#rome (italy) challenger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katyswrites · 1 year

Text

don't call me 'baby'

PART 7 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), angst, phone sex, daddy kink, ddlg dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, webcam sex, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, age gap, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 6.5k

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

PART 7 | is it cool that I said all that?

Soon enough, June gave way to July, the mid-summer heat setting in across the city like a fog. The city became busier, too, thanks to the peak tourism season and school being closed for the summer. For once, you barely noticed - you didn’t have to worry about the influx of customers, the more crowded buses and metro cars with packed, sweaty bodies that you had come to dread. Now, you were happy to shell out the money for a taxi, or to call Steve’s car service, even when he wasn’t with you. You had felt strange about it at first, but he insisted upon it. And, of course, you had started spending most nights with Steve - still getting picked up from your apartment, going out to fancy dinners and bars, and then going home with him. You had started spending the night more often, too.

On mornings that Steve had work, he’d leave quietly, rarely even causing you to stir. He’d usually send a text, or on occasion leaving a note; something along the lines of stay as long as you’d like, I’ll see you soon. On occasion, he’d stay at your place, too. You were embarrassed by your tiny, cluttered apartment, thinking of his pristine penthouse. But, he never said anything. Sometimes, you’d find yourself stumbling up the stairs and into your bed, challenging yourselves to be quiet with the knowledge of Robin asleep on the other side of the wall.

It was a nice routine - in the time you had been living in Rome, you had been spending most of your summers working as many hours as possible to save for the upcoming semester of university, spreading your money as thinly as possible during the school year when you had to inevitably cut back on hours. But now, it was different - you were letting yourself actually enjoy the city. You would take yourself out for breakfast, sipping coffee leisurely in a cafe while the city woke up. You would go for walks, stopping in shops along the way. Normally, you’d take one look at the prices of anything and walk out empty-handed. But now, you decided to treat yourself. If you saw something you liked - clothes, books, trinkets, jewelry, fresh food from the market - you let yourself buy it, not feeling guilt anymore when you brandished Steve’s credit card. Even in casual clothes, you found yourself dressing nicer in your daily life, the way you had always wanted, but just couldn’t afford to. You treated yourself to the hair salon, manicure appointments, and even splurged on the extra spa options every now and then. It was all new, still.

“You going somewhere?” Robin had asked one morning over her cereal, eyeing you as you were pouring yourself coffee, already fully dressed for the day.

“Just the market - do you need anything?”

“Uh, no. It’s just - you look nice. That’s all,” she remarked, smiling a bit.

“Oh - uh, thanks.”

You had started to notice it, too - your face had grown a little fuller, your skin brighter, the dark circles under your eyes a thing of the past. At one point, when you walked past a mirror, you stopped in your tracks - you were glowing. You never knew what people had meant when they said that, before - but now you understood.

Then, of course, there was Steve. You were seeing him even more frequently, five or six nights a week. Sometimes, he’d even meet you for lunch, on the rare occasion that he actually took his lunch break. It was over one of these lunch dates that he broke the news - you were sitting at a cafe close to the city center, only a few blocks from his office. You sipped your coffee, eyeing the menu as he cleared his throat.

“So, um - I have to go away this week. Business trip,” he said.

You looked up at him, a wave of disappointment washing over you. You tried to shake it - it was stupid, why did it matter? You just did your best to keep your face neutral.

“Oh, really?” you asked.

He nodded, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair.

“I only found out this morning - Barcelona, just for a bit. Five days, I think. Six, if you include travel, I guess.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together.

“Yeah, I mean - do what you’ve got to do. At least it’s not too far, right?”

“Not at all - five, six hour flight, I think.”

“Well - that should be fun. I went to Barcelona over winter break with some friends my second year - I mean, we stayed in a hostel and basically just fucked around in the city, but it was nice.”

Steve chuckled, picking up his coffee cup.

“Yeah, well, I’ll probably spend most of it holed up in a conference room or hotel. Besides, I don’t speak a lick of Spanish.”

You shrugged. “To be fair, you barely speak Italian and have been living here for, what, six months?”

“Yeah, okay, fair enough,” Steve said, holding his hands up in surrender as he rolled his eyes. “To be fair, a lot of people speak English. Still, pretty sad to live in Italy for the better part of the year and not know any of the language, right?”

He was smiling, shaking his head incredulously, but avoiding your gaze. It probably meant nothing, just him making a joke, but you couldn’t help but read a bit into it. There was something in his tone, something wistful, a bit self-deprecating.

“I could teach you,” you said softly.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking up at you.

“I mean, I don’t think you’d be fluent, I’m not a teacher or anything, but… some words, phrases, basics, things like that. If you want.”

He smiled, a bit more softly this time.

“Yeah - that’d be nice.”

You both just stared at each other, exchanging smiles, the moment lingering. It was interrupted when your waitress returned, asking for your order. You glanced over at Steve.

“Okay - I guess the lesson one will be ordering in a restaurant, yeah?”

******

You stayed over at Steve’s the night before he left. Despite doing his best to move quietly around the room, you found yourself waking up to the sound of him zipping his suitcase, his silhouette barely visible in the dim, early-morning light.

“Mm,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes.

He froze, turning to you.

“Hey,” he whispered, “Sorry, baby - go back to sleep.”

“Are y’leaving?” you asked groggily.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m afraid I have to. But, I’ll be back on Saturday, yeah?”

“Hm, yeah,” you said, turning over under the sheets. You let your breathing slow, shutting your eyes as you heard Steve move about the room, grabbing some last-minute things. He whispered your name through the darkness, so softly that even awake, you barely heard it. But, sleep was pulling you back into its clutches, and you didn’t say anything, too disoriented to reply. In hindsight, he probably thought that you had fallen completely back to sleep. You heard him take a few steps until he was right next to you, crouching down to your level. He reached out slowly, placing his hand on the side of your head, gently rubbing his thumb along your temple.

“You know - I’m really gonna miss you,” he whispered. “I know I probably shouldn’t, but -”

He stopped, taking a deep breath. Then, you felt the warmth of his lips pressing to your temple, then he pulled away, footsteps carrying him towards the doorway.

“Did you say something?” you grumbled into the pillow.

His footsteps stopped. Then, from the doorway, you heard, “Oh, uh, no - just, go to sleep. You can let yourself out - I’ll see you Saturday.”

Then he was gone.

*****

You went almost 12 hours before you texted Steve. You weren’t entirely sure what the protocol with this was - should you reach out to him? Should you ask how his flight was, or how things were going? It felt strange, though, doing something a girlfriend would do. But, it felt just as strange to not talk to him.

You stared at your phone for a few moments, tapping your fingers nervously on the kitchen table. You stared at your text conversation, typing and erasing a few times. This was stupid - you should be able to just text him -

hey

It sent before you could think about it anymore. You groaned, letting your head fall forward on the table.

“What did you do now?” Robin’s voice asked from the kitchen doorway.

“Why do you assume I did something?”

“Well, did you?”

You rolled your head to the side to look up at her, sighing.

“I’m the lamest mistress in the world.”

Robin visibly gagged.

“Okay, first of all - never say ‘mistress’ again. Also, that’s not technically what you are -”

“Robs, I love you, but I don’t need -”

“What’s going on?” she asked, more sincere now. She slid into the chair across from you, the old rickety wood creaking under her.

You just flashed your phone at her, defeated. She studied it for a moment before leaning back in her chair, arms crossed.

“Yep. You’re lame.”

You groaned again, slamming your forehead on the table again.

“What do I do?”

“Well, why the fuck are you texting him, anyways?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just - isn’t he away? For like, a week?”

You straightened up, furrowing your brow.

“Well, yeah.”

“So - why are you texting him? Like, are you trying to sext him or something?”

“What? God, no -”

“Then - huh?”

The look on Robin’s face said it all - somehow, not sexting him was infinitely weirder. Before either of you could say anything, your phone sounds off with a ding.

Steve: Hi!

You stared down at it, realizing one thing - somehow, Steve was infinitely lamer than you’d ever be. As you continued to stare at his message, plotting how to even reply, you were pulled out by Robin saying your name. You glanced up at her - had she said something?

“Hm?”

“I asked why’re you smiling? Is it him?”

You hadn’t even realized you were smiling. Suddenly feeling like a silly schoolgirl, you shook your head.

“Uh, no -”

Robin rolled her eyes.

“Oh god.”

*******

For that entire first day, you found yourself constantly texting Steve. Before, it had just been making plans, occasionally saying goodnight, letting him know you got home safe. But this was… different.

how was your flight?

It was okay, no complaints. Just tired. Did you get home okay?

yep thanks for letting me stay over

Never a problem - sorry I woke you up this morning.

…

oh you didn’t

at least, i don’t remember that

A lie.

Oh, good.

It was easy, after that. He sent you pictures of the city as he drove through, as well as his hotel room.

ooooh, fancy

It should be, considering I’ll be spending most of my time here.

you’re not exploring the city at all? let yourself have some fun, old man

Ha. Wish I could - I’ll be at a conference or in meetings most of the week. Maybe we’ll go out for some corporate dinners, though.

sorry, i was falling asleep just reading about it 😴

Oh, shut up.

you gonna make me?

He didn’t reply for a few minutes. You saw him start to type a few times, stop, and start again. Finally:

You’re going to pay for that later, you know.

i’m counting on it 😉

You didn’t hear much from Steve after that - it was silly to think you should, considering he had work to do. You went about the rest of your day pushing him from your mind - heading down to the market, cooking dinner for yourself and Robin, ending the night watching a terrible horror movie that you laughed your way through. It was pretty late, after you had been lying in your bed scrolling on your phone mindlessly for a while, that you heard from Steve again. But, he didn’t text - he was calling you.

The moment his name popped up on the screen, you sat up a bit straighter, letting your finger hover over the accept button. You weren’t sure why it was such a big deal that he was calling you - but, when you pressed accept, you felt your stomach flip, your heart rate speeding up a bit as you pressed the phone to your ear.

After a deep breath, you managed, “Hello?”

“Hey there,” Steve’s voice replied. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Oh, no,” you assured him, shifting to fully sit up. “I was awake.”

“Okay, good - I wasn’t sure, I know it’s late.”

You pulled your phone away for a second to glance at the screen - 11:47pm.

“Yeah, I guess,” you said.

“What are you doing?” he asked, something rustling on the other end.

“Just - well, nothing, really. I was just in bed, scrolling on my phone, normal stuff.”

“Normal stuff?”

“Yeah - you know, the rest of us are on social media, letting our brains turn to mush. It’s fun, you should try it,” you said sarcastically.

That earned a chuckle from him on the other end.

“Sounds great, but I’ll probably pass.”

“What’s your phone for, then?”

“Work. And contacting people, like you. Well, not like you, but - you know what I mean. Maybe taking a picture every now and then. What else would I need it for?”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you, 80?”

“Honestly? Feels like it sometimes.”

You laughed, settling further into your pillows.

“So, how’s Barcelona?”

He sighed. “Fine. I mean, I landed, checked into my hotel, and went straight to the conference. It’s the same shit as always - presentations, schmoozing people from other companies, meeting with industry big-wigs. But, at least there was a cocktail hour at the end.”

“Wait, are you drunk-calling me?”

“What? No! I only had a couple. It’s not - it doesn’t matter.”

You rolled your eyes. You could picture him, flustered and slightly indignant at the mere accusation.

“So, where are you now?” you asked.

“Back at my hotel. I - I just wanted to talk to you. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay - It’s nice, actually.”

A moment of silence hung between you, and you immediately kicked yourself for even saying it.

“I’m sorry, that was - I just meant that it’s - well, you’re -”

“What’re you wearing?” he asked, the words tumbling out. You paused, your ramblings dying on your tongue.

“Huh?”

“I - I asked, what are you wearing?”

You looked down, brow furrowed. “Uh, like, an old college t-shirt, some shorts, just what I usually - wait, oh my god… are you trying to, like, have phone sex right now?”

“Well - it’s not - yes. Yes, I am. That’s how it’s supposed to start, right?”

You giggled, falling back on your bed. You probably shouldn’t be laughing, but you couldn’t help it - somehow, Steve was both the most suave and awkward person you’ve ever met, often at the same time.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, voice tinged with worry.

“It’s just - you’ve never done this before?”

“Is it that obvious?” he asked sheepishly.

“Well, yeah, kinda. But, don’t worry about it, you’re doing great.”

“Do you want me to stop? We don’t have to, I just thought you wanted -”

“No! I mean, when you said you’re going to pay for that later, I thought you meant when you got home. But… if you’re offering -”

A pause. Then, “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m offering.”

You laid back a bit more, biting your lip.

“Well, let me get a bit more comfortable, Harrington.”

You reached down to the hem of your t-shirt, lifting it over your head with ease. Bare-chested, you hissed as the cool air hit your breasts, making yourself comfortable on your back again. Placing the phone on the pillow next to you, you put Steve on speaker.

“What did you just do?” Steve asked on the other end.

“Just took my shirt off, hope you don’t mind.”

You heard his breath hitch. “What kind of bra do you have on?” he asked quietly.

“Wasn’t wearing one,” you replied.

“Fuck.”

“Mm,” you said, taking one of your breasts in your hand. You began massaging it, rolling your nipple between your fingers until it hardened, before moving to the next one.

“They feel so nice in my hand,” you said breathily. “So soft, god, but not as nice as when you do it?”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, voice hoarse. “God, I miss your tits.”

“Mm,” you said, leaning into your own touch. “And they miss you. They miss your mouth on them, you know that? Now I’ve just got them all to myself -”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve murmured.

You let your hand snake down, toying with the hem of your shorts. Then, slowly, you slide them off, shimmying them down your legs and kicking them off.

“Sorry, my shorts were in the way - had to take them off,” you confessed.

“Yeah? You still got anything on, baby?”

“Just my panties - but, god, they’re soaked,” you said, fingers ghosting over the lacy fabric.

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve said, voice a bit rougher. “My voice gets you off that much, huh?”

“Mmm hm,” you said dreamily. “But, there’s a problem.”

“And what’s that?”

“If I had to guess… you’ve still got all your clothes on, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well, I’m not touching myself until your cock is out.”

And with that, you heard rustling on the other end of the phone, and the distinct sound of a belt hitting the floor, followed by fabric. God, he wasn’t even dressed for bed, yet.

“There you go,” you whispered. “That’s more like it. Are you hard yet?”

“Yes, Jesus, I’ve been half-hard ever since you picked up the phone.”

“Good,” you said.

“But - I’m not doing another thing until you start touchin’ yourself,” he said firmly. “Can you do that for me?”

“Anything you want, daddy.”

You heard him groan, and you smirked to yourself. You let your hand wander over your clothed cunt, finally allowing your fingers to slip under the waistband. You ran your fingers up and down your slit, soaking them in the wetness there. When you finally came in contact with your clit, you gasped.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, voice gruff.

“I’m so wet,” you breathed. “My fingers are coated - I - I’m rubbing my clit. Nice and slow.”

“Good girl,” Steve whispered. “Does it feel good?”

“So good,” you admitted.

“Does it feel as good as when I do it?”

“No,” you said. “But still - god, it feels so nice.”

“Do you touch yourself a lot?” he asked. “When I’m not around? Tell me the truth, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I do.”

“Do you think of me?”

“Mm hm, I think about you when I make myself cum, all alone.”

He sighed on the other end. “Yeah, I bet you do. Because you’re fuckin’ mine.”

“I’m yours,” you echoed, picking up speed on your clit. You gasped.

“Do you ever use toys to get yourself off?” he asked.

“I - ah! Fuck - yeah, I do. I have a - shit - a vibrator.”

A pause on the other end. Then, “Take it out, baby. I want you to use it.”

Even though you knew he couldn’t see you, you nodded, reaching towards your nightstand and shuffling through the drawer until you found it, a little purple thing that had been getting less use lately than usual.

“I have it,” you said, settling back down. “But… I’ll only start using it if you start touching yourself, now.”

He groaned. “Fine, I will.”

You heard him hiss, then his breathing start to quicken.

“I’m stroking my cock, baby - god, I’m so fuckin’ hard right now - just thinking about your pretty pussy, how good it feels around me.”

You sighed, turning on the vibrator in response. Upon hearing the sound, Steve groaned. You pressed it to your clit, crying out the moment it made contact. Your back arched, your hips bucking into it.

“Oh, god - this feels so good,” you said.

“Are you using it?”

“Yeah, right on my clit - it’s so good, it’s too much -”

“Yes, play with that pussy, baby,” he said, voice strained. “I want you to fuck yourself on your fingers, can you do that for me?”

“‘Course I can,” you whispered. “After your cock, I can fit anything inside me.”

He let out a guttural groan. In response, you took your free hand that had returned to massaging your breasts and brought it downwards, coating it in your slick before letting a finger slip inside you. After a few moments, you added a second finger, stretching and pumping as you circled your clit with the vibe.

“Mm, that feels good. I miss having you inside me, though,” you confessed.

“Fuck - yeah? You do?”

“Mm. Nothing makes me feel as good as your cock, sir.”

“Damn right,” he said. “I’m just picturin’ you, all spread out, touching yourself - are you close?”

“Yes,” you admitted, hips bucking to your own touch. You added a third finger, curling them inside of yourself, finding that one spot that made you see stars.

“Are you close?” you asked.

“Yeah, fuck, I am - you should see this, sitting here, cock in my hand - wishing it was your pussy, or you mouth. It’s like your pussy was made for me, I wish I was buried inside you right now -”

You felt your abdomen tighten, your heart rate quickening. You moaned, fucking yourself on your fingers faster.

“Shit, Steve, I - I’m close, I’m gonna cum -”

“Cum, baby, please,” he begged. “And say my name when you do it - I wanna hear you -”

“Yes, daddy,” you sighed, “I’ll cum for you, I’ll scream your name as loud as you want -”

“Good girl,” he grunted, his breathing labored.

You pictured it, Steve jerking himself off to the sound of your voice, the very thought of you getting him off. You gasped and moaned as you touched yourself, your walls starting to clench around your fingers. You thought of Steve - his hands on you, his voice in your ears, his cock inside you, filling you to the brim. You could feel it, your soft walls wrapped around him, him pounding into you, your fingernails digging into his shoulder blades as you both came -

Before you knew it, you were coming, your peak hitting you suddenly. You screamed, head thrown back as your cunt squeezed and pulsed around your fingers.

“Steve! Fuck, oh my god, I’m cumming -”

“Shit - me too, princess. Oh -” he growled your name as he came and you convulsed and moaned as you thought about it, him spilling into his hand, your name on his lips.

You rode out your orgasm, brow sweating and breathing heavy as you came down from your high. You dropped the vibrator, the stimulation becoming too much. You just heard Steve’s labored breathing on the other end of the phone, both of you needing a moment to gather yourself. Eventually, you withdrew your fingers from yourself, grimacing. Your hand was soaked, coated in the evidence of your orgasm.

“Christ,” Steve breathed after a while, finally breaking the silence. “Baby, that was so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?” you asked. “What would you rate it?”

“Five out of five stars,” he joked. “Definitely would do it again.”

You laughed, slapping your palm to your forehead as you stared up at the ceiling. You had a stupid smile on your face, you could feel it. But, you didn’t really care - he wasn’t even here to see you.

“Same,” you said. “So, turns out you are good at phone sex.”

This earned a laugh from Steve on the other end, much to your satisfaction.

“Oh, yeah - but, I’m only going to get better with practice. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

You felt your face heat. You bit your lip, nodding.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Good,” he said. “Because whenever I'm away, I'm planning on doing this a lot."

That time, you let yourself giggle into the phone, practically giddy. And, you tried to ignore the small part of you, deep down, that ached.

******

The next day, you hardly heard from Steve, aside from the odd text exchange here and there. That was fine enough with you - Robin got it in her head to go out again, and you opted to go along. You finally met Vickie, who met you at the bar - she seemed lovely, and exactly Robin’s type. You had been spending so much time with Steve, that you had forgotten what it had felt like to be a normal 20-year-old. So, when you stumbled in the door at 3am and collapsed in your bed, you had hardly thought about Steve at all. That was, at least, until the following day. When you woke up, it was nearly noon, a headache already forming as you blinked groggily in the morning light. You reached for your phone, squinting as the newest message from Steve flashed across the screen:

Good morning :)

morning

After a few minutes, a response:

Did you just wake up?

yeah

Robin and I went out last night

i’m kinda hungover

Should you have told him that? Or, was he going to judge you, reprimand you, ask where you went? Then again, did he have any right to?

That sounds fun. Well, not the hangover, but going out. I hope you had a good time :)

Seemed legitimate enough - over text, you learned, Steve really only knows how to be genuine.

it was, i’m regretting it now tho

Well, take it easy. I’m heading out now, I’ll probably be busy most of the day.

What were you even supposed to say to that? Have fun? Of course he wouldn’t, it was a 12-hour workday. Did he even want you to say anything to that?

ok ☺️

It wasn’t until quite late that night that you heard from him again. You were getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth when his name popped up on your screen - but now, he was FaceTiming you. Part of you wondered if it was an accident, if he meant to just do a voice call instead, or perhaps not call you at all. Still, you quickly spit out your toothpaste and fumbled with the phone to answer. Steve’s face popped up, looking expectant. It had only been a few days since you actually saw him, and you felt your heart tighten anyway.

“Hey,” you said, trying to mask your surprise as you made your way back towards your bedroom. “What’s going on?”

Something faltered in his face, only for a split second - for all you knew, it was a connection glitch.

“Oh, nothing - sorry, should I not have called?”

“No! No, it’s fine, I just - didn’t take you for the FaceTiming type.”

“I’m thirty, not eighty.”

You rolled your eyes, plopping down onto your bed and settling until you were sitting up cross-legged.

“Allegedly, you old man. How was your day?”

He sighed deeply, in a way that you almost wished you hadn’t asked.

“Fine, I guess. Long. We’re really close to closing a major deal, but… it’s just -” he sighed again, rubbing his hand across his face. “Well, I won’t bore you with the details. But it’s taking longer than expected, and we’re really hitting some roadblocks.”

“I’m sorry,” you replied, frowning a bit. He looked tired, and stressed. All you wanted was to reach through the screen and kiss it better.

“It’s alright, I’m not expecting you to say anything - I don’t even know why I’m even telling you, I just -”

“-wanted to vent,” you finished. “Yeah, I get it. You can talk about these things with me, you know.”

He smiled wearily. “Thank you. Really.”

A moment of silence passed, before he spoke again.

“So - was your day at least good?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, it was fine. Nothing too exciting. Just did a lot of cleaning around the apartment, to be honest. Cooked dinner, had a night in. You know, nothing crazy.”

“Are you feeling better?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah - nothing hydration and Advil couldn’t fix. It wasn’t too bad.”

You squinted at the screen for a moment, and realized he was sitting at a desk.

“Are you - are you FaceTiming me from your laptop?”

“Uh, yeah - why?”

You just giggled. “Nothing, it’s just… of course you are.”

He rolled his eyes, visibly fighting a smile. “I was doing work, and… I don’t know. I guess I just really wanted to see your face.”

You felt something warm in your chest, spreading through you until your ears tingled and face heated. You did your best to ignore it, just smiling back at him.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” you admitted. You felt a yawn coming on, but did your best to stifle it. Still, Steve apparently noticed, as his face set into a frown.

“Are you tired? I can go, if you want.”

“No, it’s okay! Seriously. If I hang up, I’ll just be on my phone for the next two hours, anyways.”

“As long as you’re sure -”

“I am.”

He nodded. “Okay. And I didn’t - I don’t want you to think I called for the same reason I did the other night, by the way. At least, not if you don’t want that.”

You felt your face flush at the memory.

“Then, why did you call? Just to see me?”

“Well, yes. And… this is going to sound stupid.”

“Try me,” you whispered, settling further into bed by the minute.

“I just - I haven’t been sleeping that well, since I’ve been here. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s just being in a hotel, but I usually get used to that after a night or so. But… maybe it’s just because I haven’t been sleeping alone much lately.”

Oh.

“Do you want me to stay on with you?” you asked softly.

He nodded, glancing down to avoid your gaze.

“Okay.”

So you did. You both just started talking, about your days, the book Steve was reading, the TV show you were binge-watching. What you did around the house that day, a quick tour of your (now cleaner) bedroom, which led to him asking about the photos pinned you your wall, and the tchotchkes on your bookshelf. You got the “grand” tour of his hotel room, which he evidently had been spending very little time in. Slowly, you began to carry more of the conversation, his responses coming slower, becoming shorter. You were both in your beds, lying sideways - he had set the computer on his lap, now barely visible through the dim light.

After who knows how long, you realized you had been talking and hardly heard a response from Steve. You paused, only hearing his slow, deep breathing. He was asleep, finally. Your initial response was relief - he needed to be up early, and if this is what it took for him to finally fall asleep, that was enough for you. But, another small part of you was indescribably sad. Sad for the man on the other end of the call, who was still a boy in so many ways, who couldn’t spend his nights alone, but probably often did…until recently.

“Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered. He, of course, didn’t hear. Maybe that was for the best.

When you hung up, it didn’t take you long to fall asleep. Your last thought before you drifted off was of Steve, and the way he had said I just really wanted to see your face.

*******

For the rest of Steve’s trip, you two fell into a routine - he’d call you late at night. You’d chat about your respective days, just catch up. Sometimes, he’d vent about his frustrations with work; other times, he’d just keep asking about you. It was the night before he came back that it came up.

“You’ll probably be relieved to come home tomorrow,” you said.

“Definitely,” he admitted. He was ready for bed, only wearing a white t-shirt from what you could see on-camera, back pressed against the headboard of his bed. He sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “I really need a break, even if it’s just for the weekend.”

“Yeah,” you said. “We don’t have to do something on Saturday, by the way. In case you’re tired from traveling.”

“No! I mean, I want to see you. My flight gets in around 9am, so maybe we can do dinner?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” you replied, fighting the encroaching excitement at the thought of being with him again. “Just let me know.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, after a moment. “Wait, it’s Friday night - why are you at home?”

There’s an unspoken question in there: you didn’t stay home just for me, right?

You shrugged. “Robin’s out with Vickie, and - I don’t know, I thought about going out, doing something, but I just didn’t really feel like it.”

“Oh, okay - just making sure. Because, you’re twenty - if you want to do something fun over the weekend, it’s okay -”

“Almost twenty-one,” you joked, not even thinking as you said it. He paused, eyebrows raised.

“Almost? Is your birthday soon?”

You looked up, shrugging. “Oh, yeah - it’s next week, on the 18th.”

“Do you have something planned for it?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, not really. Maybe Robin and I will go out to dinner with some friends, or something. I don’t know, I’ve never been big on my birthday.”

He paused for a moment, and you were suddenly afraid that he’d ask why. But, he didn’t. Instead, he just said, “Well, your 21st birthday is kind of a big deal.”

“I mean, in the States, yes. But, I can already go out to a bar here, so the novelty’s kind of worn off. Just means I’m another year older, really.”

“But, still… it’s worth celebrating, right?”

You shrugged, maintaining an air of nonchalance.

“Sure, I guess.”

It went silent for a moment, Steve evidently starting to open a new tab and start typing on his computer.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Nothing, just… thinking.”

You just shrugged, choosing to not even worry about it. Knowing him, he was probably responding to work emails, despite it being nearly midnight.

“You don’t want to do too much of that, you know,” you said sarcastically.

Steve scoffed, tearing his eyes from the screen back to you.

“You know, I’ve been keeping a list of all these clever quips you’ve been throwing my way,” he said.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do with that?”

He smiled then, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Make sure I find ways to shut you up, once I get back.”

You nearly choked on nothing, ears roaring as the blood rushed to your head. Steve must’ve noticed how caught off-guard you were, the way your mouth hung open, eyes wide. He smirked, clearly self-satisfied. That alone helped you regain your footing. In a measured voice, you replied:

“I hope that’s a promise, sir.”

His eyes darkened a bit, and he smiled.

“Take your clothes off. Right now.”

Who were you to say no to that?

******

When you woke up the next morning, strangely, there wasn’t a text from Steve. You frowned at your phone, blinking groggily. It was Saturday, and nearly noon - after spreading yourself on camera for Steve, both of you coming together with each other’s names on your lips, you had fallen into a deep, blissful sleep. Despite your lie-in, Steve should’ve touched down back in Rome by now. You had figured, at the very least, that he would’ve sent you a text with instructions for tonight.

You groaned, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes, before slowly rolling out of bed. As you padded down the hallway, you heard movement in the kitchen. Robin must’ve already been awake. You prayed that she had already made coffee - if she hadn’t eaten yet, maybe you two would order something, or go out.

“Hey, Robs?” you called, stifling a yawn. “Is there coffee on? Because if not -”

You stopped in your tracks. Because, standing in your kitchen with Robin, was Steve. He was dressed casually, just in jeans and a black t-shirt, leaning against the counter with one hand shoved in his pocket, the other grasping a mug. He straightened up when he saw you, smiling.

“Oh - hey,” you said stiffly, trying to figure out if you were still dreaming or not.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Robin said brightly. She immediately handed you a mug of coffee, knowing you well enough that she didn’t even have to ask. You accepted it, eyes darting back and forth between her and Steve.

“I - what are you doing here?” you asked. Realizing you sounded accusatory, you added, “It’s just - I hadn’t heard anything, I didn’t realize you were coming over -”

“Oh, this is a surprise,” he assured, smiling. Even after a week of not seeing him in-person, you felt your heart quicken at the sight of him - how boyishly handsome he was, how he stared at you like you were the only thing in the room.

“A surprise?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” Robin added. “See, Steve asked if he could come over - wait, how did you even get my number?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve got my ways, Buckley.”

Robin just rolled her eyes. “Well, anyway - Steve came over because, well, he wanted to talk about some stuff. Well, ask me about - why don’t you tell her?” she asked, redirecting her attention to Steve.

“Right, yeah, okay.”

He locked eyes with you, grinning. “Pack your bags, we’re leaving today, for a week.”

“Leaving? For where?”

“That’s a surprise,” he said. “But, we’re taking a trip, just you and me. And, I came over to run it by Robin, and to assure her that I’m not planning on murdering you. Which, by the way, I would’ve done by now if I wanted to.”

Robin shrugged, taking a sip from her mug.

“Can’t ever be too careful.”

You shook your head.

“I - so, what’s going on? Why is this a surprise? And, don’t you have work?”

“I took the week off,” he assured. “In my seven years in this company, I’ve never taken a vacation. Not a personal day, anything. I’ve accrued a lot, and this is a pretty damn good reason to use it.”

You cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“What is?”

Steve’s eyes flitted up and down your form once, before settling his gaze back on yours, smiling warmly. You were still in your pajamas, and probably should’ve been embarrassed. But, with the way he was looking at you, you found it hard to be.

“This vacation, it’s my gift to you,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

*******

author's note: thanks for your patience, everyone. The next last few chapters are going to be longer, and have a lot more "plot" (aka fluff and angst). I also can't keep a taglist for this fic anymore - it's too long, which is a nice problem to have, but still a problem! To make sure you never miss an installment, make sure to turn on post notifications for the blog. Also keep an eye out for my new Steve series, coming soon. As always, thank you to Em - she knows why :)

KO-FI ♡

#dcmb fic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington/fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #st fic #steve harrington/reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you

678 notes · View notes

sebastianswallows · 1 month

Text

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient #whew here we go 😭#I dread to think of adapting the masterlist for this lol #I might make a separate post just for all of its chapters #there will be 40 in total

115 notes · View notes

aranciafiamma · 4 months

Text

One day, the Tenth Boss of the illustrous Vongola family decides to go for a walk. The weather was good that morning - promised to be good all week. It was perfect for a restorative constitutional.

So the Tenth put on a pair of sturdy shoes and he walked out the front door. He walked through the front lawn, passed the main gates, and down the very long, gravel driveway that lead to the estate. In a half an hour, he reached the edge of the Vongola's property, then he kept on walking.

Now, this was not so strange. The Boss had been stuck behind the desk for the better part of a fortnight. He was trying to iron out a deal with the Insolenza, fiesty famiglia in Monopoli. They had tripled their numbers in under a decade, making good money off "waste management". Their wealth of success went straight to their heads (the ones in their pants), because it takes a pair of brass balls to challenge the Vongola family. They figured if anyone was gonna make a stand - they would have to do it now, in the Tenth's first year as boss, before he got too comfy with his power.

They weren't the only ones thinking so because a bunch of smaller famiglias allied with them. Up and down the coast of Apulia, from Barletta to Bari, capos began congregating. They were easy pickings alone but spite - oh spite could be a powerful, powerful motivator. Who does this foreigner think he is? Huh? Waltzing in like he owns the place? Well, he was about to get a taste of Italy's heel.

All eyes were on the Tenth. At 24 years old, he looked half his age, without any Roman machismo to call his own. He was as hairless as a babe, not even a stray whisker on his lip. And he kept sending foot soldiers, then capos, then finally an underboss to try and reason with the Insolenza and their associates. Each and every one was run out of town in a rain of bullets - but not blood. Not yet. Soon, they promise as each shot gets closer and closer to finding its mark.

The Tenth had to do something.

So he goes for a walk, straight off his property, and into the picturesque town of Rieti. Now, the Vongola have their proper headquarters in Sicily like any self-respecting, old blood famiglia. But a few days ago, the Tenth moved from the Iron Fort into this quaint, little place just east of Rome. People began to speculate that this was the first move - that the Tenth was beginning to shift his forces and launch an all out attack from the mainland. But Monday passed into Wednesday, and as far as anyone could tell, the Tenth was just in his office, doing paperwork same as usual. Sometimes, he goes out to town and buys himself a pastry.

As such, when the Tenth leaves the property, no one bats an eye. He's probably gonna grab himself an expresso and a biscotti before hiking back to the house. Except, he walks right past his favored cafe, and crosses the city lines.

That... That gets everyone's attention.

Of course, the first to react is the Tenth's inner circle. Gokudera Hayato hops on a bike and blazes down the road. He catches up with his boss in no time. From afar, a curious staff watches as the Tenth never once stops walking, cheerfully taking step after step as he talks to his Right Hand. Whatever he says to the Storm Guardian, they will never know, but it's enough for him to clench his jaw, nod, and then back away. No other Guardians reach out after that.

For hours and hours, the Tenth walks, heading down south. By then, all the other famiglias have sat up and tuned in, sending spies to watch his progress. When the sun sets and he reaches Bussi Officine, they all witness as he begins to shift his trajectory, heading east, towards the coast. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where he was going from there. But surely, they think, that can't be right. He can't seriously be going to the Apulia Coast, on foot, not even flying as people say he could. Yet, as the sun fully sinks and the moon rises high and this guy continues to walk eastwards, everyone had no choice but to believe it.

The Insolenza were at a loss. Half of them were laughing their asses off. The other half were plotting, scheming, trying to figure out the hidden plan that the Tenth must surely have. The Vongola Alliance was equally at a loss. Don Cavallone and Don Cozarto reached out to the Tenth's inner circle but his Right Hand offers no explanation.

"Trust in the Tenth," he tells them.

When dawn arrives, the young boss meets another of his men on the road. Xanxus di Vongola has both guns out, incandescent with rage. The Tenth doesn’t even twitch and stares straight at him. Keeping his brow in the line of fire, he continues forward, one foot in front of another until his skull nearly kisses the gun barrels. But by then, Xanxus must have found whatever answer he was searching for because he sheathes his guns, walking alongside his boss. They walk together for two - three hours in complete silence.

On the fourth hour, Xanxus speaks up, but far too quietly for any of the mics to catch. In response, the Tenth laughs - a heavy, throaty chuckle.

“Let them come,” he says.

At that, Xanxus stops walking. For a full thirty seconds, he watches his boss pass him by, going ever onward. Then he spins on his heels and flies away. The drones were able to capture his expression right before he left. It was a sight that prompted many to panic. Xanxus di Vongola rarely has any cause to smile but when he does, people rarely seek the cause.

Observers tracked Xanxus flying back to the Iron Fort. This destroys any claims of the Vongola launching a ground assault or really, any kind of assault. If they were going to wage a war, they would have summoned their prized warhounds.

By now, it’s been forty hours since the Tenth started walking. He has neither eaten or slept. And, as day becomes night, the assassins attack. To the surprise of most, they were not sent by the Insolenza. The Vongola has earned plenty of grudges in their long and disastrous history. There’s plenty of enemies willing and eager to take potshots at an unprotected boss.

Some send a few freelancers seeking glory. Others spend a small fortune hiring Named hitmen. And the rest are known to the Tenth, throwing hands just to keep him company. Those seem to find this whole endeavor hilarious.

The fights are short and sweet but numerous, enough to continue into the morning and through the afternoon. Not a single one, neither friend nor foe, could break the Tenth’s stride. As a result, he leaves a long trail of bodies behind him, all alive if not awake.

This attracts the attention of civilians. Now despite the notorious corruption of local law enforcement, a pair of polizia pull up to the Tenth. They frown and they yell and they light up their sirens. He smiles at them, speaking softly. Before the last words leave his mouth, they rush back to their car, without a bribe in their pockets and with a hefty shit in their pants. The Tenth never once misses a step.

He reaches the coast around the witching hour of the third night. After all that walking, his hair is wilder than a bird’s nest and his skin is several shades darker. A thick layer of grime and dirt cover his bespoke Armani suit and his polished, leather loafers. Yet the Tenth himself remains fair of face and strong of limb. The Insolenza are no longer laughing.

Taking a deep breath of that salty sea air, the Tenth turns south. He walks at a leisurely pace, even taking the time to wave at a few bystanders. The clueless ones wrinkle their noses, possibly mistaking him for some homeless vagabond. This brings a smile to his face and a spike of adrenaline to everyone else. At this time, no more assassins come for the Tenth as everyone shifts their focus onto the Insolenza.

They have set up a blockade. Concrete barriers sit on the road, in front of armored tanks and enough artillery to pulverize a mountain. The fourth day begins with a firestorm. They aim, and they fire, and they keep firing - bullet after bullet, shell after shell, missile after missile. The Italian countryside is transformed into a warzone within the span of five minutes, as deep craters pockmark the earth and dust blankets the air.

It was by the grace of powerful, powerful Mists that such a ruckus was largely ignored. Of course, a couple stray eyes bore witness but they knew better than to speak of it. Aside from the shroud of secrecy, no one else intervenes on behalf of either party. This was now a battle between the Insolenza and the Tenth. Enemies and allies watch on the edge of their seats as the dust swirls and twists.

The Insolenza run out of ammo and a hush falls over everyone. They don’t blink. They don’t breathe. From the lowest footsoldier to the high-handed capos, they could only watch, with ears ringing and pulse racing, as the dust settles.

The idiots are ready to rejoice, and they could be excused for they just unleashed a payload that could shame the United States. But the smarter ones expected retribution - for a wave of that infamous Vongola fire to sweep through the ranks. They get neither.

Schrnk. Schrnk. Schrnk.

At first, they barely hear it. But steadily, the sound grows louder as the footsteps come closer. Striding forward, as if on a relaxing stroll, is young Sawada Tsunayoshi, Tenth boss of the Vongola famiglia. Except unlike before, his bloodline is now proudly on display. On his thin shoulders rests a heavy mantle - blacker than the purest ash, as a crown of Flame sits thick and hot on his brow. He looks at the gathered men before him with eyes the color of a molten metal. The Insolenza reel back as if burned.

The Tenth does not stop walking.

To their credit, the Insolenza do not back down. The first to gather his wits throws a grenade at the Tenth. He bats it away with an easy backhand, flashing the engine-red of his gauntlet-covered fists. The others are not deterred, grinding down and summoning either stupidity or bravery to face the young boss. The day proceeds accordingly.

They throw everything they had left. There is a mountain of over the top violence, swearing, and unnecessary shouting. They flash him the goods, the greats, and the even betters. The Tenth keeps going, never straying from his chosen path, never changing his placid pace. When he reaches the tanks on the road, he lays his burning hands on the chromium armor and without even hesitating, melts his through.

The tank operators had the wisdom to evacuate before he could reach them but that’s the lone wisdom they had. One runs at the Tenth with a steel knife! Steel! They just watched him disrespect the strongest alloy known to man! The Tenth immediately drops that guy without a thought, his ass making a satisfying crunch.

When the Tenth makes it through the blockade, battalions of footsoldiers await him on the other side. There’s an echoing cry as they all charge in a single, furious mass. Their guns lay on the ground, completely empty clips scattered all over. They only had their fists to rely on. By then, pure desperation fuels them. There’s a primal need to mark the Tenth, to reach him in any way. Or else… Or else…

They don’t know. They don’t know! They don’t want to know! The reality they understood would be forfeited entirely. They would have to live with the knowledge that beings far greater - that power they cannot comprehend - that giants walk the earth. Death would be preferred - an act of mercy - in the face of that.

The Tenth has no mercy.

As the footsoldiers charge, the Tenth takes a step. Where his foot touches the ground, ice sweeps out - encasing everything for acres around him. Men are frozen where they stand, locked in mid-step with fists cocked and mouths half open. They don’t get anywhere near the Tenth. The fourth night passes peacefully.

He crosses into Barletta some time after daybreak, with only a spare hundred kilometers separating him from Monopoli, where the Insolenza are located. His clothes sit beneath a gritty, bitter layer of dirt, soot, and oil. But there’s not a single tear to be found in the fabric. Now his shoes have given up, which makes sense given all the walking. Only strips of barely stitched together leather are left on his feet. The civilian citizens of the city scuttle away from him, as if he was diseased and not like he was a Capo di tutti Capi. Their Flame blind eyes fail to notice the burning glow radiating from him.

It’s nearing 120 hours, a grand total of five days, and the Tenth still has not slept or eaten. Even more incredibly, he has maintained a state of Hyper Dying Will for thirty hours and counting. Any average Joe would have collapsed long before now, and even the above average Moe would have looked tired at least. Not this guy. He’s just going and going, breathing evenly, and moving fluidly.

When he leaves the more urban areas into proper enemy controlled territory, he encounters a couple more Insolenza men. But these were the assholes that ran from the battle once they realized the futility of the fight. They weren’t about to grow a spine now that the enemy was literally at their doorstep. So… They just follow him. They shadow his steps for the last stretch of the road as the unyielding and unstoppable boss heads for their headquarters. By the time Monopoli is in their sights, there’s a good three dozen of them just ambling behind him. He pays them little mind, taking it all in stride.

As the Tenth hits the city limits, an obscenely slick Porsche rolls up at his side. His new groupies back all the way up as a tall man steps out, pristine and sinful in his tailored suit. He doesn’t interrupt the Tenth’s walk, but keeps up as he circles around him. Without even zooming in, those watching know the newcomer as none other than the famed Reborn, former Sun Arcobaleno but still the world’s greatest hitman. He doesn’t say a word to his once student but his hands move quickly over him.

Taking a total of ten seconds, he completely redresses the Tenth in a new suit - white and clean as freshly fallen snow. He manages to tame the Tenth’s hair, removing all the twigs and leaves and trash that got trapped in there. With a wet towel, he wipes off the accumulated filth on the Tenth’s face, snapping his teeth when the Tenth lets out an annoyed whine. Finally, he sets down a pair of steel toed, wing tipped shoes for the Tenth to step into. All this was done as the Tenth continued his walk. It would have put any quick change Vegas act to shame.

The Tenth arrives at the gates of the Insolenza compound, perfectly coiffed and properly looking like a Mafia Boss. For the past five days, the head family’s bodyguards were inundated with news of the Tenth’s easy progress towards them. So when they finally laid their eyes on him… There was little they could do beyond standing aside, parting before him like the Red Sea did for Moses. The Tenth nods agreeably and invites himself right in.

Vittorio Alessandro Romano di Insolenza stood waiting at the steps to his front door. He sees the Tenth coming and he meets him halfway, holding out a sheaf of papers in his trembling hand. It’s the treaty that the Tenth sent to him awhile back, the first Vongola men visited. Of course, the Insolenza had torn up every single one. It was just this morning, when Romano sent a screaming call to his underbosses and demanded they find him a copy, that they got one in tact. (The truth is that a wiser underling sent a sheepish email requesting a copy from a bemused Hana Kurokawa, the head of the Vongola legal department.)

“Here, just take it. Take it already. And leave. Leave, damn you!” The Insolenza boss spits out, pulling in short, shallow breaths.

“Of course, but I should sign the treaty first, right?” The Tenth smiles, smooth and gentle as silk.

His former enemy jerks his head forward in an attempt to nod. It looks more like he’s having a seizure. Not that anything he does really matters at this point. It’s all just formalities. That doesn’t keep the Tenth from relishing every second. He takes his time patting his pockets, looking for a pen, before a bodyguard shyly offers one. Then, he spends even more time reading through the document as if the Insolenza boss had any audacity left to change something on the sly. But once five excruciating minutes pass, the Tenth signs the treaty with fancy flourish added to his name.

“There. That should do it,” he announces.

A veritable tsunami of relief washes over the gathered crowd.

“Please leave,” the Insolenza boss murmurs, just a heartbeat away from collapsing on the ground.

The Tenth gives him an arch look. “You know… Your men are impressive, I’ll grant you that. I look forward to working with you.”

The Insolenza boss straight up stares - jaw hanging loose - at the young boss who single handedly terrorized and demoralized his men. Tsunayoshi Sawada di Vongola had just won a war without shedding a single drop of blood, yet at the same time bleeding his enemies of all resources and any will to fight. He won a war by barely striking back, only lifting his hands to move something physically out of his way. He won a war by letting everyone take a good, long, hard look at what exactly he’s capable of.

To hear a compliment - earnest and sincere - from someone like that, well… Romano thinks it wouldn’t be so hard to work with him.

“But you gotta stop dumping radioactive waste in the water.”

“Right, sure.”

The Tenth chuckles - a raspy, rattling sound. “You should come to dinner. We’ll iron out the details. And you’re welcome to take a car or even fly over. Not everyone loves a good hike like me.”

Romano chokes on his spit as something warm trickles down his legs. It’s piss. He just pissed himself. Merda.

Without waiting for a response, the Tenth spins on his heel, tucking the treaty into his suit jacket, and walks out the front gates. The newly allied Insolenza family can only watch as he makes his way down the path at an even, unhurried pace.

Half an hour later finds Tsuna far from the Insolenza manor, strolling into downtown Monopoli. He swings by a nearby cafe, where a plate of biscotti and a fresh cup of espresso sit on the counter in a takeout bag.

“Oh good, you got my order!” He says brightly.

The barista gives him a funny look. “Zio, the app says that you ordered this from Rieti?”

“Yep, I just came down here to pick it up. Thanks!” With that, Tsuna grabs his food and walks away.

He takes maybe ten steps from the cafe before that same black Porsche parks itself in front of him. The door opens automatically and Tsuna climbs right in, careful not to spill his drink.

Reborn looks him over, lifting a slim, single brow. “Dame-Tsuna, we have espresso at home.”

“Sure. But I heard good things about this place.” Tsuna grins, sharp and cheeky and boundless with joy.

They laugh the whole way home.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #sawada tsunayoshi #I HAD TO REWRITE THIS STUPID THING #the app GAVE UP on me

83 notes · View notes