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copper-16 · 2 months

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You Didn't Let Me Finish

Ingrid had a rule that she had held onto ever since she started working as a stripper: she doesn't sleep with clients.

Usually.

Ingrid doesn't usually sleep with clients. Exceptions must be made for most rules anyways though, right?

(a/n: Yes it's a stripper fic. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, this is just a silly little idea I had in my head and decided to write on a whim. Feel free to skip if it's not your thing! Also I didn't proofread it, so ignore any mistake lmao)

Sometimes, Ingrid wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up here.

The Norwegian had done a semester abroad in Spain when she was in university, and found that she absolutely loved the city. So when the opportunity to move to Barcelona presented itself after graduation, she jumped at the chance to go. Her study abroad had been in Madrid, but it was still Spain, right?

And the Norwegian actually preferred Barcelona to Madrid, the longer she lived here. She enjoyed the energy of the city, how posh and lively it was, how wonderfully kind the people were. The job she was offered was modest, and despite the fact that she got by, Ingrid wasn’t all that comfortable with living from paycheck to paycheck if she didn’t have to.

Which was exactly how she had found herself at Dollhouse. It was the most exclusive strip club in Barcelona, catering only to those clients who could pay for the supreme services, and they only accepted the best when it came to their girls.

The owner had taken one look at Ingrid, roving his eyes up and down the dark haired woman with interest before he was nodding, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. Her ability to speak both English and some Spanish came in handy, and she became a regular for many of the international clients.

Ingrid was paid well, only worked three nights a week, and it helped her to nearly double her salary with the tips she was given. She gave lap dances, some pole work, did a few shows on the main stage, served customers when asked. It was an easy gig, and she couldn’t help but feel appreciated given the reaction that she could stir up in most men. It was addicting, really. She felt powerful and in control, her confidence only rising the longer she worked there.

It wasn’t sex. People often got that mixed up, that being a stripper meant sex. It could mean sex, if that was what the girls wanted, but Ingrid had little interest in the older men who came into her rooms. She was as gay as they came, and it was very rare for them to receive a female client, and Ingrid had never had the pleasure of having one, not personally.

But she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, if the right person came along.

It’s just, nobody had.

But perhaps that would change.

—

It was a Sunday night, which meant that the Dollhouse was relatively calm. Ingrid was in the back room with a few of the other girls, getting ready for her show in around thirty minutes when Miguel came back.

“Ingrid, Misa!” He called, and both women turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. They stood, setting their makeup down to walk over to their boss, who was in charge of the scheduling.

Miguel was gruff but kind, and he always made sure the girls were comfortable and not exploited. He could be a bit rough around the edges but he never failed to make the girls feel cared for as people and not just objects, and in return they did their best to make his life as painless as possible. It was a good gig, they all knew that, compared to the nasty bastards at some of the other places around town.

“We have two clients in separate private rooms. Footballers, booked after winning something big I think, I want the two of you to take them,” Miguel explained, and he looked between Misa and Ingrid with a critical eye, clearly trying to decide who to send where.

Despite the fact that Ingrid was Norwegian and Misa was Spanish, the two actually looked quite similar. Ingrid was paler, taller, and less tattooed than Misa was, but in terms of build and physical appearance, they were rather alike.

“Misa, I want you in Room One and Ingrid in Room Two, Misa your Spanish is better than Ingrid’s. The girls will cover your sets for the night so don’t worry about that. They’ve booked for the rest of the night so make sure to give them their money's worth but you’re free to leave when you are done, alright?” Miguel decided, and Ingrid and Misa both nodded.

“Oh and–”

“If they do anything creepy we will come find you,” Ingrid and Misa rattled off in perfect unison, and Miguel scowled at his predictability before he shooed them away to go get changed, the two women smiling at the action.

Ingrid and Misa walked back to the changing room, each of them looking through the different lingerie sets they could wear.

“What are you thinking?” Misa asked as she pulled out a purple lace set before shaking her head, shoving it back in her closet.

“Well if they paid for the whole night then clearly they have money, probably want something expensive and distinguished. Footballers can be assholes and handsy, and they think too much with their dicks and not enough with their heads,” Ingrid scoffs lightly, and Misa snorts as she looks over at the dark haired woman’s closet.

“Hmm…you’re going to wear this,” Misa decides, pulling out a hunter green piece of lace, and Ingrid raises her brow before nodding her agreement, looking over at the Spaniard’s closet.

“And you’re going to do this, I’ve seen you in it before and your chest looks amazing in it,” Ingrid says with an air of finality, and Misa smirks at the outfit before they both went into their changing rooms to slip their clothes off and put the lace on. They don’t bother with robes, the hallway to the private rooms is secluded from the rest of the club anyways, so the two women make their way back together, chatting lightly about their day jobs, what their weeks look like.

By the time they make it to Room One and Room Two, the women are both relaxed and ready to do their job. Neither of them really has any idea what lies beyond the door besides a footballer, so with one final goodbye they both enter the passcodes to the room before stepping in.

Ingrid closes the door behind her before turning around, and she can’t help the way that her eyebrows jump in surprise when she sees who it is sitting at the table.

The room is set up with a bed, a couch and two loveseats, as well as a table with four dining room chairs. Lap dances are usually given in the chairs at the table or the loveseats, but the rest of the room can be utilized however the girls may choose to.

The thing that surprises Ingrid though, is the fact that the person sitting at the table is a woman, and not a man.

The woman stands, the chair rustling against the floor as she pushes it back before she steps forward to examine Ingrid. Her gaze is curious but not sharp, her entire body language relaxed. She’s clearly a footballer, her body muscled and well built.

She can’t be more than a few years older than Ingrid, and she’s just an inch or two shorter than her with light, sandy blonde hair that is straightened just past her shoulder. Her hazel eyes take Ingrid in, the light lace that covers her body, and she nods appreciatively for a moment before cocking her head.

“Hello,” she offers, and Ingrid is quick to respond, the woman’s gaze making her feel a little bit hot.

“Hi,” Ingrid responds, not entirely sure what to say. The woman was speaking to her in English, so clearly she recognized that the Norwegian was a foreigner, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she noticed that before she had even spoken.

“Why did they send you in here to me?” The woman asked curiously, her hazel eyes still boring into Ingrid. The question is surprising, considering the fact that they were at a strip club. They sent her in here to do her job, but the Norwegian gets the sense that isn’t what this woman means, so she answers with more candor.

“My coworkers' Spanish is better than mine. Presumably your friend only speaks Spanish, but you clearly can speak English well, so here I am,” Ingrid supposes, and the woman nods slowly before her lips quirk up in a smirk.

“My friend can speak enough English for tonight, I promise. I think you should switch rooms…I insist actually. I think she’ll be quite charmed by…” the woman looks down at Ingrid once more before her gaze returns to the dark haired woman’s eyes, “...you.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise before she nods in agreement, never one to say no to a client request unless it really was something she couldn’t do.

“If that’s what you wish…” Ingrid trails off, still unsure of the woman’s name.

“Alexia. And my friend's name in the other room is María,” she supplies, and Ingrid regards her for another minute before slipping out of the room, Alexia turning back to sit down in the chair she had been in originally.

The Norwegian walks over to Room One briskly, rapping on the door three times before she steps back, waiting for Misa to come out. It only takes a few seconds for the Spaniard to slide out of the room, her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

“We need to switch, the other woman requested it,” Ingrid explains, and Misa nods for a second before she looks back at the room.

“Can you believe it’s women? And god, if the second one is as hot as this one…” Misa trails off, practically drooling, and Ingrid can’t help but laugh lightly, because really she quite agrees. Misa is the only other gay woman at Dollhouse, and Ingrid finds solace in the fact that she isn’t alone, calmed by the Spaniards presence.

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Her name is Alexia,” Ingrid adds before the younger woman can leave, and Misa nods before she gestures back at the room next to them.

“Names Mapi,” Misa supplies, and Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow at the fact she’s now been told two separate names for this woman. But honestly, if she was even half as attractive as the first woman, Ingrid was seriously going to be in trouble.

The first woman, Alexia, hadn’t exactly been her type per say, but objectively she was very attractive.

As Misa disappears down the hallway Ingrid takes a deep breath, trying to center herself and remain calm at what is about to occur. She knew what the deal was with men, how to dance and act.

But women were different, Ingrid knew that even if she had never had a female client. They were more watchful, more appreciative, more in tune.

And well, if this woman was as attractive as Misa was making her out to be, she might be in a bit of trouble.

The green eyed woman punched in the code before she stepped into the room, once again shutting the door behind her.

Ingrid turned around, taking in the room and the woman who was settled on one of the room's two armchairs.

And god was Misa wrong.

This woman wasn’t attractive.

She was mind numbingly, astronomically stunning, and it takes everything in Ingrid not to let her jaw physically drop.

The woman had her hair down in beach waves, lighter highlights against the brunette of her hair accenting the dark strands, framing dark eyes and supple, light pink lips that are set in a smirk.

She’s wearing a button down that has far too many buttons undone, but it only serves to show off her cleavage, biceps straining against the tight black fabric. She has on gray dress pants, and she shifts her shirt sleeve up to glance at her watch before she stands, making her way over to Ingrid.

“Hola princesa,” the woman greets softly, her voice raspy and deliciously low, and if Ingrid wasn’t wet at just the sight of her, she was now.

If there was anyone who was going to break her rule of not sleeping with someone, it would be this woman. That was assuming she wanted to as well, but if the glint in her eyes was anywhere near as serious as it looked, Ingrid thought her chances might be relatively high.

She scrambled to gather as much Spanish as she possibly could. It was a little pathetic that she wasn’t more fluent, but between this being her third language and the fact that her work was in English and most of her friends spoke the language, her Spanish could definitely use some work.

“Hola,” Ingrid rushed to reply, internally cringing at how bad her accent was while understanding washed over the woman’s face, and she switched to a heavily Spanish accented English.

“Ah, English, no?” The woman suggested, no malice in her tone, and Ingrid let out a small sigh before she nodded.

“Si,” she acquiesced in a bit of a defeated tone, but the woman simply tipped her head back in a delicious laugh, something light and breathy, her neck on full display. She had a tattoo on it, and Ingrid could see more ink peaking back at her on the woman’s available skin.

It did absolutely nothing to help the green eyed woman’s aching core, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the problem at hand, to the fact that she needed to get on with the performance for this woman.

“Sit?” Ingrid asked gently, gesturing to the table and chairs that surrounded it, walking over to pull one of them out.

The woman made no move to walk over, seemingly not done with the conversation.

“I’m Mapi,” she said instead, and Ingrid raised her brow at the woman, clearly a little curious.

“I’ve been told by a confident source that your name is María,” Ingrid sidesteps the introduction to ask the question, watching the way that the woman’s eyes darkened with lust when she says her name.

“Have you now?” Mapi drawls, the surprise clear in her face. The smirk is back, and she finally begins to walk toward the table, but before she sits she stands in front of Ingrid, still only looking her in the eyes.

The Norwegian keeps waiting for her to drop her eyes down, to look over the lace that could hardly be described as modest, but the smaller woman seems hell bent on keeping her eyes trained on Ingrid’s.

“And you are?” She asks lightly, the dark haired woman answering her question quickly and easily.

“My name is Ingrid,” she murmurs, once again gesturing at the chair, and this time Mapi takes her up on her offer. The Spaniard sits down before she looks up at the Norwegian, who strolls over to turn the music on.

“Any requests?” Ingrid questioned, looking back at Mapi to find the woman staring at her with hooded eyes and a hungry gaze. She shakes her head, finding no offers.

“Whatever you prefer,” Mapi decides, and Ingrid observes the woman for a moment before nodding, turning back to the speaker system. She sets up her playlist, playing the song TiO by Zayn, which had been a recent favorite of hers.

The song is a bit of a quicker pace, which she liked to start out with. It was easy to flash the quick movements before she let things get sensual, and her approach for this woman is absolutely no different.

She turns back toward the table, walking over in long strides before she comes to rest in front of Mapi, her ass pressed back into the table behind her.

“Can I touch you?” Ingrid asks in a low voice, tossing her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. Mapi looks up at her with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact before she nodded carefully.

The Norwegian stood from the table, stepping forward. She turned, rounding the chair that Mapi was currently settled in, just watching. The brunette didn’t look back at her, but did meet her eyes when Ingrid finally circled all the way back to the front of the chair.

It’s at this point that Ingrid brings her hand up, resting it over the Spaniard’s collarbone carefully. She slides her hand up, coming into contact with bare skin as she pushes her middle finger inside the cuff of the woman’s popped shirt.

The dark haired woman plays with the collar for a moment before she begins moving once again. She drags her fingers around to Mapi’s back, stopping when she is standing in front of the Spaniard’s back, pressing both of her palms to the brunette’s back, fingers down. She slowly runs her hands down, into the small of the footballers back, before she shifts, moving them to caress her sides gently.

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, however, continuing around the chair. Her hands travel over the Spaniard’s arm, down her side and around the underside of her chest before she splays it over the top of the brunette's abdomen.

The muscle beneath her palm is rock hard, and she cannot help but let out a harsh breath at the feeling. She hopes that the footballer doesn’t notice, but when she looks up to see that Mapi is smirking back at her, she considers the effort fruitless.

Ingrid’s hands retract from the Spaniard’s skin, and she shifts so that she can move her hips down and into the brunette’s lap, her back to Mapi’s front. It’s a bold first move, but she’s quick, in time with the song for just a tease before she’s gone, several steps away.

Mapi is watching her with eagle eyes as Ingrid runs her hands up her own sides, squeezing at her own chest, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling for emphasis. It’s a little pornographic, and perhaps a little bit of a sell out, but she doesn’t care.

The Norwegian makes sure to spend several moments just watching, teasing herself in whatever way possible, reveling in the way that the Spaniards eyes darken at the sight. Her nipples strain against the lace, hard and begging to be freed, but the dark haired woman ignores them in favor of returning to the footballer.

The song changes to Lose Control by Teddy Swims, something more slow and sensual. Ingrid stalks back to the brunette, her intent clear when she places her hands on the woman’s knees, sliding them up her thighs before squeezing, lightly.

The Norwegian moves her hands up the Spaniard’s side as she settles in her lap, her knees spread wide as she presses forward into the brunette’s personal space. She moves her hips slowly in an infinity pattern, sensual and enough to drive any man crazy.

And yet still, Mapi has yet to touch her. Her arms remain listless at her sides, rather awkwardly. It’s a staunch change from the male clients she has often, who feel that they are allowed to touch, to take as much as they want. They consider the fact that Ingrid has been paid for, that they are allowed to do whatever they want to her, within reason.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for this woman, however, and it only turns Ingrid on more. She leans forward even further, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other remains firmly planted on her side. Her lips are on the shell of the woman’s ear as she speaks, her voice low.

“You can touch…you know,” the Norwegian drawls, her words breathy and filled with lust. She leaned back to look the footballer in the eyes, noting that her gaze was dark, the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips.

They held the others' gaze for a moment, neither moving until finally, finally Ingrid felt two hands carefully, respectfully placing themselves on her side, down toward her lower back.

It was the Norwegian who moved them, removing her hands from the Spaniard to place hers over the brunette’s, sliding them lower, lower, lower, until they were resting firmly on her ass. Only then did Ingrid remove her own hands, planting them on the back of the chair as she rolled her hips down into the brunette.

Mapi was staring at her intently, and she gently palmed at the Norwegian’s ass to test, rewarded greatly for her efforts when Ingrid arched into her, letting out a breathy noise.

The dark haired woman’s body could only be described as fluid as she moved above the Spaniard, finally moving her leg to hook over the back of the chair, wrapping around the brunette’s back.

Mapi slid her hands up, pulling Ingrid’s body more flush with hers. The Norwegian smiled, their faces just centimeters from one another. The Spaniard’s breath on hers was hot and insistent, her eyes roving over Ingrid’s face, finally eyeing the lace that covered the dark haired woman’s body.

“You like it?” Ingrid purred, a smile evident in her voice as she gripped Mapi’s shoulders. The Spaniard scoffed lightly, looking back up at Ingrid.

“You could say that,” the brunette hummed, her voice thick and low. It sent a shot of heat straight to the Norwegian’s core, and she arched even further into the smaller woman.

Ingrid turned her head, brushing her nose against the Spanaird’s temple, her breathing shallow.

“I don’t sleep with clients,” the Norwegian explained, and felt the shift immediately from the woman beneath her, the instant reaction to move away.

Ingrid had to give the footballer that, she was nothing if not respectful. It only made the Norwegian want her more, only made her flush further at the thought.

It was her choice.

Ingrid intercepts her hands, shoving them back down onto her ass before she brought her own to the brunette’s neck, pulling her in.

“You didn’t let me finish,” the dark haired woman pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Mapi reached forward, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip slowly, softly.

“Lo siento, princesa,” Mapi soothed, her expression willing Ingrid to continue. The Norwegian smiled gently, leaning down so that her lips hovered over the Spaniard’s throat.

“I don’t sleep with clients, not unless I want to,” Ingrid continued, her hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her fingertips trail up Mapi’s side, running over ridges of muscles and soft skin, dipping under her shirt before they retracted. Never direct, always teasing.

“And trust me, I want to,” the Norwegian promised as she brought her face back to level with Mapi’s, her eyebrow quirked, almost daring the Spaniard to disagree.

But the brunette would never do that, especially not when she has the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on sitting in her lap.

They are left staring at one another for a few moments, their eyes flickering back and forth between the others eyes and lips, waiting to see who breaks first. A game of wills, a question of who is going to hold the power.

It’s the Spaniard who snaps first, lunging forward to capture Ingrid’s lips in her own. She’s impatient, unable to resist having Ingrid in front of her looking so delectable, without doing anything about it.

Mapi’s mouth is hot and insistent on her own, the brunette’s hands coming up to cradle Ingrid’s face as she kisses her senseless.

It’s only a few moments later that the Spaniard presses her tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth, silently asking for entrance. The dark haired woman allows her access instantly, completely floored at the feeling of Mapi’s mouth on her own.

The footballer swipes her tongue over the roof of Ingrid’s mouth, smiling into the kiss at the whine that slips past Ingrid’s lips at the feeling.

The Norwegian’s head is dizzy, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of the Spaniard, of her hands being everywhere, of the press of her lips to Ingrid’s. It feels as though life is being breathed back into her, transformed into a fire that is sent straight to her core.

She knows that she’s soaked the lace beneath her completely, but she can’t bring herself to care. Especially not when Mapi leans back, gesturing for her to stand. Ingrid is quick to comply, not bothering to try to make herself seem as cocky as she was pretending earlier.

It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked properly, and something in this woman’s eyes tells her that the Spaniard is exactly what she needs.

“Get on the bed,” Mapi instructs, and Ingrid is quick to comply, walking with purpose before laying back on the bed, sitting with her head up near the pillows, still clad only in her lace.

The Spaniard stands from her spot on the chair, flipping the lock on her watch open as she sets it on the table in front of her. She pulled her shirt up from its spot having been tucked into her pants, looking over at the Norwegian as she undid the last few buttons.

She laid the shirt down on the table, the picture of control and composure. The loss of the garment leaves her in only a black bra, which contrasts against the tan of her skin. She loses the belt she had on but elects to keep her pants on, instead moving toward the bed.

Throughout this, the footballer had never let her eyes leave contact with Ingrid, not wanting to let the Norwegian out of her sight, even for a second.

Ingrid lays back as Mapi joins her on the bed, crawling up the Norwegian’s body until she was positioned over the taller woman’s body, where she had wanted to be from the beginning.

“You tell me to stop the minute you do not like something, si?” Mapi asked, her voice clear and leaving no room for argument. The Spaniard had no interest in making Ingrid do anything she did not want to.

“Si,” the Norwegian parroted, squirming just slightly under the Spaniard, desperate for her to do something.

Once she has confirmed Ingrid’s answer, the Spaniard is quick to begin her descent down the woman’s body. She captures the dark haired woman’s lips in a bruising kiss, applying just the right amount of pressure and tongue to have Ingrid gasping for more.

She releases the Norwegian’s perfect, plump lips only in favor of working her mouth across Ingrid’s jaw, sucking and nipping lightly at the skin there. When she reaches the dark haired woman’s ear, she works her lips down and over the column of Ingrid’s throat. She pays close attention to the areas that make the taller woman let out a heavier breath, or the ghost of a whine, doubling down on her attention to those spots.

She kisses over soft, pale skin, and down toward the soft flesh of her chest. Ingrid is arching into her before she even reaches her destination, desperate for more.

“Can I–” Mapi removes her lips only to start a sentence that is never finished.

“Yes, please, do anything to me,” Ingrid gasped, her entire body on fire at the thought of Mapi’s mouth over her chest, at the apex of her thighs. A flush is blooming on her chest as the Spaniard pulls the lace down, revealing Ingrid’s chest.

Her nipples are peaked, aching to be touched and played with. The footballer doesn’t even bother with using her fingers first, simply leaning down to wrap her mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipples, her hand coming to cover the other.

“Aye, María,” Ingrid hisses at the feeling, her whole back leaving the bed as she arches into Mapi’s mouth. Her hand has flown to the Spaniard’s head, her fingers tangling in the brunette’s hair and tugging lightly.

Mapi doubles her attention at the feeling, swirling the tip of her nipple around her tongue, teasing her teeth over the sensitive area. Ingrid ate every lap of attention up, basking in it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel so much, and it was turning her on in a way that was borderline painful.

“Please, more,” the Norwegian begged once attention had been laved to both sides of her chest, and Mapi released her other nipple with a lewd pop sound. The footballer raised a brow at her, but Ingrid shook her head, her breaths shallow and desperate.

The stripper is well aware of the irony, given her profession. She’s the one who is supposed to be pleasuring, not the other way around. But there was something about the way this woman composed herself, something about the reverence with which she touched the Norwegian that made her comfortable.

Mapi considers the request for a moment before she relents, pulling further at the lace, signaling that she wanted it off. The dark haired woman is quick to comply with her request, removing the hunter green fabric before she threw it to the ground, already forgotten.

Ingrid lay back down on the bed, her hair splaying out against the pillow. The Spaniard watched her with hungry eyes, her lips turning up into a smirk.

“So beautiful,” she murmured softly, her words filled with clear appreciation. “Espléndida, princesa,” Mapi whispered as she returned to Ingrid, softly holding the Norwegian’s face in her hands. Her lips were gentle against the taller woman this time, leaving the Norwegian with the feeling that she was delicate, and deserved to be treated as such.

Oh, and what a different feeling it was to be touched by the Spaniard, as opposed to the heavy handed men she usually interacted with.

To be touched and praised as though she was the most important thing in the world. No drug could compare, not to her anyways.

Even as she trails down the Norwegian’s body, Mapi stops to press kisses into her skin, imbuing the fire of their interaction with a level of sweetness and ingenuity Ingrid had not been expecting.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared the Norwegian for what the first run of the Spaniard’s tongue through her would feel like.

She is unsure of where her voice ends and Mapi’s begins, but all she knows is that two moans are filling the room, both equally desperate. Ingrid clutched at the sheets desperately, her hands fisting the pristine white fabric beneath them as Mapi ran her tongue through her again.

The Spaniard eats her out as though it will save her, with an intent and passion that Ingrid cannot remember ever having in the bedroom. She brings her tongue up to circle the Norwegian’s clit several times, and every time a new wave of pleasure washes over her.

“You taste perfect,” Mapi mumbles against her heat, and Ingrid flushes completely at the praise, struggling to compose her own pleasure. She attempts to bring her hand up to cover her own mouth, something that Mapi notices instantly.

“Aye, I want to hear you,” the Spaniard chides softly when she sees what Ingrid is doing, and the dark haired woman lets out a filthy moan as she removes her hand, at the feeling of Mapi’s finger teasing at her entrance.

“Is this okay?” The footballer confirms, waiting for the fervent head nod that she receives from Ingrid before she finally dips her finger in at a painfully slow rate, before curling gently.

Ingrid is writhing under her, letting a string of mewls and moans that tumble from her lips of their own accord. She doesn’t care that she had no idea if anyone can hear them, only focused on her own pleasure and the feeling of the brunette’s body near her own.

“Si, si, si,” Ingrid begs, moaning unabashedly when Mapi adds a second finger, curling with more purpose this time.

The footballer could admit, her plan had been to tease more than this. She was a playful woman, and enjoyed picking her partners apart before allowing them to come, usually.

Something about this Norwegian, the flush in her chest and the noises slipping past her lips, has Mapi throwing her entire playbook out the window.

She’s more than happy to continue this, so long as Ingrid continues making those noises.

“You like that, princesa?” Mapi asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. Ingrid nods tightly, her chest arching up as the Spaniard curls her fingers deep within her.

The set of her jaw, the way it opened with pleasure left Mapi flooded with the need to please, so the Spaniard lowered her mouth down to Ingrid’s clit, sucking lightly. The dark haired woman cries out, her hips rutting down into Mapi as the footballer continued her brutal pace.

“Fuck!” Ingrid wailed, her voice dripping with need as she hurtled toward orgasm. Her hips grew erratic, jumping into Mapi��s hand as her whole body squirmed. The brunette could tell that the dark haired woman was close, doubling down on her pace and intensity, intent on getting her there.

It only took a few more curls of Mapi’s fingers from deep within the Norwegian for the taller woman to let out a sharp cry, her whole body tightening. The Spaniard couldn’t help but smirk against the dark haired woman’s core as her whole body began to shudder, her orgasm working through her like a forest fire.

Her whole body was arched off the bed, the sheets gripped in her fists as Mapi worked her through her orgasm, her entire body shaking. She collapses against the sheets, her breath coming in quick gasps as waves of pleasure flooded her system, her eyes still screwed shut.

It took her a few moments, but she forced her eyes open when Mapi removed her fingers from Ingrid. The green eyed woman looked up at the Spaniard, who had sat back on her heels, her own breath short and lustful.

The brunette reached her finger up to her own face, brushing some of the arousal away from her lips with the pad of her thumb as Ingrid looked up at her. The Norwegian’s dark hair was a sharp contrast to the pillow, the flush of her chest and stomach the complete antithesis to her pale skin.

Mapi would never see a sight prettier than this under her again, she knew that for certain. Ingrid turned her head, glancing over at the clock and realizing with a rush that they still had several hours before either of them had to go anywhere.

When the Norwegian looks back up at the Spaniard, it’s with a smirk on her lips, one eyebrow raised, almost as though she was challenging the brunette.

“Fuck, princesa,” Mapi swore before surging forward to claim Ingrid’s lips once more, pressing her back into the bed.

Ingrid let herself moan out, half at the feeling of Mapi’s body above her own, and half of the self satisfied feeling of knowing that it was going to be hard to walk tomorrow.

So yeah…maybe some rules are worth being broken every once in a while.

#ingrid engen #mapi leon #woso #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #misa rodriguez

312 notes · View notes

dfortrafalgar · 3 days

Note

would you be interested in a more Platonic type fic? Like being good friends with Robin?

alternatively if it has to be romantic: Law being forced on a disaster of a date only to meet a super helpful (comic) bookshop employee and she starts seeming cute when he finds out she has similar interests? (Boy probably went into cardiac arrest at first when someone caught him not being broody)

hope this isn’t too much!

and you’re doing awesome!

thank you so much for your request, anon!!!! im actually going to use both of your ideas, but i started with the Law one because that hit seriously close to home. ive been on some absolute TRAVESTIES of dates in the past, and i needed to write law suffering through a similar fate or i'd die!!!!! I hope you enjoy, and pretty soon I'll post your platonic Robin request as well! I love writing platonic stories just as much as romantic ones <3

An Out.

Law x Fem Reader

Law made the mistake of letting his friends talk him into a first date… and now he desperately needs an out. Fast.

Warnings: an absolute disaster of a first date for our wonderful nerdy man. modern au, implied college setting, some mild slight suggestive language but nothing more than that

Trafalgar Law tried in vain to recount the series of events that led up to this very moment.

There was the dusty apartment floor discussion about how the med-student hadn’t gotten laid yet, which was followed by a raunchy comment about a girl in someone’s class, it was revealed that this girl was single (‘and ready to mingle’), and her number was forcibly input into Law’s phone.

For the week that followed, he was inundated with flirty texts from this girl he had never met in person. He was forced to send her a picture of himself, mostly to get her to stop blowing up his texts every hour, and that was the next mistake in the line-up of unfortunate events.

Turned out she had a thing for facial hair.

Then, instead of getting pestered with general flirty messages, it was general flirty messages that were ramped up to a nine. ‘I’d rip your clothes off if you give me the opportunity,’ kind of nine.

Law knew he was a virgin, but at least he wasn’t this desperate, nor did he have any inclination to be. If anything, the texts he received from this stranger were making him want sex even less.

And yet… he was still pushed into this.

A date around downtown with this girl. She clung to his arm, tried to loop her fingers into his, and yet had absolutely no interest in anything he had to say. At all.

First red flag: she mentioned her ex. Three times. In four minutes. Everything was about what he did wrong to upset her, no self-awareness to be found. Second red flag: the clinginess. Law hated public affection, but any attempts to urge her to give him space resulted in a childish pout and her arms caged around his, almost pulling him to the ground. Third red flag: she couldn’t give two shits about Law, in any sense of the word. She wouldn’t stop talking about herself. Her looks, her clothes, her favorite music, her favorite shows to binge watch, her distaste for the area of the city they were in, her distaste for the lunch Law had [regretfully] paid for, her distaste for the speckled jeans he decided to wear…

He could feel the premature wrinkles forming in between his eyebrows the longer the date went on. He was starting to wonder if he’d have to throw out the shirt he was wearing later. It already reeked of the too-strong, powdery-scented perfume she bathed herself in.

“Where do you wanna go?” she suddenly asked, still tugging on his arm.

“I kinda want to stop by the bookstore before we leave,” he suggested, his feet already carrying him, and by extension, her, along the sidewalk to a small bookshop that had just recently opened.

“The bookstore? What kinda guy brings a girl to a bookstore on a first date?!” she demanded, showing off yet another childish pout. It wasn’t a good look on her.

‘A guy who knows this girl’s not getting a second date,’ he wished he could say. Instead, all the snarky remarks stayed locked inside his weary brain, bouncing around like a caged lion desperate to escape.

The girl didn’t make any motions to ditch him to his nerdy reprieve, and instead followed on his heels as he pulled open the bookshop’s door, the familiar, calming scent of new books, fresh paper, and ink filling his nose.

“It smells gross in here,” the girl huffed.

Aaaand there went Law’s fleeting moment of peace. Out the window. Down fifteen stories and splattered on the pavement. He needed to violently restrain the eyeroll that begged to appear. His ocular nerves ached to be a dick in the pettiest way possible. He inwardly hoped that by dragging this girl to the most unassuming bookshop would encourage her to leave, call a friend or get a cab to take her back to her home, but alas, she stayed glued to Law’s side like a lost dog.

She followed behind him as he blindly perused shelves of new and pre-owned books, Law’s feet subconsciously guiding him to the back of the store where he knew the comic books would be located.

If anything would turn this girl off for good, it had to be his love for all things superhero. His comic book collection would dry her up like a dessert in a drought. Or at least, it fucking better.

His eyes lit up as he approached the expansive comic shelf, immediately spotting the latest print of Sora: Warrior of the Sea- Volume 10. It had finally been officially localized, and he had been saving some of his spending money for this very moment. He eagerly grabbed the book from the shelf, thumbing through the pages.

“How old even are you?” jeered the girl by his side. “Comic books are, like, little kid shit.”

“I’m five years old,” barked Law, refusing to look toward her as he continued to analyze the pages of his favorite series.

To the average onlooker, they both probably looked like complete jackasses towards one another. And while Law was at least brave enough to admit that his behavior was certainly petty, he felt like he was warranted a Get Out Of Jerk Free card for all the painful hours of suffering through this atomic catastrophe of a date had put him through.

“Whatever, I’m going to find a bathroom,” the girl finally groaned, releasing his arm and trudging through the aisles of books toward the checkout counter to ask an employee where the bathrooms were located.

Law watched her go out of his peripheral vision, refusing to exhale a sigh of profound relief until she was completely out of his line of sight. With shoulders that finally relaxed, free from the overbearing tension, he turned his focus back to the comic in his hands, continuing to thumb through the colorful pages of artwork. He flipped the book around to examine the price, smiling at how reasonable it was. He filled his arms with a few other comics from a series he had been meaning to pick up, and retreated toward the cash registers to buy his books. The sooner he got his treat for this ordeal, the sooner he could get out of here, call this girl a taxi home, and spend the rest of his life as a willingly single comic book mega-nerd.

But reality wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily.

Not when the girl sitting behind the register thumbing through another copy of Sora Volume 10 was an absolute bombshell.

When she looked up at Law, her eyes quickly went wide. She placed the book under the register counter and eagerly leaned forward, her hands supporting her over the counter. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice laced with worry.

Law cocked an eyebrow, confused. “Yeah, why?”

“That girl you’re with is making you miserable. You walked through the door looking like you wanted someone to grant you a mercy killing,” she huffed. Her eyes were clearly concerned. “Are you dating her?”

Law felt his guard dropping without even realizing it the longer he was in the presence of this cashier. “My friends set me up on a date with her, but I’m having the absolute worst time of my life.”

The new girl’s own eyebrows angled downward in concern. “Do you want an out?”

“A what?”

“An out,” she repeated. “An excuse to get her to leave you alone.” Time was running out. At any moment, she could leave the bathroom.

Law frantically looked back and forth between the cashier and the small, short hallway that led to the single restroom. With pleading, golden eyes, he silently mumbled, “Yes, please.”

The cashier kept her eyes on the bathroom door as she began unloading Law’s hands, spreading his books out on the counter to make it look like she was busy ringing out his purchase. Law watched with an analytical gaze as she fumbled with his items, clearly buying time until the bathroom door opened.

He didn’t have time to ask what she was plotting.

The second the door cracked open, the man’s shirt collar was violently clenched in the cashier’s hands as she pulled him over the counter, smushing her lips into his. Law’s fingers flexed in thin air as he froze, brain completely fried as he was frozen in this sudden kiss.

His first kiss.

“What the fuck?!” the girl screeched, exiting the bathroom in a frenzy as she booked it toward the heated exchange happening over the cash register.

The new girl pulled herself away from Law’s face, but only enough where she could display her best rendition of a weary, tired war-torn wife waiting on a cliffside for her husband to return. “Baby, please just take me back! My life isn’t complete without you!” Her voice was cracking as she fake-wailed, her grip on Law’s shirt never faltering, not even once. The few customers who also occupied the store turned to stare at the commotion, frazzled and befuddled. “Nothing in life is as good as it was with you! I’m in shambles! You were the best sex I’ve ever had!”

It took a few moments for Law to catch on to the ruse. As soon as he put the puzzle pieces together in his mind, however, he was grabbing the wrists of the cashier and bringing his lips back to hers, closing his eyes and trailing his arms up to grasp her face. Completely disregarding the fact that they were still separated by the heavy check-out counter between their torsos.

“You were dating someone?!” snapped the original girl. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Law pulled away from the cashier’s lips, his own skin immediately feeling fifteen degrees colder from the loss of her contact. “I wasn’t. Until now.”

The new girl put her arm around Law’s shoulders from across the check-out counter, her deft fingers caressing his skin through his shirt. “I’m sorry, but I’m taking him back, I can’t stand to be without him any longer! The sight of him with another woman…” she made a show of clenching her chest, “makes me sick!” She was damn good at this, in a way that almost made Law concerned. The fact that she was pulling all of this out of nowhere, and the fact that her first course of action was this drastic, made Law’s heart flutter in his chest.

“Ugh, whatever. This place sucks ass anyway. I’m going home.” She finally shouldered her bag and marched out of the shop, her feet stomping across the hardwood floor until the sound of the front door slamming closed finally made the cashier release her arm from Law’s shoulders.

And once again, the man was feeling oddly cold without the contact. He glanced at her as she started ringing up his items for real. “You’re… a good actor,” he blurted.

The girl hid her face in her arm with shame, an awkward laugh bubbling from her throat. “I’m so sorry, I was trying to think of what to do to help you but when the door opened I panicked.” Her eyes were focused on her work. “I’ve been on some absolutely awful dates myself, so I understand. Sometimes I’ve wished I could have Prince Charming swoop me out of the movie theater where a guy made fun of me for my interests the entire run-time.”

His jaw went slack. “Are you serious?”

“Deadass,” she replied, quick as a whip. “Insisted on holding my hand the entire time. I think he was convinced that I had taken him to see a horror movie because I wanted to act scared in front of him, but his hand was so clammy and sticky the whole time. And not in the endearing ‘Aww he’s shy!’ kind of way.”

Law wished at that moment that he had more charisma. He was sure one of his friends would be able to pull a witty, flirty quip from their asses like it was nothing, but Law’s personal dictionary of flattery was nonexistent as it was. He balked while he listened to the cashier who just took his breath away lamenting about her own poor experiences with dating, and he was sure that her example in this moment was only one of many. Instead of continuing the conversation, his mind blanked. He stated, more like whispered, “That was my first kiss.”

The girl’s hands stopped scanning his books halfway through. Her wide eyes darted up to Law’s, her jaw slack. “It… It was?”

“Yeah.”

Her hands flew to cover her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh my god… oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She dropped her head onto the counter, covering her despair with both of her arms now. “First kisses are supposed to be special and I just took your’s away from you…”

Law shocked himself by smiling at the weary display in front of him. “If it makes you feel any better, that was far better than the date I was on. But I’m sure you already knew that.”

She picked her head up, a trembling hand grabbing one of his last books to scan. Her eyes nervously darted back and forth as she silently worked, once in a while sucking her bottom lip in with her teeth before releasing the flesh. She was clearly lost in an intense inner turmoil.

“It’s really alright,” Law muttered, now growing shy himself. He was just now realizing the gravity of what had happened… and how truly adorable this girl was.

She tapped a few buttons on her cash register before finally making eye contact with him again. “You are a pretty good kisser… you’re really sure you’ve never done that before?”

He affirmatively shook his head. “Never. I’ve never been… popular with the dating scene,” he muttered. “Hence this awful set-up date.”

The cashier’s eyes went wide again momentarily. “That’s kind of surprising to me… I would think someone like you would get any girl you wanted.”

Law backpedaled. “What does that mean?”

She pulled his total up on the small screen that faced him. She was turning away from him as if to hide her face, her entire expression teeming with a child-like embarrassment. “Well, you’re crazy hot, for starters. And you like Sora, clearly.”

Law felt a smirk emerge on his lips. “Is Sora one of your only qualifiers for a decent partner?” He began to rekindle some of the confidence he had lost throughout the day. The longer he spent in this girl’s presence, the more he felt the tension in his body leaving.

She grinned, the stress in her shoulders from her own actions finally releasing. “Only guys with fluffy black hair and golden eyes that read Sora, if you want my honest answer.”

Now this was flirting. Law had to admit, he was pretty pleased with this sudden turn of events. The atmosphere this girl radiated was immensely calming, allowing him to chip through his reinforced walls just enough to feel like a somewhat normal person. He started to wonder if she could break through his barriers even more.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked, taking out his credit card and swiping it through the machine to finally cash out his order.

The girl excitedly revealed her name. “And your’s?”

“Trafalgar Law,” he replied. “I go to North Blue University for med school in the next town over.”

“No shit, so do I! I’m getting a worker's license there,” she added, her expression shifting from one of moderate happiness to one of excitement. “I doubt we’ve had any of the same classes, but we should hang out sometime! Get coffee, maybe talk about Sora…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes growing soft. “Unless you’ve been completely turned off to dating after what you’ve clearly just been through.”

Law took a few moments to ponder over her words, watching as the receipts for his purchase slowly emerged from the thermal printer. “I think I can make an exception this time.”

The smile that broke out on the girl’s face may as well have blinded him. She was truly dazzling, even in her ratty-looking employee apron and an oversized T-shirt accounting for her work attire.

Law placed his new assortment of books into his own bag, the girl snatching his receipts from the printer and stashing one of the copies in the drawer below the counter. When he looked back up, she was holding out his second receipt, folded in half. She gave him a fond smile when he took it.

“I hope you’re able to relax later today, and enjoy your books!” she called, waving to Law as he exited the store.

Once outside again, the air felt clearer now that he was alone. The day was still young, hardly a cloud in the sky and a pleasant breeze coasting through the city. He looped his bag over his shoulder and opened the receipt, peering at what was written on the backside.

Call me for Sora… and for just me ;) <3 1125-354-9854

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #one piece x reader #law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #law oneshot #request fics

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sausage-rolll · 2 months

Text

The amount of times I said something along the lines of "They would not fucking do/say that!" while watching the live action atla series is insane. It felt so weird to watch because the acting was pretty fantastic and the set design/costumes weren't bad for the most part either, but the writing and direction itself was painfully bad.

I think King Bumi is probably one of the worst offenders of being written completely ass backwards, which is a shame because the guy portraying him did a great job and I think he would have made a fantastic Bumi if the writing was better.

It feels like they missed the entire point of his character. They took his goofy/slightly mad front from the original show and dialled it up to 11 all the while completely ignoring all the nuance behind that front.

Bumi isn't just the mad king they portray him as in the live action, he's a mad genius. Despite his quirks, he's a fucking fantastic fighter and a brilliant ruler. Despite what you may believe from first impressions, it really does feel like he always knows what he's doing.

Even when he's being antagonistic towards the gang in the show, he's never actually putting them in significant danger. The crystals he trapped Katara and Sokka in were ultimately harmless and all the trials he gives Aang were more akin to games than anything. Even when he fights Aang in his episode he's very clearly not giving it his all, as seen when he single handily takes back his city from the fire nation during the eclipse and when he takes back Ba Sing Se with a small group during Sozins comet, when the opposing forces would have been at their most powerful. My point is that if he actually wanted to beat book 1 Aang, he could wipe the floor with him easily. But this version is fucking furious with Aang (wrongfully so this time around because he explicitly did not run away from his duties in the live action) And very much seems like he wants to cause Aang as much pain as possible, but can barely manage to land a hit on him when he's not pulling cheap tricks with the crystals.

I'm getting very side tracked but god damn it! This is the man Aang eventually decides to name one of his children after. Their friendship was so sweet and meaningful in the original. Bumi was such an interesting character in the original! And all of that meaning is lost here.

Ironically in an attempt to make Bumi's arc more dramatic and dark, they ended up making it significantly less interesting, along with also missing major parts of his character.

#atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #king bumi #aang #bumi

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unholyhelbig · 5 months

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Part two of mafia nat???

Title: The Oversight [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3079

Warnings: Hostage situation, brusing, mentions of child abuse, horrible grammar, and Quiznos

[a/n: Thank you all for the great response to the first chapter! I'm making this a thing, for sure!] Let me know if you're interested in being added to the taglist for this story!

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

“The usual, sweet girl.” You set the plate of pancakes down in front of Veronica. A happy face was painted against the golden surface with whipped cream, with cherries and two slices of bacon divided perfectly for hair. Your daughter never seemed to grow tired of the meal and would swallow down a glass of milk with just a bit of strawberry syrup.

Despite having completed the maze on the back of the kid’s menu at least a dozen times, she remained infatuated, kicking her feet back and forth as the orange crayon made its way through the boldened lines.

You tentatively moved a lock of brunette hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Eat your food, kiddo. Big day tomorrow.”

Veronica nodded and started to fork down the smiling face. She didn’t speak much, a few words here and there, and that worried you enough to take the day off from work. You had found a speech therapist right outside of the city that accepted your HMO plan with enough fervor that you made the soonest appointment you could.

While you worked hard to shield Veronica from the life that you were determined to break away from, you were distressed. Kids were smart, they didn’t’ get enough credit. You were sure that she noticed the only meals she ate was at this diner and at school. The way that you were here all the time, dressed in the same uniform stained with ketchup and coffee. The way you fell asleep on the second-hand sofa for a few hours at a time.

“She your kid?”

While your back was turned, mind rushing with intrepid thoughts, someone had sidled up against the counter with an empty white mug, its mouth flipped to the ceiling. The blonde looked innocent enough, if not in despite need of the coffee she was asking for. Her accent was thick. Russian or Ukrainian, nothing you could fully place.

“She is a very good artist.” She tapped her finger against the orange drawing of a sunset in the corner of the placemat. “A lot of talent in this one.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, picking up the coffee pot. The blonde nodded and smiled back as you poured her a cup. “She gets it from her father.”

While you weren’t entirely sure that was true, you did know that the talent wasn’t from you. You never had the artistic eye. Veronica, on the other hand, was a quiet force to be recon with when it came to art. Even at a young age, you knew whole-heartedly that she had a future in it if she stuck with it.

“That so?” The woman took a long sip of her coffee, not flinching at the heat. “She should keep going. It’s important to have something to hold onto.”

The memory flickered in our mind as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It could have been a day, or a week, and your heart ached just as fiercely for your daughter as it always had. She would be in safe hands for now, you were sure. Your sitter knew about your devoted love, your resilience to make sure that Ronnie was okay. You were all she had, and being tied to a chair until your muscles felt like jelly was not a good sign.

You weren’t sure what had pulled you out of a fitful sleep for a few moments, but there was a light squeeze on your shoulder. Your head shot back and collided with something. There was a soft grunt, and your inhale burned your lungs. When you blinked awake, there wasn’t complete darkness. A less harsh light had been turned on.

The blonde from the diner was standing in front of you, robbing a tender spot on the center of her nose. “Ouch, that really hurt!”

“Sorry, I-“ you frowned, snapping your mouth shut. You weren’t going to apologize. You were the one that had been kidnapped, not the other way around. “What’s happening?”

Natasha had left you without another word, and you hated the way you missed her presence. You’d drifted off in the quiet and considered it a better punishment than Clints vicious blows to the face. The girl in front of you held a bottle of water up as a peace offering.

She cracked open the top, and even if you weren’t quite sure if something was in it, you didn’t care at the moment. She guided it to your lips, and a few drops dripped over your chin. It cooled the burning in your throat.

“Thank you,” this time you meant it. Natasha had made it clear that there was no good cop, but this was starting to look like your reprieve. You tested your luck. “If they’re going to kill me, why hold me?”

“They are not going to kill you. Natasha is a cautious woman. She did not get to where she was without crossing a few lines. You claim that you’re not on drugs and my sister wants to make sure that is truthful. Can you blame her?”

From a technical standpoint- no, you couldn’t. You searched for some type of resemblance in the woman and came up with nothing but a slight similarity in the slope of her nose. She smiled, crossing her legs, and sitting back against the chair.

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and it sent a shooting pain to your temple. “If I get one wrong, do you shoot me?”

She laughed, “No wrong answers. Can you believe that I want to get to know you? I’ll go first. My name is Yelena, and my favorite color is green. Forest green if you would like to get specific, which I would.”

“Dark red.” You said “I’m y/n.”

“Oh, I know. How long have you lived in the city?”

You rolled your shoulders back again. They were stiff. You’ve never been this uncomfortable in your life, and not just socially. There was a cool calmness about Yelena that put you at ease. Though, she was one of your kidnappers, and most-likely a member of the secret underground organization that had inexplicitly frequented the diner.

“My whole life. Not this part of town, though. East lower with my mom and my dad until my mom died and my dad got himself killed when I was seventeen.”

“Foster care?”

“For a year until I was old enough to be out on my own. I’m not going to let my daughter end up the same way. That was the hardest year of my life and if she loses me then… Her father isn’t around, but I’m afraid that going into the system would be best case scenario.”

“She’s six?” Yelena asked.

“And a half, but yes.”

“Non-verbal?”

You nodded again. This felt like a shitty game of twenty questions. Yelena already knew all the answers and you could still taste blood and the aching in your jaw. She tapped her fingers against her knee, uncrossing them and leaning forward.

The ceiling still stretched above you. There were rafters that you could barely make out in the darkness. You blinked so you wouldn’t cry. Still, when you spoke next, your words came out pinched and you couldn’t help but feel weak.

“The world is a horrible place, and the odds are already stacked against her, you know?” You sniffed to keep snot that you couldn’t wipe away from dripping onto your shirt already soiled with blood. “She’s a good kid. She’s funny, and smart, and I want her to have a life where she thinks everything is okay, even if there’s a possibility that it never is. Ronnie doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t need to know.”

Yelena swallowed hard and nodded. She stood and closed the distance between you. Her hand was warm against you skin as she tentatively wiped away the moisture on your cheek. She gave you the rest of the water. “Okay. Drink.”

You were foolish to trust her. There was something in the water that was tasteless but rendered you unconscious all the same. You blinked awake, not sure how much time had passed. Your mind was swimming relentlessly, being forced in and out of lucidity had done nothing for your resolve.

Sunlight, something you thought you would never see again, flitted through an open window. A cooling summer breeze accompanied the sight. You’d been freed somewhere along the way, and your gratitude wasn’t lost on you.

Dark purple bruises encircled both of your wrists. Your whole body ached, and you let out a low moan at the sudden blinking movement. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

Your back was pushed up against a dark oak bedframe, heels shoving you back. There was a lightheadedness swirling around you. A nice bedspread was underneath you, and the room itself was dripping in riches.

It was large with floor to ceiling windows, the walls slathered in deep maroon paint. There was a wall of bookshelves filled with expertly bound books. Two chairs and a small cocktail table was set up in a beam of sunlight.

Natasha held a crystal glass of unidentified alcohol in her hand. The ice floated within the deep brown liquid as if it were afraid to make a sound. She wore a suit, one that hugged her sides. Her lips were painted red to match the walls and she tapped her nail against the glass, observing you.

Her words sent a pang directly to your core, and that embarrassed you more than your exhaustion. Blood flooded into your cheeks and the very corner of Natasha’s lip twitched in response. She set her glass down on the table.

You recoiled as she rose and transplanted herself on the corner of the bed. She was gentle with her movements as if you were an animal that she was afraid to startle. Natasha had a tight hold on her operations. She was nothing more than a myth. Simply the boss.

Somehow, she scared you more now than she did before. When you were tied to the chair, you were certain that you were going to die. But now, in this royal-style room, you were filled with questions about why she let you live.

“I don’t make mistakes, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the people who work for me.” She was glaring at the design etched into the duvet, gold embroidery. Her perfectly manicured fingers thumbed the flower. “You were profiled, and you were profiled wrong. I don’t go after single mothers, especially ones that don’t keep certain… habits.”

There was a sinking feeling that you weren’t meant to speak. This was the delicate moment during a hostage situation where the robber has a gun pointed at your head, the finger on the trigger and a burlap sack of money in the opposite hand. Your words would do nothing but loosen the safety.

“This is being dealt with, believe me.” Natasha looked up at you, her eyes fierce, a beautiful fern color that bounded off the darkness of the walls. “But you must understand, y/n, I am not known for my kindness, and I am certainly not known for my mercy. You still took the money, and you still owe me.”

You drew in a breath, opening your mouth to protest, but Natasha held up her hand and you snapped your jaw shut. There was a bit of amusement in her stare that you didn’t have the mental capacity to dissect.

“Yelena said that you know how to fight. Or, at the very least, take a hit. So, I’m not asking. I’m telling you that work for me until your debt is paid off.”

Natasha had gotten impossibly close to you. That same deep scent of mint filled your lungs. It wasn’t comforting, but it didn’t’ unsettle you anymore, and neither did her warmth. You winched when she reached up and grabbed your face, squeezing softer than Clint had, her nails still dug into soft bruising.

She whispered her words, breath hot on your lips. “You belong to me now, and I don’t always play nice.”

Natasha ‘not playing nice’ looked a lot like having a driver drop you off in front of your apartment without your shoes. The sidewalk was cold despite the hot day, and as you stared up at your unit, you swore that the curtains flickered. You blinked and squeezed the bridge of your nose immediately regretting it the second you felt the shooting pain reach your eardrums.

They had taken your keys, presumably to make copies, and the sweatpants that you were given were much too big around your waist. You had sinched them with a shoestring, just counting yourself lucky that they’d provided a change of clothes in the first place. Even the shirt was stained and had a logo on it for a defunct Quiznos in queens.

Your body threatened to give out as you took the stairs two at a time up to your apartment. You still didn’t’ have a grasp on how much time had passed, but it was evening when you left work, and the sun felt like a mid-day assault on your senses.

Frantically, you knocked on your neighbor’s door, wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Natasha’s pants. More than likely- Clints pants. It took a few moments for the door to swing open, but when it did, you were flooded with relief.

Darcy had an eyebrow lifted at you. “Holy shit,”

You didn’t let her get another word in edgewise before you engulfed her in a hug. She let out a breath at the impact and after a few seconds, pulled you in closer. Darcy was a friend, someone you trusted enough to watch your daughter. There was a soft spot in your heart for her. You didn’t let go when she backed the two of you into the living room and let the door fall shut behind you.

“I was three seconds from calling the police, y/n.” she pulled back, squeezing your shoulders. “What happened to you?”

You were instructed on what to say, word for word. You’d repeated it twice to Natasha and once to the driver. Lying to Darcy, someone who was the equivalent of a lie detector. Her eyes were hard, her voice hushed.

“I got jumped by a couple of guys on the way out of the restaurant. I was stranded on the other side of town, no phone. I tried to get here as soon as possible but I got a little banged up. I’m okay, a little shaken, but okay.” You frowned, “What day is it?”

Your eyes searched the room for a clock, for anything that would give you indication, but Darcy, while one of the sweetest people you had ever met, was a bit scatter-brained. You trusted her with your daughter, and with your own life, but there were spare computer parts strung out across her coffee table, on the couch, and the television stand.

“Y/n, you’ve been gone for two days.” She lifted your chin with a curled finger, making a hissing noise as she sucked in a breath “Oh they got you good. You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“More trouble than it’s worth.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I would love an icepack, though. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ve got frozen peas and corn, dealers’ choice. Ronnie finally fell asleep; I kept telling her that nothing was wrong but she’s too preceptive for her own good sometimes.”

It was a bad move, but you gave Darcy a thankful squeeze on the shoulder and moved down the hall to the guest room. It was the cleanest place in the house, reserved for visitors. Darcy still had zoomed in photos of computer chips. They were like little mazes without an escape, her personality shining through.

Veronica was laying on top of the duvet, curled up in a blanket that was typically strewn across the base of the bed. She wasn’t asleep, her tempered gray eyes flicking to the door and then lighting up when she realized that it was you. You leaned against the doorframe, warmth flooding you.

You wrapped her in a bone-crunching hug, squeezing her into you as if you never wanted to let her go. She smelled like Darcy’s shampoo, a light floral concoction that comforted you. Ronnie’s hand squeezing the fabric of your borrowed shirt.

“Hi, baby” you pulled back slightly, enough room for you to give her a kiss on the forehead, pushing back ringlets of curly hair. “I missed you.”

Her nose scrunched up and her little fingers ghosted so softly over the pulsing bruises on your face. You never wanted her to see you like this, for anyone to see you like this, but at the moment you didn’t care. Having her in your arms was enough to erase all of that doubt.

“It’s alright. I’m alright,” You assured, and she crunched her nose again. “Oh, you think I stink?”

You probably did. You’d been strapped to a chair for 48 hours, nearly vomiting up what little food you’d consumed the night of your abduction. You’d sweat through your clothes, and the borrowed ones weren’t much better in the scent department.

“Too bad, little one,” you poked at her sides, eliciting an infectious giggle. “You’re stuck with me, stink and all.”

You let yourself go slack against her, trapping her under one of your arms. Veronica playfully tried to shove you off and you let out a grunt at each attempt. Eventually her arms wrapped around yours and she settled into you.

Maybe some sleep wouldn’t do you bad. Your body was about to give out, and the only instructions you’d gotten from Natasha other than the white lie of your injuries, was to hang tight and heal until she contacted you, and she would contact you.

“I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I brought both.” Darcy said from the doorway. You mumbled into the pillow in response, nothing legible. “Oh, we’re cuddling, or is this a hostage situation?”

You winced internally at the words, but sighed contentedly when you felt the weight of the frozen vegetables against your shoulder blades. You melted into the pillows, the bed dipping down as Darcy laid on the other side of Ronnie, as you drifted off to sleep.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Black widow #Black widow x reader #Mafia au #Mafia boss au #Mafia Natasha Romanoff #Marvel #Marvel Fanfic #Yelena Belova #darcy lewis

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clockwayswrites · 11 months

Text

This is not me writing Danny meeting someone special.

Masterpost WC: 1114

Danny looked from the scribbled address on on the slip of paper and back up to the building in front of him. The addresses matched, but Danny couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong about it. Yes, it looked like a gym shaped building, but all the windows were blacked out and there as no sign. Yes, there were a few people going in and out looking ready for a work out, but the way the pair lingering on the stoop were looking at him made the hairs on the back of Danny’s neck stand up.

Still, so far at least, Jason had only been helpful and kind to him— more than kind. Danny had clothing because of him. Danny didn’t think the other would have sent him into some sort of a trap. Besides, if Jason had wanted to do something nefarious there had been plenty of other opportunities. Danny squared his shoulders and headed up to the building.

He was halted by a large hand on his chest from one of the pair at the door. Danny had to stop himself from pushing it off.

“Whatcha need?”

“Ah, um, Jason told me to come here at this time? He thinks I need self defense lessons and said he set up someone to teach me?”

“Name?”

“Danny.”

The guy looked Danny over before giving a nod. “Yeah. Go on in. You can’t miss who you’re supposed to meet.”

“Okay,” Danny said, doubtfully, but slipped in the door that the other guy (goon? Were these goons?) was holding open.

It just looked like a gym inside. There were weight machines and treadmills. A boxing ring dominated the middle of the room and mats took up a lot of the rest of the space. The back of the building was divided off into rooms that Danny assume were showers and lockers. Someone to his right was bench pressing what Danny felt like was an impressive amount, but what did he know.

Everyone in the building looked like they could kick some real ass— muscled or fit in a dangerously wiry way. Most of them were looking at him. So he didn’t have a lot of muscles, sue him, being a ghost hero didn’t exactly help him build up the bulk. The goon out front said he couldn’t miss…

The bright red helmet caught his eye. The figure wearing it was impressively broad and dressed so that not a sliver of skin was showing past the black and brown outfit. Danny couldn’t really tell, not with the way the eyes of the helmet were whited out, but that the person was staring right at him. It was almost like…

Oh. That was Jason.

Danny didn’t know how he knew, but Danny knew that person wearing the helmet was Jason.

Why didn’t Jason just tell him he was meeting him? What was with the helmet—

Holy shit.

That was Red Hood.

Jason was Red Hood.

Jason had a secret identity and Danny had just figured it out.

Well, fuck.

Danny took a deep breath and headed over towards him. He stopped several feet away and for a long moment they just stared at each other (or at least Danny thought Jason was staring at him).

“You Danny?” Jason— Red Hood— asked.

Because apparently they were doing this whole secret identity thing.

Which… to be fair, Danny shouldn’t be able to tell. Jason did a good job of disguising it. Jason was a big person, but Red Hood looked like a fucking tank. Red Hood even stood in a more imposing way— feet braced, shoulders pulled back, a king looking over his kingdom. It was different than the way Jason, while wary in that way everyone in a big city like Gotham was, still seemed relaxed and approachable.

The sheer power that Jason exclude as Red Hood was honestly a little sexy.

Which was a road Danny did not need to go down. Nope. He cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. Act natural, Danny. “Yep! Jason sent me here? He’s worried I’m going to get stabbed or something.”

Wow Jason was really a lot less expressive as Red Hood. Sure, there was the helmet, but it was more than that. Jason would have shook his head at that, body slumping slightly. Red Hood just watched. It was interesting.

“You were mugged.” Even his accent was slightly different.

“Yep.”

The silence stretched out again. Okay, apparently he needed to say more than that? It was weird being on the other side of the secret identity business. “But I’m fine! I didn’t get hurt and I knocked the guy unconscious. But now Jason’s worried about me.”

You’re worried bout me, Danny thought. Enough to bring him to meet the alter ego and risk him connecting the dots. Huh, Jason really was worried about him. This was no small favor like he played it off as. Even if Jason hadn’t been Red Hood, this would be a huge favor because this was Red Hood and he was being asked to give Danny self defense lessons. Okay, Danny could work with that.

“And I don’t want to, like, get in the way of your business so if it’s easier I can just go—”

“Get on the mats and start stretching,” Red Hood ordered. His voice was harsh through the modulation of the helmet.

“Sir, yes sir,” Danny chirped.

It turned out, he did not know how to stretch properly. Red Hood has a lot to say about that and a lot of corrections to make, nudging Danny with his steel toed boot or pressing with his gloved hand. Danny pondered over the complete lack of skin showing.

It was a really extreme way to go about it. A little skin wouldn’t have given Jason away, so it must be more than that. Was it for Jason’s own good? To have that complete separation of appearance between them. Jason was Jason but Red Hood was Red Hood- they didn’t even share skin.

Danny could get that.

Whoops, he needed to focus up, it was time to spar. And okay, they were getting right into it apparently. Show Hood what he could do, right. He could—

Danny was flat on his back, half across the mats before he could blink.

So maybe he couldn’t. But Ancients if that didn’t give him the same rush as his early ghost fights. He was out classed and unskilled and Red Hood wanted him to know that. But Danny had been there before and he had won. No ghost fucked with him now.

Danny twisted to his feet and grinned. Oh it was on.

-----

AN: Not actually 100% sold on this part yet, but I think jumping to Jason's POV and seeing Danny go a little feral might sell it for me. Maybe a little overlap in timeline from Danny saying 'sir, yes sir'.

I think I'm starting to care too much about this fic, which is dangerous, so I'll prob jump to somewhere else in the story next to keep things loose! Now what will that be...

I'm no longer tagging people due to the new post editor and being shadow banned (likely for tagging), so go here to subscribe to be notified!

#dp x dc #dead on main #the fic that i'm not writing

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mysteryshoptls · 7 days

Text

R Ace Trappola - Luxe Couture Vignette

"My perception just lagged hard"

[Fairest City – Crystal Galleria]

Ace: Alright, it's finally the free roam time I've been waiting for! That brand-name shop looks good, and so does that one… But I think I'll have to pass on 'em!

Azul: Oh? You don't plan on visiting those stores?

Ace: I mean, I'm not anywhere close to being able to afford all those high-brand clothes. But you already knew that when you asked, right, Azul-senpai?

Ace: But it's not like I've completely given up on doing any shopping, though. I'm thinkin' about checkin' out some of the secondary line shops.

Azul: Ah, yes, there are many high-end brands that are developing products aimed at the broader marked instead of just their main audience.

Ace: Yeah, yeah. I did some digging after heading back to the hotel yesterday, and…

Ace: Looks to me like those secondary line shops have fits that suit me better.

Azul: Hm. And what sort of look do you tend to like, Ace-san?

Ace: I guess my likes reflect my usual getup. I dress pretty casual.

Ace: I like clothes that are easy to move around in, and aren't really high-maintenance. And I can't really deal with looks that are too stiff.

Ace: I'd probably say that most of my outfits have a splash of the current trends, but also have a bit of an edge to it.

Ace: On the other hand, I can only imagine you wearing pretty stiff and formal stuff.

Azul: I suppose. Of course, it does depend on the time and occasion.

Ace: Maaan, I know you got some real good sense about these things. It'd be greaaat if you could tag along and pick out some clothes for me～

Azul: Well, let me see… I do have some interest in how those secondary line brands develop their merchandise.

Azul: There's no reason for me to not join you as I observe their establishments. HOWEVER! You will, of course, be paying for yourself.

Ace: Tch. Guess he saw right through me. Suuucks.

Ace: Oh well, let's go, then.

Ace: Hmmm, where's the store I was checking out yesterday…? Oh, found it. Azul-senpai, it's over here.

Azul: The store does seem to have a grand appearance, yes… But I can see that the designs here are rather different from the signature line.

Ace: Looks pretty good, huh? Let's go in!

Ace: Woah, check out this stylish sweater! The shape's pretty good, and I bet it'd work with all sorts of outfits. And the price…

Ace: ONLY 30,000 MADOL [300 Thaumarks]! THAT'S SO CHEAP!

Azul: Calm yourself, Ace-san. Is 30,000 Madol for one sweater considered cheap to you?

Ace: ACK, WAIT, NO, THAT'S NOT CHEAP! WHEW, THAT WAS CLOSE～

Ace: After seeing all those Luxe prices set for the rich and famous, I guess my perception just lagged hard.

Ace: But I think I should be able to buy at least one thing from this shop with my pocket money.

Ace: Azul-senpai, I'm countin' on you to pick out something nice for me.

Azul: What do you think about that black blazer on the mannequin over there? It has a stunning silhouette.

Ace: Ooh, you're right. It's got a pretty slender and sleek profile!

Azul: Underneath it… How about this collared white shirt? It would probably look good with a striped tie, as well.

Azul: If you combine it with these center-pressed slacks and leather shoes, you would do well in any establishment that requires a dress code.

Ace: Cool, I woulda expected nothing less from something you've selected, Azul-senpai. Pretty formal and mature.

Ace: It's a pretty different look than what I normally would go for, but I guess I should at least give it a try.

Azul: I am pleased you like it.

Ace: If I were to buy everything that you chose for me… Urgh, that's over 100,000 Madol [1,000 Thaumarks]!

Azul: Well, this might be a secondary line, but it is still a brand-named shop.

Ace: Hrrrngh, maybe I'll do just this blazer… It's not really something I already own or anything.

Ace: And black pretty much goes with anything, so it makes it easy to come up with outfits…

Ace: It's a shorter style, too, so it might actually go for a casual look with my hoody and jeans.

Azul: That is a combination that hadn't even crossed my mind… Yet, I agree, I'm sure it would suit you immensely.

Ace: So that look would be like a combination of our two fashion senses, then.

Ace: If it's just the blazer, I think I could just barely afford it, but… My funds when I return to campus'll be pretty low…

Ace: Ooh, I have an idea! Can you let me work some hours at the Mostro Lounge?

Ace: I can be pretty good with my hands. You've seen that before, right, Azul-senpai?

Azul: Yes, of course. And we have a mountain load of tasks to be done. I look forward to your wonderful hard work, Ace-san.

Ace: …Shoot. Did I just put myself up for something I shouldn't have?

Ace: Uhhh… Hope you'll go easy on me～

Requested by @ordinaryanon.

#twisted wonderland #twst #ace trappola #azul ashengrotto #twst ace #twst azul #twst translation #twst tapis rouge

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pinksturniolo · 25 days

Text

If I Can’t Have You, No One Can - Part Two

Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader

Summary: Matt can’t seem to stand the fact that he can’t have you to himself. He knows it’s wrong to want you. After all, you’ve been dating his best friend for the past few months. But he never claimed to be a good guy. And he’s more than willing to show you just what you’ve been missing.

Content warnings (not in every part): smut, oral, fingering, raw sex, cheating, unhealthy relationship, obsession, use of alcohol

matt being a dirty little simp in this part 👀

word count: 4,260

Matt’s POV

I thought about her all fucking night long, I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing her face and remembering the way her lips tasted on mine. I tossed and turned, the tent in my sweatpants growing, my dick so hard it was painful, until I found myself pulling them down in a haste and thrusting into my hand only to cum a mere 60 seconds later all over my stomach.

To be honest, that wasn’t the first time I touched myself to the thought of Y/N.

But now that I knew the feeling of her kiss, finally able to lay my hands on the soft skin of her waist, and hear her moan…

I could easily jerk off again to the thought of it, already feeling my self grow hard for the second time.

But I needed more, I craved more.

I feared that she wouldn’t talk to me after that kiss, that maybe I crossed the line. But I also didn’t regret it. The tension between us had been building for a while and I wanted her more than anything.

Boyfriend or no boyfriend.

When I first met her, I was attracted right away. My heart sank when Mark introduced her as his girlfriend. She had this magnetic energy I was drawn to, and a smile that made my heart race in my chest. She spoke with confidence and was naturally funny without even trying. The more she came around, the more positive things I noticed about her, and I couldn’t help myself from staring at her when she talked, or walked, or did anything really.

I felt like an idiot for falling for a girl I had only known for a couple months, no less a girl that was with one of my best friends. Mark was a decent guy and he seemed to really like her. At first. But there was just no chemistry there, and anyone with a working brain could see that there wasn’t much of a connection. Sure, they looked good together but that’s all it was.

I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself though, being respectful and polite when they were around. Whenever it was just her at the house without Mark, she seemed more comfortable and would joke around more. I found myself looking forward to the weekends when she would come and just hang out, sometimes spending the night in Nick’s room.

But when I was alone, thoughts of her lips, her eyes, her body consumed me. More than often, I gave into my needs, my fist wrapped around my cock, moaning out her name, panting and sweating until I came in my hand. I just couldn’t help myself when it came to her. No other girl piqued my interest, and it frustrated me to no end because I couldn’t do anything about it.

If I made a move on her, she would without a doubt reject me. That would be cheating. I couldn’t talk to my brothers about it because they would think I’m insane for sure. I’m sure they noticed that I felt some type of way though, always making suggestive comments and giving me suspicious looks when she was around.

There was one night when I thought maybe, just maybe she might feel the same way I did. We had all gone out that day to random places in the city, thrifting and just walking around. Once the sun started to set, we decided to drive back to the house and watch a movie on the couch like usual.

It was just me and her, sitting in the car and waiting for Chris and Nick while they were in the gas station getting snacks. She looked out the passenger window, the look on her face like she was deep in thought. The little scrunch in her eyebrows and the way her bottom lip stick out slightly whenever she was zoned out like that was incredibly cute to me.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked, causing her to break her focus and look over to me, her expression sheepish.

“Oh, nothing important.” she replied, shaking her head with a small smile and looking down at her lap.

“Don’t do that.” I spoke.

“Do what?” She said, looking back up at me.

“You always brush off personal questions. Like you’re afraid to open up.”

She chuckled. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking about.” She looked back out the window, a suggestive tone in her voice, making me even more curious.

“Try me.”

A few seconds of silence passes.

“Have you ever had a secret Matt? Like a secret you couldn’t tell anyone?” She turns towards me.

“Yeah, sure. Doesn’t everyone?”

“No, I mean like a secret so bad, it would change everything. Even hurt someone?”

“…..Okay do I need to be worried?”

She laughs, a sound I could never get tired of. My heart starts to race at what secret she could possibly be talking about, and the look on her face is unreadable.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be dramatic. I just… I have a secret that I haven’t talked about with anyone, not even Mark…. especially not Mark.”

“Are you okay? Like, he’s not doing anything bad is he-“

“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s… something I did that’s bad.”

Her eyes are filled with desperation as she looks at me, like she’s terrified of what I’m going to say.

I grab her hand instinctively, and the feeling of her skin against mine is amazing. It’s a simple act, but it elicits a fire within me.

“What could you possibly do that’s so bad? I won’t judge you, I promise.” I tell her.

The eye contact is driving me insane, the tension in the car now thick as she squeezes my hand.

“That’s the thing Matt… I’m scared you will.”

Before she can say anything more, the back door opens, and Nick and Chris come climbing in.

She drops my hand and turns back to face the front of her seat, making my heart sink.

Chris opens his bag of chips, immediately chewing obnoxiously while Nick thumps on the back of my seat. “Come on, Matt! I got ice cream, and I don’t want it to melt!”

I roll my eyes, and sigh heavily, backing out of the parking lot.

“What’s up his ass?” Nick asks, looking at Y/N. She simply shrugs, looking out the window again, silent for the rest of the car ride.

She never brought up the conversation again, even making an excuse to leave that night instead of watching the movie with us. I felt horrible, like I upset her in some way. After that night, she started to be distant and her visits less and less frequent.

Until eventually, she stopped coming at all. Every time one of us would call or text her to ask where she was or what was wrong, she either answered with an extremely dry response or didn’t even bother to answer at all.

Chris and Nick constantly bombarded me with questions, asking what the fuck happened in the car that night and I just told them I had no clue, never mentioning her “secret.” Whenever Mark came around, it only annoyed me, having to see his face instead of hers.

He acted like it didn’t really matter if she was there or not, which aggravated me. He avoided questions of where or how she was. He seemed to have the time of his life without her around. I could tell he never appreciated her, never took care of her the way she actually deserved, and most likely didn’t satisfy her in the way she needed.

I knew it was wrong, but I started to despise my best friend. I felt like a jealous teenager in high school again, but I just couldn’t get her out of my thoughts, especially now that I had no clue as to why she stopped coming around. I constantly thought about our last conversation, and if her big secret had anything to do with me.

Why else would she bring it up to me? I started to obsess over it, over her. Thoughts and pictures of her while I touched myself in my bed, in the shower, fuck, even on the couch when no one was home, wasn’t enough. It was pathetic. I needed to see her.

✿

It was 2 a.m., the moon hung brightly in the sky, illuminating the dark night. There weren’t many people out on the streets, and I had the car windows rolled down, the brisk spring air feeling cool against my face.

I’m not sure what the fuck I was doing, all I knew, was that I couldn’t sit at home anymore. I originally intended to go for a night drive to clear my head, but instead, I found myself driving to her house.

I’m not even sure what I planned on doing when I got there. I couldn’t tell her I was coming, given the fact that my calls were currently going straight to her voicemail, and I for damn sure wasn’t going to knock on her door. She definitely didn’t want to see me if she couldn’t even bother to answer the phone.

So, I awkwardly parked across the street from her apartment complex. The light in her bedroom window shone, and I could see clearly into it because her curtains were open. Her apartment was on the first floor, near the street, a couple trees surrounding it but if you were in the right spot, you could see most of the room.

I had only been over a couple times, with my brothers and Jackson when we decided to have movie night there. It was always a running joke how easily someone could spy on her if she left her curtains open, and now here I was, doing the exact same thing.

She sat on her bed, her lugs tucked under her, computer on her lap. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, her pajamas on. She looked content, focused on whatever she was working on.

I felt like such a fucking creep.

If Chris and Nick knew what I was currently doing, they would have me taken away to the loony bin in a strait jacket for sure.

I convinced myself this was insane and was about to drive away when I saw Mark enter through her bedroom door, and she got up, setting her computer down and putting her arms around him in a hug. His hands wrapped around her waist, nuzzling his head into her neck.

My heart raced in my chest, my cheeks flushing at seeing them together. The anger was radiating off me as I watched them embrace for a few more seconds and then kiss, moving down to her bed. It was like watching a car crash, it was horrible, but I couldn’t look away.

He lay down next to her, holding her while she laid her head on his chest. I could still see her face.

She looked happy.

I never drove off so fast in my life. I couldn’t bear to watch one more second and I felt disgusting for even intruding on her private moment like that.

It was hard to sleep that night, my mind racing with thoughts of his hands on her, touching her in the ways I so desperately wanted.

As crazy as it was, I found myself going back a few more times, on the nights where I just couldn’t get her off my mind. Thankfully, he wasn’t there, and I would stay for a few minutes, just watching while she worked, read or scrolled aimlessly on her phone. She looked so beautiful, and all I wanted was to be there with her, even if it meant sitting in my car across the street like an absolute maniac.

And to my surprise when she finally came over again after three excruciating long weeks, I couldn’t just tell her I had been stalking her at least once a week. But her body language and the way she got so nervous when I asked her why she had been ignoring me, made it click in my head. The tension between us, and the night she brought up a “secret.” She had to have feelings like I did.

So, I had to confront her, and when she kissed me back, it only confirmed to me what she felt.

But that had been a week ago, and I was back to pining over her, not hearing from her since then.

Until Jackson called on a Friday night, asking me and Nick to come over to her house where they were having game night. Chris had left earlier that day for plans he had made with some of his friends.

As we pulled into her apartment complex, it was embarrassing how excited I was to see her again. I knew I had to get her alone somehow and talk to her about last week.

Nick knocked on the door, it opening to reveal her behind it, looking gorgeous as ever. Her hair was down, her natural curls falling, and she was in a pair of tiny shorts and a plain tank top, a bright smile on her face and her cheeks tinted with a light blush when she saw me.

God, I wanted nothing more then to pin her against the wall right now, ripping off those shorts she was teasing me with and tell her all the ways I could ruin her.

My dick was already straining in my pants as we walked in, sitting around her kitchen table. I forced myself to calm down, thinking of sad puppies and make a wish kids.

There was already a game of Uno started when we joined in and Nick immediately announced he would win, causing Jackson to get serious. They were annoyingly competitive.

It was hard to focus on the game though, as Y/N was staring at me, teeth sinking into her bottom lip like she was contemplating something. I tried really hard to participate, but I felt my self-resolve slipping as I stared back, letting my eyes roam over her body. Her bare thighs squished together on the chair, her shirt riding up slightly, showing the skin of her hips.

It took everything in me not to audibly groan, the desire coursing through my veins. I had to figure out a way to get her alone, and my thoughts continued to wander when I heard her voice pull me back to reality. “Matt?”

My head snapped up, and her eyebrows were raised in expectation, everyone now looking at me.

“Yeah?” I asked, realizing I was too in my head earlier to hear her the first time.

“I said, I need to talk to you.” She replied, getting up from the table and setting her cards down. She walked to her room and my heart jumped as I got up as well, following her.

“Anyways…. Where were we...” I heard Nick say to Jackson, his voice fading as I stepped into her room down the hall, shutting the door behind me.

She stood a few feet away from me as I stayed near the door, unsure if I should move any closer. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

Finally, she spoke, her voice a little shaky. “Matt, I want to talk about what happened.”

“Okay.” I say, gaining the courage to move towards her and her arms are down by her side, clutching onto the hem of her shorts nervously.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea… I mean- obviously, it’s not.” She says and I now stand a few inches from her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating between us.

“It’s not.” I reply and her eyes flicker from mine to my lips. I can see the black of her pupils expanding, the pulse in her neck jumping.

“And I want to do the right thing…” she continues, and I can’t help but attach my hands to her hips, like they have a mind of their own, causing her to pause in her words.

My thumbs brush over the bare skin there between her shirt and her shorts, rubbing mindless circles. The energy bouncing back and forth is almost too intense, our faces now dangerously close.

“Y/N. There’s absolutely nothing wrong you can do in my eyes.” I tell her and she sighs, her breath fanning against my lips, her arms now coming up to wrap around my neck, her body relaxing into me.

There’s a lot that needs to be said, feelings to unpack, and things we need to discuss. I know that. She knows that. But right now, in this moment, the only thing I can think about, the only thing I can feel is her.

“Just let me show you, please. Let me make you feel good, Y/N.” I breathe, tightening my hands around her waist and she crashes her lips onto mine, tongues meshing and teeth clashing as we kiss for the second time, even more desperate than the last.

Our lips move in sync, smacking sounds filling the room. Her hands tug on my hair as I pull her bottom lip between my teeth, sucking, and she moans into my mouth. I trail my lips down her jaw, onto her neck, breathing in her scent. “You smell so fucking good.” I say, holding her even tighter to me and I feel her nipples harden through her shirt as I suck on her neck harshly, flicking my tongue after to soothe it, leaving the beginning of bruises on her soft skin.

I hope he fucking sees them.

“Matt…” She whimpers, pulling on my hair again, making me groan against her. I’ve never been harder than I am right now, her sounds and smell intoxicating, the feeling of her supple hips in my hands. I grip them, moving her to the bed and hover on top of her, attaching my lips to hers once more.

I rest most of my weight on my arm on one side of her, the other placed gently on the side of her neck. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I grind down on her, the friction making us both moan out.

“Matt, the door.” She says breathlessly, panting against my mouth as we continue to grind on each other, the feeling too good to stop. At this point, anyone could interrupt us.

“Mm, you scared, baby? Scared someone’s gonna walk in and see what I’m doing to you?” I tease, my hand running down her chest, grazing over the valley of her breasts and resting on her stomach, right above her shorts.

She moans at my words, and I smirk, leaning down to whisper in her ear while my hand continues to explore her body, massaging her tits and running over her curves. “You like that? Does it feel good knowing I finally get you all to myself?”

“Fuck, Matt...” She sighs, her nails digging into my shoulder. The way she says my name alone could make me cum in my pants, but I want nothing more than to make her scream it, burying my cock deep inside her. “I bet you’re soaking.” I say, running my hand down to her shorts, unbuttoning them. She bites her lip in anticipation and bucks her hips up. I pin them down, making her stay still.

“Be a good girl for me, yeah?” I tell her, and the submissive look in her eyes has my cock throbbing.

She nods, and I slide her shorts off, exposing her red cotton panties. There’s a visible wet spot forming, and I groan aloud from the sight. I slide down the bed a little bit, positioning myself lower, my shoulders between her legs, spreading them open for me. I look up at her before I continue, and there’s nothing but lust in her eyes, her cheeks flushed, and lips swollen.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Is this okay? Can I take these off?” I ask her, placing my hands around the hem of her panties.

“Yes, please.” She says sweetly, making my heart ache in my chest. I waste no time sliding them off her, discarding them on the floor and she whines at the cool air now exposing her. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, admiring her. She’s perfect, better than I ever imagined, and I spread her folds, applying a light pressure as I slick my fingers through her wetness. She moans loudly and moves her hips again, squirming from my touch.

I grab them roughly, pinning her down once more and she whines when I remove my fingers from her. “Shhh, you have to be quiet baby. Can you do that for me?” She groans softly and nods her head, closing her eyes and laying her head back. I know at any moment, Nick or Jackson could walk in or hear the sinful acts I’m about to do to her, but I simply don’t give a fuck. I didn’t want to put her in that situation, yet the thrill of it turned me on more than anything.

“Uh uh. Keep your eyes on me. You look away or make one noise and I stop. You understand?” I demanded, pressing my hands into her thighs firmly, holding her open for me. She snaps her head up and sits up to rest on her elbows, licking her lips and nodding her head. The smirk on her face drives me crazy.

“Yes, Matt. I’ll be good.” She says and an idea suddenly sparks in my head when I see a tie on her bedside table. It must be Mark’s. My ego swells as I snatch it, her eyes widening when I stuff it in her mouth, tying the back of it around her head.

“Is that okay?” I confirm and she nods, biting down on the tie. I take my place back down between her thighs, laying on the bed and run two fingers up and down her slit before pushing it into her slowly. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” I moan, mesmerized at the sight of her wet hole squeezing around my fingers. She was already dripping, the sounds of her arousal echoing through the room as I started to pump them in and out of her.

She breathes hard through her nose, her eyes threatening to roll back in her head as I watch her, thrusting my fingers a few times before I pull them out and replace it with my tongue, tasting her for the first time.

She tasted incredible, a taste I could get addicted to. I massage her gummy walls, burying my face as deep in her pussy as I could, my thumb making small, tight circles on her clit. I hear her whine softly and one of her hands comes up to pull on my hair, making me moan against her.

I move faster, my hands now gripping her hips as I let her ride my tongue. She’s so fucking hot and I can’t help but thrust down into her mattress, the feeling of her body unravelling and shaking beneath me.

I thrust my fingers back into her, pressing against the spongy spot as I curl them, and she moans lightly, her face contorted in pleasure, tears forming in her eyes from the frustration. “Are you close baby?” I say and she nods feverishly, her eyes desperate, and drool starting to pool down her chin form the tie in her mouth. “Its okay, sweetheart, you can lay back. Let me take care of it.”

She collapses on the bed, my fingers moving at a faster pace now, and throws her head back in ecstasy, small moans escaping her. I press my lips around her clit and suck, her back arching off the bed. She clenches around my fingers, whining frantically as she’s seconds away from her release.

“You’re doing so good for me... I want you to cum on my fingers, you can do it baby.” I praise and seconds later her arousal leaks out, dripping down my hand, my fingers still moving as she orgasms, panting relentlessly and I press light kisses on her inner thigh.

Holy shit, why didn’t I ever do this before? If I get the chance to do more, I’ll never stop.

Her legs are shaking as I pull my fingers out, massaging her with my other hand as she catches her breath. I sit up and help her take off the tie, smoothing her hair back from her face, and kiss her.

“Oh my god, Matt…” She starts, and I hold her face in my hands, looking into her eyes but before she can continue, there’s a knock on the door.

“Matthew! What the fuck is taking so long?! We’ve played literally 8 rounds of Uno already!!” Nick shouts and she laughs, her face reddening in embarrassment.

She gets up to clean herself before I can even help her and gets dressed. Suddenly I’m pulled back into reality, our little bubble of pleasure bursted. My heart sinks when I’m reminded, she’s not mine. We’ve only dug ourselves deeper into this hole we’ve created.

But as me and Nick drive back to the house later, all I can think about is when and how I can get my hands on her again.

a/n: the dots are connecting…. the plot is PLOTTING

also, sorry if the time jumps back and forth between parts confuse you guys, i just thought it would make it more interesting to introduce both of their povs

taglist: (thank you to everyone who requested, commented and liked, i appreciate each and every single one!!!!! 🩷🩷🩷) if i forgot anyone please lmk!

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @junovrsmp4 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @honestlyjb @mattslolita @stingerayyy2 @glassesmattsbae @eryismum

#Spotify #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo fanfic

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writershapeholeonthedoor · 7 months

Text

Lay all your love (on me)

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get hired to be Elizabeth’s love interest in her new movie and nothing could prepare you to how your life would change upon meeting her

Disclaimer: English is not my first language

MASTERLIST

When you got the call that the part on the upcoming rom-com was yours, you could barely believe it. It took you days and actually signing the contract to fully believe that was about to happen - you finally got an important part in a big movie with some big stars. After struggling with your career for years now, that was very refreshing.

You didn’t know much about the movie plot at first, just a few bits that were enough for you to know you would be the romantic interest for the protagonist, but that was about it. You didn’t know who the protagonist was going to be - you were fairly sure they hadn’t hired anyone yet - but that didn’t stop you from going out with your friends to celebrate. It was a big moment, something that could really change your career, so you held nothing back to party and have a great time.

Weeks later, you were informed your romantic interest had finally been chosen and you almost yelled from the top of your lungs when the name Elizabeth Olsen was announced. Of course you knew who she was and was so, so, so excited to work with her. As soon as her name was announced, the media started giving the movie much more attention as well and you could barely contain your excitement to get the shooting started. You got to work with a Hollywood star who made several Marvel movies and a very successful TV show, not to mention all of her other works that you were a big fan of. Not only that, but you would play a couple and you couldn’t wait until you were finally told the exact day the shooting would start.

You would have to travel to another country, but you weren’t too worried about that. London was a nice place to be for a couple of months until you guys wrapped the movie, even if you would live in a hotel for that time being. You even got to the city a day before she had to just to make sure you weren’t jet-legged before going to the set for the first time. The only thing that slightly worried you a bit was that the director had forego a table reading for the entire cast, which meant you guys would only meet on the first day of working together, something that didn’t always work out the right way.

Even so, on the first day you had to be on the set, you woke up super early to be able to have a nice breakfast and get ready, and then you called for a cab to take you to where the shooting was going to happen. Most people had no idea who you were yet, but an assistant was waiting for you to take you to the director for a quick chat before going to hair and make-up. You knew the director already - since he was obviously there for your audition - although that didn’t make you any less nervous to be standing in front of him while the man talked about what was expected of you. He gave you a brief explanation of your character and how you should behave when the cameras were rolling, then you talked about the first scene you would shoot.

“We’re only going to need you after lunch since we’re shooting a few other things this morning with Ms Olsen and other characters,” he explained. “But be here around two and we’re getting started, okay?”

You could only nod along because you would never be stupid enough to disagree with someone who had been working in the industry since before you were born. “Is there anything specific I need to do for the scene? I read the script that was sent to me, but-”

“Oh, shit,” the director interrupted you with a grunt. “Bella, did we send her the new shooting schedule?” Upon seeing your panicked face and the assistant blank stare, he only sighed and shook his head. “Fine, then we have something for you to work on. We changed the scenes we’re shooting today because one of the actors had a problem with their agenda. My assistant here will give you the new part we’re doing today, so you’ll have new things to memorize.”

And that’s how your nerves got a thousand times worse.

You had been beating yourself up for weeks, putting a lot of pressure on your shoulders to do an impeccable job, to not screw over your big opportunity and, especially, to make a good first impression. You trained your lines in front of mirrors and with a close friend several times, and now suddenly things had changed and you didn’t feel like you had enough time to work on the new scene for it to be as good as you wanted it to be. However, once again, you didn’t try to tell other people how to do their job. You just accepted the new script and locked yourself with the make-up department to study the pages while they did their work.

It took you very little time to realize what scene you were supposed to be doing that day. On your very first day, nonetheless. It was a scene where your character and Elizabeth’s character held a small conversation before kissing. You were going to be kissing Elizabeth Olsen that day and you were not even a little bit prepared for that.

“You seem nervous, honey,” one of the oldest ladies in the room said when her assistant walked off to grab something.

You hadn’t noticed you were bouncing your leg until she pointed it out, but, once you did, you quickly froze and, with wide eyes and blushing cheeks, looked at her. “I’m not.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” she said with a low chuckle, clearly not believing in you.

“Yes, but…” You took a deep breath and let your eyes go through the pages again. “This is big, you know? And I’m not. I can’t screw this over.” After looking up again, you saw the way the woman was looking through her make-up kit to find something and it made you bite your lip as if you were waiting for it to be another failure of your day. “I wish I had bumped into her in the hallways or something.”

Thankfully, the make-up artist found what she was looking for and went back to her work. “Who are you shooting with?”

She was apparently used to having people freaking out on her chair and she was nice enough, kind and gentle, so you had no problem venting out to her a little bit. “Elizabeth.”

“Oh!” A wide smile turned the woman’s lips up. “She was here earlier today, obviously! She’s a gem!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Really nice person, you really have nothing to worry about!”

You hesitated for a second, looked at the scene written on the paper again, and then sighed. “Even if we have to kiss and we never even saw each other before?”

Well, the kind lady didn’t have anything helpful to say about that and you were left with silence once her assistant returned to the room. After your make-up was done, you had an early lunch break, and you ate alone inside a room while glossing over the script like a hawk. The more time went by, the more nervous you got, to the point you were starting to feel the beginning of an anxiety attack coming to bite you in the ass. That would certainly be way worse - way worse - so you decided to take a break for real and take a walk around the studio to think about anything else.

You had half an hour before having to go to the dressing room, so you walked slowly outside, enjoying the not so warm day out while taking calm breaths. You were walking for maybe ten minutes when you saw someone walking over beside an assistant and under an umbrella towards the door. Probably returning from a lunch break herself was Elizabeth Olsen, who didn’t seem to notice you as she walked. That was a perfect opportunity to pick up with her, introduce yourself and make things less weird once you two were standing in front of a camera, but you were too far away and the only way to reach her in time was to run towards her, which was even worse.

So, with a bit of dread in your heart, you watched her going inside and disappearing from your line of sight, and you were once again hit with the thoughts from before. You weren’t actually starstruck or something like that because you were professional and could get your job done, but the fear of somehow ruining things in front of Elizabeth made things worse. She had years of experience in big roles and she was the face of the movie, the protagonist. You couldn’t screw things up on your first scene.

Obsessing over it again, you went to the dressing department while chewing a mint, and popped another two before heading out, both out of nerves and because you were afraid you might have bad breath when you were supposed to be kissing someone. It wasn’t actually kissing, of course, but that would be bad. Very bad.

By the time the director called you for another talk, you had already dried your palms at least five times on the nice pants the wardrobe people gave you. He had a few things to point out, some tips and other requests for you, and you listened attentively. So attentively indeed that you didn’t notice when Elizabeth walked on set as well.

You were shooting inside a room that was supposed to look like a cafe and you had your backs turned to it, entirely missing the other actress walking behind you to talk to someone else. Once your eyes caught her, though, you felt your heart skipping a beat before skyrocketing inside your chest. You didn’t have the opportunity to be that close to her before, but, now that you had, you couldn’t help but take in all the details. From the clothes her character was going to wear, to the light make-up she had on, to the way her hair was falling in soft waves down her back.

Your first thought was that she looked beautiful, but that wasn’t exactly news. You had eyes, you knew who Elizabeth Olsen was before, and you knew she was beautiful. Although, seeing it up close, was certainly a whole new experience. The first thing that crossed your mind was how your imagination really tricked you into thinking she was much shorter than she was, though she was wearing high heels and you weren’t. Your clothes were plainly different since you were wearing jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers, while Elizabeth was wearing a ridiculously short skirt and what you assumed was a crop top besides the heels, of course.

You almost rolled your eyes at that because the director was really trying to make it clear that those characters were opposites - just like the cliche that the opposites attract or something similarly cheesy.

Noticing you got distracted by something, the director followed your eyes and quickly spotted Elizabeth, then saying something that made your heart beat even faster than before. “Elizabeth, come here please.”

You barely had the time to prepare yourself. You tried to discreetly run a hand through your hair, although you thought better about it when you remembered you didn’t have time to go back to hair and make-up, and also held yourself higher with a sudden perfect posture. If anyone else noticed it, no one said a thing, for which you were grateful.

“You know each other, right?” The director asked once Elizabeth stopped in front of you two, but he didn’t give you enough time to answer before starting to ramble about where he wanted you to stand, and what you should do, and when to tell certain things.

You kept stealing glances at the blonde woman in front of you, feeling your face getting warmer and warmer, though there wasn’t much you could do about it. The conversation ended with the director saying you had five minutes before the shooting started and then walking away to talk with someone else, and you didn’t have much of a choice but to follow one of his assistant leads to find your place to be on set. Elizabeth seemed more familiar with things and people already, and she easily sat down at one of the chairs to wait for things to get moving.

Before you realize it, someone is making you sit across from her at the table, and your nerves hit you with full force all at once. “H-Hi. So, uh, this is not weird at all, huh?”

And, as usual, you used humor as a defense mechanism.

Luckily, it did the trick because Elizabeth actually smiled at you, even if it was mostly just polite. “Y/N, right?” She asked, though she obviously knew it was you by now. Even so, you nodded to let her know she was right. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet before, but I just got here from where I was shooting my last job. They wanted to do a table reading, but I couldn’t make it and we were already on a tight schedule.”

Well, that explained some of the rush people seemed to be in. You couldn’t blame her for having a busy agenda, of course, even if that certainly didn’t help with your anxiety. You still offered her a gentle smile and waved a hand. “That’s okay. I mean, not ideal, but okay. I suppose there were worse scenes for us to shoot after literally knowing each other for five minutes,” you joked.

Elizabeth understood what you meant and chuckled - a low, deep sound that made your insides twist a bit and you just knew you would have to work extra hard to end up that job without a new crush on someone that was way out of your league.

You didn’t have time to dwell on that for long because the director soon asked everyone to be on their marks and, a couple of minutes later, he was yelling “action!”.

You did the best you could at that moment. Not your best, but the best you could. You were nervous, you were shaking a bit and your mind was running faster thinking about the kiss you would have to give Elizabeth later on the scene. Were the mints you ate enough? You brushed your teeth twice, but maybe you should’ve done it once more just to be sure. And you didn’t even have the time to discuss with Elizabeth how the kiss would play out. You would like to know if she had any boundaries she wouldn’t like you to cross or what to do with your hands. And, oh God, your palms were sweaty again, you couldn’t just put them on her face.

The first takes were a disaster. The director seemed so disappointed that you could barely look at him, but he was also looking pissed the more he had to cut a scene. The problem wasn’t even your lines since you hit them all at the right time, but it was hard to ignore that Elizabeth and you didn’t seem to have any chemistry. You were still weird around each other, albeit you would have to admit Elizabeth was doing most of the job while you were silently freaking out across from her.

It was a very frustrating two hours before the director decided to go for the kiss. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was his last try before giving up completely, something that you were sure once he decided to call it a day after the first and only kiss you shared with Elizabeth on screen. While you were moping on your chair, you noticed that he called Elizabeth into a corner and they were talking at each other in whispers, and you could swear you saw eyes snapping at you every once in a while, which only made things worse.

You felt like you had already ruined everything. The thing you were most afraid of, and you managed to do just that. No more opportunities in your career because you just proved to a very important director and a well-known actress that you couldn’t do your job.

Jesus fuck.

You left the set faster than anyone could stop you. You knew you were the one to blame for the terrible work you did that day and you wanted a few minutes alone to mop and collect yourself before someone knocked on the door to fire you. You didn’t have trailers though and you weren’t sure if there were any free rooms, so you ended up in hair and make-up again, thinking that you could at least remove it all before crying and ruining your mascara.

“How was it, honey?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the make-up artist’s voice coming from a corner of the room since you hadn’t noticed she was there, but you soon relaxed when you saw her kind smile directed at you. You couldn’t bring yourself to lie, not really, and maybe talking with someone would prepare you not to cry when you got fired for real, so that’s what you did.

“It was terrible,” you admitted sadly. “I ruined everything. We don’t have chemistry. Like, none at all. I’m waiting for someone to stop by to fire me right now.”

“Fire you? What for?”

She looked genuinely confused by it. “Well, it’s just, you know… They’re not going to fire her. She’s Elizabeth Olsen. She’s the reason why so many streaming platforms tried to buy this movie. They will realize they can find someone better to be her romantic interest. Maybe Aubrey Plaza, since they already did a movie together. They know each other, it will be easier for them.”

“So you think things could be fixed if you knew her better?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged and totally missed the way the woman rolled her eyes at you while you sat down. She was finding it all amusing, even if you were on the verge of crying for ruining your career.

“You met today, didn’t you?” The woman asked and waited for you to nod. “Maybe that’s the problem. You just met.”

You thought about it for a moment, allowing her to start removing your make-up for you even if that wasn’t exactly her job, a frown permanently on your face. “You’re saying I should get to know her better.”

“Of course! Don’t worry too much, honey. It was the first day. They’re not going to fire you on the first day.”

That made sense. Now that someone else pointed it out, you could see that it was very unlikely that they would fire you after one day of shooting. Yes, it wasn’t great and they didn’t have much time to wait for you to catch up, but that only meant you had to be fast to fix things. You didn’t want to lose that gig and you certainly didn’t want to allow people to think you were bad at what you did. You were just nervous. Overly nervous because of your anxiety, that’s all. It was your first big job, you were meeting some important people, the schedule got changed last minute, and you shouldn’t have drank three cups of coffee in the morning, for sure.

You could still fix this.

You just needed to be fast.

“I’m bringing you donuts tomorrow!” You promised as you ran out of the room minutes later, but you didn’t wait for a reply - nor did you add that you would do that if you didn’t get fired.

Your optimism was back and you wasted no time to go find one of the assistants to ask what time you should be there tomorrow - just to be sure you were expected to be there tomorrow - and then you set on your mission to go find Elizabeth. You had no idea what to say or what you needed, but you knew you had to find her to, at the very least, try to change her perception of you.

You were lucky enough to find her alone looking at her phone while she seemingly waited for someone to show up in the hallway where she was standing, so you quickly walked towards Elizabeth and displayed your best smile - now much more relaxed and less nervous. “Hey, good I found you here!”

Green eyes - so damn green, you thought - looked up at you and Elizabeth put her phone away before crossing her arms and waiting for you to stop in front of her. “Hello.”

“I wanted to apologize for today,” you started and gave her no time to interrupt. “I know that was mostly my fault, well, all my fault actually.” You let out a self-deprecating chuckle as you raised a hand to scratch the back of your neck. “I’m sorry, I admit I was a bit nervous. I mean, we met literally minutes before having to shoot together. I’m not used to that.” You dropped your hand and, without realizing it, started to move them around while you talked. “We’re going to shoot that scene again tomorrow and I was thinking that maybe we should get to know each other so things don’t go as weird as they went today.”

Okay, Elizabeth’s eyes were very green. They were so light! And her nose was so cute, slightly turned up. And no one should be allowed to have such perfectly shaped lips like that, it should be a crime, really.

You got lost in your thoughts, you realized, and it made your cheeks go red so fast that you let out an awkward cough just to have an excuse to bring your hand to your face to try to cover it a bit. “Well, I was thinking that maybe you would like to go out with me today.”

That was not what you wanted to say. At all. Oh, fuck.

Elizabeth’s reaction would have been priceless if you weren’t the idiot standing in front of her. Her eyes widened, she took a step back, and her own face went pink. It all happened so fast that it took you a moment to recover as well.

“It's not like a date date,” you quickly said, desperately trying to fix what you did. “I mean, we will have dinner, talk, hang out for a bit, but it doesn't have to be romantic. I mean, it's not romantic!” You corrected, waving your hands around and standing there with your eyes almost falling from your face, and your heart beating way too fast again. Well, so much for trying to save your job. Now you were going to be let down under the accusation of sexual harassment or something like that. You didn’t know if keeping talking was a good or a bad idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop either. “I just thought it might help us lose up a little bit, you know? Get more comfortable around each other. Our first scene together was a very… deep kiss, we didn't have much time to talk before that.”

Elizabeth didn’t say anything at first, but she also didn’t look as surprised as before, so you would count that as a small victory. You waited for her to say something while changing your weight from one leg to the other, hands awkwardly crossed in front of you while also trying not to stare at her for too long. It was the way you were incapable of not being a gay mess that got you in that situation, after all.

“So…” The other woman started eventually and you felt your breath getting stuck in your throat as you waited for the verdict. “Like a dinner?”

“Yes,” you agreed way too fast, just for you then realize it would be better if you acted a bit more like it wasn’t just dinner with a stranger. “And no. If you don’t mind, I think that acting just a little bit like it's a date might help. I could open the doors for example.” Just after you said that, you realized how dumb it sounded. You placed both hands on your waist and took a deep breath. “I will stop talking now before I dig myself a bigger hole,” you mumbled shyly.

Yes, you were now getting fired.

You would have to pray not to have the police knocking on your door either.

God, you really should’ve gone to college like your family wanted you to.

“I don't dislike your idea, but we don’t have much time,” Elizabeth took pity on you, apparently, which you weren’t sure was a good thing. “We have more scenes together to shoot tomorrow.”

Way quicker than you should, you exclaimed: “We can go out tonight!” And, after hearing how eager you sounded, you were fast to add: “If you want.”

Elizabeth didn’t look so certain that it was a good idea indeed, and you pretended not to see when she glanced at you from head to toe because it would only make you blush again - you feared your face would never return to its natural color if you kept blushing like that. “Ok,” the other woman conceded finally.

It was your turn to express how surprised you were by that answer. “Wait, really? Okay! Yeah, great!” You were rambling and, once again, you couldn’t stop. “Just spectacular!” Just spectacular? Really? You had nothing better to say? Could you keep yourself from oversharing things, please? “I will, uh, go now.” And now you were stuttering as well, good. “Just, uh, I will wait for you or I will meet you at the parking lot or…?” You trailed off, now sure you should just stop talking altogether.

“I would like to go back to the place I'm staying to change, if you don't mind,” Elizabeth said.

You wasted no time to nod eagerly at her. “Of course not! That’s perfect.” Yes, because you needed to return the clothes to the dressing department and having a shower also sounded nice. You could back to your hotel and pick something better to wear. It also gave you some time to find out where you could take her. “I can, uh, pick you up if you wish and then we can, hm, go.”

Now Elizabeth grinned at you stumbling over the words and her eyes glanced down for a moment - just enough for you to feel like you could breathe again. “Sounds nice. I have your phone from the group chat they put us in today. I will send you my location when I get there,” she promised.

You sighed in relief, not even trying to hide it. “Sure, sure. Okay.” The rambling was back. “Yes. Perfect.”

“Yes, spectacular,” Elizabeth replied with a slight teasing in her tone that made you relax instantly.

You chuckled mostly at your own awkwardness and then shook your head. “Okay, now I will go.” You pointed over your shoulder with your thumb and saw the blonde woman smile. “See you later.”

Soon - very soon - you came to the conclusion that you were insane.

There was no other explanation, really, because you really asked Elizabeth Olsen to have dinner with you. And then you proceeded to run over your mouth and say it was kind of like a date, but not a real date. You should also not forget that you not only made a fool of yourself - twice in the same day, you might add - but you also managed to make things worse than they were before.

You were certain you would be fired by the end of the week.

But that was the exact thought that made you find enough courage to keep going with your plan. There was no way you could make things worse, you were at least sure of that. So you could keep up with your initial thoughts to get to know her a little better. You might get out of that with a friend, after all.

Also, the idea of having dinner with Elizabeth was a good one. You loved her work and you could spend some time gushing about how amazing she was - something you were sure you would find no problem in doing.

With your mind set to make it all worth it, you tried to find a nice restaurant on your way to the hotel. You tried to use your phone, but your mind was racing too much and you couldn’t comprehend the several reviews from different restaurants online. You read all of them, but no word actually stuck and you barely even understood the restaurant’s names to start with.

“Hey,” you decided to say, leaning over between the seats to get closer to your driver. He seemed like a nice guy, he hadn’t tried to talk to you yet and he put on a nice playlist, so you considered it was safe to ask him. “Do you know any good restaurants in town?”

“Depends. What do you want to eat? And what’s the occasion?”

You left his car with three options in your mind, which was great because you could call them and ask if they would take your reservation. The driver told you the name of another restaurant just before he took off, having leaned on his window to be heard by you, and you raised your thumbs at him in thanks before entering the hotel. You and Elizabeth didn’t say what time you would pick her up, therefore you decided not to take too long to get ready. You showered pretty quickly and chose your clothes after just a few minutes of debating with yourself, and then you grabbed your phone to make some calls.

Two of the restaurants didn’t even pick up the call and you wondered if they were even working that night, and the third one said they didn’t have any free tables. Luck started to smile at you when you called the fourth place the driver had said and they gladly told you they would be waiting for you at any time you decided to drop by. Relieved, you decided to check their name just to be sure you wouldn’t be taking Elizabeth to a food truck around the block. It seemed like a nice enough place, just a small French bistro that you were sure would do just great.

Elizabeth reached out about two hours after you got into your hotel room and you couldn’t say you weren’t surprised that she was still on board with that. You were half expecting her to either text you saying she couldn’t make it or just disappear all night, but you were glad to see that wasn’t the case. After calling for another cab, you took one last look in the mirror to make sure you were looking somewhat good enough, and then you left to meet her.

The address she sent you wasn’t from a hotel and you soon found yourself in front of a building. You texted her to let her know you were there and, after asking the driver to wait for a minute, you exited the vehicle to wait for Elizabeth outside. She didn’t take too long to appear, opening the door and stepping out distractedly, although she immediately caught your attention.

Elizabeth was wearing a simple dark green shirt that clung to her skin perfectly and a black tiered skirt that went down to her ankles. Around her waist, a black belt complemented the look along with the high heels that you weren’t surprised to see. Her hair was pretty much the same as you had seen earlier that day, but she clearly put on some effort to do her make-up, topping it all with red lipstick that made your brain shut for a while.

You were all of a sudden feeling undressed, though you couldn’t imagine having anything in your wardrobe that would get even close to that.

“Wow,” you breathed out once she spotted you and started walking towards you. “You look… gorgeous.

“Oh, thank you.” You noticed a blush rising from her neck to her cheeks and how she raised a hand to put her hair behind her ear and you just smiled at the cute scene.

Holy crap, you didn’t even know someone could be so beautiful.

Noticing you were staring at her again, you shook your head and pointed to the car waiting for you two. “Right, so, we should, uh, go.”

The drive to the restaurant took a while and you tried to keep the conversation light because the driver could hear you two talking and it would do no good. Elizabeth kept her replies short, but she shot back you a few questions - mostly about your career and how you got into acting. She admitted not knowing much about you before they called her to be the protagonist of the current movie you were working on, but you didn’t mind about that. She seemed interested enough to learn now and that’s all that mattered. Things still felt a bit awkward, but you were going to blame that on the fact that you had to watch your words since you weren’t alone.

“I hope you don’t mind the place,” you told her after stepping out of the car. The bistro behind you was even smaller than you initially thought and it looked mostly empty, which made you start rethinking your decision to take Elizabeth there. “But I was told they have an amazing menu.”

“It looks nice,” Elizabeth replied with a small smile.

You motioned for her to walk first but, before she could open the door of the restaurant, you remembered what you said before and took large steps to beat her to it - which would certainly look ridiculous to someone looking from outside, but there wasn’t much you could do. You opened the door for her and waved your hand dramatically to indicate the way to the other woman. Elizabeth arched one eyebrow before chuckling softly and walking inside the bistro. She paused to wait for you to do the same and you were blessed with a smile when you looked at her again.

Before you could say anything, though, someone approached you to take you both to your table. After you were sitting, you allowed yourself a moment to just look around the bistro, noticing the small details and the cozy environment while Elizabeth looked over the wine charter to pick something. It was a nice place indeed, especially where you were sitting by one of the corners since you asked for privacy, and you almost wished you had tipped the driver better for that only.

“I wanted to apologize,” you said after you placed your order minutes later. Elizabeth looked at you in confusion, so you jumped to explain. “I feel like I might have made you uncomfortable with my rambling earlier. This isn’t a date and I’m sorry if I made it sound like it was. I tend to make jokes when I’m nervous, but they don’t always come out…” you nodded while trying to think about the right way to phrase it, “as I wish they did.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, don’t worry,” Elizabeth told you calmly. “I understood where you were trying to get and what you were trying to say. Like I said, I don’t think this is a horrible idea. It can actually help us out.”

“Yes, that’s another thing I want to apologize for.” You scratched the back of your neck and grimaced. “I kind of ruined the shooting today.”

“You weren’t the only one there, you know?” She offered with a shrug. “Like I said, getting to know each other will help us out. Besides, we’re going to work together for two months, so I guess this is a good start.”

“Even if I put my foot in my mouth?” You wondered, although now you were feeling relaxed enough to feel all your anxiety leave your body at once. It was like you could finally be yourself without the constant fear of doing or saying something wrong.

“Let’s see how the night goes,” Elizabeth joked and you both shared a laugh at that.

Things after that went pretty well.

The wine got there before the food and you both drank while talking about work at first. It was an easy topic, sharing fun stories and anecdotes that made the other laugh, but it soon wandered away from it. You both started talking about family, friends, hobbies, dreams, plans for the future and, before you realized it, you were animatedly chatting, laughing and gesticulating as if you had never once felt nervous around Elizabeth before.

She had a cute laugh that made you want to keep saying silly things to hear it again, and an easy smile that made your heart skip a beat, and green eyes that made you never want to look away, and her voice was so smooth that you wished you could hear her for hours and hours. She was funny, but she was also smart. She talked with passion about her works, about gardening, about her family, about the books she liked to read, and about everything she loved.

Halfway through dinner, you realized you wished it was a date.

It wasn’t surprising because you knew yourself enough to know it might end up happening - Elizabeth was, after all, a very beautiful and interesting woman - but that didn’t mean it made things easier. You were there to forge a friendship with her so you could work together, not to fancy her somehow. Elizabeth was also way out of your league, you couldn’t even bring yourself to dream about anything else happening.

The conversation was happening so smoothly that neither of you realized the restaurant was about to close until one of the waitresses politely told you she would have to collect the plates, but that you could finish off the wine bottle before leaving. That was the second bottle you shared and you were feeling just too happy already, so you declined to drink the rest of it. You were sure you weren’t drunk from the alcohol but from the great time you were having, but it was better safe than sorry. Elizabeth ended up saying she wouldn’t drink it either and you decided to call it a night to allow the employees to go home instead of having to work in a mostly empty restaurant.

You called for a cab once you were outside, thankfully managing to make a car stop in front of you pretty fast, and then you opened up the back door for Elizabeth to enter. You slid behind her, telling her address to the driver, and then you kept talking silently until the car parked in front of her building. You got out first and reached out with one hand to help Elizabeth get out as well before walking her to the door.

“I had a great time,” Elizabeth said as she turned around to face you.

“So did I,” you smiled. “I don’t think I laughed this hard in a long time.”

Her giggle reached your ears, which brought you such a gleeful feeling that you just knew was not a good sign. “Me neither,” she admitted.

When you tell that story years down the road, you would blame the way Elizabeth smiled at you and the way the light made her shine like something from another world for what you said next - though you knew it was just your large mouth speaking before your brain could process the words again. “So, if I wanted to take you out on a date date, would I stand any chance?”

Elizabeth looked at you for a long time before finally replying. “Well, you certainly left a good impression tonight.” She hesitated before talking again. “I would say it made me wish it was a real date. Just a little bit,” she added with a hint of humor, holding her index finger and her thumb just a few inches apart from each other.

You laughed - mostly out of relief - and nodded. “Do you think, well, do you think you have free time later this week? I would love to take you out again.”

“I think we can make that work,” was her answer and, honestly, that’s all you needed to be sure you made the right choice that day.

The director barely recognized you two working together on the screen the next day, so much so that he pulled you both to the side to congratulate you on your performance. You said it was all Elizabeth, but she only rolled her eyes at you and hit your hibs with her elbow before you both shared a laugh. You had your first official date that same Friday at the same bistro, albeit you ordered different dishes this time.

You were officially dating a month later and, by the time you wrapped the movie, there was already some gossip going around about you two. Both Elizabeth and you decided to ignore it and not address it for a while since they were harmless gossip - not to mention that it did wonderful things to the movie’s advertising.

A year later, though, you walked holding hands at the movie premier and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that you were celebrating your first year together promoting the movie that made you meet the love of your life.

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #celebrity x reader #marvel #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #fanfic #creative writing #my writing #drabble #fluff

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natalievoncatte · 10 months

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These would be Lena’s last thoughts. Though she was only dimly aware of that, she still felt a pang of pride that in her final moment, she was more worried for someone else. What more perfect way to reject her Luthor upbringing than to pass from this vale full of genuine concern for another?

The morning has been going so well. Lena was set to speak at some local city event- L-Corp was sponsoring it. A fair in a park, nothing major or especially newsworthy. She was to give a little speech about girls in STEM and announce a grant program to fund a charter school in a building near the park. The speech would last five minutes, she’d mingle a bit and hang out with some kids, and then she and Kara had the day to themselves. Kara, of course, was here to “cover” the event for CatCo.

The reporter milled about in the crowd, dressed in a long-sleeved pink plaid button-down that was far too form fitting, making her biceps and muscular, taut belly even more lickable than usual, and a pair of dark brown slacks that hugged every curve of those perfect legs of hers.

Something had changed between them. Their hands brushed when they walked. Kara has grown more free, more bold, with her touches. Hugs lingered. Their eyes no longer slipped away when they met. Kara had developed a simultaneously frustrating and exciting habit of staring at Lena’s lips in a way that made her turn to jelly.

Kara spotted her from the crowd and smiled, grinning so beautifully and so happily that Lena was struck speechless for an instant, rooted to the spot. Kara was the most beautiful woman that Lena had ever met, and to be on the receiving end of a smile like that made her feel dreamlike, a little floaty. She couldn’t help but grin back, and when Kara’s cheeks tinted pink, Lena nearly died.

Metaphorically. The real death came a moment later.

She motioned Kara up onto the stage, hoping to introduce her to the schoolgirls in the audience and maybe spark some interest in journalism. Kara happily joined her, taking up position beside Lena.

Lena laid out her speech and cleared her throat. She’d practiced this. She was ready. She smiled at the audience and then six men milling around in the crowd pulled out submachine guns and sprayed her with bullets.

Titling back, Lena was surprised how slow it all happened. She watched it with a curious detachment, only belatedly realizing that she was being pulled by strong arms. Kara’s arms. Kara was shielding her with her body, turning her back between Lena and the assassins.

Oh God, Lena thought. Oh god no, please not her. Take me instead.

As they so often did, her prayers went unheeded. She watched, in horrifying detail, as the bullets raked Kara’s back, throwing up tiny bits of shredded pink flannel, expecting to feel them punch through Kara’s body and into her own.

She should have told her. Why didn’t she tell her how she-

Kara did not bleed.

Kara lowered Lena tenderly to the ground and stood to her full height. Her glasses, one of the earpieces snapped off by a bullet impact, tumbled from her face. The tattered remains of the back of her shirt gave way and a flowing red cape spilled out, billowing in the wind.

In a single motion, she grabbed what was left of her clothes and tore them loose, exposing the rest of her uniform. Lena’s would-be assassins were scrambling to reload. They were too late.

Kara said nothing. Her eyes blazed a furious white. Lena had never known her beautiful face could hold such fury.

It was over in seconds. Kara disarmed them and crushed their weapons together in a smoking ball with her bare hands, the metal too hot for a mortal human being to touch from the pressure alone.

It took less than a minute for the guards and police to swarm in. It felt like an eternity as Kara walked up the stage steps again, her uniform boots thudding on the wooden planks as she approached Lena in silence.

Lena looked up with tearful eyes and choked out a whimper. Kara hesitated, then knelt, flinching as if expecting rebuke and that only made Lena cry harder. She reached out and Lena climbed into her arms, allowing herself to be lifted.

All the other times she’d flown with Supergirl, she either hated it or had been unconscious or terrified. This was different. Kara kept herself almost upright, clutching Lena carefully to her chest, letting Lena hide by tucking herself into the crook of Kara’s neck.

The flight was brief, and they touched down on Lena’s balcony. Kara carried her inside, still holding her tight.

Kara placed Lena on the sofa, very gently, and disentangled herself. Lena clutched wherever she could, refusing to let go. Her limbs trembled and every part of her was shaking, her heart pounding in her chest.

Lena thought Kara might leave as she pulled away, might run or retreat, fearing the consequences of her lie. Lena might be angry later but right now… Kara was okay. Nothing else mattered except that Kara was okay.

“I thought they were going to kill you too,” Lena choked out.

Kara reached up and unclasped her cape, sweeping it around Lena with a flourish, so that the red cloth was tucked around her like a blanket. It surprised her with how warm and soft it was. Fitting for Kara.

“Let me get you some water.”

Lena clutched the glass in both hands like a child as she drank. Kara took the glass and slid under the cape with Lena, swaddling them both in its warmth. Lena clung to her like she might vanish if she let go.

“I was so scared that I’d never get to tell you,” Lena whispered.

“That’s my line,” said Kara.

Lena huffed. “I meant that I’d never get to tell you that I’m in love with you.”

“So did I,” Kara whispered, the confession tickling Lena’s lips as they kissed.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #tearful confessions #something has to happen or they’ll just hold hands for six years

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arabellasleopardcoat · 2 months

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Pyrite - Chapter 3: Tears have drowned you

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Chapter summary: Aemma's and Daemon's coins finally land. Reader is not pleased.

Chapter warnings: Anxiety.Violence. Nudity. Sexual remarks. Kidnapping/ witness protection (Daemon's version) Reader gets slapped a few times, discussions of abortion and death.

A/N: They finally met! I am so sorry if this chapter is off, I am going through a breakup.

“This is an interesting contraption.” The Prince says, examining the dry brush that you use on the Queen before her bath. It makes her skin smoother. You gape at him, setting down the bucket of water that you were carrying. You were not expecting him to seek you out.

Panic rises at your throat and threatens choking you. You were not expecting him to come after you. Not like this.

It had all seemed so clear when you had overheard it. You couldn't let an innocent baby die, so you had to send the note. But after you had done so, fear started to sink in.

Otto Hightower was not a man to be trifled with. He was smart and ruthless, alight with the sort of fire that prompted me to do anything necessary to be someone in life. It was a yearning not so dissimilar to your own. Maybe Ser Otto was not of common birth, but he was a second son. And all second sons spent their lives waiting, just like the commoner, to be noticed.

He would do anything to finally get the recognition and standing he felt he deserved, including disposing of unexpected obstacles. After all, if he was willing to kill a babe still in the womb, why not a serving girl?

Your nights were spent lying on your cot, with the blanket pulled up high enough to hide your face and hair. You felt safer that way. The blanket wrapped tight around your body allowed you to feel any shifts on the bed, preventing anyone from sitting or leaning on your bed as you slept without you being alerted of it. Hiding under it had a less practical motive. Like a child, you just felt better that way.

Never before had you thought so much about your own death. When you were younger, and first became aware of death, you had realized it meant that you would die one day too. It was a scary thought, but it wasn't one that would make you freeze in terror as it did now.

Would it hurt? Would he poison your food? Send a sellsword after you? You had been raised under the Faith of the Seven, but your belief in them was weak. You doubted the existence of the Seven Heavens or Seven Hells. Would it be like falling asleep? Perhaps it would hurt. And then nothing would come ever again. You would just cease to exist, to be.

You had worried so much about Otto Hightower that you had not thought of the other, more dangerous threat to your wellbeing. Prince Viserys' attack dog. Daemon Targaryen.

“I must say, I had not expected such a reaction.” Prince Daemon sets down the brush, smirking. “Have you never given a man a bath before?”

You wished you were wittier. That your tongue was as sharp and fast as his. But with fear clouding your senses, you could do little more than curtsy clumsily.

He knows. He knows. He knows. The words kept repeating on your mind, a constant litany of panic and urgency. Your heart was beating wildly inside his cage, so hard you felt it might break a few bones and jump out of your chest.

No one would protect you. Not even your mother, placed in an impossible position by her foolish daughter. Between her beloved Queen and the future King of Westeros, something would have to give. Because thanks to you, Prince Viserys' victory seemed more certain. Why else bring his brother, if not to deal with the threat?

They were supposed to be in the city to visit their father, the Lord Hand. You did not believe a word of that excuse. Never before had they visited Prince Baelor. The Lord Hand went to them, not the other way around.

Would anyone care if you were to disappear? You were so invisible, no one would miss you. You hadn't made many friends among the other servings girls. The Queen you served didn't notice you, nor did any of the other nobles. You only had your family.

“There must be a confusion.” You said, cautiously. You decided to keep your eyes fixed on the Prince's face. It was an unusual choice, you weren't supposed to gaze at nobles so directly. But you were not so foolish as to be in the same room as a predator and leave him unchecked. “I serve Queen Alyssane, my Prince. Only her. I am sure other…"

“I know.” He cut you off, before you could offer to find him another serving girl to help with his bath. You were desperate to get away from him, and it probably showed. "I complimented my grandmother's skin. She said the secret was your mother's baths."

That gave you pause. It made the fear recede a little. It was an odd question for a man, but Targaryens were known for their queer customs. Especially this one. It was perfectly plausible.

If they were trying to get information out of you, it would have been easier for Princess Aemma to call for you. After all, she could become your future lady, and probably was more interested in baths than Daemon Targaryen.

So. They didn't know, and Prince Daemon had a genuine interest in baths or he did know something, but not everything. If you played your cards right, you could still walk away unscathed.

“Then by all means, I shall fetch my mother!” You said, trying to gauge his reaction to your obvious attempt to get away.

The Prince's features shifted into a mask of pure rage before smoothing down into a strained smile. The change was so quick that if you had not been paying such close attention to his eyes, you would have missed the murderous glint in them, the way his smile showed way more teeth than necessary, how his fists clenched by his sides.

He knew. The Seven save you, Prince Daemon knew.

“I asked about that. She delegated the task to you.” He said, flatly. “Now hurry and help me undress.”

You stepped closer to him. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you not to. Your stomach dropped, the hairs of your arms stood up, you felt like you were about to throw up. But what other choice did you have?

The pact had not been meant for you to witness. You knew that. Foolishly, you had worried about Otto Hightower and Corlys Velaryon. You had thought about how they would find you, and how they would kill you.

The conspirators had been outside the Red Keep, so if they suspected a leak, they might go after the tavern's cashier or owner first. It was doubtful any of them recalled the other people in the shop with them that day. That was not how Prince Daemon must have found you. If it proved hard for the men present, for him it would have been impossible.

How could a man be aware of a conversation that had happened a month before, thousands of miles away? No. He hadn't found out that way, or he wouldn't need you. They would already know who was threatening them.

With shaky hands, you unbuttoned and took off his jerkin. Prince Daemon was slightly tanned, as a result of all the time he must spend outdoors. You had heard that since claiming his dragon, not a day passed without him riding the blood wyrm. You also knew, by the sword on his belt and the muscles in his back, that he must train quite a bit.

Your eyes must linger a second more than it is proper because Prince Daemon laughs.

“Never seen a naked man before?”

“No, my Prince.” You swallow, mouth a bit dry. You are unsure if it is because you are getting an eyeful of a handsome man, or because of how worried you are.

You shouldn't have sent that note. Oh, the note. That was what would truly doom you. Deciding to send it to Dragonstone had been a gamble. You thought sending it directly to where Princess Aemma was would be quicker than trying to convince the Lord Hand.

Time was of the essence, after all. Nobles often announced their pregnancies around the three or four moon mark, considering it was more unlikely for the babe to die after that date. If the Princess knew of her pregnancy, it meant she had not bled for over a moon. For the conspirators to find out, more time had to have passed. Mellos would have to act quickly to fit into the timeframe.

“Don't worry.” Prince Daemon stepped away from you, a salacious grin on his face. “I will make your first time good for you, too.”

And looking you directly in the eyes, he yanked his breeches down.

“What are you?” You asked, trying to save face. You pointedly did not look down. “One and ten?”

Daemon tutted.

“Mouthy little thing, aren't you?”

You paled. In truth, you had not really thought that through. You shouldn't have mouthed back to a Prince, regardless of what he was doing to you. Much less, if he knew what you had done.

You had not been so foolish as to sign the note, but it still had your handwriting. It could easily betray your identity, especially considering that the fact that the Princess was at Dragonstone was not common knowledge to every commoner.

Could they tell that? That you were a commoner, just for the way you wrote? It had worried you at the time, but you had not expected them to narrow it down enough to actually come after you.

“I apologize, my Prince.” You lowered your eyes, before coming right to face with his… You quickly looked up.

“I don't mind it. I like my girls with a bit of a bite.” He leered. “Much nicer to split them open on your cock when they are likely to yowl and hiss like cats in heat.”

Your cheeks burned. You fought the urge to fled the room.

“I am eight and ten, to answer your question.” Prince Daemon kept going, as if nothing had happened. “What of you?”

You mumbled your age, and kneeled, holding the brush.

“Good, aren't you eager?” He laughed. You ignored him and started to brush from his feet towards his chest. The roughness of the brush startled him, and you felt a sense of dark vindication. “Oh… That's…"

You didn't let him finish, starting to brush his calves from behind, roughly. So what if you were taking your frustrations on him? Near a moon had passed without news, and with you living in anguish.

No one had talked about Princess Aemma, not to announce a loss or a pregnancy. You went on with your duties, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. Your previously gorgeous hair started falling out in clumps, and no tincture from your mother's journal could fix it. You could not stop thinking of Princess Aemma.

She was in your thoughts when you brushed the Queen's hair. Would she wear the crown next? You thought of her every time you saw a pregnant woman. Did the babe survive? Would she be your lady? If she were, would you be able to swallow this secret, keep it down?

“Is this necessary?” Prince Daemon asked, with a wince, when your brush approached his rear. It was very shapely, so you rubbed harder to vanish the thought from your mind.

“It is part of the Queen's bath.” You mumbled, thinking of how as soon as you scrubbed him raw, you were placing him in the bath and running away.

You did not get to do that. Prince Daemon, instead of eight and ten, acted five. He asked for you to wash his hair and rub his back, and overall made a nuisance out of himself. Not once did he ask about the note or your thoughts on succession. Instead, he made inane chatter and poorly hidden innuendos.

When you finished bathing him, you were convinced he was the most hellish man you had ever met. But you were also convinced that he was harmless.

How wrong you were.

The first thing you became aware of was a pounding headache. Your scalp hurt, and when you tried lifting your hands to check on it, you realized that they were tied to something.

Your limbs felt numb. Panic threatened to drown you once more, but you fought the initial waves and forced yourself to be calm. This was what you had been waiting for. If you wanted to live, you had to play it smart.

You lifted your eyelids, barely enough for you to see through a blurred sliver. The world around you was tinted red, and your eyelashes felt stuck together. You could see your legs, extended on the floor. You were sitting somewhere.

Softly, you tugged at your restraints. Your arms were tied behind you, but around something solid. A tree trunk? A bedpost?

You could not remember what had happened or how you had gotten here. Under you, there was something soft. A rug. So this was inside somewhere. You opened your eyes a bit more, hoping to catch a glimpse of the world around you, but cautious to do so in case you were being watched.

“You are awake.” A woman’s voice said. Her hand, soft and dainty, grabbed your chin in a bruising grip. “Good.”

Princess Aemma was crouching in front of you, a look of pure rage in her eyes.

“You will tell me who dared hurt my child. Or else.”

You blinked, stupidly. She was not who you had been expecting. Freshly wounded and surprised, you clearly took a second too long to answer because Princess Aemma slapped you. Hard.

Your vision darkened. You let out a ragged pant. This was… Not ideal. You had no idea of what was going on, or how she had known. Was it wise to speak?

“Who was it? Who ordered it?”

You whimpered. Could Princess Aemma protect you from Otto Hightower? His reach could be further than you thought. But even if she could, it would be picking a side. With the succession issue still unsolved, it felt unwise to do so.

Aemma could be the future Queen, yes. But so could Princess Rhaenys. And she would not want you then, if she knew you had passed information along to her rivals.

What would you do, then? Where would you find employment? Being a handmaiden to Targaryen women was all you knew how to do. Horrible images of ending up cleaning toilets or, the Seven forbid, in a pleasure house crossed your mind.

And that was if Princess Aemma allowed you to live. Perhaps she would think you too much of a burden or a part of the plot to hurt her, and just… Dispose of you. She had enough gold to hire an assassin or acquire poison, if she didn't do it with her bare hands. By the look in Aemma's face, she was very close to becoming a murderer.

You shook your head, near tears.

“Tell me.” Aemma insisted, her grip turning cruel. She raised her hand to strike again.

You shook your head again.

“Aemma?” Someone else spoke. It was a male’s voice, this time. You jerked upwards. Aemma's hand stilled. “I brought Daemon.”

Prince Viserys and Prince Daemon stepped inside the chamber that you were in. You felt like you were about to throw up. Exactly how many royals were keeping you captive?

Prince Daemon gave you a wave. He was sporting a smug smile that made you want to strangle him.

“We meet again.”

You glared. Aemma struck you again. The pain barely registered. You felt as if your head was too heavy for your body. It lolled to the side. A sudden wave of nausea prevented you from rightening it.

“Do not dare look at my good brother or husband, you whore.” She grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look up at her. “You either talk, or I will throw you in the cells. And when I find out who murdered my child, you will die alongside them.”

“My love, we shouldn't…” Prince Viserys swallowed, nervously.

“Shut up, Viserys!” Princess Aemma shrieked and the Prince cowered. This was the man King Jaehaerys wanted as his heir? Maybe Queen Alyssane and Otto Hightower were onto something. The thought registered as hilarious in your mind's scrambled condition, so you laughed.

Aemma turned towards you, outraged, but someone else's laughter stopped her dead in her tracks. Both of you turned, searching for the source of the sound.

Prince Daemon was laughing, eyes crinkling in the corners. He looked, much to your disgust, even more handsome.

“What?” He asked the Princess, between chuckles. “It was funny.”

“It was not.” Aemma scowled. She raised her hand again. “You little bitch! What did I tell you about looking at my…?”

“I think not.” Daemon intercepted her hand, holding her away. You sighed. You weren't stupid enough to think he was protecting you. No, he was just going to speed things along.

Daemon was one of the few people you had met that deserved their reputations. Dashing and a good warrior, yes. But also mercurial and quick to anger.

“Speak. Or I will make you speak myself. I assure you, you won't enjoy it." His hand brushed the blood away from your face, almost tenderly. You flinched. There was something about his touch that made your skin crawl. Gone was the young man from earlier, all playful smiles and banter. Instead, only a cold mask remained. His words lacked embellishments or thinly veiled threats. Daemon was not bluffing. “You won't die. Not for a long time. I will make sure that whoever poisoned Aemma knows it was you who spoke. And they can kill you.”

They. He would make sure they. The words were spoken like a promise, almost an oath. The Prince was completely serious.

Being left to the mercy of Otto Hightower was not something you wished for. And between the two of them, you knew who you feared more. You could always take a ship to Essos and find employment there if things went awry. But for that, you had to survive.

You whimpered. Aemma's fingers dug into your shoulders.

“Names.” She spoke, voice filled with contempt.

“Hightower! Ser Otto! And a Mellos! Corlys Velaryon was there, but he did not know.”

Prince Daemon and Prince Viserys exchanged a look. Prince Daemon crouched behind you, while Prince Viserys helped Princess Aemma stand.

“Good, little bird.” Daemon untied your wrists. You kept very still regardless. “Do you know what comes next?”

You shook your head. What else could they want from you?

“You will sing just as prettily during the trial.” He ordered, forcing you to your feet. Princess Aemma beamed at him. Prince Viserys looked thoughtful. “For all court to hear.”

Your stomach sank. It was a death sentence. A commoner, standing against Otto Hightower? You would not even make it to the stand. He was a powerful man, with powerful friends. But even if you did, you doubted King Jaehaerys would listen to you. You were one woman against the most important men of the realm.

And Queen Alyssane! Oh, Queen Alyssane would be so disappointed. She would no longer want your mother and you in her service, if she didn't decide first that you were part of the plot and ordered your death for harming her family. Or even worse, the Queen could be part of the plot herself and be offended by your meddling.

“No, please! Please, please. They will kill me.” You begged. “Please, Your Grace, let me go.”

Prince Daemon smirked. Princess Aemma’s face twisted into a vengeful expression. They both were pleased by the possibility of your death. You resigned yourself to it, silently starting to cry.

And then, the unexpected.

“She is right, Daemon. You can't ask her to stand against them, she will be dead before nightfall.” Prince Viserys spoke, timidly. The other, more violent two, halted.

You could have kissed him. You could have proclaimed him King yourself.

“Then what?” Prince Daemon frowned.

“We will have the trial. You keep her until then.” Viserys ordered. Princess Aemma huffed, and exited the room, slamming the door on her way out. She clearly disagreed, but not enough to do something about it.

You were left alone with Viserys and Daemon. You eyed them warily. No good deed went unpunished, did it? You had wanted to save a babe, and not only had you failed, but you had been thrown into a pit full of dangerous beasts, ready to swallow you whole. And by the look on Prince Daemon's eyes, the dragons were the worst of them.

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bestworstcase · 1 month

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thoughts cooking.

mountain glenn, grimm overwhelmed the city and the people took shelter in caves, building an entire underground city after the destruction above. an explosion later opens a breach into a grimm nest, grimm flood the city again, and vale seals off the tunnels, implicitly without attempting rescue or evacuation, sacrificing the people to protect the core city.

<- same choice ironwood made.

“i see lives that could have been saved,” and all. vale created the world’s largest tomb.

fast forward a few decades. a single transport ship approaches vacuo with the news that salem came to vale and “there’s nothing left.” the huntsmen aboard “led the civilian retreat, brought as many people as we could…”

that turn of phrase—‘led the civilian retreat’—doesn’t evoke a panicked, disorganized scramble to get away from vale. it calls to mind the orderly evacuation procedures we saw during the battle for beacon, where people were loaded efficiently into transports to move them from beacon into a safe zone established in vale. port and oobleck were in charge of that retreat too. (and it demonstrated generally that emergency evacuation is something vale has on a lock—the assault on beacon blindsided everyone but the kingdom’s crisis response plan sprang into action like a well-oiled machine.)

only one ship, though.

when cinder attacked beacon, they retreated to a safe zone in vale. when salem hit vale, the immediately obvious place to establish a safe zone is patch—it’s close by but separated by a body of water, and it’s relatively defensible (an island). unlike vale, patch probably doesn’t have the room or resources to support a large urban population indefinitely, but you can use it as a relatively secure staging area for a subsequent evacuation to somewhere else. what you probably can’t do is squeeze anything like the majority of vale’s population onto patch island. (i mean, you could if it’s as huge as it appears to be on the map, but the map is NOT to scale and i get the impression that patch is supposed to be quite small.)

mountain glenn. “i see lives that could have been saved.” vale’s greatest failure, standing abandoned as a dark reminder. and “if you can’t learn from [history], you’re destined to repeat it.” did vale learn from its failure in abandoning mountain glenn to die?

in this fractal spiral of a story. ironwood didn’t get his way, but what if he had? “we are saving who we can” -> “brought as many people with us as we could,” with the history teacher whose chosen purpose is to prevent another mountain glenn from happening hunched over, haunted, in the background. is this a fucking counterfactual.

also if there were people left behind in vale, the mountain glenn undercity is the obvious place for them to flee. it’s not safe, but you can get there from vale through the tunnels (less exposed than driving or flying above ground) and if you can barricade the points of ingress to the cavern, it’s at least a more defensible place to set up an encampment than anywhere out in the open.

and i mean it might be that salem massacred the city and let one ship escape to maximize the damage to morale and provoke as much outrage as possible for the sake of getting the sword out of that vault. but mountain glenn is such a crucial narrative cornerstone, and vale has a history of making the kind of sacrifices ironwood tried to make with mantle, and the specific phrasing used here is interesting (“nothing left” vs “no one left,” “civilian retreat” implying an orderly process a la the evacuation from beacon).

i think it’s also the more narratively interesting and dynamic choice for there to have been a judgment call to leave a large number of people behind—it’s a counterfactual vehicle for unpacking team rwby’s conflicted feelings about their decision-making in atlas through comparison to what vale’s leadership did in the same situation, and there being some ambiguity as to whether anyone else survived allows for a thin ray of hope (maybe there are some people still alive) to galvanize the coalition into a counteroffensive (if there’s even the smallest possibility of survivors, we need to help them. we have to try.) and you draw the tension in salem’s character between her extremism and her effort to chart what she believes is the minimally destructive course to the surface by putting a survivor’s encampment within her immediate reach.

#the army of revolt too maybe.#much to think about!

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mychoombatheroomba · 4 months

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Firing Range

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 10

As the weeks go by, you and Leon get closer.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

Weeks went by, quick as the slash of a knife. Leon learned to think of each day as a step by step - get through each task, each lesson, then worry about the next. He didn’t give himself a chance to pause, or let the fatigue set in. Not if he could help it. What had him out of breath once, now he could weather with greater and greater ease. He could feel the change in his body; muscles hardening, his reflexes improving. His legs would carry him further, and his aim was steadier. He could feel himself being honed into something sharper, and there was some grim satisfaction in that. Even so, he preferred to focus on the other changes those weeks brought.

Changes like the way you, on an unremarkable day, had set your tray down beside his at lunch, and didn’t look bothered when he did the same the following day. Or the way the conversations the two of you shared had slowly been growing longer. Many of those conversations were about the present - ways to improve, not just with knives, but with many aspects of STRATCOM training. Sometimes you would discuss music. Movies. Other interests. Leon clung to every piece of information you would give him, wanting to know more about you.

And, of course, some conversations were about the past. Those ones were more painful, but no less important to Leon.

“Is it alright,” he’d begun one night, a few days after your initial talk, “if I ask you about what happened that night?”

You hadn’t looked too thrilled, but you didn’t look surprised, either. “You can ask,” you said, “but I may not answer.”

“You said you weren’t in Raccoon City when you saw bioweapons. Where were you?”

You’d blinked, braced yourself. “On base in Finland.”

“Was it the same night you got hurt?”

“Yes.”

“But . . . you were stabbed, weren’t you? With a knife?”

“I was.”

“But it wasn’t a bioweapon?”

“No.”

“So then how did it happen?”

You frowned, and whatever your reasons, Leon knew not to press further after you answered: “Pass.”

A few days later, you had a question for him.

“Do you know how the outbreak started in Raccoon City?”

He’d been told not to speak on the matter. Why, he couldn’t say. Still, when it came to you, Leon decided that you deserved to know.

“Umbrella. The pharmaceutical company. They were experimenting with viral weaponry underneath the city.” Thinking of what he’d seen made Leon tense. Grip his knife tighter.

“Umbrella.” You’d looked a little distant as you heard the words. “So, they . . . what, infected everyone up top?”

“Not intentionally, I think. It was an accident.” And then he told you what he’d seen of the camera footage - the doctor, the armed men sent after him, and the broken vials of the viruses. “Rats found the vials. I think they spread it.”

“And the men that went after the doctor. Do you know who they were working for?”

“No, I’m not sure. He knew they were coming, though.”

You’d hummed, thinking. “And you found all this on security camera footage? From inside the Umbrella labs?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell were you doing down there?”

“I was looking for a sample of the virus. I . . .” he’d paused, choking on the memory of a woman in a red dress pressing her lips to his, and then holding a gun to his heart. “I thought it would help bring Umbrella down.”

“Did you get it?”

“. . . Pass.”

You respected the end of the conversation just as much as Leon did, and just like that, the two of you had a system. An easy way out. A way to jump ship, to stop either of you from being lost in the memories.

He told you the abstract. Zombies. Umbrella. The city being lost.

He kept other things closer to his chest. Marvin, the glimpse into the life that could have been. Claire, the girl he’d come to respect more than almost anyone else. Sherry, the child who he’d given up his freedom for. Ada, the woman who he’d lost, not that he’d ever really had her to begin with. You didn’t need to know about them, and he didn’t need to know everyone you’d lost, either.

It felt good to have someone who understood. Someone who had been through that same hell. You didn’t pity him or what he’d been through, and what questions you asked weren’t an interrogation. Even if he wished that neither of you had been through what you’d been through, or seen what you’d seen, he was glad to have you - for company, and for help. The latter became all the more true when Krauser announced that Leon’s squad would be going through assessments.

“Already?” you asked, when Leon mentioned it over lunch. “He’s moving fast.”

“What’s he ‘assessing’? He wasn’t very clear,” Leon said, glad for the conversation taking his mind off the tasteless food he shoveled into his mouth.

“Everything,” you said before taking a sip of water.

“Everything.” Leon huffed. “Everything ‘soldier’ or everything ‘they’re going to make me retake the SAT?”

You deadpanned in the way you usually would, raising a brow and almost - almost - letting the side of your mouth curl up into a smirk. “Fitness, marksmanship, combat. Everything he’s taught you so far . . .” you paused, considering something, “. . . and maybe some things he hasn’t.”

“That is . . . not a whole lot more helpful.”

“Well, giving away everything would defeat the point of the test.”

“Right. So, if we pass, then what?”

“Then you move to the next phase of training.” You took another sip. Your eyes didn’t break from his own. “Same as my unit.”

The idea shouldn’t have made him as excited as it did. Advanced training meant more pain. More demanding exercises. More blood and bruises. It also meant that he would be one step closer to being ready. It meant that he would be able to manage whatever came his way. It meant, perhaps, that he would be in like company more often than just mealtimes and personal hours. That shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did.

“So, maybe we branch out,” you offered, interrupting his thoughts as you rested your arms against the table. “Focus on more than just knives.”

And that was how Leon found himself at the firing range that evening, holding a handgun instead of a knife. He might have hated how natural it felt to him, a few months ago. Now, it was a welcome relief. There was even some twisted excitement to it, because he’d agreed to this not only for the practice. You were at his side, holding your own gun like you’d been born with one in your hand. Part of him wouldn’t have been surprised if that were really the case.

The two of you had headphones on, though something told Leon that both of you had long since begun to damage your hearing with the sound of gunfire. Still, any words would be muffled, so you didn’t speak. You just tilted your head towards the targets downrange.

That was all the signal Leon needed.

Live rounds. STRATCOM wanted the best from their recruits and didn’t mind fronting the money for the munitions. It meant that an officer stood on duty by the door, there to observe. Neither of you paid him much mind.

There were twelve rounds in the magazine of his gun. Twelve times, as he pointed the gun forward, he squeezed the trigger. Twelve little ringing sounds as the shells fell to the floor.

When those twelve rounds were fired, Leon felt a little swell of pride in him as he looked through twelve holes punched through the target. Not quite dead center on all of them, but damned close.

He couldn’t help but look over at you, grinning like a bandit because, at last, he got to prove that he was good at something. If he was being honest with himself, that was part of why he’d agreed to this. He knew that you didn’t think less of him for his skill level in anything - you had never given him anything but respect. Still, it felt good to be able to show you that he wasn’t some helpless rookie. Not in every aspect, at least.

It made the impressed look you gave him all the better. “Not bad,” Leon read your lips before you turned towards your own target, your eyes narrowing as you took aim. You were fast, firing with a practiced precision. Quick and efficient, the same way you fought. Leon watched as you tore through the target, his eyes switching between the range and the steady iron of your arms.

When it was done, you stepped back, setting your pistol down and taking your headphones off. “Not so bad yourself,” Leon gestured down range. You’d shot about the same as he had, from the look of things, and he wouldn't have expected anything less.

“Years of practice,” you said, matter-of-factly. “You’ve got a natural talent, looks like. Or beginner’s luck.”

“What? Don’t think I’ve had ‘years of practice’ too?”

“Not with the military, you haven’t.”

“That obvious?”

“No soldiers I know have that haircut.”

Leon, for all he had been through, all the times you’d handed his ass to him, felt himself go a little red at the comment. It must have been obvious, because you looked entirely too pleased with yourself. The grin you let slip made it worth it, he supposed. “You’ve been holding on to that one for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Since day one,” you nodded, shifting your weight onto one leg and grabbing at the headphones around your neck.

“Well, it’s not beginner’s luck,” Leon insisted, “I did have some training. I was going to be a cop.”

“Of course, you were,” you shook your head, not at all surprised. “But what do you mean ‘going to be’?”

He wasn’t sure if that night was getting easier to talk about, exactly, but Leon found the answer escaping him quickly all the same. “I really only got one day in.”

“Ah,” you nodded, understanding as you always did. So much of what the two of you had shared about that night were the monstrosities. The why and how. Not so much what life was like before.

“What about you?” he asked, eager to switch the subject off of his only day on the job. “How long have you been serving?”

Before you answered, your eyes flitted off to the side like you were doing the math in your mind. “Four . . . almost five years, now.”

Leon let out a little huff of air, his eyebrows rising. “Did you join right out of high school?” You had to have - if he was guessing your age correctly.

“Yep,” you nodded, your answer short and stiff.

He wondered if he’d interpreted it correctly for only a moment before he asked another question. “Never thought of doing anything else?” He almost couldn’t picture it - you working some normal job in a city, spending hours a day at a desk or rushing between tables. You seemed so natural in this life . . . but he knew better than anyone that not everyone who was here had chosen to live this way.

You paused, eyebrows drawn together as you thought. “I thought about it,” you finally admitted, and the resignation in your voice gave Leon pause. “Not sure what I would have done, to be honest.”

“What made you join?”

He expected the answer he got before you even opened your mouth. “Pass.”

Another missing piece, but if it wasn’t one you wanted him to have, then he could do without.

“Well,” Leon breathed, “you’re a damn good soldier. Whatever your reasons.”

You looked up at him then, something flickering behind your eyes. “That wouldn’t be flattery, would it?” Your voice was low. Why was it so low? So the officer at the door wouldn’t hear? That had to be it.

“Not flattery,” Leon shook his head, speaking earnestly. “Just fact.”

You huffed, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “Alright, pretty boy-” you said it and Leon might have choked because he never - never - thought to hear those words from you, “-less talking, more shooting.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been called that here. He’d heard Valeria and some of the others refer to him that way - even Krauser, on a rare occasion. Always mocking, when it came to the Major. Hearing it from you . . . it shouldn’t have thrown him for a loop, but here he was, reeling like you’d knocked him in the back of the head.

The last time he’d felt like that-

He wouldn’t let himself think of it. Not when he knew where that spiral of thoughts would lead him. Instead, he moved back to the firing range, about to slide the headphones back over his ears when your voice stopped him.

“Tell you what,” you grinned, “we’ll keep score tonight. Whoever wins gets the knife tomorrow.”

And whoever lost . . . “Fighting full out?” he asked, glad of the distraction - both from Ada’s memory and from the effect your words had on him.

“Full out,” you nodded.

“. . . I don’t think I’d do very well against you unarmed,” Leon admitted, because he knew damn well that it was the truth.

“Well,” you shrugged, pulling your headphones back on and glancing over at him with a smirk, “then I guess you’d better shoot straight.”

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Chapter Index

A/N: Leon is down so bad and who could blame him?

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

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