay past eight, please text. I'll have a car come back for you."

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Kyle is merely protective. "I'll take the train or call a rideshare myself."

He pushes the matter when you return to your corner of the executive floor, but you don't give in. You plan to stop for food on the way home and aren't keen to make his driver wait. When he finally leaves, you find yourself alone on the floor. Most folks leave at five, so everyone else cleared out when the meeting ended at six.

You clean, format, and summarize the meeting notes in an hour and a half. Due to Kyle's earlier comment, you make an effort to read into business. As far as you can tell, it's another big new project with lots of money on the table. The name of a new contractor company for extra hands mildly raises your interest. The usual choice, Chimera Company, must be busy. Other than that, everything's a slog to read. You trust that if something's important and need-to-know, Kyle will explain.

You email Kyle the notes a few minutes shy of eight and send them to the printer. Languidly stretching as you go, you walk to the copy room. At this hour, most overhead lights are on a timer and won't turn back on until morning to conserve energy. So, it's natural your eyes flick to Mr. Price's office at the end of the long hallway. There's a sliver of light beneath the door, beckoning like a golden gate. Turning into the darkened copy room, picturing Mr. Price at his desk distracts enough you don't realize you're not alone until a low, growling curse cuts through the silence.

Hunching over the copier is none other than Mr. Price himself. The low light glints off a silver watch band, encouraging the eye to a pair of thick forearms exposed by rolled shirt sleeves. You get a whole second of the uninterrupted sight before he notices.

A silent alarm goes off, and you're hopeful the lack of light saves you: Please don't recognize me. Please don't recognize me. Please–

Mr. Price does not move, and his focus returns to the copier. "Didn't realize anyone else worked this late."

You're unsure if you're supposed to respond, but you need those notes. "I usually don't. I was finishing up…Is there–Is there something I can help with?"

He answers when you tiptoe closer. "Everything's coming out with streaks," He grumbles, fiddling with random panel doors that open into the machine's guts.

This is not your first battle with the cursed thing. "I can fix that."

"Can you, now." Price mutters, barely audible.

You swallow. You might be several pay levels lower, but you aren't a pushover. "Mr. Price, please let me try." 

Again, he delays, but after an exasperated sigh, he concedes and slams a panel door shut.

After he steps back, you examine the failed jobs resting on the tray, then address the angry, blinking digital display. A few screens and taps later, you trigger the self-cleaning process and the machine whirs to life.

"All fixed?" Price asks, reminding you he's but a few steps behind you.

"We'll see," You move a short distance away, afraid if you stand any closer, it'll be enough for him to remember who you are and your dumb message. "It's self-cleaning. It will take two, three minutes, then produce a test print."

Price hums in acknowledgment, and then the glow of his phone screen illuminates his profile. You glance out of your periphery, almost relieved to see the steely expression on his face. Seems he really is a workaholic, taking advantage of any spare moment.

You lean against the supply cabinets and cross your feet at the ankles. You left your phone at your desk, so you settle for watching the copier hopefully fix itself.

Then, to your utter horror, Price says your name.

You look up without thinking.

"Thought I recognized you." He holds up his phone, and there you are, your profile picture in the workplace chat app.

You are going to murder Jordan. But first, you need to apologize.

"Mr. Price, I am so–"

Price cuts you off. "You're Kyle Garrick's assistant, yeah?"

Relief washes over you. Your message is forgotten. Definitely. All you are is an assistant. "Yes, sir."

With a hum, he pockets his phone, then steps forward to better see you. A hand plants itself on the counter, mere centimeters away. "You were at the meeting earlier." 

"Yes, sir."

"Would explain the swift fix," He muses, and his gaze drags down you in a more than perfunctory look before meeting yours once more. "Normally, I'd use the copier in my office, but it's due for maintenance. Seems this one is, too." 

He has his own copier? It would explain why I've never seen him in here, making his own copies since he apparently hates help.

"Guess so," You lick your lower lip, stomach flipping with nerves with how close Price stands. Between the proximity and the near darkness, it's all you can do to keep your imagination in check.

A cheerful beeping from the copier saves you. Price lingers a moment more, then returns to the printing tray as the machine spits out a test page. 

Price chuckles, which you take to mean the issue is fixed. He restarts the delayed jobs. "Well done, love."

"It's nothing," You say quietly, rooted to where you lean. 

A minute passes, and Price collects the first completed stack of papers. His brow furrows. "Think these are yours."

You finally push off the cabinets and venture closer, reaching for the notes. Only, he does not hand them over.

"Forgot Gaz prefers hard copies," Price murmurs. 

Gaz? 

"This is the kind of work I wish I had received from my past assistants."

If it was not the CEO speaking, you would be the defender of the voiceless, the fired employees of 141 past. If the man's gone through as many assistants as you think he has, he's the problem.

"You like working for Garrick?"

It feels like a trick question. From the outside, it appears he and Kyle like each other. For all of Price's talks on 'openness' and 'camaraderie,' he has his favorites, and your boss is one of them. Though that could be an act, and Price is actually looking for some kind of blemish on Kyle's record. Either way, you can be honest because you genuinely like Kyle.

"Mr. Garrick is a joy to work with." Anxiety flushes half of the English language and all creativity out of your brain.

Price huffs in amusement. "A joy to work with," He repeats. "That's all? You appeared quite friendly during the break."

The comment gives you pause, and you shove back through the day's events. The meeting, the break – was it because you simply straightened Kyle's tie? It's a harmless gesture, you think. No one's ever batted an eye before. You can't help but feel a little affronted. "That's because we are friends, sir. Kind of happens when you work for someone for nearly five years."

Price lifts the notes in a placating manner, then out to you. "No harm meant. It's nice to see, is all. I understand we struggle with retention."

An understatement for him. Your imaginary hackles lower. "We work well together."

Price smiles. "Clearly. And five years, eh? Should get something for that, I think."

Inwardly, you cringe. The last thing you need is another branded mug, t-shirt, or keychain. "That isn't necessary, sir."

"Nonsense. We've got to reward loyalty."

You stiffly nod, figuring it's worthless to protest. It makes sense why he's in charge. He's a steamroller when it comes to what he wants.

"Do you have somewhere to be? Someone waiting for you?"

In this context, a darkened office, alone with a man with the power to make or break your career, it's a borderline sinister question. At least, it should be, yet instead, all you feel is a brief thrill.

"No, sir."

"Then, how about that drink?"

Oh, god. "'That drink'?" You ask dumbly. You know exactly what he means.

He chuckles and sets his gaze on you again. It's heavy, somehow both a blanket around the shoulders and a cinder block to the chest.

"While you are a capable woman, I doubt achievin' world peace is within your power. But a drink? Think you can fit me into your schedule this evening?"

You will kill Jordan for the bet. Then Kyle will kill you for losing it. But do you really have a choice?

"Yes, sir."

"Please, after hours, call me John."

~~

Mr. Price's–John's bodyguards do not seem fazed when you meet them at the elevators. You watch John whisper something into the taller one's ear on the ride down, and the man hails a cab. Meanwhile, John ushers you out to a waiting town car, and the shorter guard takes the passenger seat. 

When he takes the seat beside you, shuts the door, and drapes a big arm over the back of the seats, you think to fake an illness. A forgotten appointment. Something. Then he gives you another grin, a note of triumph in it, and the thoughts of escape vanish.

~~

Your salary affords you nice things like hardcover books, daily coffees, and frequent takeaway. And until ten seconds ago, you could count stylish yet comfortable office attire among said things. Yet, walking through the awning-covered entrance to an unmarked bar, you lose that delusion quickly. The bar's host lights up at the sight of Mr. Price, then openly examines you and the pencil skirt you thought was expensive.

"Welcome back, Mr. Price. Your usual table, I presume? Is this lovely creature your date?" 

"Yes, and yes."

A firm, warm hand at the small of your back flexes. It's a silent suggestion: do not correct him. You don't.

A cocktail later, that same hand lands on your knee beneath the table. 

[adventuringblind]

Oscar the Matchmaker: Chapter Eight

Oscar Piastri x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: Reader travels back home to see her family with Max and Oscar. Things escalate a bit more then intended.

Warnings: religious things/trauma, sucky parents, talks of sexual activity

Notes: As someone who comes from a toxic church… this was much needed

Masterlist

Normally, Oscar is not a smug person. He doesn't rub things in people's faces (unless it's Lando). But in this moment, he allows himself to be a little smug.

The trio had made their way back to the females home for a weekend of their summer break. The last interaction he had with her parents was in formula two when they’d come to watch a race and got a glimpse of her terrible partners and her kissing around the corner.

He had to hold back his anger when he saw how uncomfortable she looked. Then he expected maybe her parents to do something about it. Instead they ridiculed her. Berated her. Essentially told her the devil had invaded her life.

She just stood there and took it. To the point where he stepped in and pulled her away because she looked distant. Numb to the world.

He hadn’t seen them since, and neither had she. Though he knows they talk occasionally.

Max, on the other hand, has never met them. Oscar had tried to give him a few pointers, but he'd already seen the fire behind his eyes. This was going to be a long weekend if Max had already settled for being an agent of chaos.

The trio makes their way to where their car is waiting to take them. The car where her parent are standing and waiting for them. Oscar wants nothing more then to see them pass out over their daughter and how well off she is. How successful she’s become without them.

She hugs them both when they get to the car. They look uncomfortable with the other two being around. “Welcome home. I thought it was just going to be you?” Questions her father. Oscar and Max both smile and go to shake his hand to introduce themselves, but he doesn’t reciprocate. Instead he frowns. And turns his attention back to his daughter.

“I said I wasn’t coming without them. If that makes you uncomfortable then we can always get back on the jet.”

“It’s fine- just be… decent, please.”

Oscar can hear Max inhale sharply. A look of annoyance crosses his features.

The Aussie is shocked that Max even agreed to such a thing. The entire point in coming here is to go to church with her parents, prove they aren’t possessed (or something like that) then leave. and frankly, max doesn’t seem like the kind of person to try to hold his tongue about his opinion for an entire weekend.

Their things go into the back and they climb into the (smaller then imagined) car. It’s certainly not something they normally travel in, but it feels like cuddling since its the three of them. So- Oscar can hardly complain much.

The majority of the ride is awkward small talk. Max eventually starts animatedly explaining something and in the heat of the moment his filter slips.

“Sorry- we don’t normally talk like that.”

“Good thing I can swear enough for the both of us then.” Max chuckles and the other two in the back start wheezing.

Yeah… it’s going to be a long weekend.

~

The house is relatively standard. Definitely not what they are used to seeing. Or at least, that’s what the female thinks as they they enter the house.

Her room has been emptied. It’s a little heartbreaking since they didn’t tell her. It’s like any trace of her existence has been erased. The bed is bigger then her old one and the room is void of any kind of decoration.

“Home sweet home.”

Max closes the door behind him. “I’m shocked they are letting us sleep together. They aren’t going to attempt an exorcism are them?”

all three of them toss their bodies onto the bed. “You have no idea how glad I am your here. It would suck to do this alone.”

“So- anyone up for purposely being as loud as possible and making the prudes out there think we’re having sex?” Max looks entirely to innocent. But Oscar looks even more so.

“Why fake it when we can do the real thing?”

“You two are terrible.”

The next morning is what she is absolutely dreading. Waking up when it’s still dark outside is not something any of them are good at. Add in that it’s for a religious event- They are rushing around getting ready.

It’s also sucks when they step out of the room, ready to go, the strength to face the inevitable.

“You’re not leaving in that.” Her father looks her up and down and her jaw tightens. The nerve of the man. She’s a fucking adult!

“I mean- she could be naked.” Oscar shrugs. It’s Max’s turn to keel over at a comment made. In reality, he’s not wrong. She wonders if it’s the lack of leggings for a dress that brushes the backs of her thighs. Or maybe it’s that he can see her shoulders.

Her parents start on some tangent that she tuned out about two sentences in. She makes eye contact with both boys. One looks exasperated like her and on the verge of just leaving early. The other is seething. Entirely red in the face.

Max’s hand hits the wall with an unrelenting force. “Sorry, I was compelled by the spirit… of anger! What the fuck are either of you talking about? either we leave here to whatever cult event this is, or we go home. But let her wear what she’s going to wear.”

The car ride is silent. Though she’s glad, because her nerves pick up immensely when they arrive. Max and Oscar pick up easily on her shaky hands. The product ends with her in-between them, the two males swinging her back and forth. She feels mildly like a child, but it’s calming, so she could care less.

The church is dead inside. Only a singular office light on. One that she dreads as she spent many hours inside of it. “Please tell me we’re not here to meet with the pastor.”

Her worst fear are come to life. Sitting on the sofa between Oscar and Max. Her parents on the other side and the pastor in a chair staring directly at her.

“I didn’t think you’d be back, y/n.” The voice she hates makes her shiver when it says her name.

“That makes two of us.”

“Are these your… friends?”

Max clicks his tongue. “Boyfriends.”

“It’s impossible to have two partners.” He sighs. Dissatisfied with Max’s correction. “You can’t possibly have a good sexual relationship between three people.”

Oscar coughs. “I beg to differ.” He shrugs and the pastor eyes him suspiciously.

“And why’s that?”

“I mean if you really want the details- just remember that you asked for it.” Oscar sits up in his seat and leans over his elbows. His hands now clasped in front of him. “Me and Max have a game we play that usually ends up in some kind of unpredictable scenario. I wouldn’t say we fight for control, we just race for it. She’s a bottom through and through and will do anything either of us says so that part is pretty easy. Plus, not to brag, but my rope work is getting better.” There is a few breaths of stunned silence as Oscar sits back into the couch.

The pastor looks at her parents. “Can we step outside for a moment?” Then the three get up and leave.

“That was the most brilliant display I have ever seen.l Max finally lets out the laughter he’s been biting back. “Did you see their faces? Priceless!”

“I don’t think my parents will ever talk to me again after this.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing? All they do is make you feel horrible about yourself. It might not be a bad idea to cut contact for a while.” Oscar draws circles on to her thing. The pattern being one of comfort that he uses often.

“Can we call a cab or something? I am very ready to go.” She sighs.

“Great plan! But first I think we should really piss them off.” Max’s suggestive smirk can’t mean anything good.

~

It doesn’t take the three long to locate her parents outside of the office. They gasp when they see what she looks like. A few lovely hickies down her neck and shoulder. Her hair misplaced in all kinds of directions. They say nothing about it.

“It’s been nice seeing you, but we’re going to head back to Monaco now. Also, please don’t try to contact me again.”

They jump into some kind of lecture, but it’s to late. The trio heads for their ride that’s waiting for them outside the doors

Max, however, takes the opportunity to flip them off as they walk away.

[capsicle-evans]

The Make Believe Ms Evans

Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: A PR marriage between Y/N and Chris Evans has skyrocketed their careers but their sex lives has never been this low. Up until now.

Warnings: unprotected sex, swearing

Series Master Post

Part 1, Part 2

“Jesus fucking Christ, can you hurry the fuck up?” I slam on the bathroom door. We should’ve been out the door like 5 minutes ago. “What is taking you so long?”

Chris yanks the door open, an exasperated look on his face. “Can you stop screaming like a fucking banshee?”

“We are going to be late, you idiot” I glare at him as he starts placing the buttons of his shirt in place.

Chris is in the promotional tour of his new movie so Polly secured an interview with Jimmy Kimmel because that’s always a success. “Shut up and just help me with the tie, Y/N” Chris rolls his eyes and steps back so that I can move between him and the bathroom counter.

“Fucking man child” I groan as I bring my hands up to his neck, placing the tie neatly around his neck. “One would think you would know by now how to do this”

“Stop complaining” Chris grins as he stretches his hands to grab my thigh. He pushes his hand under my dress, slowly making his way up my skin.

“What are you doing?” I look down, my hands forgetting about his tie and moving to his hand.

“Shut up” Chris stops my hands, pinning them behind my back with ease with just one of his hands. The other removes the half done tie around his neck. “Don’t fight me, Y/N”

Before I can ask again what he is doing, he ties both of my hands and brings up my skirt. “Stop, Polly and Claire could be here any minute now”

“Y/N, please for once in your life” Chris pulls down my panties before stepping back enough to release his member from his pants. “Shut up”

I want to fight him. God knows how much I want to fight back. But I want to fuck him more.

“Open up” Chris orders me as his thumb tugs at my bottom lip. When I do so, he pushes his index finger into my mouth, hard against my tongue. I wrap my lips around his finger, bobbing my head back and forth. “Such a good girl”

I feel my pussy clench at the praise so I push my hips forward, the tip of his dick gliding against my stomach.

“So eager” Chris groans before removing his finger from my mouth. He grabs my hip with the other hand to pull me closer as the his finger dips down into my throbbing pussy. “God, so wet” Chris moans against my ear as he lets his head rest in my shoulder.

I bite into his neck as he pumps hard and fast into me, me legs shaking under me. “Are you ready for me?”

“Mhm” I whine. Chris pulls his finger out and lines himself into my entrance, the head of his cock getting coaxed with my juices. Before I can complain, he pushes himself into me in one swift motion. My head falls back at the sudden feeling of fullness and the sting that rips my walls.

Chris grabs my ass to use as leverage to pump faster into me. I twist around, trying to touch him but the tie behind my back restricting my every move. “Release me”

“Be a good girl and stay still, Y/N” Chris shakes his head and brings one of my legs up around his waist to have a better access into me.

I start to whimper against his hear as hi dips one finger in between our bodies to massage my clitoris. I’m about to moan when we here the door of our room slam shut. “Y/N? Chris? We are running late” Polly calls out from the outside of the bathroom so Chris quickly places his hand over my mouth to stop any illicit sound. I wait for him to stop but his movements are still persistent and hard, in fact he only gains speed.

“In a sec” Chris shouts back and goes back to rubbing my clit. I feel the pressure in me almost reaching its peak so I bite into his hand to stop myself from screaming. “Just finishing up”

“Do you know where’s Y/N?” Polly asks back.

“Probably at the bar or something” Chris grabs both of my legs so that I’m wrapped around him and the new angle sends me over the edge. My eyes roll back and I start shaking against Chris as the waves of pleasure take over my every senses. “You should go check”

I don’t catch the rest of the conversation, my mind still spinning from my orgasm and Chris’ dick still inside of me as he looks for his release.

“I’m so close” Chris hides his face in my neck to muffle his moans. It only takes a few more pumps into me and then I feel the warmth of Chris’s cum coaxing my walls. Thank god I’m on the pill because the sensation of being filled up is so hot it almost pushes me to my edge again.

“Give me a sec” Chris pulls out and I feel his cum dripping down my legs. He pulls a towel from the rack and cleans me up before doing the same with himself. “All done”

“Care to release me?” I race my eyebrow at him. Chris chuckles, totally forgetting that he had me tied back.

“There you go” He removes his tie only to place it smoothly back in his neck. He zips his pants back and reapplies his cologne before turning back at me. I’m still collecting myself from my orgasm so I just lay back on the counter. “Hurry up, are are going to me late”

He ducks just in time to miss the hair brush that was headed straight for his head.

***

“So Chris” Jimmy taps his fingers a long the wooden table in front of him. “You brought your lovely wife with you this time”

“Yeah” Chris smiles, turning his face towards the audience. “She is my support system and I wanted to have her with me here”

“We haven’t seen much of you two since you guys got married” Jimmy gives him a raised eyebrow and and I can feel Polly tense next to me as we watch from a VIP section of the audience.

“I mean you said it yourself, Jimmy” Chris brings up his hand to his jaw, a wicked smirk on his face. “We just got married, we don’t leave the house much”

My cheeks burn hot as the camera pans to me, the room erupting with teasing screams. I shake my head, laughing as Jimmy calls out my blush. “You are gonna get in trouble for that one, Mister”

“I hope so” Chris nods his head at Jimmy, hyping the crowd even more. He laughs before waving his hands up. “I need to stop pushing my luck here”

“Yeah, that’s a wise decision” Jimmy chuckles before turning towards you. “Y/N, please go easy on him”

“I’ll try, Jimmy, I’ll try” I give him a cheeky smile. “I make no promises tho”

***

“It’s nice to see you get along” Claire breaks the silence as we drive through the city of New York. The car zooms through the busy streets and the crowded sidewalks, the city lights brightening the sky. “Chris, you did good today”

“Yeah it’s nice to see you not at each other’s throat” Polly adds as she types away on her phone.

Chris leans in to whisper in my ear. “I mean I did have you by the throat yesterday” His voice sends shivers down my spine as it bring back memories of the eventful morning we had before we went to the airport.

“What’s that?” Polly looks up, thinking Chris was talking to her.

“Nothing” He leans back away from me. “Just talking to myself”

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us for dinner?” Claire turns to me as the driver pulls up outside our hotel.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna get room service and head to bed” I give her a reassuring smile as Chris opens up the car door, the flashes going off immediately. “But you two enjoy your night out”

Chris steps out, stretching his arm to help me out of the car. His arm goes around me to guide into the hotel, making sure that the paps aren’t to close to us.

“is it true you are getting a divorce?” one paparazzi asks me as he steps right in front of me. If it weren’t for Chris’s arm around me, I would’ve tripped as I bumped against the unknown man.

“Hey, stay the hell away from her” Chris pulls me tight against his chest as I try to squeeze around the crowd of people. Our bodyguards start pushing people away, making way for us to run into the hotel lobby.

“You okay?” Chris pants as we are finally inside.

“Yeah, just scratched myself a little against his camera, that’s all” I check my arm as 2 lines start forming over my skin, just a bid of blood making its way to the surface. “Ill be fine”

“Let’s just get to our room” Chris nods, grabbing my hand as he notices that everyone in the lobby is looking at us. “Honey”

I try to swallow down the laugh that wants to erupt from my chest. “God you are si stiff” I whisper only for him to hear.

“Oh shut up” He grins, not looking down at me as we head for the elevator.

Once inside, just the two of us, Chris release my hand and puts his into his pockets. “So what do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t know” I twist my mouth. “Not that hungry really”

“How about some wine and cheese platter?” Chris asks. “I saw one on the menu last night”

“Yeah, i think that would be nice” I nod as the elevator dings, signaling we’ve reached our floor.

We walk in silence towards our shared suite, only the clacking of our shoes breaking through the silence that rules over the hallway. One we’ve reached our door, Chris places his card on the reader and holds the door open for me. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll order the food”

“Thank you” I give his chest a soft pat before walking to the bathroom.

Since we cannot get away with having different rooms book for us, I usually sleep on the bed and Chris takes the fold up bed or just crashes on the couch.

I strip out of my jumpsuit, hills tossed somewhere in my room. “White or red?” Chris pops his head through the door as he pushes the phone away from his lips.

“Red” I turn to him as unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor.

“Jesus christ” Chris rubs his hand through his arm as his eyes fall down to my naked chest. “Please just knock and leave the food outside. We might be busy”

“Christopher” I blush as the poor lady at the end of the phone gets mortified by Chris. “Don’t say that”

“Why?” He grins as he tosses the phone somewhere in my bed before stepping in the bathroom. “Did I lie?”

“I mean no but-“ My mind betrays me as I follow the movement of his hands.l, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Maybe we don’t need food tonight” Once done with his shirt, his hands move to my hips, pulling me to him. “We can just eat each other”

“Chris I-“ I try to fight him but his lips come down to my neck, his tongue darting out to taste the saltiness of my skin.

“What do you think?” Chris whisper hot against my ear. “Don’t you want me to fuck you against the counter? Just like this morning?”

I try to answer but when his fingers pinch at my nipple, any thought I had, just went out the window.

***

“Favorite place to be?” I ask Chris as I press a green grape against my bottom lip.

“Mhm” He brings his glass down from his lip. “I love Boston, my whole family is there”

“Besides Boston” I roll my eyes. Everyone knows Chris loves Boston. When we got married, his only request was that Boston remain as our principal house, my house in LA just to be used for when we had to be there for the job.

Chris scratches at his beard, thinking deeply. “Venice, I think”

“Really?” I beam. “I want to go there sometime. Amsterdam, too”

“You’ve never been there?” Chris asks, slowly moving his glass in circles.

“Nope” I shake my head. “I didn’t have the money before and now I don’t have the time”

“Yeah, I get that” He nods his head before bringing his glass back up to his lips. We stay in the comfort of our silence.

I feel weird when it’s just Chris and I. Well, when we are not fucking. We are used to just fighting each other, and now, having sex. Small talk isn’t really our strongest side.

I’m about to excuse myself when Chris breaks the silence. “Why did you agree?”

“On what?” I look back at him but his eyes are fixated on the bottle in front of him.

“To marry me” His eyes snap back at me. “To do the whole fake thing”

“I-I” I stutter a bit, his question catching me off guard. “I mean Claire sold me on the whole ‘it’s whats best for your career’ thing, so I agreed, I guess”

“Do you ever regret it?” He follows up his question, never taking his eyes away from me.

Where the hell is this coming from? We’ve never discussed this topic so openly. “Do you?” I sit up straighter, not longer feeling comfortable in my sprawled position.

“No” He answers immediately. “To be honest I didn’t care much about it”

“Then why are you asking me all of this?” I move to place the glass of wine over the coffee table.

“I’m in my 40s, if anything, marrying you got people off my back” He finally shifts his focus to the bottle of wine, probably feeling a bit uncomfortable with the way my eyes are scanning his every move. “Every time I had an interview, all they wanted to talk about was if I was planning on settling down, having kids and what not”

“But now they ask about me” I frown, not really seeing the difference.

“But because they want in in the gossip, no longer out of expectations” He sighs, chugging the rest of his wine. “But you are young, you… You could have anything you wanted, whoever you wanted. Why settle for this?”

“I’m not settling, Chris” I turn my body to face him, his side profile greeting me. “Shit, we might not be a happy lovely marriage but we respect each other, I, at least, admire your work. And yeah we used to fight a lot but I’ve always known that if I need a favor, I can count on you. That’s a lot more than what other people have”

“Yeah, I guess” Chris finally looks back into my eyes, a softer gaze taking over his eyes. “But don’t you ever want to go to go out with guys your age or something?”

“Chris, I’ve dated people before” I chuckled. “And trust me, you’ve given me more orgasms in the last 48 hours than they ever did”

Chris tries to hold back the grin on his face but fails miserably when I give him a little shove. “Don’t let it get to your ego, grandpa”

“I make no promises” Chris smirks, grabbing a hold of my thigh.

“Oh no, mister” I push his hand away, standing up and away from him. “You are going to leave me all sore! Give me a break”

“Fine” He rolls his eyes at me before also standing up. “In that case, leave. You are taking up my bed”

“Good night, grandpa” I pat his chest before turning around. “Make sure you get a good sleep, we don’t want you all grumpy in the morning”

****************************************************

Part 2 is up🩷

Tag List: @talesofadragon @patzammit @rainyhort10-blog @cutedisneygrl @creae7881

[steddieas-shegoes]

the last cupcake

for the @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 4 (prompt: bakery AU) rated: M wc: 997 cw: vomiting mention (not graphic) tags: getting together, friends to lovers, baker Steve, musician Eddie

Eddie came in at the same time everyday.

Ten minutes before closing.

Always bought the last cupcake.

So when he didn't show up today, Steve got worried.

🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁

When Steve opened the bakery two years ago, he had no idea how wildly successful it would be, and how quickly he'd start to think of his regulars as family.

Eddie moved to town almost exactly a year ago, a tiny studio apartment only a few blocks away, not that Steve had ever seen it. He just knew because of how often Eddie complained that he was tired of not having room for all his music equipment.

Steve let him keep some of his less used equipment in his storage closet upstairs.

"That's what friends are for," he'd said at the time.

And then he went and fell in love with him.

It was the most ridiculous thing that did it, too.

Eddie came in, same as always, dripping wet from the rain that had kept most customers away all afternoon.

"Did you forget an umbrella?" Steve asked, amused by his wet dog look.

"Don't own one," Eddie said, shivering at the chill in the bakery.

Steve decided then that he could never imagine going a single day without seeing and talking to Eddie.

The next day, Steve gave him an umbrella with his cupcake.

"For next time. Don't want you to catch a cold or something just trying to get a mediocre cupcake," Steve shrugged it off.

"Mediocre?! You think I come here everyday for a mediocre cupcake?" Eddie grabbed his hand, and that was really it for Steve. "These are the best damn cupcakes I have ever had in my life, Stevie."

"Whatever you say, Eds."

🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁🧁

He had Eddie's number, of course.

But they rarely spoke.

Sometimes Eddie would text him with a thumbs up emoji when a cupcake was particularly tasty or let him know he had to grab something from the closet.

As he closed up the shop, he couldn't help glancing out the front windows to see if he came running.

He didn't.

Steve locked up and went upstairs.

He couldn't shake the fear that something was wrong, though.

Hey, just wondering if you're okay. Missed you coming by.

Just a text to check in. That was normal between friends, right?

His phone went off a minute later.

Sorry. Got the flu. Didn't wanna give it to you

Steve's heart fluttered.

Need anything?

To die maybe

Steve laughed.

So dramatic. But really, you want me to bring you some soup?

You don't have to do that

I want to.

Eddie's response took a few minutes to arrive, but when it did, it was just his address and a smiling face.

Steve had never moved so quickly in his life.

He grabbed a can of soup from the cabinet, already a little upset that he didn't have time to make something homemade.

He grabbed the box with his last cupcake for the day, and rushed downstairs and to Eddie's apartment.

Eddie buzzed him in without saying a word, leaving the door unlocked for him.

Steve was welcomed by a loud groan coming from the bathroom.

“Eds?”

“Be out soon,” Eddie yelled to him.

He probably didn’t even need to yell; This apartment really was small.

He walked to the bathroom door and knocked once.

“You okay in there? I brought your cupcake. Your favorite,” Steve smiled as he rested his forehead against the door.

Eddie let out a long groan that was interrupted by gagging noises.

“Are you throwing up?”

“Yep. Almost done,” he replied.

Steve quickly hid the cupcake in the fridge, not wanting it to cause any further problems for Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie came out, looking sick.

He moved slowly, like it pained him to take a single step, and Steve felt his stomach twist.

“Hey, Eds,” he said softly.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie gave what sort of resembled a smile.

"I brought soup. Well, I brought a can of soup. I didn't know if that would help. It's probably not gonna be that good, but I could go get you something else if you want? Or-"

"Steve." Eddie was actually smiling now, a small one, but a real one. "If I didn't have the flu, I would kiss you."

"Huh?"

"You think I come to your bakery every single day because I love cupcakes so much?" Eddie asked, looking a bit green at the mention of cupcakes.

"Um...yeah?" Steve couldn't think of any other reason he would bother coming by.

"I mean, your cupcakes are the best I've had, but I come every day to see you."

Oh.

Oh.

"You like to visit me?" Steve felt like the ground beneath him was shaking.

Was it possible there was an earthquake happening?

"Of course I do. How could I not wanna see the hot baker who makes delicious cupcakes?" Eddie winked, then grabbed his stomach. "Hold that thought."

Eddie ran back in the bathroom and Steve could hear him gagging again, but he blocked it out.

Eddie came to see him.

When Eddie came back into the main room, Steve smiled at him.

"You know, you could have just asked me out. Probably would've saved you a lot of money on cupcakes," he said.

"But then I wouldn't have seen that cute little dance you do when you lean over to get the cupcake out of the fridge you keep it in," Eddie smirked.

"I do not do a dance!"

"You do!"

"You're delirious from dehydration. Let me get you some water," Steve said, actually turning to the kitchen cabinets like he knew where the glasses were.

Eddie's hand touched his lower back.

"Top left," Eddie's voice was low. "You know if I weren't throwing up nearly every 30 minutes, I'd probably take you to bed. Skip the date. We've been having them every day for a year now."

"You think this thing is a 24 hour bug or..." Steve asked.

"I fucking hope so."

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 • RORO RIQUELME

summary. your brother’s annoying teammate is hard to resist when he shows off his tattoos.

warnings. smut, oral (fem receiving), weed, alcohol, and griezmann!reader.

a/n. finally wrote for my starboy. based off trust by bad gyal!

ever since you moved to madrid over ten years ago the city had managed to take you by surprise every one of those years. this year was no exception due to the high heat every day. it was a wonder you hadn’t run back home to france already. and somehow your brother had managed to throw a successful pool party with all of his teammates showing up. unfortunately, he had decided to host it in your house claiming that you had a better pool when in reality he just didn’t wanna deal with the aftermath.

you close the book you’re trying to read but you can’t make it past the first page as the sun blazes on your skin. beads of sweat form on your body for the simply act of sitting outside. you just hope that in this misery you can’t at least get a good tan. although, that thought doesn’t last long as you’re soon drenched in your own margarita. the cold drink making your exposed skin shiver. you look up locking eyes with the culprit. roro approaches you slowly with an unbuttoned t-shirt, exposing his hidden tattoos.

“shit. don’t tell antoine.” he picks up the football not even offering an apology.

“is he that scary?” you tease him.

“no he isn’t but your tantrums are.” he smirks at his words.

you look up at him making sure to cover your eyes from the sun in the process. his sudden change in demeanor interests you and you find yourself drawn to him. he’s always tried his best to get under your skin despite knowing who your brother was. he didn’t care and you admired that. carefully you place your hand on his chest slowly dragging it down until it’s placed on his rib cage tattoo.

“i’d be careful if i were you, roro. don’t forget who my brother is. better put that mouth to better use.” you offer him a smile.

“doesn’t it suck?” he places his hand on top you’re stopping it from wandering off even lower. “being second to your brother always? you can’t even threaten me without bringing him up because in reality no one cares about you. some people don’t even know you exist.”

this time you’re the one left speechless and not because of his words, in truth you didn’t care what anyone said about you, but because he’d finally been able to use cruel words to defend himself. he’s always held back never once trying to get into your bad graces. maybe it was the humid weather that made him not care anymore.

the party continued with countless plastic cups being thrown around the yard and countless splashes could be heard one after the other. yet you found yourself analyzing the brunette in the pool. fully shirtless now allowing you a view of his back tattoos. you would’ve never guessed he’d be one to ink himself by the innocent smile he wore everyday.

unbeknownst to you, your actions didn’t go unnoticed. paddy, marco’s wife, had noticed how your eyes kept wandering off to the brunette. she had tried inviting you on a brand trip for the fifth time and you’d changed the subject for a fifth time.

“i mean look at him! everyone thinks he’s this innocent little guy but he isn’t. what an asshole!” you ranted to her as she drank from her mojito.

“fuck him.” she muttered tired of him being the topic of conversation.

“exactly. if only everyone else could see what a horri-”

“no. fuck him.” she rolled her eyes.

“what?” you turned towards her trying to find out the meaning behind her words.

“it’s clear you want to sleep with him and he probably wants to as well. so do it. get it over with! i can’t hear you complain about him one more time.” she sighs.

“you can’t possibly be serious paddy?” you scoff.

“i’m never been so serious about something in my life. i’ve had hate sex with marcos all the time and it’s arguably the best sex i’ve had in my life.” she continues drinking her mojito as if what she had just said was the most normal thing ever.

“do it or some other girl at this party will.” is the last thing she says to you before she wanders off looking for her husband.

the sun is soon replaced by the moon as the hours go on and it seems your brother’s party has only grown in size. you hope your brother is sober enough tomorrow to clean after his mess because you sure wouldn’t be doing anything. your brother is lucky he lives retired from the city so you don’t get any noise complaints as the music blasts through the backyard. it’s the perfect atmosphere for a get together and a perfect atmosphere for paddy’s suggestion.

you carry your drink inside careful to avoid any spillage. you analyze everyone hoping to find the brunette and when you do you head directly towards him with no hesitation. you’re so close to him when you trip, accidentally of course, and your drink lands all over his white button down shirt. you stand up quickly looking quite concerned and confused.

“fuck i didn’t mean to sorry.” you murmur the last bit feigning innocence because you absolutely meant to spill your drink all over him. “you can borrow one of antoine’s shirts.”

“it’s fine.” he mumbles clearly annoyed at what just occurred.

“no, i’ve been mean. it’s the least i could do.” you offer a truce.

he analyzes your face for any hint of malice but doesn’t find any. a part of him wants to take your offer of help but the other part is still hesitant. ultimately he decides he doesn’t want to walk around with a wet and sticky shirt for the rest of the night. he sighs before agreeing. you quickly grab his hand before he can say anything and drag him towards the spare room.

“this one or this one?” you hold up two button downs. one is a bright shade of baby blue and the other a plain white one similar to the one you had ruined.

he chooses the baby blue button down not waiting another minute to change into it. he rushes causing two packets and a heavier material to fall out of his pockets. quickly he tries to retrieve them before you see them but you’re faster. you let out a loud exaggerated gasp at the sight of the pills and vape.

“you? no way.” you almost laugh at how surprising he was. first the tattoos, then the attitude, and now this. he was truly unpredictable. “don’t you have to take doping tests?”

“who do you think gets me cleared before matches?” he asks as he grabs the pills and the vape from your hand. although, you manage to take the vape back noticing what it contained. you inhale.

“my brother.” you exhale causing the smoke to invade his face. “does he give you the weed too?”

“just give it back.” he holds his hand out waiting for you to comply.

you obviously don’t choosing to sit on the bed instead taking another puff. your movements cause your black sarong to move up your legs giving him quite the sight. it was a shame that you were so attractive because you were equally as annoying. and if you weren’t your brother’s sister rodrigo would’ve tried to at least attempt a move on you. but because you were so determined tonight you’d make sure he would.

he walks towards you hoping to take his personal belongings back. after all he’s stronger more agile he should be able to snatch them away from you. but he forgets that you’re faster and every time he tries to reach for them he only ends up dangerously close to your body. you notice he never managed to button up his shirt and his rib cage tattoo is once again exposed to you. you place your hand on it knowing it’s your one chance to get what you want.

“what does it mean?” you look up at his brown eyes finding them already staring right at you.

“what are you doing?” he sighs frustrated at your weird antics.

“nothing.” you answer simply.

there’s a short pause between the two of you with silence filling the air. the two of you are practically chest to chest and you’re so close to getting what you want. what you need. you act first kissing him. after all you could blame it on the drugs in case this ends up being a huge mess. you expect him to pull away but he does the complete opposite grabbing your jaw as he deepens the kiss. they say it’s always the silent ones and he confirms those rumors.

your hands find themselves in his curls tugging on the strands as he leaves wet kisses along your jaw. meanwhile his hand finds it’s way around your throat pulling you closer to him as the two of you roughly kiss. it’s the opposite of gentle, what you enjoy. you gain the confidence to drag your hand down his bare chest all the way to the hem of his shorts when he stops you by grabbing your hand.

“what are you playing at?” he steps away from you. once again analyzing you and your facial expressions trying to figure out why you wanted to sleep with him.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about roro.” you say his nickname so sweetly and somehow also seductively.

“bullshit. one minute you’re threatening me and the next you’re all over me. you couldn’t get anyone else to sleep with you?” he asks in a more serious tone. you enjoy the view of a shirtless heated roro.

“i didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. but if you don’t want to then i’ll guess i’ll have to find someone else.” you begin to stand up.

you’re immediately pushed back down by the midfielder shocked at the force. it somehow turns you on even more.

“then say it.” he demands.

“say what?” you look up at him.

“that you want to fuck me. say it.” he demands once again.

“roro…” you brings your hands up his torso and wrap them around his neck locking eyes with him as you bring him closer to you once again. “i want you to fuck me.”

that’s all it takes to push him off the edge and his lips are once again on yours. the kisses are rough and quick and you find yourself tugging on his bottom lip to provoke him even more. it’s all so sensual like a scene on television. his hands roam your body ultimately landing on your ass as the two of you gravitate towards each other. you can feel his hard on against the fabric of your swimsuit. you’re pretty sure he can feel your growing arousal as he begins to grind himself against your clothed core.

you don’t wait another second in taking off his shirt allowing a perfect view of his forming biceps and his tattoos. it’s almost unfair how long he’s been hiding himself. you’re keen on making sure this happens again. so you proceed to flip the two of you over ending up in his lap. the new angle allowing you to see his face perfectly. you hate how pretty he looks and how he’s basically forbidden fruit. the aching in your core continues to grow and you realize you have to do something about it.

“fuck, roro. touch me.” you practically beg.

you’re answered with a smirk at first but he obliges bringing his hand to your lower body. he’s moving his hand as slowly as possible, teasing you, and you’ve had enough. you placed your hand on top of his dragging it to where you need it the most. he moves your sarong to have better access to your core, taking off the bottom part of your swimsuit in the process. you continue to guide his fingers to your folds.

“fucking hell.” he groans as he feels your wetness.

he starts slowly rubbing circles along your folds which instantly brings you pleasure. his movements cause you to let out loud moans which he quickly tries to silence by kissing you. the last thing he needed was anyone walking in on the two of you. as he kisses you he continues to spread your wetness. he decides that’s enough foreplay and drags one of his fingers towards your hole.

“can i?” he asks you wanting to make sure you’re still okay with what’s going on.

“please.” you murmur.

he enters you slowly making sure you adjust to the intrusion. you cling onto his arms at the new sensation, holding back a moan as he stretches you out. it’s almost embarrassing how much he’s been able to surprise you in the span of a couple of hours. he wraps his arm around your waist to help you adjust and keep you grounded. you reach up for him again kissing him as he begins to pump his finger inside of you. it’s such an intimate moment and he’s been able to comfort you more than any other guy you’ve slept with before.

“fuck, more.” you practically beg.

he obliges inserting another finger instantly groaning at how you clench around him. you squeeze his fingers so tight he swears he could cum in his boxers. the way you look under him doesn’t help him either. he’d always admired you except for your attitude but now that he had you he couldn’t give you up. your moans also encourage him to go faster wanting to pleasure you in the best way possible. he can only think about you right now and the way his fingers feel inside of you.

“so close roro.” you murmur. your nails digging deeper into his biceps.

then out of nowhere the building up orgasm inside you disappears as his fingers leave you. you’re about to yell at him when you see him kneel.

“do you trust me?” he asks suddenly.

“yes.”

his fingers are soon replaced by his tongue. the sight of his curls in between your legs alone make’s your pleasure build up again. as he laps up your juices your fingers find their way into his hair pulling him even closer to your core. it doesn’t take long for the knot in your stomach to unfold and soon you’re orgasming on his tongue.

“what the fuck roro.” you say shocked.

instead of responding he simply kisses you again. it’s quite an intimate moment as he moves the strands of hair from your face. the two of you separate from each other and there’s a comfortable silence between you too. the act is so domestic as the two of you simply stare at each other. unfortunately, it’s interrupted as someone knocks loudly on the door.

“who’s in there? i need a shirt.” antoine slurs.

“shit. shit. shit.” rodrigo steps away from you adjusting his clothes and finally getting his vape.

“hide in the bathroom.” you urge him as you adjust your sarong before heading towards the door.

he doesn’t know why he does it but he pulls you closer by your waist before kissing you one last time before heading for the bathroom. you’re taken aback but can’t help but grin a little at the action. it’s going to take more than your willpower to stop yourself whenever you go to anymore games in the future.