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butchcarmy · 6 months

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Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 2

Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets.

Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship

A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!

You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.

The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.

You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.

After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful.

You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low.

You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume.

“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked.

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer.

“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore.

“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop.

Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.

That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger.

The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead.

“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on.

“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though.

“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”

“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.

“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”

“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing.

“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”

He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back.

“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question.

“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”

“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”

“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.

“How do you work under pressure?”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”

“Willing to learn?”

“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”

“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.

“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign.

Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen.

“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in.

“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.

“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”

“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”

“Well, who's fault is that?”

“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”

“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”

Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think.

“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”

“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.

“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”

“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”

“But—” You hear her start to protest.

“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.

“I know, but Richie—”

“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence.

“...Yes, chef.”

“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie.

“You're just gonna let her—”

“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front.

“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”

“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out.

“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”

“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”

“Do you not want it?”

“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”

“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you.

“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway.

So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them.

I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong.

You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture.

You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to.

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions.

At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.

“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”

Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.

The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide.

Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.

The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.

Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.

“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”

“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”

“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container.

“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter.

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh. He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”

The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour.

It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off.

“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.

“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”

You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list.

Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift.

There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”

You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline.

Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice.

“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself.

“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”

When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there.

Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep.

You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something.

“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”

“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her.

“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”

You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break.

As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen.

This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.

“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”

“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth.

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.”

You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles.

“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”

“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”

That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.

“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments.

“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”

“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”

You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm.

He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you.

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose.

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place.

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses.

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard.

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment.

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling.

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

“I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges.

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time.

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends.

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination.

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked. We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so.

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?”

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you.

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is.

You don't really care, though.

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him.

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important.

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now.

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is.

“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away.

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want.

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive.

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?”

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm.

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.”

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled. Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead.

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth.

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway.

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden.

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head.

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you.

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice.

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that.

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at.

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door.

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

@zorrasucia

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deadpool15 · 11 months

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Million Dollar Baby- Pt1

Aerin Creer shall be the OC for this fic. It will be in parts.

The outfit that she is wearing will always be in the pic above. the character is 23 years old, while Byeon is about 25.

All repressive characters will be the same as before.

So, you guys won her powers, which will be telekinesis

There will be russian in the story and maybe even korean, but I will limit it to little things.

I'm using a translator, so I'm sorry if it's incorrect

Age 9

"You all need to realize there are privileges in this world, and eating is one of them. So, hit harder, or you will starve." A man yells over all the chaos of the fighting children. I never learned their names except Alexi. My torment and pain were caused by him. Though, my entire existence was purely for kicks. Apparently, my overly obsessed mother believed she could create the perfect child for her husband or, more so, my father. He was a powerful man in a country where the only law to exist was his own. Some say he was the devil himself, but all my mother saw was the love of her life. Drugging herself with experiments and foreign concoctions to make the perfect soldier. She died during childbirth, or that's what I like to think. My mother died that night, and some women took care of me for 4 years. Eventually, she had a deal with some goons, taking money she couldn't afford. And in turn, they took her child.

A living nightmare, one way to describe my current situation. We are trained day in and out to be the obedient warriors that will be the next generation for Pavel. It's where I met Ryu Shi-oh or he met me. "Get up and fight. Or your a worthless fucking nobody and we aren't investing time in that bullshit." Alexi screamed at me, after being hit so many times I couldn't get back up. Everything hurt. They had gathered us all around to fight as a presentation to the leaders. Alexi told me if I embarrassed him, he would beat rhe shit out of me. What else was new, though? "Get up right fucking now!" I stared at the ground before something clicked inside of me. It's like I didn't give a single fuck about the outcome. "Shut the fuck up." I stared up at him as if looks could kill hoping he would explode right there before my eyes. All the children turned around, shocked, while stopping. Alexi laughs out loud before shoving me. "Get your fucking hands off me you little dick asshole!" I yelled at him. For the first time in my life I yelled. I was fighting back. Usually, I'm pretty sure he would love this, but since he had thr higher ups here, he was beyond pissed.

I could see Shi-oh in the corner of the room, motioning for me to stop. But this time, I wasn't backing down. Before I could think he punched me. Rocking my body all the way down to the floor. "The fuck did you say, say it again bitch. Go on, I dare you. I'll fucking chop you into pieces and feed you to rhe dogs!" The old me would've sat there in tears, fearing for my life. The silent room was shaken by my loud, obnoxious laugh. If there was one thing I had learned in my lifetime, men wouldn't like to be challenged. He stormed over to me and punched me yet again. Then, I started to kick me in the stop over and over again. Though, I kept laughing, refusing to give him the satisfaction. My ribs were sore, some probably broken before I grew tired of it. I started to cry while laughing, I'm pretty sure I looked like a manic to everyone in the room.

I started yelling stop, I just wanted in to be over. I was done with the pain and suffering. But he kept going, like always no one ever listened to me. Before he reaches to kick me again, a force pushes him back, clasing into the wall. A crack had been heard, and anyone could tell his skull had been split open. Though, he wasn't dead yet, no, not quite. I continue to laugh as everyone backs away from me, I see the higher ups standing from their chairs in amazement and slight fear. I push myself up off the grown and see Alexi. He looked like shit, maybe even worse than me. I turn to look at my broken finger and move to crack it back in place before it does it on its own. I hear whimpering, I turn to the crushed in wall. "Are you fucking crying, you have to be fucking with me right now." I laugh out loud holding my bruised ribs while staring at him. "H-help me." It looked like its body had been piered into the wall, I saw some of his insides. I went to turn until I realized he wasn't going to shut up. The constant whining from the man who loves man. How ironic.

I had no idea what was going on, yet for some reason, my body felt like it was on fire. Everything was so loud. My skin felt itchy, and my head was pounding. My senses felt hyper, and I was overwhelmed by everything around me. What the fuck was happening? "Be quiet....Be quiet." I just wanted it to stop. His cries felt like they were drilling into my skull. Yet he wouldn't stop. I didn't even realize I had thrown my hands up in rhe sir to cover my ears before I screamed out, "MAKE IT STOP!" The lights shattered to the floors, and some of the children dropped dead, with their eyes, nose, and ears leaking blood. Brain particles were scattered across the floor. Alexi was dropped from the wall, yet his head was still inside of the wall. Decapitated completely from his body with pieces of his spinal cord attached to it. I was so exhausted. I only remember myself falling to the ground while seeing Shi-oh running in my direction, screaming.

The Pavel leaders stood up immediately at the sight of everything around them. Some were in complete distress while seeing the future soldiers laying across the floor dead. Yet, the man in charge was only thinking one thing. Magnificent. He couldn't believe his eyes. That child had killed approximately 10 people in a room with so much as moving a muscle or a weapon near. He was used to good fighters, but this was a whole new level. She was the future, and seeing Shi-oh walk right up to her and help was just simply the best. The young boy whole showed promise faithfully in love with the girl who had mysterious abilities all in his hands. Seems everything would work out. "My precious дети." Oo, did he have plans for them. They would take everything, their futures were so bright. He would make sure they stayed on the path.

Present time

I stepped out of my car, grabbing my cat. All gifts from a certain someone whom I was visiting. Noticing a black jeep trying to be secretive, yet I paid no mind to it. Making my way inside of the building. Needing no introduction considering everyone knows who I am. Or just my status, one would say. "He is right in his office ma'am though he is busy with a worker." His secretary tells me while looking around nervously. "Never too busy for me, though, right?" He just nods and leads me to the door. We make it there with him trying to knock before I feel like this is all taking too long and pushing the door open. I hear him telling me to wait a moment, but it falls to deaf ears. I walked in, noticing now while he wanted me to wait. A girl around my height is sitting down, talking to Shi-oh. They haven't noticed me yet, so I sat there and waited in silence until she passed him her phone and he put his number in. Eventually, she leaves while she notices my presence and smiles at me while saying hi. I give her a fake smile and walk father in the room.

"The fuck was that, huh?" He turns around finally seeing me. Walking over and hugging while lifting me off the ground. Still holding me the air, which is easy due to our size difference. "My beautiful лепесток. What are you doing here?" I stared at him. He always had a habit of making it difficult to angry at him. "I was coming to see you." I motion for him to lower me down, and I sit my cat on the floor. Watching it walk around the office, I get startled again when he picks me up and sits down in his chair at his desk with me on his lap. "Before you get ready to hurt me, I was simply recruiting her to a higher position." I poke my finger deeply into his chest. "Why you wanna fuck her?" He slowly looks up, as if he is thinking about the question. While he is doing that, the objects start to lift around the room, and he takes notice. "No,I don't want to fuck her or anything like that. But she is strong, very strong. I've seen it first hand лепесток. She will be uselful." I simply smile at him before I peck his lips.

Moving closer on his lap, I start to slowly kiss his lips again. Getting lost in the plump lips I love so much. Before he reaches my face to take my shades off. He lowers his hands and grips my hips. "You are so fucking beautiful, baby. Why the fuck would I want her when I have all this." I start to grind on his lap, while the desk moves backward. Needing more room. "And don't you forget it. Gonna change the world, baby."

I'll post every Saturday for this story.

Taglist: @seonghwaexile

#SoundCloud #Spotify #strong girl nam soon #stronggirlnamsoon x reader #ryu shi oh #byeon woo seok #ryu shi oh x reader

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amarylliasky · 2 months

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Number 6 is kind of a random post!

Random things that I frequently forget exist and are canon in Tcf/lcf

1. Choi Han canonically has three ancient powers.

2. The exact words Eruhaben used to describe Cale’s face are “a bit fancy.” What’s even better is, from that phrase alone, Alberu is immediately able to deduce that it is Cale he is talking about.

3. Rasheel beat the crap out of Dorph and the lion was never heard from again(not in any significance or that I remember anyway. It’s been a hot minute since I read the end of part 1).

4. Ron and Beacrox never had their housewarming party. Cale and Raon even said they would bring gifts.

5. Alberu has other half siblings aside from Robbit and the third prince(who still doesn’t have a name).

6. Lee Chul Min of Earth 1 became a guild leader.

7. Hubesha exists. Add onto that, Priest Gersey exists(I know, I know, they are major antagonists in the later parts of part 1, but it’s been a while ok?)

8. Cale left a priest robe for Clopeh to find, along with a note. Clopeh probably still has it. I’d wager that’s one of the first items on display in the future museum he establishes.

9. (Mentions part 2!!!!!!———>) So far the only person to hide in the ceiling without being uncovered(not undiscovered tho) was that random tail Imperial Prince Adin put on Cale when the Roan envoy arrived at the Empire. This includes xxxx xxxx xxx and Cale himself.

10. Hannah could technically be the youngest swordmaster. Choi Han is over 100 years old and Bud is in his mid thirties. (Of course, that also depends on how skilled Clopeh was at her age too).

11. Cale smacks Beacrox on the head. He then proceeds to dump water on him. He then pats Beacrox’s head with a ‘disgustingly gentle expression.’ Lol.

12. Cale plots his own demise at one point(I could never forget this gem, but every once in a while I just get so surprised that it’s canon and not some sort of crack fic. Not to mention Alberu feeling like he lost to WS because Cale said his cookies were better).

13. Alberu brews tea as a hobby.

14. During the test where Cale is invisible, when they meet Eruhaben but he’s been tricked by the WS/SG, Eruhaben and Raon are about to fight. Meanwhile Cale is, of all places, curled up in a ball between them. Like, why would you just sit there?! Ik he can’t be seen or touched, but still! Also Eruhaben called him a rat. :(

15. On and Cale go on a father-daughter undercover mission disguised as academy students. (I would actually really like to read a fic where they go undercover at an academy in their world, not a crossover or au.

16. Taerang came from Earth 3, right? So hypothetically, since there is a Kim Rok Soo on Earth 1 and 2, does that mean there’s also one on Earth 3? Just something I like to think about. Also, it’s supposedly a mashup of Earth and Cale’s current world, right? So hypothetically speaking, does that mean that both Kim Rok Soo and all of the characters from The Birth of a Hero could possibly exist in one world? I just think that’s cool. I’d like to see that.

17. Cale was gifted an evil sword/dagger from the former Emperor of Mogoru. According to Raon, it has an ‘evil aura.’ Though he does give it back, and I genuinely can’t remember it being of any significance since then.

18. They roleplay going on a walk/ having a picnic in front of the secret entrance to the basement of the Alchemist Bell Tower.

19. Canonically, members of the Penguin tribe apparently waddle around in black outfits and make the best butlers, as stated by Whitiria. Because if that doesn’t scream fantasy cliche I don’t know what does.

20. Cale has two different fears at the beginning and during the war with WS. One is to be the last one alive at the end of the battles, similar to his life as Kim Rok Soo; the other is for his life as Cale Henituse to be just a dream. Both are extremely sad and so like him. It’s not really something I forgot, but it’s also something I think the fandom just doesn’t talk about enough. Like, we all know(and love) to talk about the test on Wind Island, but what about the illusion Elisneh traps him in? To imagine himself waking up as Kim Rok Soo the day after; like all that he experienced, his entire family he built, was all just a dream? That’s heart wrenching. That for me is genuinely one of the most impactful moments in the novel.

Now spoilers for part 2 for those who don’t know what I was talking about on number 9.

///////////////

Cale and Choi Han were discovered in the ceiling by the WS when they sneak into the Dubori territory Capital. Funnily enough though, the only reason Choi Jung Soo was discovered was because he was so shocked by Cale coughing up blood that he was discovered by the Carnage Demon and then they fell through the ceiling.

///

Edit: I edited some of these cuz they’re not actually accurate. In case anyone’s wondering.

#lcf #lout of count’s family #tcf #trash of the count's family #rraes lcf countdown2024 #cale henituse #kim rok soo #eruhaben #alberu crossman #choi han #choi jung soo #raon miru #also let me know if I’m going overboard with the read more break #I just think these (aside from 5) are kinda long and I’m trying to make it easier to navigate

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eurydia · 9 months

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a self-indulgent drawing of Raphael disheveled and covered in blood

I was inspired to write a short fic to go with it, you can read it below or in AO3: [One Last Visit]

Tav finds Raphael bleeding and near-death in her room in Elfsong Tavern—or so she thinks.

One Last Visit (944 words) by Eurydia

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Blood and Injury, Drinking, Alcohol, Older Man/Younger Woman, Ficlet, Minor Spoilers, Raphael is overly protective of Tav, Hope is such a tease (and so is he)

This is also my gift for the support on "The Lover's Gambit". Thank you so much ❤️!

Tag explanations: - Minor spoilers for Wyll's background - Implied/Referenced Torture - Does not actually happen in the fic, but Raphael briefly describes doing it to someone else

Tav went to her room in Elfsong Tavern. The rest of her party was still downstairs, drinking and celebrating for the night.

She opened the door and found Raphael slumped against her bed, his white frilled collar stained with blood.

“Raphael? What in the Hells happened?” she knelt beside him.

He glanced at her weakly, managing a smirk. Tav wanted to think it was selfishness that made her start tending to his wounds: if she helped him, he would owe her a favor. But that wasn’t entirely true. She had developed a soft spot for the devil.

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?” he began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Stop talking and hold still,” Tav muttered. Presently, she had no patience for his theatrics. She grabbed a napkin off a table and began to wipe his smarmy face with it. He chuckled. For once, he listened and stayed still, silently watching her dab at his curled lip.

It wasn’t long before Tav realized there wasn’t a single cut or bruise on him. Either he was concealing them—or feigning his injuries. She gave him the benefit of the doubt for now and looked him over. Bloodstains covered his normally immaculate outfit, some mere splatters while others steadily bloomed in size. He smelled strongly of the Hells, of ash, sulfur and infernal metal.

Raphael was enjoying this. He figured he could indulge himself a little more and drag the show on.

“I’ll get Shadowheart—“ He grabbed her wrist gently. Worry strained her fair features. “As much as I enjoy watching you fuss over me, I’m afraid we don’t have much time,” Raphael said, solemnly. “Soon I’ll be sent back to the hells, to the very point where I last stood before I was…beaten. Potentially for good, this time. But since I’ve grown quite fond of you, I decided to pay you one last visit. For old time’s sake.” Tav stared at his fingers still curled around her wrist. She slowly took his hand in hers. “A question you may ask, but only one. True to my word, I shall answer, not run.” Her gaze fell to a stain somewhere on his chest. “What is a devil like you truly afraid of?” she decided.

Raphael laughed. A laugh that came from deep within, unabashed and loud.

“Oh, you mortals are so gullible! It’s adorable. Do you really think I could be beaten so easily? No need to fetch your favorite cleric,” he snapped. All the bloodstains on his clothes vanished. “It wasn’t my blood, little pup.” Tav sighed. She shoved him away and walked to her wine cabinet. “You’re insufferable,” she groaned, opening a Berduskan and taking a long, irritated swig. “Don’t act so surprised. We are well-acquainted by now.” He stood then brushed nonexistent dust off his clean clothes. “Do I dare ask whose blood that was?” “Let’s just say that vile, drunken creature downstairs won’t be bothering you any longer.”

Tav set her drink down.

“What did you do?” “If you must know: I dismembered him,” he grinned. “Limb by limb, fingernail by fingernail. You should’ve heard his screaming, it was utterly delightful.” Her back was to him, but he caught her shoulders bowing. He grinned. “Are you worried about me?” “Merely protecting my assets,” he replied. “Now, enjoy your night. If you’ll—“ “Wait. You didn’t answer me.”

Raphael approached her. He extended a hand, brow raised in question. Eventually, she gave her his hand. He conjured up a handkerchief and began to wipe the bloodstains off her fingers.

“I did not,” said Raphael, his eyes sharpening to a point on her palm. “My heart aches for your horned and heroic friend, Wyll Ravengard. If he’s not in the shadow of his fellow devils, he’s in the shadow of his father. I see why Mizora took pity on the poor pup. After all these years, he still hasn’t given up hope of pleasing him. Hope—such a tease.”

Raphael said it all in his usual tone, full of melodrama and feigned pathos. At the end, however, Tav caught his gaze softening. Their eyes met, and he quickly finished his task before turning away.

“You don’t get along with your father?” Tav asked, genuinely surprised. She found it strangely human that even a fiend like him was not immune to such predicaments. “Unless you consider plotting each other’s downfall as a father-son bonding activity, then no. We do not. Thankfully, I have as much interest in making amends as I do in the affairs of mortalkind.”

He would never admit it, but he hadn’t told a single soul about how he felt about his father, not even his incubus. Usually, he would’ve taken his leave by now. But the way she stared at him, with tenderness and affection, compelled him to linger a moment longer. He let her draw nearer, until he was close enough to see the scarring in her eye from the tadpole.

Tav kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Raphael. I owe you a drink." “A drink? I think you owe me far more than that." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing on her lips. She felt herself rising to meet him, her eyelids fluttering shut, her heartbeat overtaking the murmurs of the Illithid— He snapped. “Goodnight, sweetling.”

She watched him disappear in a vibrant flame. On the spot where he had stood, lay a neatly folded handkerchief. She picked it up and sniffed it, the scent of the Hells—of him—flooding her senses like the most intoxicating perfume.

Tav put it in her pocket and smiled.

#bg3 #tw blood #bg3 fanart #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 raphael #my fics #inspiration hit me from nowhere and i just rolled with it lol #he is such a teaseee ugggh i love him sm #he's so fun to write for #happy holidays and thank you <3

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yarrystyleeza · 1 year

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Umm, there's something that's been going on in my head I can't stop thinking about it okay. All of Matt's fics (and I mean it, ALL OF THEM) mention and describe that Matt only sleeps on silk sheets because normal fabrics irritate his skin. My point now is that, I've watched the show like 5 or 6 times this year only, and I've never heard anyone mentioning the silk sheets, plus the scenes that include his bedroom never has any silk in them:

These textures are definitely not silk, who made this silk propaganda??? 🤣

Also I've seen posts says that his skin gets irritated by cotton, like -ugh- cotton is actually one of the most skin friendly fabrics and is actually used in newborns clothing industry —who have the most sensitive skin ever irl—

AND PLUS, EVERYTHING MATT WEARS IS COTTON, HIS BOXER SHORTS HIS SHIRTS HIS T-SHIRTS AND SLACKS LITERALLY EVERYTHING HE WEARS IS 90% (IF NOT 100%) COTTON!!!!!

Matt's t-shirt when Karen comes to see him: cotton

Matt's black vigilante suit: cotton

Matt's white t-shirt in Elektra's dream: cotton

Matt's dress shirts: cotton (might contain other fabrics but 95% of the shirts material is mainly cotton)

Matt's bed sheets: cotton

Matt's snuggly outfit: cotton

In conclusion, Matt often wears cotton, not silk.

And yes I've prepared myself for the "but maybe cotton is mixed with silk" there is a type of fabric called mashru, which is a hybrid of both silk and cotton, it exists, but it's so different looking (the sheets might be mashru, maybe the suit shirts too, but everything else is cotton).

Mashru is so so so light, a bit transparent sometimes, and it has a bit of shine in it (often tending to silk) I've seen it often in scarfs, sarees, dresses, mostly feminine clothing, maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong, but I've been into fabrics since I was a kid and I know cotton when I see it 🤣🤣🤣

I feel so silly posting this

#Who made the silk propaganda?#matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #daredevil discussion #I am really confused

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vodika-vibes · 5 months

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Since Fives is a really good investigator (evident with him finding about Order 66), can I request an x reader fic where he investigates a string of heists involving Jedi artefacts committed by the reader, who is a flirty master thief, and he tries to pursue her across Coruscant to bring her to justice?

Knew You Were Trouble

Summary: When ancient artifacts start vanishing from the Jedi Temple, stolen from right under the noses of both the archivists and the Jedi Guardians, Fives decides to investigate.

Pairing: Pre ARC Trooper Fives x Thief F!Reader

Word Count: 2484

Warnings: Reader is described as having a feminine body, and wearing makeup. Reader is given the codename Shadow for ease.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I've had it sitting open in a Doc for days, but I finally got an idea! Reader's outfit is similar to this outfit from Persona 5 Royal. Though without the weapons. There may be a part two of this, if I ever get the motivation.

“General Nu-”

“Master,” The older woman corrects, as she glances at Fives out of the corner of her eye, and then turns back to her work, “What can I help you with, Corporal?”

“I think a holocron is missing.” Fives replies as he looks at the open spot on the shelf. There’s some discoloration, as though something had been sitting there for a long time.

The older woman hurries over and glances at the spot, a severe frown on her lips. She stares at the spot for a moment, and then releases a heavy sigh. “Again?”

“Ma’am?”

Jocasta Nu shoots him a severe look, and Fives fights the urge to quail under her glare, “How are you at investigations, Corporal?”

“...decent enough, I suppose.”

“Good, follow me.” The older woman leads him through the archives until she reaches her desk, and then she turns a monitor towards him, and she navigates to a file of saved videos, “Watch. This was recorded 5 months ago.”

Fives focuses on the screen.

It’s security footage of the Archives, and he watches as someone, a woman based on her body shape, slips in a window.

She’s dressed oddly, almost in a leotard, with thigh high boots, a long overcoat, and a sharp looking domino mask covering the upper part of her face hiding her features from the camera.

She locks her gaze on the camera and presses a finger against her lips, as if shushing someone, and the camera feed goes fuzzy.

“This next one was taken three weeks after that.”

The monitor flickers, and then there’s an image of the same woman opening one of the vaults before the feed cuts out.

“And last night.”

The monitor changes one more time, and the exact same person, dressed exactly the same, is shown blatantly taking a holocron from the shelf, before she, again, disconnects the cameras.

Fives pulls away from the monitor and focuses his gaze on General Nu, “The same person has broken in three times-”

“She’s broken in a grand total of a dozen times…we’ve only caught her on camera thrice.” General Nu corrects.

“...and the Temple Guard haven’t done anything?”

“They are of the opinion that she doesn’t exist.” The older woman scowls, “Honestly, I don’t even know why she’s targeting us. It’s not like we keep gems on hand.”

“You keep knowledge on hand though. And to some people, that’s worth more than all the gems in the galaxy.” Fives points out.

The woman bristles and then her shoulders slump, “Yes. I know. I want you to try and find her and bring her to justice.”

Fives exhales through his teeth, “With all due respect, ma’am. I’m due to ship out with the 501st tomorrow-”

“I’ll handle it. Will you help?”

Nervously Fives rubs the back of his neck, and then he sighs, “Yeah, alright. Assuming you can get permission, I’ll help. Do you have any evidence for me to go on?”

Master Nu smiles, it’s a sharp little thing and for a moment Fives wonders why she isn’t in charge of the war effort. “The holocron she stole has a tracking chip inside it. And, since holocrons can only be opened by force sensitives, it means she couldn’t have removed it.”

“Why didn’t you tell the Temple Guard about it?”

“Because, again, they don’t believe she actually exists.” General Nu presses a small datapad into his hand, “Here, this is what you need to track the holocron.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you know what the Council says about your deployment.”

“Thanks for that too,” Fives replies as he powers the device on and waits for it to scan for the tracking fob that it’s keyed to. As soon as the screen lights up, he grabs his helmet and pulls it on and leaves the archives.

The fob is located in a warehouse only a short speeder ride away from the temple.

And a quick search of the net tells him that the Warehouse is supposed to be abandoned. A deeper search of the net tells him that the warehouse was slated for demolition several years ago, but it just never happened.

“We have arrived at your destination.” The taxi droid chirps, “Thank you for your patronage.” Fives steps out of the speeder and glances at the datapad one more time.

“Seven warehouses,” He murmurs, zooming in a little bit, “I’m looking for building A-2478/23.” The speeder zips off while he’s not paying attention to it, not that he minds, really.

Fives wasn’t planning on returning to the temple right away anyway.

He glances at the datapad one more time, and then looks up and around. The buildings have to be labeled, right?

Ah! There, the closest building, is A-2475/23.

So odds are on the left side and evens would be on the right, assuming that this place is designed with any sort of logic. He jogs over to the first building on the right until he’s able to see the white letters on the side of the building.

A-2474/23.

So two down then.

The warehouse he’s looking for is a little more rundown than the other ones. Boarded up windows, rust replacing the green paint in places, leaking pipes…

And yet-

Fives moves to where the door is located, his eyes narrowing. The lights over the door are new. The broken windows are broken in such a way that it looks intentional. The doorknob on the door is also new, all of the rust is painted on.

He walks over to a rusty patch and he tugs off his glove to touch the rust with his bare fingers. It’s not real.

Someone has gone to great lengths to make this place look like it’s been condemned.

He walks over to the door and lightly touches the doorknob. How long has it been since he’s seen a building using a door like this, rather than the more mechanized ones that are seen everywhere.

Clever.

If he wasn’t looking for something out of place, he’d likely think that this building was ancient and wouldn’t give it a second thought.

Luckily, he’s smarter than the average bear, so to speak.

He pulls his hand away from the doorknob and pulls his glove back on. There’s no way he’s going through the front door. That’s just asking for trouble.

He circles the warehouse, thoughtfully. Considering all of his options.

Opening the bay doors isn’t an option, he’d never get them open on his own from the outside. The ground floor windows are also out, anyone inside would see him immediately.

His gaze lands on the fire escape. Like the rest of the building, the ladder doesn’t look like it would carry the weight of a small child, let alone a man full grown.

However, Fives has already seen evidence of someone going out of their way to try and make this place look more dangerous than it is. So he walks over to the ladder and jumps up to grab the bottom most rung.

Fives hangs there for a moment, waiting, and when the fire escape doesn’t dissolve under his weight, or even shake, he feels comfortable hoisting himself up to the fire door.

The door looks rusted beyond belief, and Fives is sure that it’s all fake rust. But he’s not so stupid to try and touch the door. Fire doors are notoriously sensitive, he remembers that from ARC Training.

So he ignores the door, and instead jumps up to grab the ledge of the roof, and he pulls himself up to the ledge.

A quick survey tells him that there aren’t any sensors on the roof, and he huffs out a quiet laugh, “You’d think that a thief would put sensors on the roof.” He mumbles to himself as he steps onto the gravel roof.

A second quick glance around leads Fives to side-step the roof access door, a door that he’s sure is rigged to an alarm, to crouch next to a window. And this, right here, is all of the proof that he needs that everything about the building is a facade.

These windows are brand new, and made from blaster proof material. A material that Fives knows was only invented in the last few years.

He can’t see through the windows, not well at least, but he is able to see that there isn’t any movement on the upper walkways. So carefully, very carefully, making sure that none of the windows are wired, he opens one.

One final check that he’s not going to land on anyone, Fives drops into the warehouse, making sure that the window is closed behind him.

Silently he moves from the wall to peer down into the main part of the warehouse.

There, sitting on a table, is the holocron that was missing. Well, presumably. There are a lot of holocrons on the table.

On another table are some statues. Some books actually made of flimsy are lined up on another table.

There’s an entire shelf filled with weapons of all types.

And there, pacing between the tables, is a Devaronian man. Fives isn’t able to see the look on his face, and, even more clearly, he’s not the actual thief.

A contractor, perhaps?

Maybe the thief was hired by him to acquire all of these things…though Fives can’t think of a reason why. There’s nothing in common between any of these items that he can see, save for the fact that they’re old.

He scans the warehouse one more time, and then movement catches his eye.

There, perched on a wooden crate, is the thief.

Without her mask.

Fives’ immediate thought was that someone as pretty as her should probably be making a living as a model or an actress or something, not living as a master thief. His second thought is that she’s far too young to have stolen all of the things in the warehouse.

“My darling Shadow,” The man is speaking to Shadow, the thief, and Fives pulls himself out of his thoughts, “You’re so talented.”

“Yes,” She agrees, her voice light, “I am.”

“You’re almost as good as your father.” He continues.

“My father never managed to get into the Jedi Temple. I managed it 12 times in the last year.” Shadow replies, sounding bored out of her mind as she examines her gloves, “But please, do continue telling me how talented my father was.”

Her contractor opens his mouth to say something, and then hesitates, “My dear,” he finally says, condescendingly, “No one is as good as you think you are.”

The young woman lifts her head to say something, and then she pauses, her gaze sliding to the upper walkways. Her gaze locks onto his face, and she smiles, slow and pretty. “We have company.”

The Devaronian jerks, “What? Where!?” He spins around and looks up, and Fives, knowing that he’s been busted, moves a little more into the light. “Kriff! It’s the GAR!” The man yelps, before he shoves all of the holocrons into a bag and sprints away.

Shadow, however, doesn’t bother to run. Instead, she smoothly gets to her feet and pulls her mask on. “‘Won’t you step into my parlor?’ said the spider to the fly?” She coos.

It’s a trap. It’s clearly a trap.

But Fives can’t help but smirk, as he leans over the railing, “Does that make you the spider in this scenario, Miss Shadow?”

“Why don’t you come down and find out, little soldier boy.”

He should go after the contractor. He should. That would be the smart thing to do.

But no one’s ever accused him of being smart.

So Fives grips the railing, and he jumps over the edge.

A quick activation of his jetpack allows him to land lightly on his feet only a few feet away from her. “I’ve come to reclaim the items you took from the Jedi temple.” Fives announces.

Her red painted lips turn up, “Have you? How do you intend to do that?”

“I already caught you.” Fives points out.

She laughs, it’s a pretty sound, “Sweetheart, I haven’t been caught.”

“Yet.”

“Oh, you do think highly of yourself, don’t you?” She murmurs. Her eyes, the only part of her upper face not hidden by her mask, sweep down his body, “Of course, I suppose you have every reason to.”

“You could make this easy on both of us and just turn yourself in.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“You clearly recognize that I’m an ARC Trooper.”

Her smile widens, “The best of the GAR…on the battlefield. And this, darling, is hardly a battlefield.”

Fives sighs, “You’re going to make me catch you, aren’t you?”

She scans him once more, “Well, I’m always happy to submit to a man in armor-” Fives inhales sharply, and he can feel his face heating under his helmet, “But you haven’t made me submit yet.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“So you’re going to let me go? How nice of you~”

“I didn’t say that.”

Her smile doesn’t waver as she moves. Fives curses, she’s faster than she looks, especially for someone wearing heels that high.

Then she’s right in his space. His helmet lifts, just a little, and warm lips press against his jaw. “Catch me if you can, handsome.” Then she’s gone, balanced on the rafters of the warehouse and smiling down at him, “I’ll let you have the stuff in the warehouse, as a treat.”

It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, “Let?” He rasps.

Her smile is pretty, “Let. After all, you found me didn’t you. Think of it as…incentive to keep looking for me.”

“If everything is here, then why would I do that?”

She produces a datacron from under her jacket, “I like information, sweetheart. And so, over the last dozen visits to the temple, I made copies of every bit of information that I could. And I have it right here.”

Kriff.

Double kriff.

If that information gets out-

There’s a flash of pink as she licks her lower lip, “Are you motivated yet?”

“Well, I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” Fives’ jaw clenches, “I am going to catch you.”

“I look forward to it, handsome.” And then she really is gone, out the same window that he entered through.

Slowly, shakily, Fives comms General Nu, “I found…a lot. But the thief got away.” He says as soon as she answers.

“How much is a lot?”

Fives looks around the massive warehouse filled with stolen objects, “A whole warehouse full.” He pauses, “There’s more, too.”

“Tell me when I arrive. You and your…twin…have officially been transferred to me.” General Nu says, “I hope he’s as good an investigator as you.”

The comm cuts off and Fives looks around with a sigh. Well, he never really wanted to fight in a war anyway.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #arc trooper fives x reader #fives x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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dmitriene · 1 year

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— icebound tale.

᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «it's just you and me now» ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «it's just you and me now»

summary: against the backdrop of the exciting world of figure skating, your eyes are drawn to a charismatic figure skater who is ready to offer you his helping hand. content: figure skater re4 leon kennedy x gn reader tags: fluff, comfort, little of a self doubt and anxiety, teasing, flirting and just nice time with leon. author's note: hello!! i'm back with some leon fic that was incpired by the awesome au artwork that belong to @eerizon and her art is fully describing how leon looks like in the fic, so hoping you'll like this writing! enjoy your reading) ⛸️

The ice rink existed in a unique combination of emotions where the strongest desire and the greatest fear converged in a whirlwind of conflicting sensations.

As you stood at the edge of the ice rink, your chest felt like it was being held in a vice, a feeling that mirrored the tug of war between two sides in your heart.

The desire to be on the ice was an all consuming pain, a longing that had long been imprinted in your soul, it was a passion that awakened in you from a young age, a love for figure skating that blossomed against the backdrop of countless hours of training and dedication, it became part of your personality, a dream — which nourished your every waking moment.

However, this desire was paradoxically combined with a gripping fear, the ice under your skates symbolizing not only your dreams, but also your potential fall, the thought that you would look disgraceful, lose your balance and fall in front of watchful spectators and comrades in figure skating — was a nightmare that haunted you every step of the way.

As you entered the rink you were greeted by an intense cold that seemed to seep into your bones, the air was crisp and sharp, reminding you of the unforgiving nature of the ice, the dull design of the rink, its muted colors and polished surface stood in stark contrast to the turbulent emotions bubbling within you.

With shaking hands, you changed into your ice skating outfit, the fabric clinging to your skin as if to express solidarity with your anxiety, every piece of clothing you put on was a barrier between you and the impending test, a way to shield yourself from the vulnerability that skating required. skates.

Despite your familiarity with the skating rink, this place where you had spent countless hours practicing and perfecting your skills, an uneasy uncertainty gnawed at you. It was a persistent doubt whispering in the back of your mind, taunting you with the possibility of failure, it made you press against the wall as soon as you stepped on the ice, seeking the momentary comfort of its solid presence.

Before you lay a realm of thin ice — a vast expanse of opportunity and danger, the frozen surface was both your canvas and your battlefield, a place where dreams could come true or be shattered, the reflections of the bright lights of the skating rink danced on the surface of the ice, creating a dazzling spectacle that was simultaneously mesmerizing and scared.

As you stood against the wall, your fingers gripping the cold metal barrier, you watched the other skaters glide effortlessly across the ice, their movements a testament to their skill and confidence, every graceful spin and leap seeming to mock your own insecurities.

But amidst the whirlwind of emotions, there was a glimmer of hope, the fact that you were here — on the ice, was a triumph in itself, it was a testament to your determination to conquer your fears and fulfill your deepest desires, the path ahead may not be easy, but you have finally made your first uncertain steps towards your dream.

As you stood against the wall, your eyes scanned the expanse of the rink, trying to calm the nerves pulsing through your veins, the atmosphere was electric with anticipation, a palpable energy hung in the air like a gentle frost, the bright artificial lights of the rink illuminated every inch of the frozen surface, bathing the arena in a pristine glow.

Amidst this sea of anticipation, your gaze suddenly fell on him.

He was a young man, the epitome of grace and fluidity as he cut through the ice with every elegant movement, his very presence seemed to capture the attention of everyone on the rink, his performance becoming an enchanting dance unfolding before your eyes.

His every movement was poetry in motion, with every graceful movement of his skates he drew intricate patterns on the frozen canvas beneath him, the ice bending to his will and he danced on it with a grace that was nothing short of mesmerizing, and his pirouettes were like a whirlwind of elegance, a breathtaking display of skill that was awe inspiring.

Your own efforts at figure skating faded into the background as you stared at him, the world around you dissolving into a hazy haze.

His blue eyes — expressive and deep, were in harmony with the shade of his bluish turtleneck, which reflected the cold, serene tones of ice, they were like sapphires that sparkled in the cold light, deep and piercing, as if reflecting the ice under his feet, attracting with their magnetic charm, his eyes showed determination, a fiery passion that burned inside him as he executed every maneuver with precision.

His light mop of soft, tanned blond hair framed his face in a mesmerizing halo, bouncing with every spin and adding an extra layer of dynamism to his already charming presence, stray strands of hair brushing his cheeks as if nature itself had conspired to enhance his beauty.

Every pirouette was a masterpiece, every jump a display of athleticism and artistry, his skates whispering across the ice, creating a symphony of sounds that echoed throughout the rink, every movement executed with a flawless combination of strength and grace, as if he and the ice were one.

It was impossible to take your eyes off this charming skater, time seemed to stand still and the world around faded into the background, at that moment there was only him — the embodiment of everything you admired in figure skating.

The murmur of admiration and awe in the room became a distant echo as you continued to watch him, his performance a testament to the true beauty of this sport, a reminder of why you fell in love with him in the first place, and as you stood there, captivated by his artistry, you you couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of inspiration and determination rising within you.

As you stood there, captivated by the young man's mesmerizing performance on the ice, suddenly a feeling of unease came over you, as if his every move drew attention to your presence, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth to your cheeks and instinctively looked away, your eyes were now drawn to shining ice under your feet.

Unbeknownst to you, he sensed your attention and effortlessly changed his course, heading towards you with the grace of a swan gliding through the water, his final spin bringing him to a stop in front of you, the soft scrape of his skates on the ice announcing his arrival.

He gave you a bright, disarming smile, a smile that radiated warmth and friendliness, that smile made your heart flutter and your cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement as he greeted you with a soft — «Hello?»

Your eyes darted back to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his presence, you managed to smile back shyly but found it hard to hold his gaze for long, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides as you struggled to find words.

Before you had a chance to recover, he spoke in a soft and reassuring voice — «Is everything alright? You looked a little confused, do you need help?» his concern was genuine and it only made you more nervous.

You looked away shyly, the anxiety in your chest increasing — «I… I don't want to burden you» you muttered, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the rink's refrigeration system.

But he seemed unfazed by your hesitation, with a gentle chuckle he reached out and took your hand, his touch warm against the cold of the rink, his fingers curling around yours in a reassuring way, causing a tingle in your arm.

— «You're not a burden at all» he answered in a carefree and friendly tone — «We're all here to support each other, right? In addition, i like to help beginners find their footing on the ice»

His words were like a lifeline, easing the tension coiled inside you, you finally mustered up the courage to meet his gaze once more and couldn’t help but smile at the kindness and warmth that radiated from him.

Still holding your hand tenderly, he took a step closer, closing the distance between you, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of your nervousness.

With a friendly smile that seemed to light up the entire skating rink, he said — «By the way, I'm Leon, nice to meet you» his words were like a sudden warm hug, that calmed you despite your initial nerves.

Before you could answer, he happily took your other hand, his touch sent a wave of warmth through your body, his fingers intertwined with yours, his touch soothing, and he gently pulled your hand, pulling you closer to him and making you step forward, your heart was pounding as you felt yourself getting closer to this charismatic stranger.

The sudden movement made you stutter, the words stuck in your throat, panic briefly taking hold of you as you realized that you were now dangerously close to him, in your agitated state you instinctively grabbed his shoulders, fearing that you might have caused him discomfort.

But when you finally found the courage to look up and meet his gaze, you saw a sight that eased your worries.

Leon smiled, his blue eyes full of warmth and fun, his shoulders moving with a soft, melodious laugh, a sound like music in the fresh air of an ice skating rink.

In a playful, flirtatious manner he joked — «Don't worry, it's okay, besides, you have a good grip there» his voice was soothing and you couldn’t help but laugh at his light-hearted comment.

As his laughter died down, he leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours, a mischievous glint in his gaze as he said — «Now that we are properly familiar, how about starting with skating lessons? I promise i'm a great teacher» his words were accompanied by a charming wink that made your heart flutter.

You nodded hesitantly, your cheeks still flushed from your earlier embarrassment but now with a tinge of excitement, his confidence was contagious and you wanted to learn from the man who exuded such charisma and skill.

At this, Leon gave you another brilliant smile and began to lead you across the ice, his hand in yours as you followed his lead, your skates gliding smoother by the moment.

As you both moved together across the shiny surface of the rink, you couldn't help but smile, the fear and uncertainty that had gripped you earlier gave way to a newfound confidence and thirst for adventure, at that moment the ice was no longer your greatest fear, but a canvas for your dreams, and Leon was not just a stranger, but a partner in the dance that had just begun.

Minutes turned into hours and you and Leon were lost in the charm of skating together, the atmosphere around you turning from one of nervous uncertainty to one of camaraderie and joy, your skates gliding gracefully across the ice as you chatted and laughed as if you'd known each other for years.

With each passing moment, the initial awkwardness dissipated, giving way to a sense of connection that extended beyond the rink, you shared stories, aspirations and anecdotes, your laughter echoing through the frosty air, the world around you faded into the background as you focused on the delightful conversation and the joy of the ice under with your feet.

However, fate had a playful twist in store for both of you.

While you were skating side by side, engrossed in conversation, you accidentally lost your balance and the next thing you knew, you were falling straight onto Leon, the impact was sudden and you both fell onto the ice, caught taken by surprise.

For a moment you both looked at each other through your tousled hair, frozen in surprise, and then Leon bursted into a burst of laughter, his laugh was infectious, filling the rink as he threw back his head and laughed heartily.

His laugh caught you off guard and you couldn't help but blush, your cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson as you flashed a shy smile and held your breath as you tried to regain your composure.

Leon, still sitting on the ice and looking at you through his bangs, tilted his head to one side with a mischievous gleam in his eyes and suddenly asked playfully — «I'm so beautiful that you're holding your breath?» his words were spoken with a charming smile that created a playful spark between you two.

You giggled nervously and replied — «Maybe quite a bit» your words were accompanied by a gentle look that spoke volumes about the connection you felt with this charismatic blonde.

With that, you both stood up, Leon holding out his hand to help you to your feet.

With his help, you both rose from the ice, your hearts still glowing from your shared laughter, you resumed skating, your movements now accompanied by a feeling of intimacy and comfort, the lights of the skating rink overhead creating a mesmerizing backdrop for the evening.

A couple of hours later, when the sun began to set, filling the skating rink with a warm golden hue, you realized that it was time for both of you to go your separate ways, when suddenly Leon, with a playful smile, reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper with a phone number written on it.

— «Here» he said, handing you the paper — «If you ever want to skate again or just chat, give me a call, it was great to meet you today»

You took a piece of paper, your heart was pounding with excitement as you smiled back at him and replied — «I'd love to skate with you again, thank you Leon, it was an unforgettable day»

With a wave and a promise to stay in touch, you and Leon reluctantly parted ways, but the memories of that day on the ice, filled with laughter, shared falls, and the promise of new beginnings, lingered in the atmosphere, leaving you with a feeling of joy and anticipation for future meetings.

[ taglist: @roseglazedlens, @sporeghost, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @valsthea ] dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist.

© dmitriene - my masterlist or ao3 please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

#[ ✒️july writing ]#resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy comfort #leon kennedy fluff #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon re4 #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x y/n

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biconickyoshi · 6 months

Note

10, 15, 25 for wuko :)

Omggg okay I'm very excited to do this for Wuko!!! Thank you anon! :)

10. Describe their first date.

I think that Wu would try go all out on their first date (I'm literally imagining a scenario very similar to Kurosawa and Adachi's first date for those who are familiar with any adaptation of Cherry Magic lol). He'd probably try to make everything perfect - they'd spend the day shopping for expensive outfits, fly over Republic City on a sky bison/blimp, then go to the fanciest restaurant in town.

Of course, Mako would end up having a shitty time, and afterwards they'd have a talk about how neither of them had much fun - Mako because all of the rich people stuff felt superficial to him, and Wu because he was so focused on everything being perfect that he didn't take the time to truly pay attention to Mako and notice he was feeling uncomfortable. Wu would apologize, and then Mako would take him to a cheap hole-in-the-wall place that he likes (, and they'd do the things Mako likes to do, which are much more low-key (which Wu has never really experienced). From that point forward, they would make an agreement to try and do things they both like to do on future dates.

15. Do they always say "I love you" before leaving?

Wu almost always says it first, but sometimes Mako gets to it before him. This of course makes Wu very happy. Mako of course always says it back when Wu says it first :)

25. Do they have any hobbies they share?

I think that, at first, it would seem like there's not really any interests that they both have in common, but eventually they would slowly start introducing the other to things they like and end up both getting really into them.

For Mako, I'd imagine his thing is watching probending - Wu wouldn't be interested at first, but he'd make an effort to start learning more about it, and eventually become just as big of a fan as Mako (and probably start buying a bunch of merch for his favorite team lol).

For Wu, I imagine him as being a huge theatre kid, so he'd probably start dragging Mako to musicals and operas, and eventually Mako would begin to appreciate them and even look forward to them too.

Also, I don't know if drag shows exist in the world of Avatar, but I headcanon that they do and I 100% believe that Wu would be super into them, either just going to them or being in them. I would LOVEEE to write a fic someday about Wu convincing Mako to let him dress him up in drag lol. Maybe the rest of the Krew could join in on it too.

Gahhh this was literally so much fun to do!! To anyone else who sees this, pls feel free to send me more of these (for Zukaang, Korrasami, Rangshi, or even Wuko again) :)

Link to the original OTP Asks post

#asks #otp asks #lok #legend of korra #wuko #mako #prince wu #wu x mako #mako x wu #tlok #the legend of korra

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cheesycatz · 5 months

Text

WORMTON AU MASTERPOST

"Spamton G. Spamton is just a normal spam program making ends meet by tricking darkners into buying his garbage. At least, that's what he tells a blue addison he accidentally wins over, as well as their friends. He won't fall for their genuine words and pure compassion, though. A salesman and a manipulator are one and the same, and neither can trick the other.

…right?"

AKA: Spamton, but he represents a computer worm as a darkner. He's some sort of 15 foot long fluffy parasitic alien centipede worm creature, and the Sweepstakes worm represents what his species's parasitic hatchlings look like after they slowly consume and kill their host from the inside out. Spamton is the last of his species left after they were exterminated (representing a computer worm being downloaded onto a computer and eventually fought off). He wears a disguise to hide his worm status so that he may interact with the general public without being reported and killed by an antivirus. He doesn't meet the addisons until after the extermination of his species. Hope he doesn't form any emotional attachment that would be severed if they found out what he really was, haha

This AU exists mostly in the form or art and text posts, but I am currently working on a fanfic about Wormton and the addisons, which will start being posted to ao3 once I finish the entire rough draft.

Links below to all: lore, art, question answers, marketable plushies, and fic updates ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Lore (art included)

Initial lore post

- The basics. Describes the general characteristics, infection process and behavior of malworms (darkner version computer worms). Also describes the extinction of Spamton's species, his origins, and the setup for his interactions with the addisons.

More malworm biology

- More information on malworm culture/biology and Spamton's specific species (the BIGSHOT malworm). Woah, say that 10 times fast...uh, also more information on the extinction of Spamton's species.

Size comparison and more biology

- A sketch dump showing a size comparison between the addisons and masked/unmasked Spamton. Also features some general sketches of BIGSHOT malworms and some more information on their biology.

Spamton before he met the addisons

- A sketch page + text on some scenes from Spamton's life from before he met the addisons.

General info/designs of malworm genera

- Not much Spamton here. It's just a look at what the other types of malworms might look like.

Art (sometimes a smidgen of lore)

Disguised Wormton Reference Sheet

True Wormton Reference Sheet

Too Many Legs (Comic based on the fic)

Spamton and the addisons (pre-reveal)

Annoying Mouse Room™ Infinite Food Hack

The Worm Nest

How Wormton's costume works

Pros of not having a spine

Late night worm posting

What a Wormton NEO would look like

Wholesome Wormton Content

Hatchling Spamton my beloved

Malworm Hoodie Design

Q&A

My asks are open, so feel free to ask me any questions about my AU or art in general (within reason, obviously)! I like drawing responses when applicable, so feel free to give me a wormton drawing request and I might consider it.

Asks from Instagram about lore

Plushies

Can malworm/wormton fanart be made? (Yes pretty please I would love fanart)

Maximum lifespan of malworms?

I have so many of these things god help me

My Worm Collection

Spamton Plush Wormton Outfit

16 ft long Life-Size Wormton Plush

Fic Updates

The Making Of: Life-Size Wormton Plush

Sometimes I post art and some thoughts about the Wormton AU fic I am working on. I won't be publicly posting it until I finish the rough draft of the entire story. I'm doing my best, but I'm also dealing with life's responsibilities and making other art. I have no idea for a release date yet, but I don't plan on giving up.

Once the entire story has reached a first-draft state, I will finish each chapter one by one and post them as I do. As previously mentioned, chapters will be released on ao3 once finished. As of 08/02/24, it is: 142k words long

86k words update

100k words update

111k words update

120k words update

132k words update

142k words update

Thank you for enjoying my silly little AU, I love reading your tags

#spamton #deltarune #wormton au #cheesycatz text posts

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subzeroparade · 1 year

Note

Hello! I really liked the clothes you designed for Laurence in the last artwork. I was wondering if it's just an alternative design to the usual one or if it's how you'll draw him from now on. Is it maybe something he wore before he started wearing the choir clothes?

Thank you anon (・‧̫・) Also you made the mistake of asking me about fashion, so - *inhales*

I’ve drawn Laurence in version(s) of the Choir garb before (you'll notice I change his sleeves a lot lol), but I normally almost never draw characters in the same outfits all the time, even if they are canon - just by virtue of being bored of it, and wanting to invent.

The one you’re referencing was early Church, in my timeline - there’s two similar ones that I’ve more or less described in fic that are simpler, and closer to typically clerical/in-game Church garb. One of the first scenes in The Feast We Were Promised (which deals mostly with early Church timeline) is Laurence changing from the weighty, jewelled chasuble he wears in the context of ministration/communion in the Grand Cathedral into a modest black cassock to return to the Chapel of the Good Chalice down in the poorer quarters of old Yharnam. There is a certain canny strategy for the Church to remain humble in what they wear, if only to imply a sort of modesty and separation from the main religious powers of the time - there’s an established church, in this timeline, with all its pomp and splendour (because sects don’t just spring up in a religious vacuum).

I think that changes with the founding of the Choir, and the domination of the Healing Church as the main religious organisation over time, consolidating its power on the reputation of the blood. I think the Choir garb feels like a kind of mix between clerical clothes and Byrgenwerth-style robes (this should not be surprising - Willem’s imagery in his chair is very papal). This reflects the Church’s eventual takeover of Byrgenwerth, and how the Choir is established - which is to say an "order", or faction of the Church only in name, but solely focused on using the Church’s resources to attain ascension/communion. I like to imagine that Laurence would wear a different variation of the Choir garb at the height of his power, to distinguish himself - incorporating some of these more traditional liturgical symbols, since he retains the title of vicar.

On the other side of the Church’s heyday, I think the more things get out of hand, the more ostentatious their dress - a sort of visual power, if you will, that negates what is happening in the streets with the coming scourge. A veneer of material splendour to mask the reality - a show of control, and mastery, even as the Church is impotent in the face of what's happening. In that sense I’d imagine Laurence wearing really ornate chasubles, or the kind of stunning cope that Lenny wears (minus the hat) in the Sistine Chapel scene in The Young Pope (which I am a big fan of). To bring it back to your first question, that white and black ensemble is a play on both real ecclesiastical garb but also specifically Lenny’s wardrobe, and his countenance when he wears it. (The costume designer, Carlo Poggioli, did a spectacular job working from the existing pieces in the Vatican museum). The red shoes in that final design above are a bit of a joke - the pope actually wears red shoes in real life, but the version on set are Louboutins and were nicknamed by Poggioli “the Ferraris” (extra inside joke - my Laurence has partly Corsican roots for obvious parallels with another historical tyrant).

As for Ludwig, I almost always give him a different outfit - even in plainclothes - but I like the idea that he only starts wearing that pseudo-Executioner’s garb after the Cainhurst massacre (in my timeline, anyway). I always try to add a little element of armour to his clothing and to distinguish him from both the clergy and other Church-affiliated folk, be they Prospectors or Hunters. Beyond actual historical sources, I’m obsessed with Jany Temime’s work in House of the Dragon, and so you’ll find traces of the Kingsguard armour in Ludwig’s overall look, but without making it too medieval.

I also have a headcanon (developed alongside some mutuals) that the blindfold part of the Choir cap is a very late introduction, during the scourge. In my work Laurence’s disdain for Willem’s dumbfuck pope hat is evident, and so there’s none of that shutting-your-eyes-to-the-world stuff - until most everyone’s eyes, including his, start to change by way of the scourge.

Anyway tldr I like playing dress-up with them.

#ask #bloodborne #but make it FASHION #laurence the first vicar #I feel like he'd be vain in the “I like nice materials” way #the church has an entire atelier of artists working on embroidery and brocade velvet alone #specifically because the byrgenwerth robes were wooly and itchy by comparison #still going through the ask box #sorry it's taking me so long

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frostironfudge · 1 year

Text

Silhouettes In The Spotlight - Bucky Barnes - Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Bucky Barnes has worked immensely hard to have a filmography expanding across genres and garnering accolades from critics, peers and fans. Y/N Y/L/N, with her debut novel (fan-fiction turned New York Times Bestseller) has two other best sellers under her belt. Next is her highly anticipated fourth book lined up for release. SHEILD Productions has acquired the film rights to her debut novel and they want Bucky Barnes to play the lead (aka himself) by any means necessary. This story is about angst, lust, heartbreak, and love. After all fairytales only exist in books and movies right?

Warnings:fluff, angst, SA mentioned not described, drugs mentioned not consumed, entertainment industry language (basically misleading way of delivering news), legal stuff, anxiety, court proceedings, bucky is sweet but also a menace, shitty lawyers and victim blaming, comments made on size of reader

Pairing: Actor!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || AO3 || Fic Playlist

Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Sixteen

HEADLINES:

Natasha Romanoff Unleashes Scathing Tweets While Defending The Victims Who Have Come Forward Against Alexander Pierce

Y/N Y/L/N Looks Sombre Attending Court Hearing. Bucky Barnes To Take The Stand. Fans Gather Outside Courthouse To Support Actor As He Supports His Colleagues.

Twins In Style, Reclusive Lawyer Andy Barber Looks Dapper In Suit Matched With His Brother Steve Rogers. Watch Exclusive Video Of The Lawyer As He Ponders Over Case Details In The Parking Lot.

Dolores Stuns In A Cherry Red Outfit, Is It Appropriate For Court? Watch As Our Fashion Experts Breakdown These Courtroom Looks.

HYDRA Now Pushes Innocence Narrative, Sharon Carter Leading Charge To Safe Face Of Organisation.

Fans Reign Down Hell On Ace After Comments About Shocking Revelation On The Truth Of Alexander Pierce The Star Deletes Social Media In Response.

Loki stares at the iPad lying on the desk. The shower turning on brings him back to the present. Dozens of emails, back and forth correspondence.

Pictures.

Pictures of him.

Pictures of Bucky.

Pictures of Steve.

Pictures of You.

Pictures of Bucky and You.

Pictures of Steve and You.

Some actual and several altered to insinuate much more than what was ongoing. Bile rises in his throat as he scrolls to the top and through the chain again while recording all of it on his phone.

Intimate pictures he exchanged with Ace, the bathroom door opens. He exits the iPad back to the home screen. Making sure to close all apps before locking the device.

“Are you coming in, big boy?” They call out, beads of water flow down their naked form. A sight which would have Loki tempted but now churns acid in his stomach.

“I’m terribly sorry, it's my brother. I need to go.” He explains having told Ace enough about his sibling, Thor, that they could draw conclusions for the need to retreat. He had done it before genuinely.

“Oh no, would you like me to come along?” They step out further grabbing the towel.

“No, I um, I’d appreciate that but I’ve already asked Bucky. I’ll update you in a few hours. I apologise for cutting this short.” He buttons up his shirt, swiftly.

Ace stands before him, reaching up to cup his cheeks. They stand on their tiptoes, pressing their lips to his, Loki’s hands grasp their waist. Eyes closed as the two share the kiss so steeped in with betrayal.

Loki rushes out as the air is leaving his lungs, the court hearings are ongoing. The next date is scheduled for next week. He gets into his car, uncaring for the tickets he might receive and speeds along to his best friend’s apartment.

Bucky opens the door to a frantic looking Loki who just thrusts his unlocked phone into his palms. The green eyed man heads straight for the bar cart and pours himself a generous serving of the amber selection. Downing it in one go.

Bucky stares at the playing footage, stomach knotting with every exchanged email. Natasha was right.

It was someone on the main crew.

Someone all trusted.

Someone you considered a close friend when Natasha and Yelena seemingly abandoned you.

“Pour me a glass too, I need to tell Feather.” Bucky holds out his hand and the cold crystal is placed in, he takes a sip then a longer one. Calls are exchanged between Andy, Matt and himself. More calls are made to Agent Lewis and Agent Lang.

The calls take hours and a meeting is called in order.

Bucky closes his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

When would this nightmare end?

A sniffle brings him back to the present Loki hunched over and trying not to cry into his hands.

“I trusted them.” He mutters as Bucky’s arms envelope him into a hug, “I, I– Bucky I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve this, not one bit.” Bucky pulls him in a tighter embrace, “I know how much they meant to you.”

Loki sniffles, holding onto Bucky, “I’m so sorry.”

You stare at Ace across the hallway of the courthouse. They meet your gaze, offering you a bright smile.

“Smile back.” Bucky reminds in a soft murmur, from his position, leaning against the wall, coffee cup in hand. You offer them a tightlipped smile.

“I feel sick.” Your palm pressed against your stomach, the queasy feeling blooms, “I can’t keep up this charade for long. Behaving as if yet another person hasn’t betrayed us.”

“I’d recommend a stiff drink.” Steve drinks from his own cup wishing it was something else. Glare affixed on Ace who was busy chatting away to their assistant.

“I don’t believe alcohol is the answer, Rogers. Believe me, the four ibuprofens I’ve taken agree.” Loki observes making his way over to your small group.

“How are you?” You hug him, he hugs back. Sighing deeply.

“I will be better.” He says, he takes off his sunglasses as he pulls away with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t apologise again, please.” you request, he smiles still apologetic.

“Apologise for what?” Ace interrupts, grasping Loki’s arm with their own.

“For stealing me from date night for you know…” Bucky pushes himself away from the wall, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders.

“Ah, yes.” They smile up at Loki, he grins at them, “I really hope you didn't mind, Y/N.”

“Of course not, I know how complicated a family can be, and having people to trust is extremely important. I’m happy Loki didn’t have to be alone.”

Steve masks a snort with a cough at your thinly veiled jab. Loki shifts slightly, Steve yelps, “These are YSL!” He sneers making sure the shoes aren’t damaged.

“Don’t worry they're baptised now by Louboutins.” Loki winks at him.

“Case in point.” You add.

Ace only smiles.

Andy waves at you all to enter the courtroom.

The crowd diminishes, as the courtroom fills up.

“All rise for Judge Rambaue.”

Judge Maria Rambaue takes her place, and everyone settles. Matt stands, as does Andy. The defence lawyers comprising the familiar faces of Schmidt and his overworked paralegals eye them warily.

Alexander only glares towards them then his gaze finds yours, he raises a brow. Then your view is blocked as Bucky shifts forward. Glaring at Alexander. The gesture makes the older man laugh, bemused. He looks on ahead.

“Don’t let him get to you, Feather.” Bucky murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You nod, intertwining your hand with his, he strokes his thumb over your tattoo.

“Permission to approach the bench, Your Honour?” Matt’s voice rings across the room.

“Permission granted.” Judge Rambeau waits as the teams approach.

Andy speaks and Schmit’s face turns red, he begins firing his paralegal, who cowers back pushing up their spectacles.

“I’m going to ask you to be respectful inside and outside of my court, attorney.” The judge’s voice is loud enough, the journalists at the back begin scribbling across their notepads vigorously.

The attorneys return to their respective tables. Matt whispers something to Andy, the two share a conversation. The latter stands, buttoning up his blazer.

Andy takes a deep breath, “Your Honour we would request to call Mr. Peter Quill to the witness stand.”

“Granted.”

Peter Quill walks with a confident stride, giving a beaming grin to a very confused looking Alexander Pierce.

"I solemnly declare and affirm that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth". Peter says, then faces the room.

“Mr. Quill, you were arrested a few weeks ago on account of possession of several narcotics seized from your home.” Andy questions.

“Yes, those charges have since been dropped as the evidence collected was planted and it was a thinly veiled warning.” Peter nods.

“I see, I would request the court to allow me to submit evidence from Mr. Quill in regards to this statement.” Andy returns with the marked evidence in hand.

The tape is played, Alexander’s voice warning Peter heard by everyone.

“Untrue!” Alexander yells.

“Order in the court, Mr. Pierce.” Judge Rambaue’s voice warns.

Andy shakes his head, “Analysis from Agents Lewis and Lang have revealed this is a non tampered with tape as well as the voice match software affirms it indeed is Mr. Pierce’s voice.”

“Objection!” Schmidt stands, “Mr. Pierce was in a recorded meeting on the date of this claim!”

“Mr. Schmidt!” The judge bellows.

“Your Honour this is a baseless argument!”

“Your Honour, we have records and geolocations found. Which confirms the call location and CCTV footage affirms Mr. Pierce was on a call at the same time.” Andy offers the evidence yet again.

Peter smiles at Alexander, “You made a grave mistake by coming after me.” he laughs, the smug expression doesn’t leave his features.

“I never called you. You were fooled. What would I do trying to one up an imbecile like you?” Alexander rolls his eyes.

The gavel resounds.

It's silent in the courtroom, Peter leaves the witness stand and Alexander is called upon to take the place.

“So you mean to say what? Someone imitates your voice during the call Mr. Quill received?” Matt questions.

“Yes.” Alexander replies.

“How are you speaking with such certainty? There have been several people here who have disproved most of your lies.” Matt gestures towards the crowd, “The jury have heard each lie be thwarted.”

“Several people have tried and failed to copy several aspects of my life.” Alexander sits back in the chair, one hand running through his hair.

“I understand and what about the call being placed from within the location you were at?” Matt drums his fingers along his guide cane, waiting for Alexander to speak.

“Someone knew I was at my chosen location and made the call. They were present for the sole purpose of incriminating me. I was on a video conference where you can confirm with the person on the opposite end.” He shrugs.

“You have a lot of enemies, is it Mr. Pierce?” Matt gives a sympathetic smile to Alexander.

“It comes with the line of work, son.”

“Who was on video call with you?” Matt turns his head towards the jury then back to the man.

Alexander sighs, “With my nephew, Brock Rumlow.” He flicks away a piece of lint, seemingly bored.

The lawyer purses his lips, waiting to formulate his next line of questions. Andy stares at Alexander for a moment. Then three taps on the desk. Matt tilts his head then straightens it.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Murdock.” Alexander smiles as he smoothens his tie.

“Thank you Mr. Pierce. Now you mentioned that there was a video call with your nephew Mr. Brock Rumlow, correct?” Matt smiles.

“Yes.”

“What was the context of this meeting or agenda if you would be so kind to share?” Matt gestures towards the judge and jury.

“I am not at liberty to discuss since it is about the upcoming film he is directing.” Alexander’s lips press into a thin line.

“Alright and you affirm that you did not take nor make any other calls during the entirety of this meeting?” The lawyer raises a brow.

“Yes, I affirm.”

“If we were to acquire a recording of this meeting as mandated for all HYDRA, formerly known as SHIELD Productions online meetings, would this support your statement?” Matt smirks as Alexander visibly tenses, his eyes move to his lawyers.

“Objection, calls for speculation.” Schmidt covers.

Matt chuckles, “Alright, can you prove you took no calls Mr. Pierce?”

“Objection repetitive.”

“I haven’t received my answer.”

“Overruled.”

“Mr. Pierce? Since this rule is followed by all members and employees of your co-owned production house?”

“I am HYDRA.” Alexander grits out, palm slapping against the wood of the desk.

“Sentiments aside, can you prove you took no calls?” Matt keeps his cool.

“I built HYDRA to where it is.” Alexander presses.

“By sex-ually abusing young women and men?” Matt roars, calm demeanour fading away.

“Objection, leading.” Schmidt interrupts.

“I did no such thing, these people are placing baseless allegations for money!” Alexander bellows ignoring Schmidt.

“Mr. Pierce, the honourable court has received conclusive evidence that you did in fact assault the victims who have bravely come forth to share their harrowing ordeal.” Matt points out, “Many of whom have–,”

“Oh please, they received money from HYDRA to keep them more than compliant, silent and happy. This is all for more fame. Especially from that trio there.” Alexander sneers and points his fingers at you, Bucky and Steve.

Silence takes over the court.

Bucky places a protective arm around you.

Your hand finds his; fingers intertwined.

Steve keeps a blank expression.

Slowly it dawns over everyone what Alexander let slip.

Andy smiles pleased and it makes Alexander lose his composure.

Schmidt scrambles to stand up after an entire two minutes, “Objection h-hearsay.” He stutters.

Matt smiles, “Your honour, I have no further questions. I would request Mr. Barber to take over.” The two exchange places.

Andy smiles at the Judge and then Alexander, “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Pierce.” Who only scowls at him.

“You may begin, Mr. Barber.” The Judge declares.

“In continuation of the question not answered earlier, Mr. Pierce, can you tell us why proof of your call is not submitted? It increases the likelihood of this one charge you may be found not guilty.”

“I am not at the liberty to share confidential information about ongoing HYDRA projects.” Alexander regains composure.

“I see, so a video conference with Brock Rumlow but you cannot share the discussed matter but you can affirm you did not take any calls.” Andy lists the affirmed matters.

“Yes.” Alexander answers.

Andy cheerily grins at the Judge, she raises a brow.

“Your honour we request the honourable Judge, Jury and court to allow Mr. Brock Rumlow be summoned to witness.” Andy continues to smile.

Schmidt snickers under his breath. Alexander’s shoulders relax further.

You watch as Andy’s smile doesn’t waiver and Matt does a fist pump as the Judge allows the request. Approving the paperwork Andy takes from Matt to handover.

A break for fifteen minutes is called, everyone scatters out yet again. Brock was in custody of the NYPD awaiting his own trial.

You’re following Andy and Matt into the conference room assigned to them. Bucky and Steve in tow. When chaos breaks in the hallways.

Bucky is pushed up against the wall, lapels of his blazer bunched in Alexander’s fists.

“Admit it.” He sneers, Bucky keeps his hands where everyone can see them, pressed against the wall.

“Alexander.” Bucky warns.

“Admit you fucking made that call. Only you can mimic me without a fault. You did this!” He spits out, fire burning in his eyes.

“Alexander, you need to stop making false accusations, that was a bit for the Emmy Awards. Years ago. I can’t even do a British accent, you know this.” Bucky explains, keeping his hands still in the air.

Your brows furrow when you notice Andy presses his lips into a thin line and Matt grip his guide cane harder. Steve avoids your gaze.

Your lips part as Bucky too, looks at you and then away back at Alexander.

The guards drag him away. Bucky smoothens his suit jacket.

“We’ll talk inside.” You know he speaks to you, “Privately for five minutes.”

Bucky grips the back of the chair, he allows you time to form your question.

“Did you mimic him?” You question, you knew he presented at the Emmys with Steve once but you never had gotten around to seeing the video.

“At the Emmys, yes, I had.” He recounts.

“Bucky.” your lips are dry as you run your tongue over them in contemplation.

“Feather, why would I?”

“You hated what Peter Quill did at the event…” You conclude.

“Yes, but I didn’t plant the LSD or Coke or whatever the hell they found.” Bucky defends, you press your fingers to your temples.

“I didn’t ask you about that.” Your eyes meet his azure.

“He’s on the same track as him, he had to be busted.” Bucky emphasises pressing his index finger against his palm.

“Do you have an alibi?” you close your eyes.

“I do. I was at an interview.”

“Then… How?”

“Recording played over.”

“You better not be hiding anything else from me.” You affix your glare on him. Then jog around the table to embrace him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Feather.” He wraps his arms around you, tucking you against him.

“I promised you I’d take care of you.” He murmurs.

“Not when you’re– well, felonies.” You complain.

“Hey when most of your book boyfriends are morally grey why not your actual boyfriend be too?” He teases.

“They do the doorframe lean, amongst other things.” You huff.

Soon enough you’re twirled, back pressed to the wall. Bucky smirks, his hand resting above taking most of his weight. As he leans in, blue eyes full of playfulness. Your skin heats at the proximity.

“This better?” His voice is doing that deep baritone thing, the one that makes the thoughts in your head mush.

“I–,” words don’t support you.

Bucky leans in further, lips brushing against yours, he cups your jaw.

Closing the meagre distance between your lips and his own.

In the brief recess after knowing what Bucky did for you. The team never got a chance to speak. The break was extended further into lunch to allow Brock to be brought in, you felt queasy.

You still didn't understand why Brock being there would help the case in favourable manners. He was the nephew of the man being charged. Of course he would only support the man.

Playing around with the wrapper of the sandwich is all that felt right. Bucky prompts you a few times to eat, as do Loki and Steve.

“I just don’t feel hungry…” You repeat.

“Okay how about this?” Bucky makes smaller sections of the sandwich effectively turning two pieces into four, “Eat two small ones, it will help with the queasiness.”

When you just look at him, he raises the piece to your lips.

“The airplane needs landing access.” He chuckles, full of hope that you will eat.

“You’re…” You can’t find the words he’s absolutely adorable. So you do part your lips letting him feed you the first piece and then the second piece.

Bucky turns for a moment when Sam walks up needing to discuss the shoot scheduled for later today.

He looks back at you while Sam speaks, raising the third piece, you eat it without protest.

The rewarding grin Bucky gives you further melts your heart. He turns yet again to answer Sam.

You eat the fourth piece on your own, the queasiness easing.

“Good girl.” He praises, placing a kiss on your temple. You smile up at him.

“It's like watching a sugar rush actually take place.” Steve grumbles.

Loki shakes his head bemused, “You’d do the same thing.”

The two share a glance at each then the other’s food. Both reach for one piece of the other’s food holding it up to their mouths.

“Here love, please eat.” Loki says dramatically.

“No, honey, how can I eat unless you eat?” Steve defends, pressing the morsel to Loki’s lips.

You look at the two of them, “You know, I never thought about this, but I think the new book might have the two of you inspiring characters.”

Bucky and you look at them then back at each other.

“I see how these two would fit.” Your boyfriend chuckles.

“What are you planning?” Loki narrows his eyes at you and Steve regards you warily.

“Oh nothing at all…” You trail off, then look to the side as Andy walks towards your group.

“We’ve got ten minutes before the session begins, Brock has arrived.” His gaze settles on you. Bucky tenses beside you as does Steve.

“What?” You ask, looking between them.

Andy sighs moving closer, “He may bring up the night of the assault.”

“And that is a problem because?” You ask, “It happened, it's the truth…”

“There isn’t doubt about that, Y/N. If he brings it up, you will be called to the stand again.” Steve explains softly.

“Oh…” You swallow, the way Schmidt had questioned you, the blatant disrespect, the horrible accusations, the jabs at your weight and your writing.

Previous Hearings:

‘And what about this? Your literature is so sexually charged, this conversation between your characters suggests women are dominating in nature during sexual situations.’ Schmidt places the highlighted passage before you.

‘Objection Relevance?’ Matt interrupts.

‘Yes, because sex should be consensual, safe, healthy and enjoyed by the individuals partaking, I don’t understand–,’ Your words are cut off.

‘You writing about these things promotes you were asking for it all by coming onto my client. If you couldn’t handle yourself with the substances you abused, a woman of your appearance had to resort to throwing herself on my client to achieve her–,’

‘Objection opinion.’ Matt roars.

‘You were at fault, you were under influence and you came onto my client.’ Schmidt accuses, ignoring Matt.

‘Objection Evidence!’

You cower back in your seat. Ears ringing, flashes of the evening playing. Breathing hard you search for Bucky. Your knuckles shoot pain at the harsh grip on your chair.

‘Ms. Y/L/N, your recollection of the night is obscured, how can you yourself believe what happened when all you have are flashes? The drugs you took alter memories, are you sure you weren’t with the people trying to bring my client’s name down?’ Schmidt stares down at you, dismissing you. Dismissing your experience, your eyes move to the jury.

‘Objection evidence! Evidence B351-85 is the entire audio recording of Mr. Pierce’s sex-ual assault on my client.’ Matt pauses hearing your laboured breathing, ‘Y/N?’

Black spots cloud your vision, ‘He did it, he said no one would believe me. Please, you have to believe me. I, I didn’t lead him on please. There were bottles and I was thirsty. The water had something in it, I, please.’

Bucky stands, Loki tugs on his arm. The Judge looks at them then back at you.

‘Sit down.’ Andy whispers to them.

Your vision ebbs in and out, you try to anchor yourself to Bucky to something. Alexander grins smugly, you close your eyes, hot tears brim over your cheeks.

‘Crocodile tears don’t win cases Ms. Y/L/N. Your erotic fiction is good only on paper.’ Schmidt smirks, ‘No further questions.’

“But Brock will corroborate, correct?” Bucky stares at Andy, the lawyer nods.

“Given who he shares a genetic composition with, I do not want to trust him.” He looks at Steve and Loki.

“If they call me to the stand again, I’ll tell the truth.” You nod, taking a steadying breath.

“If anything occurs, we’ll call Steve or Bucky again to the stand, okay?” Andy assures with an apologetic smile.

“We’re here to help okay?” Steve adds, “You call us as witnesses, we heard everything.”

Andy nods, “We better get inside.”

The courtroom is tense as Brock is led inside his hands still cuffed. Alexander rolls his eyes and shakes his head as his nephew takes the stand.

Andy stands, his opening statement done. Brock seems every bit laid back. As though lives won’t change based on his testimony. As if this means nothing.

“Yeah, Uncle was on a call in the middle of the meeting.” Brock says and a murmur breaks out.

“Order in the court!” Judge Rambaue bellows.

“Do you know who was it with, this conversation Mr. Pierce, your uncle partook in amidst the ongoing meeting?” Andy questions, raising a brow.

Brock inhales, “He muted when the call was made, archives will have a recording of the meeting and if not my meetings are backed up to my server. I am willing to provide access.”

“I see, thank you for your cooperation Mr. Rumlow. No further questions, your honour.” Andy returns to the table.

All eyes move to Schmidt’s table, whispering occurs. Alexander slams his hand on the table, sneering at his lawyers then Brock. Who only smirks at his uncle,

“I would also go on record to say that I have supportive evidence that the man sitting there, Alexander Pierce, has assaulted those three sitting there. I have proof of the blackmail done for the same. In fact it was delivered by their close friend Ace to my uncle in exchange for a three movie deal with the production house.”

“Objection, lack of foundation.” Schmit points at Brock.

“The foundation is every allegation of this case.” Andy counters.

“Mr. Rumlow, I hope you have evidence to support what you are stating.” The judge looks at him and Brock nods.

“I have someone who can corroborate everything, with proof.” Brock only gives his uncle a wicked grin when Alexander stands marching over to the witness stand.

The officers stop him, “You won’t fucking get away with this!” Alexander struggles against the guards.

“Order in my court! Mr. Pierce, I will not hesitate to charge you. This is your final warning.” Judge Rambaue points her gavel at him.

“I am paying the price of being by your side while you ruined my life by making me do your bidding. No more uncle.” Brock looks at Andy.

“Mr. Rumlow, you mentioned someone who can prove every allegation?” Andy enquiries, Matt stands as well, ready with the to call witness papers in hand.

You look up at Bucky, he shakes his head unknowing of who it could be either.

“Mr. Nick Fury.” Brock smiles, the doors open, all heads turn to the man entering.

Dressed in all black, Nicky Fury keeps his gaze at level with the judge.

“Objection….” Schmidt struggles with the reasoning.

“Your Honour, we request to call Nick Fury to the stand.” Matt hands over the papers.

Nick submits three folders and a harddisk, “I know this isn’t traditional your honour, but the board of SHIELD Productions–,”

“It’s HYDRA!” Alexander shouts, Nick turns, his eye narrowed at the man.

“Was HYDRA, as of the Extra Ordinary General Meeting held with the stakeholders and active managerial position holders, you Alexander Pierce, have been terminated effective immediately. All your shares have been forfeited and bought out. You no longer have anything to do with our production house.”

“You cannot– I will take you down with me!” Alexander warns.

“No Alexander, you’re getting what was coming to you. You abused your power and now it is time to pay up.” Nick taps the hard disk, “Your honour, this contains everything Alexander has done illegally. Our Production House is being cleaned out. All employees are willing to cooperate.” He heads to the opposite side’s witness stand.

Nick meets Bucky and Steve’s gazes, then yours, “I apologise to everyone I couldn’t protect before. It was a stupid ass decision to let Alexander lead, I shall be taking a more active role rather than just financially providing for the production house.

“The court will take four days to review the newly submitted evidence. The jury is asked to consider everything and take their time to decide. Mr. Pierce you are hereby ordered to be placed in custody for your contempt behaviour in my court without bail.” The gavel resounds.

Alexander Pierce is dragged away, the four of you remain seated.

“Where are you off to Ace?” Loki’s words stop them in their tracks.

“Loki, are you going to believe–,”

“Alexander, there is something going on between Steve and Y/N. However I believe they may explore a throuple situation with Bucky Barnes.” He recounts, cutting them off.

“Here are the pictures you asked for, if your team can switch Steve and Bucky’s angles you can push the story better.”

“You went through my email?” Ace accuses, “That is a violation of privacy-,”

Your snort cuts them off, “You’re the one to fucking talk! You’re the one who leaked everything, I trusted you so much and kept wondering, I kept thinking it was others and not you. Fuck, you should really get the damn awards had me fooled you were my friend. Hell, we all thought you were our friend. You didn’t even spare Loki’s feelings. Fuck you, Ace.”

They blink at you, mouth parted. Loki scoffs at their look of denial.

“It’s best we leave.” Andy advises gesturing to the one man recording the entire ordeal.

“Feel free to post that everywhere.” You tell the man who scurries out at being caught.

“I’ll pay him to post it all.” Loki keeps his glare affixed upon Ace.

Bucky’s palm rests on your lower back, guiding you out, “Home?”

“Home.” You affirm, he presses his lips to your temple.

Hayden brings the car around. Bucky and you settle in heading home.

Yelena calls then, you put it on speaker.

“Hey Lena, you’re on speaker.”

“Hey, Hey Bucky, I heard the highlights, how are you holding up?” You hear ice clinking against glass from her end.

“We’ll get there, I suppose.” Bucky shrugs, “Any news on HYDRA Publications?”

“All of HYDRA is being dissolved, mostly SHIELD is too, it’s going to turn into something new. However, all decisions taken by the companies an hour before the decision to dissolve remain final.” She explains then sighs, “We’re going through the semantics of everything, several of the roster of BW is involved.”

“Did, did we get what we wanted?” You ask, you’d independently publish, you just needed the contract gone.

“I’m just waiting for confirmation from legal counsel at Barber and Murdock.”

“Confirmation for what?”

“If you retain all rights as author even though they have dropped you from their roster, due to poor review performance.” Yelena chuckles, you look up at Bucky.

“Wait, she’s free?” He questions.

“Yes, she’s free. We’ll work on getting the ratings up but as of now, you are not bound by any publication house.” Yelena’s happiness is infectious.

You let out a relieved laugh, “Thank you.”

“I’ll get back to you, this whole thing has led to fires I need to put out.” She ends the call and Bucky envelopes you in a hug, pulling you across his lap.

“Bucky!” You grab onto his shoulders, he only laughs.

“I’m so very happy for you, Feather.” He cups your face with his vibranium palm.

“Soon you will be free from them too.” You kiss his palm.

Bucky smiles widely, pink lips leading to the dimple on his cheek and the crinkles by his eyes. Your thumbs stroke his cheekbones, your lips kiss his crinkles and dimple.

HEADLINES:

In What Seems To Be A Shocking And Very On Brand Author Y/N’s Infamous Plot Twists, She Has Been Dropped By HYDRA-SHIELD’s Publication House Due To Poor Reviews. Read On Ahead To Know More About The Contract That Caused This To Occur.

Brock Rumlow Sentenced To Two Years Of Jail Which Was Further Reduced For His Compliance With The Law, Community Service and A Private Facility Allowed.

Alexander Pierce’s Downfall Shocks Hollywood More Stars And Big Names Come Forward As The Man Is Sentenced To Two Life Sentences In Prison. Found Guilty On All Counts.

Nick Fury On How He Knew It Was Time To Do The Right Thing, “It Was Time To Stop Remaining A Passive On Paper Leader Of This Prestigious Organisation.”

Steve Rogers Posts Picture Of BTS From His Next Movie Ghosted, Teases About Familiar Faces As Cameos. We Wonder Who Could They Be? He Also Is Setting Up A Free Mental Health Clinic At His Local Rec Centre.

Bucky Barnes and Y/N Y/L/N Spotted Holding Hands As They Enter Their Apartment Complex. Watch Mini Video Filmed At Her Mother’s Healthcare Facility of The Small Family Laughing As They Eat Jello In The Cafeteria.

Bucky Barnes Shares Heartfelt Write Up About Compassion and Kindness Towards The Victims of Alexander Pierce. Organises Fund Raiser For The Victims and Their Families Or Next of Kin. Loki Laufeyson, Steve Rogers, and Brock Rumlow Pledge To Match Fundraiser’s Amount Each.

A.N.: soooooo i hope you guys enjoy this update! slowly getting back to it all and writing, hope you all are doing well!

Taglist is Open comment or DM to be added!

Taglist: @stevesmewmew @elle14-blog1 @crazyunsexycool@sebsgirl71479 @pandaxnienke @slutforsexyseabass@eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @pandaxnienke @vampire7595 @buckyinluv @almostcontentcreator @calwitch

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

Note

A hanfu isn't just a robe, though. It's a specific type of traditional outfit that has even more specific variations, and while you could describe it more specifically (e.g. she put on her red ruqun, with a pleated horse-face skirt), it isn't always relevant. I've never seen anyone bring this up for, say, kimonos, and I don't think the GOT comparison is fair, either. It'd be more like "he puts on his armour". What type of armour—lamellar, chainmail, heavy, leather? It doesn't always matter. 1/2

2/2. Putting down a category of traditional clothing as "meta terminology" also rather irritates me. Again, looking at kimonos. Perhaps it's unfamiliar because CN fashion isn't as widespread as JP, but it's literally just what the broad category of clothing is called, and within the context of danmei fandoms, it shouldn't be unfamiliar knowledge. Trying to Americanize everything by simply calling everything a 'robe' loses the point entirely and is the equivalent of really terrible translation. Sorry, one more thing. When I picture a "robe", I think of wizards. DND. Bathrobes. None of which bear any similarity to a hanfu, and unless you want to describe "a parted robe made of flowing Yun brocade with loose sleeves that wraps around the body, with a wide collar that has its right lapel crossed over its left, tied at the waist with a belt, with a jade pendant weighing down the long skirt" every single time it's brought up, I'm pretty sure "hanfu" is a more accurate descriptor by far.

Uh... anon...

'Robe' is an extremely vague term that absolutely is used for all sorts of garments from all over the world.

The fact that you associate it with a tiny fraction of its conventional meanings isn't going to change how other people use it.

I am indeed more familiar with kimono than hanfu, but I thought the other people did make explicit what their issue is, and it exists for Japan too.

Depending on when your canon is set (or its vague, handwave-y apparent time period for more fantasy canons), the word may not have been in use yet.

'Kimono' as a word is possibly as recent as the 19th Century, though I see one etymological dictionary saying 1630s. Prior to the 19thC, a lot of things we would now call 'kimono' were known as 'kosode'. The further back you go, the more other terms there are and the more the distinctions matter.

I'm personally a fan of fiction set in the Heian period, and they would absolutely not have been calling anything a "kimono" then, nor do the robes look like modern kimono.

Furthermore, a generic-ass word like 'wear on upper body'+'thing' doesn't get its modern interpretation until it has significant competition from Western clothing. Today, it has a relatively narrow range of interpretations based on the calcified form of traditional Japanese clothing that still hangs on.

It's an absurd affectation to insist on calling all ancient Japanese clothing 'kimono'.

That wouldn't be de-Americanizing your writing.

That would be "According to keikaku".

From what I've seen in other people's meta posts about Chinese fandoms, the reason people object to 'hanfu' in fic is that this word has gained a lot of popularity in very recent history as part of the hanfu revival movement.

While it existed before that, it wasn't used so consistently, and it mainly turned up in contexts talking about Chinese as opposed to foreign clothing. It doesn't seem to have been a general term used like "So-and-so put on his completely normal outfit to get ready for the day".

People are using it (outside of fic) to talk about a specific range of historically accurate Chinese clothing. It doesn't cover everything, and in the modern and highly gatekept usage, it specifically doesn't cover historically-inspired fantasy costumes like those on The Untamed.

If you're Chinese and you feel it should cover those, fair enough, but that isn't what a lot of the hanfu education blogs have been saying.

People aren't pulling this out of their asses out of a desire to be American. They're getting it from hanfu blogs asking them not to use the word like that.

If you think those blogs are wrong, please say that.

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joonslfttiddie · 8 months

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Chapter 43: You Aight...

💜Fic Pairing: OT7 x OFC

💜AU/Genre: Reverse Harem/Polyfidelity/Ghosts/AMBW

💜Warnings: Smut/Adult Language/Adult Content

💜Rating: MA

💜Word Count: 3,830

Namjoon’s POV

This explains the feeling I have been having since their trucks pulled up. When I open the front door for the carpenter and his team, I can immediately tell it’s him. The carpenter, the smaller man wearing the low cut, plain, white t-shirt and black cargo pants, with his hair falling carelessly onto his face; he’s one of us. There is nothing special about his outfit, but he looks so fucking good in it. I already know that Tia is going to love him. After introducing ourselves, I call out for Tia. We’re ascending the stairs and again, I yell out for her with no response. I’m sure she’s either listening to music with her earbuds in, or she’s a bit busy and not alone in the bathroom. When her sweet aroma floods my senses, as I’m standing at the threshold of the room, I’d say it is the latter.

I watch as Yoongi moves around the room, taking notes on his clipboard that doubles as a binder. There’s something sexy about his sternness. He comes off a tad unfriendly at first, his face expressionless and focused, but there is something in his eyes that hints that he has a kind heart. I notice he has a habit of licking the corners of his mouth when he’s concentrating.

Cute.

My eyes follow him when he moves to another area. He jots on the paper and the veins in his hands are pronounced under his pale skin. Just then, his pencil stills and he glances toward the bathroom. He looks back at the paper for less than a millisecond before he looks back through the open door, eyes wide. Bingo!

He continues to peer inside from the corner of his eye, trying not to be obvious, but I already know what he sees. Like a moth to a flame, he moves closer to the entrance for a better view and he’s completely transfixed. He barely blinks and his lips are parted, like a man who’s not eaten in weeks; salivating and hungry to be a part of what he’s witnessing. I notice his Adam's apple bob when he swallows while his chest rises and falls, and then I see his penis twitch beneath the fabric of his pants.

He covers himself with the binder but his side profile is still revealing his lust to me. Tia’s scent is getting increasingly stronger by the second, which means she’s close…very close. Based on the carpenter’s body language, I’d guess he’s not far behind.

Another POV

Walking into the expansive room, I can already envision the building design and placement for the bed. My guys are still outside prepping the boards and getting the tools set up. I’m taking notes, jotting where there are outlets, and looking at the placement of the existing bed, but I feel…off. I guess that would be the best way to describe it. Since we pulled into the driveway, I’ve had this feeling that’s almost nauseating, but I love the sensation. It resembles the way I felt when I had my first kiss like there was a lump in my throat. Hot and incredibly aroused, it got even more intense when the door opened to reveal a tall, broad-chested, honey-skinned man. Namjoon.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He lingers at the bedroom door, not hovering but clearly interested. Is he interested in the process of building the bed or me? I’m not sure, but I hope he misses me stealing glances his way. He’s trying to make small talk but I’m a little reserved. It’s not him, I’m just confused about why I’m having these feelings toward him. He’s still talking and joking and when I look over at him, he smiles. Oh my fucking God, I could melt right into one of those deep dimples. He is so fucking fine, and I bet he gets tons of women…or men… whichever. He traces my body and moves his focus on the necklace resting between my pecs, and then his gaze returns to mine. He flashes a half smile and I damn near drop my shit before I quickly look away.

We continue chatting a bit, though it’s mainly him, as I’m moving over to the nightstand that’s next to the current bed, which has been stripped of its linen. Suddenly, I notice movement in my peripheral vision.

Holy shit!

Through the reflection of the shower door, I see three people moving. I begin to salivate when the sweet aroma of warm vanilla wafts under my nose. Upon further observation, I see a woman who’s facing the door with a man licking her exposed breasts. Another man is kneeling behind her and it seems he’s eating her out. Their moans fuse into one delicious melody swirling around in my ears.

So enchanted, I forget that Namjoon is even here. Unable to help myself, I move closer to the door to get a better view. She is stunning, even with her hair coming undone, she’s perfect. I admire her features, from her eyes down to her parted full lips. Noticing little things like how her bottom lip is just slightly plumper than her top. Her nose looks like a button that God booped onto her face, and her caramel-complected skin looks so smooth and soft. Her body is curvy and my eyes travel from the fullness of her breast cupped in the man's hands to the way her dress hugs her waist, to the little pooch of her belly. Many women may feel self-conscious about that, but I love it and can already picture myself lying my head there while I taste her fruit underneath.

I lick my lips as an overwhelming hunger takes over me and I wouldn’t say I’m jealous, per se, but I definitely would like to be involved; to touch her, to love her, and be able to make her make those pretty sounds for me, too. The scent grows stronger with every step I take. I know I shouldn't be snooping, but I can’t fight the urge to see more of her body, the way she moves, the way her face looks as she’s about to orgasm. I’m not a creep, I swear…well, not usually though my current situation is definitely giving voyeuristic vibes. My eyes dance from here to there, taking in the obvious passion they have for one another, clenching the fabric of each other’s clothes in their fists and digging nails into each other’s skin. The scene is nothing less than tantalizing.

Judging by the way her brow is furrowed, I’m assuming that her climax is near. I can’t tear my eyes away from her and find myself covering my manhood with my binder as it is pressing firmly against my cargo pants; hiding, as I know that I shouldn’t be watching them. I would want nothing more than to be inside of her, to feel the warmth and wetness of her walls wrapped around me. Imagining this, I could release without being touched. The moment is so intense I can hear my heartbeat pounding and my blood whooshing in my ears. I'm panting hard as fuck like I may be on the brink of death right now and I’m okay with that. Just being here and witnessing this scene fills a void I’ve felt for so long, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t want more.

The woman opens her eyes to look directly into mine. I’m frozen in place, my breath catches in my chest, and fight or flight mode is initiated. Unsure of what to do, I look to the floor, but as if instinctually, my gaze finds her eyes again. I’m lost in those beautiful, sinful almond-shaped marbles, shaded a dark mocha brown. We stay this way and I swear she smirks at me.

So, you like to be watched, Love?

And I love to watch her but would rather be with her. Without breaking eye contact, I nearly crumble when I hear her whisper to the man now nibbling at her neck that she’s about to cum. She comes undone when her eyes squeeze shut. She whines, squirms, and moans while her pretty little nails dig into the skin of the man’s neck, as he continues to lap at her skin. I want nothing more than to see this every day for the rest of my life. She is already beautiful but even more so at this moment. She sings praises to the men then takes her bottom lip between her teeth. Her expression resembles anger but I know she’s far from it. The men lick and nibble at her viciously, only slowing as she begins to come down. And only then am I able to break free from my trance.

Namjoon is now standing next to me and gets my attention when he touches my shoulder, catching me off guard. I flinch under his touch. With a knowing smirk, he says, “Mr. Min…you aight?”

I honestly don’t know how to answer his question, but I nod before rushing out of the room and then out of the front door. Unsure of how to handle this situation, I go to my truck to remove myself for a moment to cool off and catch my breath.

“Boss, you good?” One of my guys asks and I reassure him I’m fine before moving to the front of the truck, out of sight. The crisp breeze helps calm me a bit, and I rub my cool hands across the heat of my cheeks for more relief. Embarrassment is not the word for what I’m feeling right now, and as much as I want the ground to swallow me whole, there’s a fervent pull urging me to go back and remain there.

What is going on with me?!

“Mr. Min? Hey, I’m Tia.”

That angelic voice pulls me back to the present, calming and grounding me. My heartbeat slows, I begin to cool down, and my mind goes quiet, which is oddly disturbing after becoming accustomed to the constant rambling. When I turn I discover the woman from earlier, now neatly put together and smiling. The world stops for a bit. The stillness is peaceful, something I’ve never experienced before as the anxiety that usually looms around me dissipates, creating a place of tranquility. I could stay here forever.

There is something about this woman. She can drive me crazy one minute and then soothe my anxiety the next; my cause and cure. This close-up, I can see the rest of my life in her eyes. She feels so comfortable, like a safe haven, blocking all of the negative thoughts and feelings I store within.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry if that was too much for you. I honestly didn’t hear you come into the room.”

“No. Ahem… I mean, yes, I’m fine. No, it wasn’t too much. You don’t have to apologize for what you do in your own home. I should be the one apologizing. I’m not a creep, I promise. I just couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from you. That was completely unprofessional and disrespectful of me to intrude on such an intimate moment. If you want to fire me and cancel the job, I will completely understand,” I ramble on.

She reaches out to touch my cheek, which I’m assuming is still red. Her palm against my skin sends tingles through my body and cools me so quickly I shudder. I have no thoughts now, nothing but her.

“I’m so sorry,” she responds, obviously misreading my body’s reaction, and goes to move her hand away.

Instinctively, I immediately grab her wrist, not wanting this feeling to ever stop. It’s not like me to be this forward or comfortable with people, especially someone I’ve just met. We are standing in the middle of her driveway like this, just staring at each other, until another man comes out of the house and walks over to us. I experience the same feeling from him as I did from Namjoon earlier. The feeling Tia elicits is similar but different. It’s magical.

“Jagiya, is everything okay?”

“Tae! Say hello to Mr. Min,” she says. I release her hand to take his, shaking it gently to greet him. His touch makes my dick jump again and lava flows through my veins, heating me from within...again. “Mr. Min, this is my boyfriend, Taehyung.”

“Please, call me Yoongi.”

“Nice to meet you, bro.”

Oh, shit! Boyfriend?! Then who are those other three…

“And the other guys upstairs are also my boyfriends, Namjoon, Jimin, and Jungkook.”

Ooooooooh.

“Oh, okay! I got you. That sounds interesting.”

I must admit I’m a little taken aback by that revelation. I didn’t expect it, but I’m genuinely interested in their dynamic. We chat a moment longer before she leads us back inside and into her bedroom where she introduces me to the other guys. After greeting them all, I’m still a little nervous but I’m getting more comfortable, especially with her. They all radiate that familiar feeling as if I’ve met them before.

We begin to discuss the design and I sketch out how they want everything. Knowing their situation, I can now understand the dimensions I’ve been given. This bed is going to be huge, one of the biggest I’ve built. All four of her boyfriends are involved, giving their thoughts and opinions on the build, and their energy seems to flow so seamlessly. There doesn’t seem to be any jealousy or difficulties compromising with each other. I am envious of it, but why? Because I’m here to do a job and will leave once I’m done. They get to stay here together. Fuck. Will I ever find happiness like this? Like them and with her?

Jimin’s POV

As I’m licking up the last bit of Tia’s essence, I notice a man looking at us before abruptly walking away. I was already confused at the nagging pull I felt while playing with Tia and Jungkook, but even more now. I’ve never seen that man before but once again, I get the same feeling from him as I did from the others.

“Is he…”

“Yes. It feels like it,” Tia answers me before I can get the question out. “But for some reason I didn’t see him like I saw Hobi.” She hurriedly rights herself by fixing her clothes and finishing her hair.

“Who?” Jungkook, having his back to the door, has no clue what happened.

Before I can answer, Namjoon peeks around the corner.

“Should I go talk to him?” He asks Tia, his expression is a mix between concern and amusement.

“No, baby, thank you. I’ll go,” she says before kissing us and then disappearing out of sight.

“Who?!” Jungkook is still oblivious. While Tia is trying to de-escalate the situation, we inform him on what is going on. “Holy shit. So that’s why everything suddenly got so intense,” he realizes.

“Yeah, probably so. He’s definitely one of us,” Namjoon adds. “I could tell before I even opened the door for them. I feel bad that I didn’t stop him. I knew you guys were in here being freaky. I could smell her.”

“I guess that was for the best, though. May as well rip the bandage off,” Jungkook tries to comfort Namjoon.

“Fuck. I wonder how many of us there are,” I ponder.

“I wonder, too. Also, have you noticed we’re all drawn to Tia and met her at this house? It’s like parts of us were already here before we stepped foot in the door.”

Jungkook is right. We’ve all been near or inside this house when we met Tia and it has always felt like home; like we belonged here. It’s as if finding a piece of ourselves that we’ve been unaware was even missing. I honestly don’t remember how I’ve lived before finding them. Was I living or just existing?

Tia and the carpenter come back upstairs accompanied by Taehyung, who stretches his eyes wide at us, making us aware that he knows what’s up, too. We all introduce ourselves before Yoongi gets us back on task. He sketches and measures, listening to our feedback but he also gives suggestions regarding the design. Tia offers we move the bed against the wall furthest from the bathroom.

“I like that too. If it’s there, there will be no obstructions for Namjoon to run into while going to the bathroom in the middle of the night," Jungkook notes, flashing his bunny-like grin to which Namjoon tries to poke his finger into Jungkook’s side. We are all aware of how ticklish that spot is for him.

“That, and the sun won’t be shining in our faces early in the morning,” Tia suggests with a chuckle.

“Yeah, I agree. Especially when JK has to work the night shift. I’m sure it’s hard to sleep during the day with the sun beaming in,” Namjoon adds, now rubbing Jungkook’s back affectionately.

“Maybe we should still keep our clothes in our own rooms just so we won’t wake anyone else if we have to start our day early,” I offer.

“Hmm,” Jungkook agrees with a nod.

“All those suggestions are good, but I’m just imagining being able to see the shower from bed,” Taehyung teases.

“Boy,” Tia laughs, playfully pushing Taehyung. “Stop it.”

Is that a smile I see? I swear that Yoongi has been straight-faced this entire time, but to see him smile, even if it was for a split second, warms my heart. However, there’s also a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. I wonder what he’s thinking, but I can just feel that he’s going to be a tough nut to crack; one who holds his feelings inside.

I had already stripped the bed of its linens earlier, which is what I came up here to tell Tia when I found her with Jungkook. With that out of the way, we help by taking the bed apart and move the pieces into one of the vacant bedrooms. Once the area is clear of the chairs and the mattress, which we’ve moved against the opposite wall, Yoongi gets to work.

We leave the room to busy ourselves with various things, feeling comfortable leaving Tia with Yoongi to have some time alone with each other. Jungkook crosses the yard, heading to the gym, while Namjoon immerses himself in one of the many books in the library. Taehyung, after finding several cameras in the library, has gone outside to take a few shots while I go down to the basement to arrange the bar Tia hasn’t had the chance to tackle. I hope she doesn’t mind, but I get rid of the bottles of wine the police didn’t take for evidence, only keeping the old bottles of liquor that are still sealed or too high for anyone to reach. We haven’t talked about it, but I don’t want to take any chances of them being contaminated. Just the thought of remembering how sick and helpless she looked when I first met her, makes me shiver.

Tia’s POV

I have a thing for power tools. I’m not sure why, especially with that not being something I shared with my father growing up. However, I’m like a kid in a candy store looking at everything Yoongi has brought to build the bed.

“This is a nailer, right? I’ve never seen one this quiet,” I ask, pointing to the tool in Yoongi’s hand.

“Yeah, it’s also called a Brad nailer. I use this one, which has an ultra-quiet air compressor, mostly when working indoors,” he answers, so patient as I continue to ask questions.

“Ah, that makes sense. So, do you usually do everything on-site? Is your saw downstairs?”

“For the most part, we work on-site unless a client calls with definitive dimensions that we can have precut before we go out. The saw is outside since your build is unique. We’ll cut the boards and sand them outside, wipe them down really good, then bring them up. I love that you decided to keep the natural wood aesthetic.”

“Yeah, it’s just so beautiful. I would hate to cover it with paint.”

“Are you wanting it stained or…?”

“I’m not sure. What do you think?”

“Personally, I think the natural color of the wood will look nice with the gold hardware you have in the bathroom and the door knobs. Also, it’d be a nice contrast against the darker hardwood floors and the whites and grays of your decor. But, honestly, once you put the bedding on, you probably won’t be able to see much of the frame.”

“Okay. Well, do whatever you think is best.”

“I mean, this is your bed. You guys have to live with it, not me,” he says with a chuckle.

“Well, I want you to like it, too.”

His questioning gaze lets me know he’s wondering exactly what I’m trying to say. A tense silence fills the room before he speaks again.

“Tia, you have boyfriends. I’m not trying to overstep here or think too much into what you’re saying.”

“What do you mean? What do you think I’m trying to say?”

I’m intentionally playing coy, trying to let him know that he can speak openly with me. I would send him some positive vibes, emitting how my heart feels, but it doesn’t seem right to use my gifts when he’s unaware of them. He seems a bit more closed off than the others initially were, so this connection is a little different for me.

“Why would it matter if I like the bed, Tia?”

The way he looks at me and his directness catches me off guard. My heart begins to race, and I feel the overwhelming urge to submit to this man. I’d be on my knees barking in a second if he told me to do so. Peering at him from under my lashes like a puppy, I’m sitting so close to him on the floor with my hands in my lap, as if waiting for instruction. He goes back to working on the bed, nailer in hand.

“Answer,” he demands without even looking at me.

Period. One word is internally driving me crazy.

“I was just thinking…” I begin, mumbling.

“Speak up,” he stops to look at me daringly.

Oh my fucking GOD!!! The tone of his voice is deep, lazy, yet commanding. Like a fucking boss.

“Ahem. I-I’m just thinking that it will be nice if you stay over some time. You should like the bed, too, if that were to happen.”

“Hmm,” he huffs while licking the corners of his mouth.

Should I act on my body’s desire and lean over to suck his tongue into my mouth? To kiss him, right here and now?

“Is that what you want? What do you want to do with me in your new bed?”

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