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jojissalsa · 5 months

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Dangerous Game (part one)

you get a new job as a federal agent for the F.O.S, and now you're stuck dealing with the reckless D.S.O agent, Leon Kennedy.

Warnings: dom/older!Leon, sub!reader, slight age gap (reader is in late 20s, up to y'all), dirty thoughts, masturbation (f and m). this one is fairly tame. kinda.

WC: 2.8k

an: hey y'all!! i'm hoping to make this into a 3 parter, felt like my idea is a lil too big for just one fic, that's why this one is probably a tad more tame compared my previous stuff. as per usual, critique, reposts and requests are welcome! enjoy <3 (minors do not interact, go touch grass.)

Working for the Field Operations Support is fairly easy, you got a nice seat at the front desk as the receptionist, you’ve worked there for a good couple of years. Nothing crazy ever happened, and everyone respected you pretty well. Especially Hunnigan. Well, Ingrid to you, Hunnigan to your coworkers. You always respected her the most, always envious of her job. You initially applied for her job, but you could take being a receptionist. You could live vicariously through her, since she seemed to like you the most in and outside of work. Hunnigan was always so sweet, giving you a pleasant smile and a morning chat whenever she’d come in for work, bringing you lunch as you two got closer. That also opened the door to lots of girl talk, mainly about how stressful the job was sometimes. Hunnigan loved her job, truly, but it came with heavy challenges. A very heavy one would be Leon Kennedy, a D.S.O agent she’s worked with for a majority of her career.

You’ve heard some of the horror stories from her about the bioweapons, insidious cults and rich white guys that try to carry on Umbrella’s work but fail miserably every time. This time seemed a bit different though, more final for her. “Honestly, the guy is an idiot sometimes. Likable, but an idiot.” You snicker at how nice she’s being for how pissed she looks, angrily sipping her coffee from the breakroom. “I think you mean he’s a lovable dumbass, but I guess that works too.” You chuckle softly, stirring sugar into your own fresh cup of coffee. “Hey, I’m serious this time. I mean, come on, I’m getting older.” Hunnigan watches as you sit down across from her, a worried expression starting to take over your features. “You really think it’s time to call it quits?” “Maybe not quitting just yet, just maybe looking over a different agent. Spots are starting to open up y’know.” Your eyebrows shoot up at that, trying to hide your excitement as you look down to sip your coffee. “Well, maybe I can take your spot? I’m pretty confident, and I’ve done all the training.” She shares your new found excitement, reaching out to put her hand over yours. “I’ll pull some strings, okay? I think we both need a change of scenery.” Her sweet smile never fails to spread to you, you can trust her. She’s been your best friend, if you’re being honest, and you’re sure she shares the same sentiment.

It didn’t take long for those strings to be pulled, and soon you were standing in front of the President and a few other important men in nice suits, watching as you shake hands and smile awkwardly. Finally, you get a briefing on the infamous federal agent you would be helping. Leon Scott Kennedy. He’s got a good reputation with everyone in the room, saying that while he may have an “eccentric” personality, he’s a hard working man, compliments all coming from the President. You heard about it from Hunnigan and a few other agents that he saved his daughter from a deathly cult, and brought it all down in the same day. You could tell from his file that he clearly worked a lot, even if he didn’t get this job on his own violation. Sucks that he was forced into his life, but it’s good that he’s making it work. Seems like a good looking guy too, at least from the small picture of him clipped to the folder.

And now you’re waiting for that good looking guy to walk into your new office, setting down a few knick-knacks you had on your previous desk. You turn your head to the sound of someone walking in, your eyes widening as they set on the man who seemed to be searching for someone. Good looking was an understatement of the century. The way his blazer fits just right on his biceps, his light brown hair and piercing gaze that just speaks "brooding loner", if you weren't at work you'd have fallen to your knees the second he made eye contact with you. You try to reel in your awe as he walks up to you, dusting off your clothes to make you look put together. "So you're my new babysitter? Y/n, right? I'm Leon Kennedy." Just the sound of his voice is enough to give you goosebumps, but your name from his lips is like a drug that gets you hooked instantly. And just like that, something flips in your brain, you are so not gonna be professional, how can you? How can anyone handle themselves around this man? You shake his hand as he extends it for you, and the feel of his rough hand from hard work sends so many dirty thoughts through your mind, like how good it would feel with his fingers on your neck, or his palm pressed against your tit, or how thick his fingers would feel inside you- chill out, play it cool.

"It's great to finally meet you, Mr. Kennedy, everyone has told me a lot about you.." You make sure to say it in a sultry tone to make it obvious how much you think he's attractive, and he sure as hell catches it. "Good things, I hope." He chuckles, giving you a sly smirk. Oh he knows. Fuck. "Oh don't worry, it's been all good things, promise. Though, I have heard that you made Hunnigan’s job a lot harder." You tease, looking him up and down and matching his sly smirk. Two can play that game. "Sure, but I get the job done, no?" The way he says it is so damn sexy you're sure he's doing what you're doing. "I'm sure you get a lot of things done with that attitude, Mr. Kennedy." You act like you're being sarcastic as you cross your arms under your chest, but you know how he could make you cum with the brush of his arm. "Only one way to find out, right?" That one makes your eyebrows raise, your smile widening as you blush slightly. "Is that an invitation?" You drop your voice slightly, leaning against the wall. The curve of your body sends a shockwave of arousal through him, and his eyes narrow on your figure. "If that's what you think I meant then by all means." He's so damn smug and it just makes you wanna sit on his face to shut him up.

"Is there anything you wanna ask me? About myself, the job?" You try to sound professional and not desperate, but you feel like it's helpless when you're looking up at him and he's so obviously checking you out, his eyes taking note of every curve on your body. Like he’s studying it for later. "I think I have a pretty good idea from Hunnigan and the President, is there anything you wanna ask me?" His question makes your eyes light up, but you don't wanna immediately ask him on a date. Classy, that's who you are to your core. "I can ask you anything I want?" "Anything." You smile smugly, lowering your hand to take his, clearly inspecting his ring finger as you bring it closer to you. "Do you have a girl? I don't see a ring on your finger." You say it in an innocent yet flirty tone that he so obviously gets turned on from, considering how he chuckles lightly as he shakes his head before taking his hand away. "So observant. I guess that comes with the job, huh? No, I'm single." Always such a tease, I guess neither of you can help that though. "Really? I have a hard time believing that." You have a faux surprised look on your face, all in the name of trying to get him to blush. You're getting close, you can feel it. "Is it? I'm an old man, what can I say." That one gets you shifting your thighs, biting your lip as you think of just how much older. What kind of experience comes with that age? "Old man, hmm? You ever thought of being with someone younger?" You step a little closer, just barely invading his personal space. "Haven't met anybody that can keep up." He says it so nonchalant, but fuck if it doesn't light a fire that spreads throughout your body. God, it's so hard not to say you could totally keep up, doesn't matter how long he'd want it. "Keep up, hmm? What, does this job give you a lot of stamina or something?" Your question makes him smile at you confidently, and it gets you oh so excited. "Well, I meant that most women don't like that I'm constantly busy, but if you wanna be dirty minded about it, be my guest." He totally stumps you, and it just makes you giggle and rest your hand on his arm, letting out a lil “my bad” before letting it slip away. You're slick, cause you honestly just touched his arm to feel how firm it was, and oh my god. Like diamonds, kind of hard. You can't imagine how fucking good it’d feel wrapped around your neck- there you go again. Snap out of it.

“You're pretty funny, you know that? I’m gonna have fun talking to you. For work, of course.” He let out a soft laugh at your flattery, loving how you tried to soften the thirstiness of your words with a joke. It's cute, you're really trying to say he's not hot. “Trust me, Hunnigan got very tired of my jokes.” You scoff, cause honestly, who could get tired of this guy? “Sorry, but she doesn't know what she's talking about, clearly you're an A class comedian.” You make it sound a little sarcastic, but he doesn't seem offended in the slightest. He loves a challenge. “Yeah? Aren't you a sweetheart? You love to flatter.” Your eyes widen a bit, resisting the urge to squeal and fan your hot face like a rabid fangirl, simply looking away to try and take a moment away from his hungry gaze. “I mean, it's hard not to, Mr. Kennedy..” You sheepishly give him that win, you’ll take it since he called you sweetheart, and in that teasing, cocky fucking tone of all things. If Cupid was real, you’d probably have a million arrows in your back right now. He parts his lips to reply, but gets cut off by his phone ringing, taking it out of his pocket to see the President calling. “Shit, I gotta take this.” He sighs, clearly wanting to keep talking to you instead. “It’s just Leon by the way, no need for formalities.” You get a smug smile again before he starts to walk back to the door of your office, walking with him to let him leave so you could wave him goodbye. “I’ll see you around, okay?” You nod, your smirk not leaving as he waits for you to say goodbye. “I’ll see you around, Mr. Kennedy~” You and your teasing, it's gonna throw him into cardiac arrest. He shares your smugness before begrudgingly answering his phone, looking back to see you waving bye at him with your dainty little hand. Like you knew he didn't wanna end the conversation.

He couldn't stop thinking about you all damn day after your little exchange, could barely focus on his briefing or look anyone in the eye. Even when he got home, knowing he had to wake up supremely early for work, he couldn't get you off his mind. You weren’t like every corporate drone the D.S.O hires, nothing like Hunnigan either. Bless the woman, but he would finally have someone to laugh at his shitty dad jokes. No wonder you got the job. You were drop dead gorgeous to him, not daring to come close to any Victoria Secret model. The way you giggle when you're nervous, how you sneak touches or how forward you are. God, it took every fiber in his body to not grab you and fuck you in a storage closet. Or against the wall? He just towers over you, he could fold you like a lawn chair and you’d take every inch. Fuck, how did his cock get in his hand? Who cares, honestly. He’s too busy spitting in his hand, too worked up to get anything better to help him jerk off. He groans, thinking of how good your soft, delicate fingers you used to wave at him would feel wrapped around his dick, whispering in his ear in that sexy voice you have. He feels chills down his spine when he remembers the way you teased him, how you didn't even say his name. Cause you didn't wanna give it to him yet, that satisfaction. Jesus, you're gonna kill him before any bioweapon does if you keep that shit up. His hand gets faster as his thoughts keep speeding forward, thinking about how good you’d sound saying his name. Not Mr. Kennedy, Leon. He has to hear it, has to hear you scream it when you cum on his cock. He needs to know how pretty you’d look when you cum, clinging to his arms, maybe even digging your nails into his back as your legs lock around his waist. So fucking hot as you beg to have him fill you up. He cums in his hand, spilling out of his palm and down his happy trail. He lets out a heavy sigh, catching his breath as he comes down from his high. He's not even close to feeling satisfied, even as he gets up to go shower again. He needs you, and he knows you feel the same. Hard part is gonna be getting you, without all the stress of what your coworkers would say.

You honestly don't stray too far from how he felt that night either. The second you closed the door to your office, you sat down and processed everything. It was a lot, seeing a man that fucking fine and not being able to drop to your knees and take his cock in your mouth. You were close to sprinting to a bathroom and taking care of the issue, maybe even slipping a hand between your legs and just testing the waters. Literally. He made you so wet, and you could feel it your entire shift, even as you walked to your car. You could only imagine how wet you’d get if he actually did anything. If he talked dirty? Him telling you to cum would make you do it on the spot, no question. Fuck, if he touched you? You’d be screaming like a damn pornstar, waking up the whole building when he slides his cock inside you. It's all you can think about when you get home, not caring to take a shower when you do. You just plop down on your bed and practically tear your clothes off, desperate for relief. Maybe that’ll save your career, fucking yourself thinking about him. So you do, pulling your nightstand drawer open the second you’re naked, taking out ol’ reliable. You can't count on your hands how many times this vibrator was there for you, it was way more reliable than your parents or therapist. Or you could be addicted to cumming, that too. But who wouldn't be? It's not your concern, especially if it's because of Leon. You wanna hear him say the most degrading, defiling, depraved shit in the world but still praise you for it, praise you for putting out so easily cause you're such a good girl. If fucking him with no hesitation makes you a slut, then you wear that badge proudly. That title feels even better when you start moaning his name, your toy hitting that sweet spot which makes you move your hand faster, needing to cum so damn bad. It feels so dirty in the best way possible, thinking of how firm his thighs would feel under your hands as you grip them tighter every time he shoves his cock further down your throat. You can’t imagine how fucking hot it’d be to hear him order you to grind your wet cunt on his boot, holding your hair so hard that you can’t help but push your nose against his pelvis, making your clit nudge against his boot again. Hearing that cocky son of a bitch tell you to cum would be like the devil coaxing you to join him down in hell, too sinful to imagine without having the real thing. It doesn't stop you from cumming on your toy, whining as your legs shake, turning it off as you heave out breaths. You’re fine if you think about him every night, it's good material for your shower thoughts. You’re more excited for his upcoming mission, making you all giddy as you get ready for bed. You're gonna be insufferable. Lucky Leon~

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon resident evil #resident evil smut #smut #older leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy infinite darkness

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kiddoryder · 6 months

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Twin Talk

Hey guys! Sorry it’s been a while since I wrote a fanfic. Been busy with life. I actually do like Blitzo’s sister Barbie Wire. I actually hope we get to see more of her soon.

This story is about Barbie meeting my OC Liz.

So relax and enjoy the story!

Barbie - “Satan fucking damn it! Why the fuck Blitzo had to come in and ruined my fucking life?!”

After the camp site incident, Barbie now lost her supplier. When she told her boss what happened, he actually decided not to fire her. The reason? Because he didn’t wanna bother looking for another employee that can get weeks. While Barbie is grateful she didn’t get fired, she now has to deliver meds in Sloth. Which sucks because sometimes the customers are rude as hell, too lazy to remember what they order, and don’t give enough tips.

Today Barbie just had to deliver meds to the St. An hospital. Barbie has the bag of meds in her bag and was waiting impatiently for the elevator to open. The elevator ding and opened. Barbie checked the bag and it said “To Liz M. Room 345”.

Barbie - *pissed* “Can’t believe I’m fucking stuck delivery med to some snot nose little brat. She has fucking parents, why can’t they fucking give her meds?!”

The elevator ding and it left Barbie at the floor she was supposed to be at. Barbie left the elevator and was surprised how the hallway actually looked more fancier. It had golden apple design taperary, statues of Lucifer, and his logo.

Barbie - *confused* “What the fuck? Why the hell is the kid on this fancy ass floor? Is this the floor I’m suppose to be on?”

Barbie looked at the bag twice and noticed the note was a little smidge, but it clearly said: VIP. Which everybody knows it means Very Important Person. Wanting to finish the job just to get over it, Barbie just walked down the hall and saw room 345.

Barbie opened the door and saw Liz resting in a hospital bed. Looking tired and exhausted. Barbie's eyes also widen in shock because she recognizes the red cheeks and skin.

Barbie - *shocked* “Holy shit! Are you Lucifer’s kid?”

Liz - “Huh? No. Lucifer is my Uncle.”

Barbie - “Huh. Never did I think I would see royal blue blood in a dump like this.”

Liz - “Well I needed my appendix out. It was either here or let it explode into little tiny pieces. And that would have ended ugly.”

Barbie - *chuckles* “Nice to see you have some sense of humor. The name Barbie Wire.”

Liz - “Barbie Wire? Were your parents drunk when they named you that?”

Barbie - *chuckles* “Most likely my father. The guy could drink 2 or 3 bottles of booze like it was water.”

Liz - “Huh. He would have been good friends with my Dad. He always likes to drink wine.”

Barbie - “My Dad was more into cheap booze shit. He called wine “fancy pissed water that royal blue blood fuckers drinks.”

Liz - *giggled* “My name is Liz.”

Barbie - “Nice to meet you. So, where is your parents' kid?”

Liz - “My dad had to go to work, and so did my mom. But they promise to come back later.”

Barbie - *a little uncomfortable* “So…You’re all alone?”

Liz - “Well not really. I mean I’ll be okay.”

Barbie was having a strange feeling inside of her. What was it? Was it sadness? Uncomfortable? Or was it feeling bad for somebody? Either way, she didn’t want Liz to be by herself. Barbie looked at her watch and see how she actually have a lot of time for herself.

Barbie - “Ya know what? I’ll give you some company.”

Liz - “Don’t you have to go back to work?”

Barbie - “Eh. Those assholes can wait. I got lot of time.”

Liz - “Yeah. I heard the people in sloths are lazy bums.”

Barbie - *chuckles* “You're telling me. The receptionist claimed she couldn’t read or write yet she still did it anyway.”

Liz - “I guess she drank for breakfast.”

Barbie - *laughs* “That’s a good one! I like people with my kind of sense of humor.”

Liz - *laughs* “Well I am part of the Carny Rangers.”

Barbie - “Carny Rangers?”

Liz - “It’s a kid scout but it's a circus theme. You have fun, earn badges, and learn some circus trick shit.”

Barbie - “Oh I actually know some circus tricks. I actually worked at a circus once.”

Liz - “That must have been a dream come true.”

Barbie - “Yeah it wasn’t bad. I mean I did the tightrope, acrobat shit, it was actually pretty fun.”

Liz - “Yeah my twin sister and I love circus stuff.”

Barbie - *confused* “Twin sister?”

Liz - “Yeah. I have a twin sister name Sonya. She was resting in the mind house.”

Sonya came out in shadow and waved at Barbie. Barbie almost fell out of the chair she was sitting on.

Barbie - *shocked* “What the fuck is that thing?!”

Liz - *annoyed* “Heh ya deaf or blind? Or both? This is my twin sister Sonya.”

Barbie - “Why the fuck is she a shadow?!”

Liz - “We are a Gemini.”

Barbie - “A Gemi-what?”

Liz - “Gemini. It is a rare gift where two twins share the same body thanks to the Gemini star.”

Barbie - “What sort of fucking gift is that? If anything you should get rid of that shit.”

Liz - *offended* “Excuse me?”

Barbie - “Twin sibling are nothing but fucking shit-heads who fuck up your life.”

Liz - “Don’t you dare talk about my sister that way!”

Barbie - “Look, I’m only giving you advice because having a sibling, especially a twin known to screw you over.”

Liz - *angry* “Look you bitch, you know nothing about my sister so there’s no way I’m gonna get rid of her!”

Barbie - *angry* “I’m just trying to help you!”

Liz - *angry* “I don’t need your fucking help you-“

Then all of a sudden, Liz felt a pain in her stomach. Barbie looks concerned for her. Even Sonya looked worried for her sister.

Barbie - “Hey kid are you okay?”

Liz - *groans in pain* “Y-Yeah.”

Sonya knows when her sister is lying thanks to the pain on Liz’s face. Sonya gently moved Liz’s hand and saw that the stitches popped and was bleeding again.

Sonya - “Oh crap! Her stitches came out!”

Barbie saw that despite being in her shadow form, Sonya grabbed a towel and gently put it on Liz’s sides. Barbie looking worried and said:

Barbie - “Hey! We need a fucking doctor in here now!”

A minute later, a doctor came in and helped and fixed the stitches. Barbie was standing in the hallway waiting to see if Liz is okay. Then 15 minutes later, the doctor left and Barbie went back inside the room. Barbie then noticed Liz still looked tired and in pain and realized she still had Liz’s meds. Barbie took some pills out of the bottle, got a cup of water and handed it to Liz.

Barbie - “Here. You need this.”

Liz - *take a deep breath* “Thanks.”

Liz took the meds and drank some water. Barbie had that strange feeling again when she saw that Liz was alone. Barbie hated having those feelings again. She took a seat next to Liz’s bed and said:

Barbie - “Sorry kid.”

Liz - “For what? You basically saved my life right now.”

Barbie - “With the help of your sister of course. I'm sorry for what I said earlier. It's just that…I had a bad experience with a twin.``

Liz - “Wait, you have a twin sister?”

Barbie - “Actually a twin brother. Blitzo.”

Liz - *eyes widen* “Holy crap! I know him, he’s a friend of mine and my sister.”

Barbie - *scoff* “You would have been better off not knowing him. Bastard ruined my life.”

Liz - “How?”

Barbie took a deep breath and began to tell Liz everything. How the fire happened on Fizz’s birthday, the firework explosion, Fizz getting badly hurt, Blitzo and Barbie mom’s death, the circus being burnt down, etc. Liz and Sonya were actually listening and was surprised how Blitzo actually had a dark past.

Barbie - “….And just when I was getting my life together, he just had to show up and fuck my life all over again!”

Liz - “Man…Sound brutal dude. But don’t you think you were hard on him too?”

Barbie - *offended* “What?! He’s the one that screwed my life!”

Liz - “So what? You honestly thought he was like “Oh! I’m gonna start a fire and hurt everybody and kill my mom! Tra lalalala!”

Barbie - “…No. But it was still his fault! He should have saved our mother!”

Liz - “Why didn’t you save her or your dad?”

Barbie - “We tried! But we couldn’t do it…”

Liz - “So you guys couldn’t do this, but Blitzo can? Does that make sense to you?”

Barbie - “Well…You know how long it took for me to finally get clean and get a job?!”

Liz - “Come on dude that was your choice to do those drugs. He didn’t give them to you or force you to take them. Besides, to me it sounds like the fire was just an accident. Have you ever even ask him how he felt about it?”

Those words hit Barbie like a ton of bricks: she was so wrapped up in her pain and feelings, she never even bothered to ask her own brother about the accident. But that still didn’t change that he was the reason their circus and home burnt down.

Liz - “Beside, put yourself in his shoes…Well, boots actually: if he was the one in rehab and left and you tried to reach out to him, but Blitzo coldly turned you away. Wouldn’t you feel hurt that your own twin is turning you away?”

Barbie stood in silence. For a kid, Liz is rather wise. Barbie just crossed her arms and looked down on the floor. It’s like she wants to admit that Liz was right, but at the same time, Barbie is still angry and hurt by what her brother did.

Liz - “One more thing. Siblings aren’t perfect. I mean my twin sister Sonya maybe an annoying nerd *Sonya give her a disapprove look* but I love her. I wouldn’t trade her for the world. Just because there are some bad times, doesn’t mean there’s no good ones. I mean Blitzo really does care about you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have tried to find you.”

Barbie’s eyes widened. She never thought of it like that. Blitzo was finding her because that’s her twin brother. Her other half. He cared about her unlike their drunk goat of a father who didn’t even bother to visit. Maybe deep down she was just blaming Blitzo to cover up her own shame and guilt for not saving their mother and getting hooked on drugs.

Barbie - *doubtful* “What if…It’s too late to make up?”

Liz - “It’s never too late. Just because some years past, doesn’t mean it had to stop. You can still be in each other life for as young as you lived.”

Barbie - *smiles* “Thanks for the advice kid. Sorry for acting like a bitch.”

Liz - “Eh. I met bigger bitches then you. I mean, have you met Verosika?”

They both laugh at this. Then Barbie looked at her watch and said:

Barbie - “Hey I gotta go. *write down something on a piece of paper* here’s my number if you ever wanna talk again. But I’ll come by tomorrow.”

Liz - *smiles* “Thanks dude.”

They both wave bye to each other Barbie begins to walk out of the hospital. She looked at her phone and started to look at some old pictures. It was old pictures of her and her family spending time together. Then she saw ones of her and Blitzo as kids playing together, doing circus acts, playing pranks, etc. Barbie then had tears in her eyes and the tears fell on her phone.

She didn’t want to cry in front of Liz. But Liz’s words hit her through the heart: she turned away Blitzo, the only person who cared about her beside their mom. She wasted so much time being angry and blaming him, that she forgot about the good times she had with her brother. Deep down, she missed her brother, but felt like it was too painful to see him.

Now knowing what to do, Barbie began to go to her block page, unblocked the only person on it, and began to call. It took a few minutes and then it picked up.

Blitzo - “Hello?”

Barbie - *sighs* “Hey Blitz..”

Blitzo - “Barb?! What happened? Are you okay? Did you get on that stupid drugs again? Cause I can help get you clean-“

Barbie - *annoyed* “No shithead! I *take a deep breath and calm down* I just wanted to say…I’m sorry.”

Blitzo - “No Barb, you and Nurse Annoying Vagina Mouth was right: I should of left you annoyed when you were trying to rebuilt your life and-“

Barbie - “No, it’s not just that. I’m sorry about what happened…On Fizz’s birthday.”

Blitzo - “….What about it?”

Barbie - *sighs* “I was putting too much blame on you. It was an accident. Yeah you caused it, but at the same time didn’t do it on purpose. I guess I was just so hurt and angry that Mom was gone and I was too chicken shit to save her during the fire.”

Blitzo - “Hey don’t put this on yourself, I should have saved her.”

Barbie - “No Blitz. Dad and I could have done something but you know Dad being the drunken dickhead that he is, and me well…I could have gotten help or at least tried like you did. But I just stood there and did nothing…”

Blitzo - “Barb…”

Barbie - “Worst of all, I got on those stupid drugs and turned you away when you were trying to help me…I wasted so much time…I guess I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me because how I use to be like this great circus star now I’m a wash up loser while you starting your own company and Fizz is living a fairy tale life.”

Blitzo - “Barbie you listen to me: you’re not a washed up loser. Beside Fizz, you were a great performer. You made some

mistakes, so have I, but what is important is that you get your ass up, and keep showing dickshits that you’re still the best bitch in hell!”

Barbie - *chuckles* “You have the way with words.”

Blitzo - “Well I did learn that stuff from the internet…What made you decide to talk to me again?”

Barbie - “A kid and her twin.”

Blitzo - “Nice. Hey if you want, you can always work with me and my company. We can always use the extra help.”

Barbie - “Nah. That’s your thing. I gotta find my own. Say…You’re still offering that dinner?”

Blitzo - “Yeah?”

Barbie - “I wouldn’t mind getting free food. Especially if you’re paying.”

Blitzo - “I was thinking more about dine and dash. Or fucking the waiter so we can get free meal. But that's fine too. I’ll see you there.”

Barbie - *laughs* “Okay I’ll meet you in the city.”

Blitzo - “Fantastic. And Barb? Thanks for talking to me. Love you.”

Barbie - “Love you too ya weird bastard.”

Barbie hung up and smiled. She can’t remember the last time she smiled or feeling this happy in a long time. It actually felt good talking to Blitzo and spilling her guts on how she felt. She knows that despite the many mistakes she made in her life, she can’t let it stop her from living and moving on. Her mom would want that for her. Barbie have high hopes that her life is gonna change for the better.

All thanks to the Gemini girls.

Hope you all like it!

#helluva boss #barbie wire #Liz #my oc #my fanfic #Blitzo #fanfic

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finn-writes-stuff · 3 years

Note

First of all congratulations! Now I could I request 33 from the dialog prompts with sniper from tf2?

33. “There’s…. Only one bed.”

I’ll be honest, I’m not super happy with this. It’s something though, so enjoy?

Sniper x Reader

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Format: Drabble

Gender-neutral reader

Tf2 Masterlist

Commission Info

Today had been a very long day.

You and Sniper had been sent off base for what had seemed like a simple mission, but everything that could’ve gone wrong, had gone wrong. Sniper had dark bruises along his jaw, and you were covered in mud.

It was a long story, but suffice to say, you both couldn’t wait to get into your hotel room and fall asleep. Ms Pauline had booked the rooms, and she was usually good for making sure it wasn’t a flea infested motel at least.

You both had high hopes for at least a good nights sleep after this awful day. Sniper had been leaning on you the whole way to the hotel, the exhaustion in his bones apparent. (It couldn’t have been comfortable for him to lean on you like that, with how tall he was, but you weren’t going to complain. You liked having him close.)

The smell of his cigarettes clung to him, a telltale sign of how stressful today had been. You knew he didn’t often smoke on the job, especially never when waiting with his rifle. But after everything going wrong, you couldn’t fault him a few smokes.

You’d been trying to get closer with sniper for a while now, his dry sarcasm was all the more endearing when you knew you got to hear it so much more than the rest of the team. He was still quiet around you, but you’d gained enough of his trust and respect to be the one he made his quips to when one of the other Mercs were being stupid.

And so you had expected to relish this mission, getting to spend some time alone with him. This was supposed to be great! Instead you were counting down the seconds until you could get a shower, and he was practically falling asleep on his feet as you walked into the hotel.

You knew you must’ve been a sight but you smiled wearily at the receptionist, rattling off the fake name the reservation was under. They seemed concerned, but you sped through the interaction,

Avoiding questions, Once that awkward conversation was over and you had the room key, you pulled Sniper along with you to the elevator.

“Just one room?” He asked as you pressed the button for your floor.

“Yep, haven’t you heard Pauline? There have been a bunch of budget cuts lately for her. Getting us two king suites is a bit much to ask for, I suppose,” You tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a tired cough.

“So long as I’m not sleeping on a hard floor, I’m happy,” he replied. Sniper’s smile was tired but sweet, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. Your matching smiles stuck around as you walked down the hall to your rooms

Of course, when you opened the door to the hotel room, your smiles dropped.

“There’s…. Only one bed.” You said slowly, walking into the room and looking around as if another would be hiding around the corner.

“God fucking damnit.” Sniper had walked over to the bed, and grabbed a note that was lying on the blanket. “Sorry guys, budget cuts. You know how it is. Pauline.” He read out, scoffing. “Fucking budget cuts.”

“She really couldn’t have warned us beforehand?” You asked, dropping your bag by the wall.

“Probably knew we’d bother her for something better. It’s fine, I can sleep on the floor.” He replied.

“What? You had a long day, got beat up, and not three minutes ago said that you didn’t want to sleep in the floor, Snipes,” you said immediately. He looked like death warmed over right now, there’s no way you were gonna make him sleep on the floor. “I can take the floor,” you insisted.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor. You can have the bed.”

“Well you’re not sleeping on the floor either! You need the bed more than I do.”

“I’m taking the floor.”

“If you sleep on the floor I will to!”

“Crikey, either I sleep on the floor or we share the bed, alright? I’m not making ya sleep on the floor.”

“Then we can share,” you said “It’ll be fine, and we’ll both sleep better there than the floor.”

“That’s fine with me then.” He dropped his bag on the bed, and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “You can use the shower first, Go ahead.”

You weren’t going to argue with that, you could feel the mud everywhere and it was awful.

You jumped through the shower quickly, not wanting to keep him waiting for his turn, and did your best to keep your thoughts away from the situation at hand. Sharing a bed with him? It was out of convenience of course but still! What if you accidentally invaded his space in your sleep and he hated you for it? And he’d be so close to you either way!

Keeping your thoughts away clearly wasn’t working. You towelled off your hair roughly when you got out of the shower, shaking the thoughts away.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you say Sniper sitting at the edge of the bed, looking half asleep already. His stuff had been moved to the side of the bed, which took the burden of choosing a side off of you at least. He yawned as he stood up and walked past you, and you were hit with how exhausted you were too.

It was simple enough to slip into some pyjamas and get set up on your side of the bed. The only thing that kept you from passing out was the anxiety biting at your thoughts. Sharing a bed with him like this was totally platonic and just cause of work stuff. There was no reason to get all worked up about it.

Right?

That line of reasoning unfortunately went out the window when Sniper walked back into the room, with only some grey sweats on. Jesus Christ. You were thankful that he seemed too tired to notice you ogling him.

When he laid down in the bed, you were struck by how small the space was. He was so close to you. Not quite touching you but you could feel the warmth he radiated like a heater.

“Get some sleep, alright? We both need it,” he said, turning off the lmao next to him.

He was right, and you were tired. So even his proximity didn’t keep you from passing out just about as soon as you closed your eyes.

When you woke up, you were warm and comfortable. That was nice, but as your brain slowly turned on, you realized you should not have been warm and comfortable in this hotel room, it was the bare minimum of good enough.

Cracking your eyes open, you were met with the fact that you were curled up half on Sniper’s chest with his arms wrapped around your waist.

Fuck.

What were you supposed to do? Move? What if you woke him up? But it would be weirder if you didn’t, right?

You tried to slowly sit up, and you very quickly realized that his hold on you was too tight to just pull away without waking him up. So now you were sitting at an angle looking down at his sleeping face. He looked peaceful. When awake, Sniper always looked so stressed, but in this moment, he was calm.

You were significantly less calm. Especially when he cracked an eye open to look up at you.

“Go back t’sleep,” he mumbled, pulling you back down onto his chest. One of his hands moved up to your hair, gently holding you as he fell back asleep, his breath evening out once again.

#finnwrites #tf2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 sniper #tf2 sniper x reader #sniper x reader #team fortress 2 x reader #team fortress 2 #dialogue prompts #milestone event

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ekaterinatepes · 3 years

Text

Author Notes: this is an AU shamelessly inspired in 50 Shades of Grey. And dedicated to my lovely @tawus. Hope you enjoy this wifey ❤️ Also because I have a Daddy/Dom Gojo brain rot I must fulfill. And if you are reading this so do you lol. Reblogs and comments are the writers and fans love language ❤️ I will endeavor to make these series as detailed as possible. I feel there are a lot of details to explore and I would love to give you guys nothing but the best ;) yes, pun intended! Go check out the rest of my work.

1. (Mr. Gojo)

High heels clicked rhythmically against the lavish white marble floors in the reception of the Gojo Enterprises. A young woman with h/c hair, e/c eyes and a divine figure walked to the front desk. She had an important meeting to attend to.

Well… technically, your best friend had the meeting but since Ali was sick you had to cover for her and show up in her place to interview the infamous magnate, business shark and most desirable bachelor in Japan, the one and only Mr. Gojo Satoru.

The beautiful blonde at the reception looked like a super model, ugh… was everyone in this place required to be gorgeous to be hired or something? Luckily, she was nice and kind enough to show you the way to the meeting room but before you crossed the door a male voice came from behind you both. “Vana. Is that Miss Michael?” He asked referring to you; when the secretary nodded he gave you a quick look and added “I’ll see Miss Michael in my office Vana…” the secretary looked shocked but didn’t comment on her boss’ request. She merely asked you to follow her.

All you could see was the retreating tall frame of a very handsome and tall man with disheveled platinum hair wearing a tailored grey suit that you were certain costed more than what you made in a month.

The receptionist left after she gestured for you to walk through a set of tall black doors that seemed made out of onyx.

Inside, the office space of Gojo Satoru awaited. One of the ‘walls’ was a window that looked over the Metropoli landscape of Tokyo. The entire space was exquisitely decorated in black, grey and golden tones. It certainly reflected the personality of its owner. Powerful and intimidating.

“Please, Miss Michael take a seat” his silky smooth voice invited you in a polite manner while he took a seat behind his desk.

“Th… thank you Sir. But, I am afraid I am not Ali Michael. She could not make it to this meeting; she is sick as so she had to remain home. I am her room mate Y/N L/N; and I am here in her place to help with the interview” you explained as efficiently as your brain allowed.

Damn it! Get a hold of yourself girl! You admonished yourself mentally. You were nervous.

Mr. Gojo leaned forward on his desk taking you in like a predator would a prey. God! You swallowed when his crystalline orbs roamed over you. You had never seen eyes like those in your entire life.

Was he fully Japanese? It couldn’t be. He had some clearly asian features but those eyes, his hair and height resembled more the European type, maybe even Nordic?

He made you feel like a gazelle being targeted by a lion. “In that case, Miss L/N, allow me to welcome you properly. Welcome to Gojo Enterprises. Please proceed whenever you are ready”.

Shifting on your seat a little fidgety you opened the folder in your hands to read the questions Ali prepared for you to formulate.

Clearing your throat you looked for a pen in your bag but sadly you were out of luck. Too shy to ask the handsome man for one you chew on your lip while debating whether it was worth asking.

As if he was reading your thoughts he stood up from his seat, grabbed a pen from the neatly aligned row on his desk and handed it to you “th… thank you” you took the pen and waited for him to return to his seat but Gojo decided to remain right in front of you, leaning against his desk.

Clearing your throat you started “well… Mr. Gojo, you are the youngest, most successful business man in Japan.. to what do you o—-“

“To what do I owe my success? Really?” He cut you midway.

It irritated you a little so you merely nodded “that’s what says here sir, I am merely making the questions Ali prepared for you” it wasn’t your fault she chose to ask that!

His lips twitched slightly as if he wanted to smirk but decided against. His posture tensed slightly, you noticed how his right hand gripped tighter the edge of the desk where he was sitting.

After little consideration he finally replied “I am a people person… business is about individuals at the core. And I am very good at figuring out what motivates people in general” he explained. You nodded and continued “do you have any particular projects or investments in the horizon?”

Satoru sighed looking into your eyes for a little too long, not hiding one bit he found the questions bland and repetitive, but you held his glare without hesitation. “Yes, we are expanding our company to Russia. We expect to have the new Saint Petersburg branch up and running by the end of October”.

You made a couple more questions about his company, his managing style and some personal ones until he abruptly stopped you “Are there any questions you would like to ask me that are not on your paper?” The reaction shocked you but looking into his magnetic blue gaze you felt encouraged to go on “well… earlier you said you are very good at understanding people’s motivations… does that mean that you like to control them?” Arching a brow you openly decided to come with a not so nice question since he had been on your nerves for the past 30 minutes.

Before he answered someone knocked at the door, the secretary Vana announcing his next meeting with the financial department “clear my schedule for the afternoon” he demanded not even sparing a look to his assistant in favor of holding your gaze.

“Y..you don’t have to do that, if you are busy I can just lea..-“ you tried to excuse yourself.

“No, please. There is no need for you to leave, I would like to answer all of your questions” you just knew he wasn’t talking about the interview.

Once you were alone again he moved to sit on the chair right next to yours “I like… control. But, believe me when I say you would like it if I was in control Miss L/N” his shameless answer made you blush and bite your lower lip harder than before. Was he… trying to flirt with you? His reaction was immediate, leaning closer to you his eyes were focused on your lower lip still trapped between your teeth. You thought he was going to kiss you but instead he pulled back once again. “Since you had your chance to make your questions I would appreciate it if you could extend me the same courtesy.

“Sure” you answered a little uncertain about what he wanted to know. Satoru proceed right away “you say your room mate was the one who scheduled this interview…. So, what do you do?”

“I am a Political Science student, and I am about to finish my Major. Which is why I live with Ali, we both study at the same College” Satoru clung to your every word as if your common life was the most interesting thing in the world

“What are your plans after you graduate?” Asked Gojo again. “Well… Ali and I planned to relocate permanently to Tokyo, maybe find a different place while I apply for an internship in the Department of Foreign Affairs “ Satoru seemed impressed with your answer. Your shyness seemed to be an outer layer that hid a confident woman at the core.

“I see… Gojo Enterprises have a few foreign policy programs since we are a multinational. If you ever feel like it, you should send your application and I would make sure personally that you find a place in my… company”.

“Thank you, that is a very kind offer but I am looking forward to serve in the diplomatic service”. The man smirked, as if he was amused with your defiance.

Could it really be considered defiance? You just met the guy and he was already offering you a position in his company. It seemed a little premature in your opinion.

“Ok… well, thank you for your time Mr. Gojo-“

“Satoru” he corrected you “you may address me as Satoru, Miss L/N”

“In that case, you may call me Y/N” his grin almost made you trip. It was so youthful and mischievous. Like a playful young boy instead of the business shark you had faced minutes ago.

“It was my pleasure Y/N..” he walked you out of his office and all the way to the elevator. It was as if he was waiting to do or say something but didn’t know how to approach it.

“See you soon Y/N” he said with a grin as if he knew for sure you would be seeing each other again.

“Goodbye, Satoru” was the last thing you said before the elevator’s doors closed.

The whole experience had been surreal. As soon as you walked out of the building you felt your heart racing, what the fuck was that? Gojo Satoru was a very… intense man.

“Soooooooo! How was it!?” The cute brunette sitting on the couch of your apartment asked with a stuffy nose.

“Well… it went…” you said uncertain of how to answer as you took a seat next to her.

“Pfffft! Don’t give me that shit Y/N! Tell me all the details! Give it to me straight! Was he as hot as he looks on the magazines?”

You chuckled “yes, well… he is very handsome. That’s undeniable, he is also very polite and professional!” Ali rolled her eyes “you are such a prude Y/N! “ laughing you threw a pillow at her. “He answered all your questions.”

“All of them?” Your best friend asked with a grin. You sighed “yes! All of them! And no, he is not gay! At least he said so” the brunette cackled.

“Alright! You are still sick and I am tired! I’m going to take a shower and go to bed! I have to get to work early in the morning” you announced before retiring for the evening.

1 week later

“Thank you Kinomoto-San! Have a wonderful day!” You said with a big smile as you held the door of the bookstore open for an old man to walk out with a book in his hands. “Thank you my dear! You too!” He answered in an affable voice.

Turning around you returned to the counter, there was supposed to be a shipment of books coming in today anytime. You had to be ready to received them and place them in the storage so you could catalogue and bar code them before they went on the shelves.

The bell at the door rang announcing a new customer “I’ll be with you in a moment!” You said without even noticing who entered the store.

Walking from behind a self with a couple of tomes in your arms you gasped and dropped them on the floor.

In front of you was none other than Gojo Satoru dressed in casual wear which consisted on a pair of black fitted jeans, a grey turtle neck sweater and pair of black round sunglasses.

“Miss L/N, I didn’t know you worked here…” the man commented casually while hurrying to help you pick up the books you dropped. With a blush you accepted his help “uh… yeah this is a part time job to help pay for rent and whatnot.”

After setting the books on a shelf you asked “how can I help you today?” Your question made Satoru smirk “I have a list of books I would like to purchase. I am doing some research” you nodded “of course, do you know either the title or the author?” Out of his pocket he picked a piece of paper and handed it to you.

For the briefest moment you thought it was a joke but his expression didn’t betray his intentions.

“I.. uh… y… yeah, I believe we have some of them”. Was he… for real?… the titles were along the lines of: ‘Deconstructing Kama-Sutra’, ‘The Road to Nirvana: finding pleasure activating your chakras’, and the most scandalous one ‘Diaries of a Dominant, my story as the Master’.

What in the fuck was this guy into? You didn’t question his reading preferences and merely limited yourself to search for the books in your database. Turns out you had two out of three.

“We have the first two titles but I am afraid we don’t have the third one” Satoru smiled “that is alright, I believe I can occupy myself with the first two for now” with a blush covering your cheeks you went to get his books and handed those to him.

When you gave them to Satoru he took advantage of his height to crowd your space with his imposing 6’4 of pure male perfection “thank you… have you ever read any of these?” Asked the white haired man in a teasing tone.

“No!” You quipped quickly “I am afraid my tastes in literature are dramatically different from yours” focusing your eyes on cashing him out you heard his chuckle once again.

“And what do you read?” He asked.

Oh he was in it for a surprise.

Deciding to mess with him you picked a book that you had to catalogue, it read ‘True Crime: Female Serial Killers’. Holding it up for him to see you felt victorious at his reaction. His eyes almost bulged out of his handsome face “well… remind me not to piss you off… least they find me in pieces in a dumpster” you laughed making him smirk in exchange.

“Oh don’t worry… if I was to kill someone you wouldn’t be the kind of prey I would choose” you grinned evilly. If that didn’t scare him off you would give the man a damn trophy.

“And what kind of prey would you choose?” He asked now fully interested in your answer. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose letting you make eye contact with those impossibly blue eyes.

The temptation was too great “a big one… one that believes himself to be the hunter when in truth… he is the prey” Satoru was speechless.

But instead of backing off he proposed “come have a coffee with me” was he freaking crazy? You made yourself sound purely psychotic just to scare him off and instead he wanted to have a coffee date with you?

“Excuse me?” You questioned baffled making Satoru chuckle “come have a coffee with me, when you are done with work. I will pick you. Y/N, I would like to get to know you better”.

You accepted his offer and he confirmed he would pick you up a 7pm when you shift was over.

As promised Satoru was there at 7pm sharp to pick you up in a black Audi Q7, he got out of the driver’s side and went to hold the door open for you “thank you” you got in the car “so… where are we going?” You didn’t think Gojo Satoru was a man to go into a Starbucks for coffee but… weirdest things have happened “it’s a surprise” the handsome driver replied “I promise you will like it” he assured you.

The drive was short. Satoru parked in front of a tall building, it looked so fancy and refined. As you walked through the doors the host received Satoru with a smile “Good Evening Monsieur Gojo and welcome” he turned to you and bowed to you as well “Good evening Mademoiselle, please follow me. Your spot is ready” the garçon took you to a table by the window overlooking Mount Fuji.

“This can hardly be considered going for coffee” you accused feeling slightly intimidated. You were not precisely dressed for a five star restaurant diner. But then again neither was Satoru “no, I suppose it doesn’t but it’s late and you have to eat too” was his smart ass comment.

When the waitress came to take your order Satoru was quick to order for the both of you. What…. In the hell? You were surprised at how high handed he was! But decided not to be rude and just roll with it for now.

“So… what do you want to know about me” you preferred to start the conversation after you both were served a glass of red wine.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Ever so straight to the point Gojo asked looking at you intently making you chuckle “if I had one do you think I would be here with you?” You sassed him making Satoru tense, but it was not anger that coursed through his veins but the pure unadulterated desire to bend you over that table and give you a lesson.

“Answer the question” he requested rather tense. You sighed and shook your head “no, I don’t. Don’t have time for none of that” you had a scholarship to keep, a job to maintain and a career to start; besides… relationships were something too messy for you to want to deal with at the moment.

“I see…” added the white haired man once again watching you intently, it was crazy how his eyes could have such a strong effect on you. You bit your lower lip trying to relieve the tension.

Satoru’s body was like a spring when he shoot forward to hold your chin tenderly between his thumb and his index “you know… I am dying to bite that lip too” he was so close you could feel his breathe brushing your lips. But before either of you made another movement the waitress showed up with your food.

You both separated but your eyes remained glued to one another.

After a diner loaded with sexual tension Satoru requested “come with me… I have something I want you to see…” you nodded and agreed.

Gojo was a man who loved his cars and the speed because he drove that Audi as if he had stolen it. It was thrilling, the rush of adrenaline and the lingering desire only served to charge the atmosphere with anticipation.

Satoru’s mansion in the outskirts of Tokyo was undoubtedly the most decadent, beautiful and remarkable structure you have ever been to.

“There are a few things I want you to know before we go any further” explained the platinum haired Adonis standing before you. You nodded compliantly but he stopped, looking at you as if there was an internal battle he was fighting “fuck the paperwork” he mumbled before he crushed his lips against yours. His hand grabbing a fistful of your hair to then pick you up so he could kiss you easily without grouching. Your tongues met and his flavor overwhelmed your brain. He tasted like freedom, passion and danger. All in one. By the time you both separated you finally realized he had pushed you against a wall and now you were trapped between his strong body and a hard place; both of you breathing heavily trying to gain some semblance of composure.

Tags: @sleepyamaya @cloudsinthecosmos

@jxvajxy @okkotsuoasis @my-reality-is-in-my-head @dok-ja @jscarlet06 @fiona782 @thatsharklovingwoman @heichoustheoryofcleanliness @syynnaaah

@shaylove418 @coldvillainess @vampgguk

@sukuna1stwife @tampon-earrings @actualdeemon @janenks @bloombb @redbircl @heizenka

#50 shades of gojo satoru series #gojo saturo x reader #gojo x you #jjk #jjkgojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujustu kaisen #gojo smut

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

Text

Milkshakes

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Overwhelmed when Loki saves you, you respond to his kindness with fear. Determined to apologize, you seek Loki out to thank him with a couple of milkshakes and some fries. Warnings: a tad angsty but much fluff A/N: This is actually one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written. Hope you all enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @marvelouslovely

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

Of course it had to be during your lunch break that a supervillain attacked the city. Of course today you decided to go out to eat instead of packing something. And, of course you had to be walking by the building right as it crumbled. You started praying to any god that there may be to save you from being crushed. Though, you hadn’t actually expected one to save you.

In the moments before you would have been flattened, Loki put an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. Raising his free hand, a glimmering green force field appeared around you. The falling matter bounced off of it and landed around you, the shield offering strong protection. Of course you were thankful to be rescued, but did have to be Loki? You knew he was supposedly reformed, but so many news outlets still ran stories about how he was dangerous. A ticking time bomb. You’d never quite formed an opinion on him, and it was causing great conflict in you now. On the one hand, he looked very intimidating from this close, what with his impressive stature and horned helmet and all. But on the other, he was saving you from the actual super villain destroying the city. Perhaps if there wasn’t so much going on, you could think more clearly. Alas, your thoughts were a messy, confused jumble, leaving you fearful of the super-powered god in front of you.

“Are you alright?” he asked in his deep, smooth accent as the shield shimmered away into nothing. The god brought his arm to shield your eyes from the small pieces of debris still falling, the other one still around your waist in a protective manner. “Are you injured at all?

“I, um, uh, I- I,” you stammered, backing up. “Mhm. All good. Uhhh, thanks.”

You were certain you must be the most awkward person in history, but instead of making fun of you, Loki just looked sad. Even with the hurt behind his eyes, his arms shot out to catch you when you stumbled over the wreckage. He guided you away from the obstacles to a place where you could walk unhindered. He moved back from you as soon as he’d finished escorting you.

“You are welcome,” he finally responded. “I am sorry for frightening you. You should get somewhere safe.”

Without waiting for a reply, he left to rejoin the battle. You started retreating from the scene, steering as clear of any large structures as you could, cursing yourself the whole time. Loki had saved you, and you’d been afraid of him. What kind of nonsense was that? And you were certain he got that kind of reaction all the time, based on the way he’d looked at you and realized your bumbling actions were a result of fear. Fear of him after he’d so carefully and gently saved you.

You felt stupid and petty as you joined a throng of people being guided away from the scene. After nearly two years of working to protect the city, Loki should have gotten more praise and love than he did. You realized it now, only moments too late. Someone should tell him he was appreciated, a hero. And if no one else was going to do it, you resolved to do it yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The meeting was dreadfully boring, but someone had to go. Seeing as all the other Avengers were busy, that someone was Loki. Besides, Stark had told him it would be good for his image to head up the restoration of the city this time round. The committee and resources were all a part of Stark Industries, of course, so Loki felt there should be some employee to take care of it instead of him. But whatever, he’d been roped into it now, and he figured that there was some merit to what Tony has said about his reputation.

Luckily, with a week having passed since the battle, great headway had been made with the repairs, and the meeting was much shorter than expected. Itching to get outside, Loki headed to the main doors.

“You don’t understand,” Loki heard someone say to the receptionist as he approached the front desk. “He saved me the other day. I have to thank him. Please?”

Loki just rolled his eyes as he pushed through the turnstile. He couldn’t even begin to count how many fans had tried this tactic to meet their favorite Avengers. Granted, no one had ever tried to see him, but he was coming to terms with it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder which of his colleagues you were trying to get through to see. Perhaps Steve, or maybe even Thor. Loki was so lost in thought it barely even registered when the voice switched from pleading with the receptionist to calling after him.

He turned and stopped, recognizing the person jogging after him as you, who he remembered from the battle. “May I help you?” he asked in the most pleasant tone he could manage.

“Yeah. Uh, hi. I don’t know if you remember, but you saved me the other day,” you explained sheepishly. “You know, during the attack.”

“Yes, I recall.”

“Oh! Good. I just wanted to say thank you for that. For saving me, I mean. And the city.”

“I see,” the god replied, suspiciously raising an eyebrow. “Well then, you are welcome. Really, I was just doing my job, though.”

“Well, I still appreciate it.” There was a lapse in the conversation, as neither of you were really sure what to say next. “Can we go somewhere? Like for coffee or something. Can I buy you a coffee?”

Oddly enough, that made Loki distrust the situation even more. Ok, maybe you were actually a super nice person who had a guilty conscience for making him feel bad, and maybe that prompted you to come thank him properly. But that you wanted to buy him something, presumably to show your newfound appreciation? Absolutely preposterous. The only people who ever did something remotely as kind as that were his fellow Avengers, and not even all of them or particularly often. Any of the other people who openly supported him didn’t show appreciation, per se. It was more that they felt he’d done enough to redeem himself at this point, which wasn’t exactly the most thrilling phrasing either. But here you were, awkwardly shuffling your feet and asking to buy him coffee. Loki supposed he shouldn’t pass such an opportunity up. And yet, he probably was going to.

“No thank you,” he finally replied, shaking himself from the shocked, catatonic state he’d fallen into. “I do not much like coffee.”

As he walked away, he thought that would be the end of it. That perhaps you’d only been talking to him in the hopes he’d invite you to see the other Avengers, too. That maybe you’d go back to trying to wheedle your way inside at the front desk. Much to his surprise, you came hurrying after him.

“Wait,” you called. “Ok, so scratch the coffee. How about ice cream or tea or a milkshake or something? Anything really, you name it.”

Now that you were outside, he observed you again while he thought, as if hoping the sunlight would reveal your true intentions. He couldn’t find anything malicious in your expression, just some sort of anxiety. Loki must have taken too long in coming to a decision, because you started rambling.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you into it or anything, but I wanted to do something nice to say thank you and-” you cut off and bit your lip. “Is this stupid? It sounds stupid. It’s probably stupid. I’ll go now. Again, I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

“One moment,” he said before you could make your retreat. “You said anything I want, correct?” You eagerly nodded as Loki got an idea. “Alright then. I would like a five course meal at the nicest restaurant in London, please and thank you.”

“I, um. I know I said anything but, uh...” You noticed his serious expression had turned into a sly grin. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. My apologies, but I simply could not resist,” he chuckled.

You began to laugh, too. Not in a way that made him think it was out of courtesy or pity, but an honest to goodness laugh. Briefly, he thought it one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, before quickly shaking the idea from his mind. It was ridiculous; he hardly even knew you. But you seemed pretty adamant on showing your gratitude. Plus, you’d apologized to him, which was more than he could say for most of the people in his life.

“You know, I would usually say tea, but a milkshake actually sounds quite lovely right now,” he told you once you’d calmed down. “That is, if the offer is still open.”

“Of course it is!” you happily told him, the smile on your face growing. Not to mention you seemed much more at ease. “I actually know a great diner that’s just a short walk from here, if that works for you.”

“By all means, lead the way.”

It took approximately ten minutes to get to the restaurant. After properly introducing yourselves, you kept up a light dialogue. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly; just hesitant, as if both of you were afraid of saying the wrong things and shattering the blissful moment. Loki still couldn’t bring himself to fully trust you. Such a feeling just wasn’t in his nature, especially not when it came to someone he just met and had a considerably rocky start with. Even so, he found himself enjoying your company.

Arriving at the diner, Loki held the door open for you as you walked in. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait for a seat, the classic red stools at the bar free at this time of the afternoon. Loki swiveled the seat back and forth ever so slightly, and found himself chuckling when he caught you doing the same thing. You offered him a shy smile as a waitress handed the both of you a menu.

The God of Mischief had only ever had the pleasure of drinking a milkshake once before, a vanilla one when the team had convinced him to try it on one of their outings. He’d thoroughly enjoyed it and planned on playing it safe by ordering the same thing now. When you asked what he was getting, though, you were having none of that. After nearly five minutes of rousing debate, you’d finally talked him up to chocolate. Part of him was having so much fun with the discussion and how animated you became about the topic that he almost didn’t want to concede. But the waitress came back to take your orders, and he didn’t want to make her leave and come back again.

“Oh, and some French fries too please,” you added after ordering your favorite milkshake.

Loki shot you a perplexed look. “French fries?” he asked after the waitress moved away.

“Yeah. Please tell me you’ve heard of them before.”

“I have. I have even eaten them a few times before, believe it or not,” he answered as you turned to face him, leaning on the counter. “But are you certain they go with a milkshake?”

Your jaw dropped open. “Of course they do. Listen, Loki, you haven’t lived until you’ve dipped French fries in a milkshake. You’ll love it, I promise.”

You continued to help him expand his knowledge of Midgardian cuisine as you waited for your order to come. Once it arrived, you dipped a fry in your shake, just as you had said, trying to convince him just how delicious it truly was. The trickster skeptically picked one up and mimicked your actions, plunging it into the frothy liquid. The second it hit his tongue, his face lit up in pure delight.

“See, I told you,” you laughed.

“Indeed you did,” he said back, the corners of his eyes crinkling from how wide his smile was.

An hour and another order of fries later, the two of you finished your snack. Loki was in a better mood than he’d been all month. Honestly, he was a little sad when the bill came.

“Are you certain you do not want me to pay?” he checked as you fished out a twenty from your wallet to cover the low-cost meal. “Or we could split it, at least.”

“Loki, it’s fine,” you giggled. “This is me thanking you, remember? And, honestly, it’s me apologizing, too. I was just startled the other day and there was a lot going on. I hadn’t ever really thought about what I’d do if I met an Avenger, least of all if it happened while they were saving my life. I was overwhelmed; I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about yourself or anything.” Without really thinking about it, your hand moved to rest on top of his. It was a surprise to Loki, but a welcome one. “Because—and I can say this with absolute certainty—you’re amazing, Loki. You do so much for the city. I hope you know how appreciated you are, at least by me.”

His other large hand came to cover yours. “Thank you, darling.” He didn’t mean to say the pet name, but it just slipped out. “I cannot express how much that means to me.”

Somewhere in his heart, he wanted to tell you everything, make you privy to all his inner turmoil. But that was buried underneath years of pain and rejection, too heavy to move for someone he didn’t know all too well, no matter how connected he felt to you in this moment. So he let the urge pass over him, hoping his thanks would be sufficient enough in expressing how he felt.

“You’re welcome, Loki,” you told him, squeezing his hand. Then you stood up. “So, I guess I’ll be letting you get on with your day then. This was really nice, though. Thanks for agreeing to it.”

“You’re welcome and thank you,” he replied. “It really was.”

After waving goodbye to each other, you exited and Loki stayed where he was, picking at the last few nubs of fries left in the basket. He didn’t know exactly why he didn’t leave, too. Just that something was missing.

“Ah, young love,” the elderly waitress who had been serving you all day said to Loki as she came to collect the empty dishes. “Magical, isn’t it?”

“Love?” Loki choked out. “I am afraid you are quite mistaken. It was not even a date. I hardly even know them. I will probably never even see them again.”

“And you’re just gonna let them walk out?” she tsked. “It’s a right shame, sonny. Let me tell you, you don’t just let something like that walk out on ya.”

He looked at the door for a second in melancholic contemplation before bolting out after you. He shouted his thanks to the waitress as he pushed open the glass door, exiting out into the harsh sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, they scanned for your form before it walked out of his life forever. Spotting you, he jogged in your direction and called your name. Funny, he thought, how just earlier that day the roles had been reversed.

“Loki?” you asked, stopped on the sidewalk as he caught up to you. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“Actually, the problem is what did not happen.” He kicked a rock with his shoe, as suddenly the ground became very interesting to him. His insides were a nervous mess. Clearing his throat, he gathered his courage to continue. “See, I do not have any way of contacting you again. And it had been my sincere hope that you would want to do this again, let me take you out somewhere.”

“That sounds amazing,” you agreed, jotting down your number on an old receipt you’d found in your wallet. Smirking, you parroted back his words from earlier. “How about you take me for a five course meal in London?”

“Oh, so you have turned my own jokes against me. How very clever of you,” he laughed. “What if we just went to see a movie, instead?”

“Perfect,” you nodded. “Just text me a time and place, and I’ll see you then.”

“I look forward to it. As soon as I buy the tickets, I shall let you know.”

“Sounds awesome! It’s a date.”

As you parted ways, for real this time, it registered in Loki’s mind what you’d said. He hadn’t particularly been thinking about his phrasing or in what way he was asking you to hang out. But apparently you’d taken it as an invitation for a date. As Loki arrived back at the Tower and flopped onto his bed, already dreaming of your laugh, he found he was quite happy that you had.

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

Text

Bet On It

HELLO i’m back again with not only another fic but another friends to lovers!!! here’s 5.9k on hotel mishaps, long-term bets, and falling in love. featuring harry styles x reader with just a few warnings of explicit language and alcohol consumption.

enjoy!!!

masterlist | ask

***

Five Years Ago

If you hadn’t met him an hour before in the bar of the hotel, you would’ve said no. Share a hotel room with a stranger just because the hotel fucked up and double booked a room? No. Absolutely not.

Except -

His name was Harry. He was very cute. And sweet. He complimented your shoes in the bar, dimpling at you all cutely before holding out his hand and introducing himself. He let you prattle on for way too long, laughing at all your jokes and nodding gravely when you started getting serious.

And surprisingly, when you said you had to go, he didn’t ask you out or try to kiss you. He just told you it was nice to meet you with a smile. Problem was that that wasn’t the last you saw of him; when you went up to the desk to get your key card, the receptionist informed you of the mistake.

“We’ve double booked it. You’ll have to work it out amongst yourselves,” they said. “We can suggest other places to stay, or you can sleep in the lobby. Or - of course, you can always share. He’s over there. Guy in the pink shirt.”

You looked over, and lo and behold…

“Harry.”

“We meet again.”

“Was this your doing?” you joked. “All that to get me in a room with you?”

Harry grinned. “I wish I were that smart.”

“So just coincidence?”

“Or perhaps fate,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Did you know?” you asked. “When you, uh - introduced yourself?”

He shook his head and said, “Not that it was you.”

“Well, now that you do, what do you say? Share the room?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side, pondering. “Let’s prove it was fate,” he decided, meeting your gaze with a grin. Your brows furrowed, and he clarified. “Rock, paper, scissors. I win, we’ll share. You win, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He held out his fist.

“Won’t make me find somewhere else?” you asked, smiling a bit. “Would rather share?”

He shrugged.

“Alright, then.”

Both of you counted silently, in your heads -

Rock, paper, scissors…

Harry grinned, and you made a fist from your scissors to bump his rock.

“Fate it is,” you said.

Fate proved to be in your favor; that night, you had the most fun you’d ever had in your life. To your surprise, however, the fun didn’t involve sex. Just talking. You sat on the bed drinking booze from the minifridge and talking until dawn with this Harry Styles.

It came up at one point, sex - or at least kissing did - but neither ever happened.

It was around three, when the exhaustion had set in, when you were lying down, gazing into each other’s eyes, half asleep. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” he’d whispered, and you grinned at him. “I should be asking you that, don’t you think?”

He looked confused. “Why’s that?”

“You’re the one in love with me,” you told him.

He giggled, rubbing his eyes. “And what makes you say that?”

“You wanted to share!” you exclaimed, like it was obvious, because it was.

“Sharing is caring.”

You bounced your brows. “Caring. Loving.”

Harry laughed and insisted, “Not the same!”

“I’d bet a million bucks you’re in love with me,” you murmured, tapping his nose.

“Then a million bucks you’d lose.”

“You will be,” you said, nodding slightly.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a smile growing on his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a million bucks to give me on my deathbed when I still only care?” he said.

“Do you have a million bucks to give me when you confess?” you said back.

He stared at you for a second. His eyes were very green, his smile very wistful. “A kiss.”

“A kiss?” you echoed.

Harry nodded. “I will bet you one kiss that I will never fall in love with you.”

“You’re gonna want a lot more than one kiss when you inevitably do,” you whispered.

“At least one kiss,” he amended.

“At least one kiss,” you agreed.

“Shake on it?”

You both shifted around in the bed so you could shake hands without sitting up.

“It’s a bet,” Harry said.

And so it was.

***

Present Day

“Give it to me straight, Styles,” you greet Harry, plopping down at your table with a sigh.

He hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense, and then breathes, “Care.”

You shake your head disappointedly. “Unbelievable, how bad you are at lying, you -”

Harry interrupts, “What’s really unbelievable is your tardiness -”

Then you do: “Your annoyingness -”

He pouts and fires back, “Your vocabulary -”

“Your lack thereof -”

“That’s not proper English.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re not proper English.”

“I promise you I am,” he replies with a smirk.

“I’ve always thought the accent was fake.”

“If it were, I’d be the greatest impersonator to walk the earth.”

“Impersonator?” you repeat. “And tell me, what is an impersonator but a talented liar?”

He gives you a grin. “I’ll take the compliment of talented, thank you.”

Leveling his gaze, you smile back and take a sip of your drink. “You know, I think that actually was proper English,” you muse. “Lack thereof. Your vocabulary - or lack thereof.” Harry bites his lip, eyes narrowed, staring at you, and you’re tempted to joke that his focus is lust when he replies, “It’s still wrong. I was saying your vocabulary is naive, and by saying I have none, you’re fundamentally saying the same. It’s redundant.”

Clearly satisfied with himself, he sits back, smiles smugly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Harry Styles,” you say, “I’m going to smack that smirk right off your pretty face.”

“Second compliment in a day!” Harry exclaims. “Someone alert the press.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your own drink. “Why, they’d have a field day.”

The little cafe you’re in is absolutely adorable. It’s midway between your place and Harry’s, and after that fateful night in the hotel (during which you learned you live so close to each other), you began a tradition of meeting here once a week.

Tradition doesn’t end with just the location and time. Each meeting is almost exactly the same. You’re always late, and you always greet him the same way: some variation of “Have you fallen in love with me yet?”

And his reply is always the same: negative.

From there, the conversation wanders as much as it ever does, with one asking about the other’s week and the response being long and filled with complaints and woes and lamentations. The question is echoed back, and the response is - again - long, filled with complaints, woes, etc.

Despite the moaning and groaning, the mood never falls too low. It’s impossible to feel down around Harry Styles; just one look at those dimples makes a smile of your own appear on your face.

Your friendship with him has certainly blossomed. It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen in love yet (or maybe he has, you’ll never know unless he says), and a greater wonder still that he hasn’t turned the question around on you.

Because the answer would be yes. You have, in fact, fallen in love with him.

Deeply, madly, in love.

But he’ll never know, because you’ll never say.

***

“I love you,” you tell Harry breathlessly, looking up at him lovingly. “Most ardently.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no - I’m just a girl! I’m just a girl, standing in front of -”

“I’ll always be there for you!” you cut in excitedly. “All the love in my heart, Llo -”

“Michael, I love you!” Harry gushes. “Choose me, marry me, let me make you happy!”

You jump up and jut a finger at him dramatically. “We live in a cynical world!” you exclaim. “A cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you! You - you complete me!”

Harry jumps up to match you and begins, “I hate that -” then shakes his head and restarts, “I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie - I hate it when you make me laugh and - and - and even worse when you make me cry - I hate the way - I hate it when” - he’s grinning big now, jumping with excitement and passion - “you’re not around and the fact you didn’t call - but - but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all!”

It all came out in a rush of jumbled words and you’re so impressed you can’t help but sit back down and clap for him. Bright red, Harry takes a bow and collapses onto his couch next to you. “That took way too much effort,” he says, out of breath.

“It was worth it,” you tell him. “That was dazzling, really. You should go on the road.”

Harry nods. “One man show. Shakespeare. All of his long monologues, then bam - a poem better than all the others combined.” You giggle and fall into him, leaning against his chest with a sigh. “I’ll come with you,” you say. “Follow you to the ends of the earth and hold my breath to Pluto.”

“What’s that from?” Harry asks.

“That’s all me, baby.”

“Maybe the poem better than all the others combined could be yours.”

“Impossible,” you say immediately. “Nothing will ever beat Kat Stratford.”

“I’ll manage.”

You scoff. “You?”

“We.”

You shake your head. “There’s no ‘we’ in genius, Styles, but there is an I.”

“And a U!” Harry replies.

You look up at him.

“Wait.”

Snickering, you sit up and stretch your arms towards the ceiling. “Stick to memorization, maybe. Leave the heavy lifting to me. You need some practice on that speech, anyway - I counted at least three errors, not to mention the stuttering.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Harry sings. “What do you say, can I confess my love to you every night for the sake of practice?” You shake your head, standing up again and grabbing an empty container of food to throw away. “Not without losing the bet.”

Harry follows you, cleaning up as he goes. “Just for the one man show!”

“No exceptions.” You grin at him, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door. “Thanks for the food, Styles. I’ll see you Sunday?” Harry nods and blows you a kiss, which you catch and put in your pocket. “I’ll save that for when you lose the bet,” you tell him.

“Get outta here,” Harry laughs.

You stick your tongue out at him and stick a post it note on the door frame as you leave.

***

Harry usually wakes up to a few texts. Maybe a call every so often. Notifications from social media aren’t uncommon. The only days he wakes up to nearly a hundred texts are the nights you decide to go to the outlook.

Whether or not you like staying up late normally, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning to go to this place you found about three hours outside of the city. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s completely worth it.

There’s a little woods out there, and a while ago you went a bit off path and found an outcropping of rocks that look out over the city. At night, stars are visible. There’s nothing you love more than lying for hours on the cool stone, gazing up at the heavens above.

The first time you took Harry to the outlook, you asked a question, and Harry’s answer to that question was one of the only lies he’s ever told you. You’d asked, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

And Harry had said, “Of course not!” when in reality, he’d been looking for an opening to mention that very fear for the twenty minutes before, while you’d been climbing steadily uphill through the trees.

In his defense, there was no way he could’ve said anything different. You were just so happy, glowing with excitement and practically buzzing with energy. Plus, you’d grabbed his hand at the moment you asked to pull him up the last ridge and he was still a bit startled.

He never came to regret that lie. He grew out of the fear, anyway, so it wasn’t a huge deal. In fact, he’s almost come to love heights. He loves the thrill, the burst of happiness, the insane phenomenon of a racing heart and the feeling of being totally at peace all at the same time.

Incidentally, he also feels that way around you, whether the two of you are a hundred feet up or not. He’s always enjoyed spending time with you, and even just seeing you makes him happy. It’s what makes you a good friend.

Harry’s gone with you a few times to the outlook, but it’s usually pretty late by the time you want to go. Sometimes you’ll call him and he’ll pick up, and you’ll talk on the phone until one of you falls asleep.

You went last night, apparently, because Harry scrolls through seventy-two text messages this morning. It takes a while, since he reads all of them and then replies, but he woke up early anyway so it’s fine.

It’s Sunday, so he’s headed to the cafe to meet you. He has a cup of coffee even though he’ll get one at the cafe, too. There’s a sticky note on the coffee maker - Note to self: tell Harry there’s a snickers bar in his sweatshirt pocket - which you probably left a few days ago.

Harry smiles at the note, then frowns, sticking his hand in his pocket. There is, in fact, a Snickers bar in there, and Harry throws it out. It’s from almost a month ago, when you and him had an August Halloween. The sun is just a little too bright. Harry listens to music in the car, humming along and tapping his hands against the wheel in time.

You’re late, of course, so he orders his second cup of coffee and reads a newspaper on the shelf while he waits. Today it’s five minutes until you arrive, which is actually more on time than usual, and Harry throws you a large brimmed hat he found in his closet when you approach the table.

“What say you, Harry Styles,” you greet him, catching the hat and placing it on your head. “Make a jester laugh” - you form a heart with your fingers - “or make a jester cry?” Your heart cracks in two as you pout at him.

Breaking a finger-heart of his own, Harry grins. “Laughing clowns were always creepier to me,” he tells you. You trace a finger down your cheek like a tear and sit down across from him, sliding a menu from its place on the wall and beginning to read it over.

You look up at him, half smiling, a joke on your lips, and then -

Harry blinks.

Just like that, something’s changed.

You snap in front of his face. “Hello? Anything? You could at least pretend to laugh.”

“Christ, sorry,” Harry breathes. “What’d you say?”

Raising a brow, you lean forward and inspect him. “You alright, there, Styles?”

“If I were any better and it’d be obscene,” Harry answers easily, tapping your nose.

Grinning, you sit back. “Fantastic. Tell me, then, how it’s been. Fill me in.”

“It’s a lot better seeing you in that hat.”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim, looking up at it.

Harry giggles and asks, “You wanna know what one hat said to the other?”

“Oh, boy.”

“I’ll see you on a-head!”

Groaning dramatically, you throw the hat at him and bury your face in your hands.

***

"This is getting embarrassing, Styles,” you say as you walk up to Harry.

He turns around, a smile already on his face, and begins, “What’s -”

He stops when he sees you, because you’re all dressed up. You look absolutely stunning, which was on purpose, because of course you want to see his reaction, whether he loves you or not. And it’s very satisfactory, this reaction.

“You look fantastic,” Harry says softly.

You clear your throat, a little put off by how serious he’s being. “That was the goal.”

His eyes float back up to meet yours, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” you chirp. “But don’t let your head get too big - I only came for the free food and movie.” Finally, the glaze over his eyes fades, and he grins at you. He takes your arm, and as you walk, he asks, “You started a thought, you know, about something embarrass-”

You scoff. “You asked me on a date, Styles!”

“I did not!” Harry insists. He shakes his head. “My date ducked out at the last second -”

Smirking, you cut in, “Wonder why, Mr. Pink Suit.”

“- we were going to match, thank you - but really, she ducked out, and I wasn’t about to waste two perfectly good tickets. Thus… here we are.” He nods, like he’s pleased with his answer, but you raise a brow at him. “That’s a terrible excuse. You can just say you love me. I’ll accept.”

You arrive at his car. “Not yet,” he says, and then he gets in.

He starts the car, and for a moment, you gaze out the window.

Then, breaking the silence, you say, “I like the suit.”

“I like the look.”

“Thanks, I came up with it all by myself.”

“Impressive.”

You wait a moment, and then ask, “What inspired the pink?”

“She said she wanted a pink rose.”

Frowning, you begin, “I thought you said pink roses are -”

“Yeah, they’re not my favorite,” he mumbles.

You snicker a little. “Oh, what a bad date in high school can get you…”

“Hey, don’t tease,” Harry whines with a pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur. “You’re nice to dress up anyway. No rose, though?”

Sheepishly, he tells you, “I… forgot.”

“You forgot?” you laugh.

“Yeah…”

“Well, um… well, it’s the thought that counts.”

Harry pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, then unlocks the doors. “Come on,” he says, but you frown at him, confused. “You know you pulled in the wrong way?” you ask, but he just beckons with his hand and opens the trunk.

You hadn’t even looked - there’s pillows back there, and candy, and blankets, and he flicks on little fairy lights. “Harry Styles, you romantic!” you gasp, enthralled. “Wow, I gotta meet this girl, if you’re doing all this for her…”

He sits down and pats the space next to him, then grabs a pack of candy - your favorite. He hands it to you, which you take with a slow smile. “Her favorite too?” you ask. “Nope,” Harry replies, shaking his head as he opens his own pack of candy. “Forgot to ask her, but when I called her in the store she wouldn’t pick up so I just… got yours.” He clears his throat and hands you a bag of popcorn. “There’s this, too.”

“Thanks, Styles.”

On the huge screen in front of you, the movie begins to roll. You take a risk, sliding a little on the seat so you’re leaning against Harry, head against his chest. You can feel him breathing, his heart beating, his arm around your waist, thumb gently moving back and forth over the fabric of your clothes.

You fall asleep for most of the movie.

When you wake up, you’re leaned against a pillow, not Harry. Frowning and out of sorts, you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s leaned against the car outside, on the phone, and you can just barely make out what he’s saying.

“... I know, it’s… Yeah, I - I’m sorry you couldn’t make it, love. I missed you…”

The familiar feeling of tears building behind your eyes horrifies you, and you have to turn your back to him as tears start slipping down your cheeks. You’d somehow managed to convince yourself that it was all a ruse, that he’d meant it to be you from the start, that there was no other girl, that all along it was -

“Hey,” Harry says.

You cough, palming away the tears on your face and yawning like you’d just woken up. “Oh, hey… How’s, um - how’s she doing? Or - whoever - I mean -” You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“She’s fine,” Harry tells you. “How are you? Took a pretty long nap there…”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I was… I’m tired.”

“C’mon, then, let’s get you home.” He smiles at you, dimpling adorably, and holds out his hand. You take it and slide off the back of his car. “Thanks,” you say. He nods and shuts the trunk while you get into the passenger seat.

You don’t say anything as he starts the car, as he backs out and heads for your place. He glances over at you, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, and eventually turns on the radio. You fold up a sticky note and covertly slide it into the center console.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” you tell him when he stops the car.

He nods. “See you then.”

You hold his gaze for a second, and then get out of the car. As you’re shutting the door, Harry says, “Hey!” and you stop. “Hey, er - thank you. For coming tonight. I know it was a little… It was a bit much.”

“Not too much at all,” you say softly. “Bye, Harry.”

You shut the door.

***

The sticky note business began about a year after Harry met you. He’d mentioned something about refrigerator magnets being the most charming form of communication ever invented, and the next day he found a sticky note on his mirror that said, Note to self: find a more charming form of communication than refrigerator magnets.

Harry doesn’t find the sticky note in his console until the next night, when he’s driving home after working late and he’s trying to find his phone. It’s ringing, and it’s your ringtone, which is really, really annoying because you set it to the worst song you could think of so he’d be motivated to pick it up fast.

It’s not in the center console. It’s actually in his pocket. He picks it up.

“Harry, you gotta tell me now,” you say immediately. “Do you love me?”

“I -”

“Love or care, Styles.” You sound breathless. “L or C. Lover or Cunt. Tell me now.”

“Cunt,” Harry says reflexively, and then shakes his head. “I mean -”

“You don’t love me.” You don’t sound upset at all. You’re just clarifying.

Harry frowns. “I… What’s going on?”

“Well, I think I love this guy, Styles, and I’m about to fuck him, so I’ll talk to you later.”

And then you hang up.

Harry stares at his phone for a moment. Then he puts it down, frowning at the street in front of him, and thinks for a while until he gets home. When he does, he’s shutting the center console, which he’d left open, and he sees the little post it note.

Note to self: buy a pink rose for h to make him like them bc they’re pretty

Sitting in his car, staring at the note, Harry can’t help but think he’s messed it all up.

***

Sunday. You don’t show up.

***

Another Sunday. Harry orders a coffee and reads the newspaper.

You don’t show up.

***

You answer a text.

He asks if you’re okay, and you say, Yup!

***

You send a text.

Hey, Styles? Can you bring me a flower?

***

He should’ve gone to your place first, Harry’s thinking. He should’ve checked there, and then gone here. But it’s too late now. He’s stepping out of his car, trekking through the forest, and he’s finally here, and -

You’re on your back, staring at the stars.

“You know, I really thought he was the one.”

Harry bites on his lip and fiddles with the flower in his hands. “Did you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you sigh and sit up. “No.”

“He didn’t - you’re not… You’re okay, right?”

“Nothing’s broken but my heart,” you murmur. “Physically, I’m fine, emotionally, I’m…”

You fade off, and Harry sits next to you and hands you the flower.

“Yellow,” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “Why yellow?”

“Color of your shirt the first time I met you.”

Smiling, you murmur, “Memory of an elephant.”

“I couldn’t remember her favorite candy,” Harry says impulsively. He shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “Sorry. Wrong thing to say.” You shake your head, looking forward again. “It’s fine. How’s she doing?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

Surprised, you glance at him again. “You mean you -?”

Harry shrugs. “She said my priorities weren’t right. Then she said goodbye.”

“We’re just a coupla broken hearted fools, aren’t we?” you say quietly.

“Broken hearted, yes,” Harry replies, “but I’m not a fool. Don’t know about you.”

You scoff, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. “We’re having a moment here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, but he’s laughing so the apology is moot.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you say, “I would’ve known about her if I hadn’t missed all our Sundays. I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have fun, at least? With Mr. Heartbreak?”

You giggle. “So much fun.”

“Well… that’s good, at least.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment, he forgets himself.

You’re looking up at the stars, your head tilted up, your lips curved upwards in a smile.

Harry’s expression matches yours. It’s one of quiet awe, of happiness and joy and adoration. He’s smiling, too, but it’s not as conscious. It’s more reflexive, something he can’t help but do whenever he catches sight of this view. He’s not looking at the stars, though - his gaze is focused on you.

“Come on!” you exclaim suddenly, jumping up. “This is the perfect excuse to watch The Notebook again.” Harry blinks, standing up and following you back to his car. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.

***

Ideally, on the anniversary of your meeting Harry, you’d both rent a hotel room and get drunk on the minibar, talking nonsense until morning, to properly reenact that first night together. Problem with that is that hotel rooms cost money.

So instead, you have a sleepover. Last year it was at your place, so this year it’s at his. The good thing about not being in a hotel is that you can buy normal size bottles of booze, rather than the teeny ones from the minibar.

He’s grabbing everything from the kitchen while you’re queueing up the movie on the TV in his room. It’s not cooperating, though, and you’re rooting through all the wires in the back to try and find something that’s supposed to be connected.

“Harry, if you don’t get in here this second!” you shout at him.

“Did you get the other remote?” he shouts back.

You groan and whine, “Just come in here!”

“I haven’t gotten everything yet! Look for the second remote. It’s in one of the drawers.”

“Which drawers?” you yell.

He doesn’t reply.

So you ruffle through the drawers closest to the TV. Books, papers, chargers. No remotes. You go further and find his record collection. A few photo albums. You stick a sticky note on the top one that says, Note to self: go through these. There’s more books. A few DVDs.

And then - a folder. It has a yellow flower on it.

Frowning, you glance at the door behind you and then flip it open. What must be a hundred post it notes fall out. Your jaw drops, just slightly, because they’re all from you. Every sticky note you’ve ever left him is in this folder. He kept them all.

“Did you find it?” Harry shouts.

You ask, “Find what?” but your voice is too soft and he doesn’t hear you.

He shouts your name again, and you quickly shove the folder back where you got it. You clear your throat, then yell, “Harry, I can’t find it!” Finally, he comes in, arms full of food and drink, and tugs open the top drawer on his bedside table with his foot.

And there it is.

“Have I got to do everything around here or what?” he jokes.

You give him a laugh and set up the TV, which works just fine now that you have the right tools. Harry sets everything down and puts his hands on his hips, raising a brow at you. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” you tell him. “Just grew a few white hairs waiting for you to come back.”

He sticks his tongue out and tosses a bag of chips at you. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

Finally, the movie’s set up, and you lean against his bed, sighing in contentment as the opening credits start to play. Harry hands you a glass and holds his own out, which you knock against your own. “Cheers, Styles,” you say. “To five years.”

“And counting.”

Grinning, you drink up and then settle back to watch the film.

***

His voice is thick.

Like honey.

It drips off his tongue, catches on his lips, slides down the column of his throat and glistens in the dim light. It’s rich. Deep. It turns to crystal in the cool air around you as his words fade off. You want to reach out and feel it on your fingers, want to taste it on your tongue, want to feel it slide over your lips, down your throat…

“... and then, suddenly, I was flying out the window with the worst pain I’ve ever -”

“Harry,” you interrupt with a giggle, “this is the third time you’ve told this story tonight.”

“It’s a good story!”

“Lemme see,” you say, crawling forward, and you’re on his lap now but you can’t really bring yourself to care because this is for scientific purposes. Harry grins and puts his hands on your waist and you giggle again and put your fingers on his jaw. “Lemme see your tongue.”

“Wanna see it or touch it?”

You smirk and reply, “How ‘bout lick it?”

“That’s gross!” Harry exclaims with a delighted laugh.

“I know!” you exclaim back, equally delighted.

“It’s broken,” Harry says, but he’s opening his mouth so it comes out all warbled. “I’m broken, you know -” You peer at his tongue, but it doesn’t look very broken. “No, you’re not,” you tell him.

“On the inside,” Harry says, pouting at you.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, nestling your head on his shoulder in a hug. “You’re warm,” you say, “that’s what you are.” Harry nods against you, running his hands up and down your back. “You fix me,” he slurs into your neck.

“That’s so romantic!” you giggle.

You sit there for a second, breathing him in, feeling happy, and then suddenly -

“I’m roasting,” Harry says, and it’s morning.

“I’m so hot,” you groan, “and my head hurts so bad…”

Harry grunts and pushes against you. “Get off me.”

You open your eyes, squinting in the sunlight, and fall off of him and onto the floor.

He stands up, moaning and groaning, and walks out. You may have fallen asleep again because when he comes back in and hands you a glass of water and some medicine you’re blinking back awake. “Thanks,” you mumble, downing both.

“That was something,” Harry says.

“Something for sure,” you say.

“I can’t move,” Harry says.

“Me neither.”

So you don’t. The day drags on, and when you’re both coherent enough for food you go to the kitchen. Harry cooks something up, and you eat it, sitting next to him at the kitchen island. You feel his foot against yours, and you play a half-delirious game of footsie as you finish eating.

Once you’re all done, Harry stands up and starts to wash the dishes. You watch him, watch his back and his arms and the way he moves, and stand up and stand next to him, grabbing a dish towel and holding out your hand. He hands you the plate, and you dry it.

It’s comfortable, the silence, and it’s more than peaceful, standing there drying dishes with Harry in the early afternoon. There aren’t many dishes, but you both take your time, and eventually he breaks the silence and the productivity to put on some music.

And then, suddenly, you’re dancing, a smile on your face that you can’t seem to get rid of curving your lips as you float around the kitchen with him. He’s bopping along to the song, hand in yours, dish towel over his shoulder after he stole it from you.

The dancing carries you to the living room, where he twirls you out so you can collapse onto the couch. He does the same, and you put your feet on his lap, head on the armrest, looking at him.

“You’re staring,” he says.

“You’re in front of me.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You raise a brow, smiling and still holding his gaze, and then sit up. “Staring contest, go.”

Instantly, he blinks, and you laugh, “Fuck’s sake.”

“No, no, again,” he demands, grinning, and he blinks quickly a few times before declaring, “Go.” The staring begins. Your eyes begin to sting, and you bite your lip, trying to keep your eyes open.

“We should watch Bird Box,” Harry whispers.

“Saw it last week.”

“I saw it,” he corrects. “You hid behind your hands the entire time.”

“You were the one screaming like a baby.”

“I prefer rom-coms, you know that.”

“Sometimes you need a little variety in life.”

“I lost the bet.”

You blink.

“Victory,” Harry says, a bit weakly, blinking too.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Victory,” Harry repeats, smiling sheepishly.

“No, no, before that,” you insist, shaking your head.

“I lost the bet,” Harry repeats softly.

You swallow thickly. “What bet?”

Harry bites his lip, concentrating, and then stands up and walks away. You scoff, following him, and ask again. “What bet?” He shakes his head, quiet, and opens his refrigerator, looking for something.

“Harry, for the love of -”

He holds out a kiss. A chocolate kiss.

Your eyes widen.

He steps closer, holding the kiss out on his palm. “I lost the bet,” he says. “I fell in love with you.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I don’t know if you feel the same,” he goes on, “so I… I don’t want to kiss you. I mean - I do, but -”

He holds the kiss closer to you. “I lost,” he finishes quietly.

You can’t find the right words.

So instead, you close the distance and kiss him.

The chocolate kiss falls to the floor, and fireworks erupt behind your eyelids.

After a moment, the words come.

And then, when you pull away for a moment, you both speak at the same time -

“I love you.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, and Harry grins, kissing you again.

“So I guess I didn’t lose after all,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips. “Let’s call it a tie.”

***

AHHHH there it is!!!! i actually did write this in like . two days . which was ! great haha but i hope u liked it!!!! if u did, feedback and a reblog would be much appreciated 💜

thanks for reading!

masterlist | ask

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles

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jihyuncompass · 3 years

Text

A Birthday Visit

Well well well would you look at that. My very first Tears of Themis fic is for Marius’s birthday who could have guessed (anyone who knows me) Happy Birthday Marius, I can’t wait to see you again <3

For future reference, this fic was written for Marius’s 2021 birthday. As of yet Tears of Themis has not been released for the English audiences. I have played the beta but there is a chance Marius will be a little out of character as a result of the timing.

Summary: You visit Marius’s work to celebrate his birthday with him, even if he’s a little busy

Marius x MC

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: N/A

----------------------------------------

The PAX building was an intimidating one. That thought always came into your mind when you approached it. While the Law Firm was also one of the large skyscrapers that made up the Stellis skyline, the PAX building was taller, and quite the intimidating addition to said skyline.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been here, far from it, but it was rare for you to go into PAX for a non professional reason, or without being explicitly invited by Marius. You looked up at the building, even without meaning to your eyes focused on the window you knew belonged to Marius’s office. There was a good chance he was in there right now.

Adjusting your bag over your shoulder you walked through the doors and into the bustling first floor.

You walked through the groups of professionally dressed employees standing to chat idly, or summarize the recent meetings they had. Or stop to enjoy their coffee for a little while before getting back to work.

“Welcome to the PAX group.” One of the receptionists started as you walked to the desk. “How can I help you today?” You cleared your throat, speaking as eloquently as you can.

“Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Von Hagen? I’m a friend.” You said to the receptionist. She raised an eyebrow and looked up at you. Scrutinizing your appearance.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Von Hagen doesn’t see anyone without a meeting.” You pressed your lips together,

“I can promise you he’s a good friend of mine, it’s his birthday and-”

“I’m sorry I have no way to verify that you are who you say you are.” The receptionist said. You reviewed your options in your head, clearly she wasn't going to let you go up there on the promise of being a friend.

After a moment of brainstorming an idea came to you, digging through your bag you showed the receptionist your work ID badge, listing you as a lawyer for the Themis Law Firm.

“I’m also Mr. Von Hagen’s personal lawyer, he knows who I am.” The receptionist squinted at the ID, hesitant of it’s quality and authenticity. After typing at her computer briefly she sighed and relented.

“Aright, I do see your name here. I’ll let you up there and I’ll give a call to Mr. Von Hagen’s assistant to let them know you’re here.” You thanked her and hurried to the elevator. The first challenge was dealt with, now it was just time to go through with the rest of the plan.

You piled into the elevator with a group of suited men heading to what you assumed were their own desks and offices throughout the building, but you’d be one of the only people going as far up, to nearly the top floor where Marius’s office would be found.

The elevator was nearly empty by the time you made it up, only a few people exiting with you.

One of Marius’s assistants was waiting for you on the other side of the elevator. They greeted you as you approached them.

“Good afternoon.” They said. “I’m afraid to say that Mr. Von Hagen has been stuck in meetings all day so I’m not sure if he’ll be able to see you.”

You pressed your lips together, you should have asked him in advance, he was usually busier than he always let on.

“Well I just have a couple things I want to show him, I’m happy to wait for when he has a spare moment.” The assistant seemed unsure but shrugged.

“Very well, I’ll take you to his office, you can wait there. I’ll let him know that you’re there.” You followed the assistant down the long hallway to the office at the end, the largest by far, belonging to Marius.

The assistant closed the door behind you, the office was neat and tidy as it always was. Although it was Marius’s office, you were always a little disappointed by just how little of Marius seemed to be in the office. The sleek professional furniture, the carefully organized files, cup full of standard ballpoint pens didn’t seem like Marius. The rebellious, creative and playful Marius you knew well and had grown to adore.

Sitting on the couch in his office you decided to make use of your time by setting the present you’d gotten him out on the table, along with the small cake box. With your job and caseload you hadn’t had the time to make a particularly fancy or intricate cake. But something small the two of you could easily share.

You hummed to yourself gently as you got everything set up. Your eyes focused on the work in front of you. So much so you didn’t even notice as the office doors opened while your back was turned.

“So.” A voice said from behind you. The sudden noise startled you, making you jump. Quickly turning around you were face to face with Marius. Dressed with a full suit, although he had that playful gaze he kept around you. Seeing him, your shoulders relaxed, and a smile crossed your face. “I heard you wanted to see me.”

“I hoped I could catch you for a minute for your birthday.” You explained to him. “I should have asked about your schedule, I wouldn’t have come if I knew you were so busy.” Marius shook his head.

“Nah I’m glad you’re here. It’s a perfect surprise.” Marius looked past you and to the table behind you where everything was set up. His eyes lighting up with that almost childlike excitement he got. However that excitement was quickly clouded.

You frowned. “You don’t have a lot of time huh?”

Marius hesitated to answer you. “I don’t have a lot of time, I have a meeting in a half hour.”

As you looked from Marius to the table you straighten your back and beamed at him. “Well then let’s make this a fun half hour! Enjoy the time we have.” With this the playfulness returned. The Marius you loved to see.

Sitting beside one another, you made quick work of slicing the cake into two even slices for the two of you.

“I’m afraid it’s nothing fancy.” You said. “But I have no doubt it tastes good and that’s what matters, doesn't it?”

“Did you make it?” Marius asked, a brow raised curiously.

“I did, I’m not a baker though so be warned.” Marius picked up the fork, picking up the perfect bite of cake to get both the cake and the frosting on top. Watching him closely you made note of his reaction. “What do you think?”

Marius nodded. “It’s good, I think I would even say I’m impressed.” You relaxed against the couch.

“I’m glad you like it.” You said. “I was worried it wasn’t going to be very good.” You took a bite to taste it yourself, the sweetness of the cake hitting your tongue immediately. You’d had better cakes, but still you couldn’t deny the little part of you that was proud of what you’d made.

Not wanting to waste your time you quickly leaned forward to push some presents closer. This seemed to grab Marius’s attention away from the cake in his hand. He set it down to pick up one of the gifts, looking over the basic wrapping paper.

“Go ahead.” You encouraged. “Open it up! Take a look.” Marius stared with the smallest one, quickly tearing off the paper without much thought. He pulled out two tickets, reading the tiny text on them. “They’re for an upcoming art exhibition I read about online, I thought it’d be fun to go together. I don’t know nearly as much about art as you do but maybe you could teach me some stuff.”

Marius smirked. “I guess I could spare some of my expansive art knowledge to impart some on you.”

Holding back from rolling your eyes instead you gave him your best genuine smile. “I would love that. I’d love to learn from you.” Marius seemed pleased by this, as evidenced by the redness that quickly started growing on his face. Looking back at the gift he tried to get himself back under control.

Similar to the first gift Marius tore the wrapping paper off the second one. This one, a hand held sketchbook, bound nicely with a leather cover, his initials MVH put onto the front. A small note you’d written scribbled onto the first page.

“This is-”

“Well, you’re always working so hard here, or studying hard at university, and I know you would probably much prefer to be in your studio painting. So, that’s a little sketchbook, one you can carry anywhere.” Flipping through the pages, Marius’s expression turned soft, warm, happy, not holding that playful spark. “I know you probably could afford any notebook in the world, but this one is customized just for you, not another one of these exists just like it.”

The softness in his face stayed even when he looked up at you, even when he looked down again.

“Thank you, for this.” He held it carefully in his hands, as if he was afraid of damaging it too soon. Before he could even put pencil to paper for the first time. There were still a couple gifts left, but you let him linger on that one. Trying to memorize every single second in your mind.

The rest of the gifts were more basic things, special sweets, some art supplies you’d seen when you passed by the art store on your way home. Despite how basic many of these smaller gifts were, he never seemed ungrateful, and equally happy to see each one.

All the presents unwrapped, and cake nearly finished you both sat together happily. Looking at Marius with the initial excitement wearing off you started to see the exhaustion peeking through. The heaviness in his eyes, the way his shoulders were stiff yet slumped. He looked tired, worn out already.

“Your assistant said you’ve been in meetings all day?”

Marius rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, PAX has a big thing coming up. I’ve been in meetings since eight. This is the first break I’ve had all day.” As he spoke he loosened his tie, letting it release some of the tension in his shoulders and neck.

“You look exhausted.” You said. He sighed and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Have you been resting?”

Marius’s eyes opened again. “I was at my studio late last night. But I’m fine.”

You looked more concerned, you doubted he was really resting enough. With everything he did, there was no possible way he was letting himself take breaks. Even on his birthday he seemed to be working full steam ahead.

“Marius, why don’t you lay down for a bit? Let yourself rest?” Marius looked over at you, as if he was trying to think through it, crunching the numbers in his head. Gently touching his shoulder you turned him to face you, his eyes raised to look at your face. You loosened up his tie some more and unbuttoned the top button on his dress shirt to let him relax.

“Come on.” You said in a soft voice. “Rest for a little bit.”

He considered this for a little while longer. Then let long a long sigh, he let himself lean forward enough to rest his forehead against your shoulder. Reaching up you rubbed his back, gently massaging to let him relax against you.

“I can’t rest for long.” Marius muttered. “There’s that meeting-”

“Something is better than nothing.” You reminded him. “How about you lie down? You can rest with me until your meeting.” He was still for a little while longer, then lifted his head long enough to move.

Marius’s head was laying in your lap. You gently played with his hair, running your fingers through the strands. Marius’s eyes slipped closed, his breaths long and even.

“My meeting-”

“I’ll get you up when it’s time. Rest right now.” You told him. He sighed and let himself fully rest.

“Thank you.” He muttered.

“Happy birthday Marius.” You whispered to him. Watching him rest, you couldn’t help but smile. This moment was going to be over sooner than later, soon he’d have to get up and get himself cleaned up, he’d go to that meeting, and then the next one and the next one until he could call it a day. He’ll probably go to his studio again, even if he’s exhausted. He’ll try and get some rest, but eventually he’ll get up and start it all again.

But right now he’s with you and resting. Enjoying the short break he could afford. Maybe not the best birthday one could have, but one that was more than happy.

#tears of themis #tot #marius von hagen #lu jinghe #marius x reader #lu jinghe x reader #wrote this in one day with a wrist brace how's everyone else doin

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shreddedparchment · 3 years

Text

Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark x reader #dceu fanfiction #dc fanfiction #clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #dc oneshot

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firewoodfigs · 3 years

Note

for the only one bed prompts......... "and only one pillow so a used b's chest or stomach" 🥺

EMMA, MY LOVE. FOR YOU I WOULD GIVE THE WORLD AND MORE <3 I hope you enjoy, friend!!! <3

also on ao3 - i like it when you sleep (for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it)

++++++

She falls asleep on the car ride back.

It’s unusual, such behaviour. Ordinarily, she’d be keeping watch or the one driving, but throwing herself at wolves and flirting with married men (and tolerating her commanding officer’s unwarranted jealousy) is indescribably wearying. It’s even worse than military training, having to put up all these fake niceties and pretenses. She wonders how Roy does this every day. Maybe that’s why he’s so tired all the time, Riza thinks. Now she knows why.

She startles awake briefly when the car jerks. Riza mutters, unintelligibly, something about safety and watching the road. She dimly registers the sound of a murmured apology from the driver’s seat.

Riza nods, and drifts back uneasily to sleep.

(In her sleep, Riza dreams of a dimly-lit courtroom and of Lady Justice, so white and pure and glorious even in the shadows. It is a recurring dream of hers, but it still leaves her palms clammy and her heart racing, like she’s just pulled the trigger on someone for the very first time.)

—

“We’re here,” Roy announces.

Riza groans as she rouses from her nap. There’s an ache that’s starting to crawl into her head, and she wonders if she’s just had too much to drink earlier (she thinks she’s done a pretty good job of turning down the offers of free, expensive wine though). She rubs at her temples wearily, blinking hard in an attempt to dispel some of the lingering fatigue.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yes,” she answers, without hesitation. Riza straightens in her seat, smoothing out the creases in her outfit. It’s a fitting, champagne-coloured number that is as meddlesome as it is pretty. (Riza hasn’t worn something like this in a while, simply because there hadn’t been any occasion to. She thinks she’ll probably have a hard time getting out of it later.) She opens the door and stretches her legs out. “Let’s go, sir.”

“Alright.”

The motel is just like any other motel, Riza thinks. It’s old and musty and right in the middle of nowhere, managed by a receptionist who’s clearly half-asleep at their workstation. They check in under the guise of a civilian, childless couple, as usual. Elizabeth and Andrew Ditlev, yes, a room for two. We won’t be needing anything else, thank you. There’s the sound of keys jangling and paper notes rustling, and then she’s dragging her feet up the creaking stairs towards their room on the second floor, Roy’s hand hovering uncertainly over her back.

Riza nudges it away and reassures him that she’s just fine. (He continues fretting, anyway.)

—

It’s only after she’s taken a shower that Riza notes the irregularity in their room.

“Sorry,” Roy says. There’s a sheepish edge to his voice, but the way he’s grinning tells her that he’s not altogether unhappy about their current predicament. “I tried asking for another pillow, but reception said they’ve none left.”

Riza frowns. She moves to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed, drying her hair with a thin towel. It’s not uncommon for them to share a bed; going on these undercover operations as a loving, married couple meant that it was only logical for them to do so. It’s not like she has anything against it, either, but she’s always maintained a distance from him, even while on the same bed. They usually sleep with their backs turned (although Roy has a peculiar habit of snaking his arm around her waist just before daybreak).

“Sorry,” Roy repeats, stifling a yawn. He’s already taken the liberty of going shirtless, while she was bathing. “You can take the pillow, if you’d like. I can go without.”

Riza shakes her head and gestures towards the shower.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”

He yawns again, dragging himself to the shower.

“Really, Lieutenant. It’s no hassle at all.”

Water starts running again, from the shower. Riza shifts towards the nightstand and picks up the phone. There’s a little note beside — press ‘0’ for reception and/or room service.

She does exactly that.

“What?”

“Hello,” Riza greets in response. “I’m calling from Room 204. We were wondering if you happened to have a spare pillow —”

“I already told you we have no more pillows,” the receptionist interrupts, groggily. Riza picks up on the poorly-concealed hint of annoyance and, somewhat annoyed herself, apologises insincerely for the apparent inconvenience caused. “Goodnight.”

The phone line goes dead.

Riza huffs. She puts the phone down and mutters something to herself about cheap motels and their stinginess. Resignedly, she fluffs the lone pillow and moves to lie down once her hair’s dry. (She thinks she’ll continue to keep her hair in a manageable bob like this, just for convenience’s sake — even if Roy prefers it otherwise.)

“Lieutenant,” he calls, sounding scandalised. Riza cracks an eyelid open and stares at him, as if to say, what? (She still has no idea how men do this so quickly, even after all these years in the military. It barely takes more than a minute for them to finish their ablutions, even though their bodies are nearly twice the size of hers. Thrice, if she’s including people like Major Armstrong in the count.) “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Or trying to.”

Roy makes a sound of disapproval as he dries himself (Riza turns away respectfully at this) and puts on his pajamas. She feels his weight on the mattress once he’s done, and when she refuses to budge from a spot he starts poking her from behind, like a needy child badgering their parents for an impossible gift (she doesn’t even remember behaving like this as a young girl).

Riza groans and rolls her shoulders. “What?”

“I told you to take the pillow, Lieutenant.”

“I told you it was fine.”

He clucks his tongue. Roy rolls her around to face him, and she bites her lips to stifle another groan.

“Stubborn as always, aren’t you?”

“Pot, kettle,” Riza murmurs wearily. She can barely keep her eyes open at this point, much less keep up with his nonsensical, baseless arguments. “Go to sleep, sir.”

Roy tries, vainly, to slip the pillow under her head a few minutes later, but Riza elbows him in the ribs and pulls the blanket over them, effectively ceasing the argument. He huffs petulantly and closes his eyes.

—

“Trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Riza mumbles, but it’s a lie. She knows that he knows it’s one. (It’s no secret that both of them have had trouble sleeping since the war.)

“You’re lying,” he says, though not accusingly.

Riza ignores him and clutches a handful of the motel’s standard-issue white blanket. She covers her eyes with them and tries to sleep, again, but she fails spectacularly at this otherwise simple task. There’s just something about motels and their pastel walls and background music that tends to set her on edge. Maybe it’s because it’s so unlike what she’s used to. (She’s fallen asleep to the sound of gunshots and explosions, more times than she has to Debussy.) Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s no longer sleeping on a single-sized bed, by herself.

“Are you sure you don’t want the pillow?”

“No.”

“Stubborn as ever,” he mutters. She thinks he’s given up on fighting a losing battle, when she feels his arms pulling her close.

“With all due respect —”

“Nothing inappropriate, Lieutenant. I promise you.” She struggles to free herself from his grip, but clearly, all the work he’s been putting at the gym lately has paid off. Riza glares at him, murderously. He simply grins. “Since they ran out of pillows, we’ll simply have to make one.”

“What, with alchemy?”

“Actually, that doesn’t sound entirely implausible.” Riza is about to push herself off his chest, when he tightens his grip around her. “But it’s late, and I’m tired, and besides, we’re supposed to be an ordinary couple, nothing else.”

The word rolls off his tongue infuriatingly. Riza gets the peculiar feeling that he’s enjoying this far more than he should be. She frowns, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

“I do tend to move around a lot in my sleep, sir.”

“I know.” He shrugs against her, positioning her head so that it’s resting comfortably on his chest. Then Roy wraps his arms around her again, almost gleefully, uncaringly, as if there’s nothing inappropriate about their shared embrace. Riza huffs. “But it’s fine. Anything to help my favourite subordinate sleep.”

“How very kind of you, sir,” Riza mutters drily. She attempts, somewhat furtively, to tickle him - she knows all his weak spots by now - but Roy dodges it with surprising agility, like he would a bullet.

“Of course. Please make sure to give me a good performance review when the time comes,” he says, smirking in a way she can only describe as insufferable.

“Only if you stop drooling all over your desk.”

“For the record, I do not,” he says, with an injured sniff.

Riza rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t protest further. She won’t admit it aloud, but it’s nice, being held like this. Roy is unusually sweet in a way that he isn’t anywhere else. He hasn’t been this way since they were kids.

“Yes, you do,” Riza retorts softly, ignoring the lump in her throat.

(This scene is achingly familiar, like a vignetted memory, like an excerpt of a film she already knows the ending to. The ending is always the same in her dreams.)

Laughter rumbles from his chest. It is a lovely sound to hear, after a long day of work, but it rubs against her cheek ingratiatingly, and Riza makes a mental note to write a letter to the hotel when they’re back in the city — a not-too-gentle reminder to stock up on pillows and other necessities.

“We can save this argument for another time, Lieutenant. It’s two in the morning.”

Riza relents, because it is two in the morning. She thinks sleep should claim her now, rather than later; she’s been trying to cut down on her caffeine intake lately. But Roy starts stroking her hair, and then her back, like he’s trying to lull a child to sleep, and Riza has to swallow the satisfied hum lurking in her throat (she refuses to give him any satisfaction of knowing that she is, in fact, enjoying this, far more than she has any right to).

Riza clears her throat. She pushes his arm away.

“I’m not a cat, you know.”

Laughter, again. The caressing stops. She feels him pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and then he’s hugging her again, one arm resting languidly on her side like she’s some sort of a replacement bolster.

“I know. Goodnight, Riza,” he says, softly.

She doesn’t have the heart to remind him that they’re still on a mission.

“Goodnight,” Riza whispers. There’s a part of her that aches, yearns for this moment to be something more than a(nother) fleeting, stippled memory, but her bliss is abruptly broken by the commotion coming from upstairs — something about an adulterous affair and impecuniosity.

Riza shifts uneasily and tries to drown it all out by focusing on his heartbeat instead. It’s audible beneath her cheek — not quite like a lullaby, but close enough — just a gentle hum of life, enough to quell her frazzled nerves and lull her back into peace.

When she falls asleep at last, Riza dreams of something different, something that stems from her deepest desires.

(In her dreams, she’s in a white dress, and Roy is radiantly alive in a sunlit attic.)

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #I am once again posting a fic on company time LMAO #Emma my love I hope this brightens up your week a little <3 I tried my best to keep things fluffy and soft for u heheHEHE MWAH #ilysm friend!!! hang in there *hugs* <3 #reblogs and comments are always appreciated :")

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billiebeanhoward · 3 years

Text

Silence - Multi Character

A/N: hello this has been an enormous project for me to do. Thanks for @stayevildarling for the prompt and for the help with this. Apologies, it's a long one. Tenses are a bit fucked but just go with it.

Prompt: Each character receives a mysterious invitation to visit a Hotel Cortez in LA to prove they're not alone in their struggles

TW: alcohol, mention of murder / death, cigarettes, swearing, mention of character death, hints at suicidal ideation,

Word Count: 4480

Tag list: @stayevildarling @okpaulson @mrsdeanhoward

Working at Kineros Robotics for the vast majority of her life, nothing really fazed Wilhemina anymore. Especially with the bullshit her bosses come up with daily, but when the redhead finds a strange invitation on her desk that morning, she never thought her life could get any stranger. The invitation that was written, well, typed, on very fancy looking stationary, held coordinates to a Hotel she never wanted to visit in her existence, but when she sees there is a list of nine other women's names, she assumes they're women, anyway; It piques her curiosity regardless and later that evening takes the rest of the weekend off work so she can drive the few hours to the Hotel.

Never been one for tardiness, the redhead arrives a mere twenty minutes early, the receptionist with ridiculous glasses asking her if she had booked a room to which she banged her cane and left towards the bar without a word. Conversation, socialising has never really been her strong suit, you can really blame her mother for that. She had been isolated from the outside world for most of her life growing up. Thinking back, she's glad for it. People are despicable. The bar isn't too shabby, not that she could complain, dark, quiet, she quite enjoys the ambience. Her cane clanks, hitting off the floor as she makes her way over to the bartender.

"And what can I get you, this fine evening?" she, she assumes, smiles politely. Nice enough.

"Anything purple?" her nose scrunched at the ridiculous request that leaves her mouth and she scolds herself silently moments before the bartender points a finger at her.

"You know what? I have just the thing," she turns around to pour the drinks, Wilhemina watching her every move, "So what brings you here?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"Oh, no, not at all." she shakes her head, "Enjoy your drink," Wilhemina eyes the mysterious neon concoction in front of her momentarily, before spotting a straw holder in the corner of her eyes and she reaches out to grab one when a hand grazes over her own.

"Oh, sorry," a British woman with a blonde pixie cut says quickly, pulling her hand away. "You look familiar, do I know you from anywhere?"

"No, I assure you, you don't."

The blonde put the green straw into her whiskey? before sipping it, "My name's Audrey, Audrey Tindall. I know what you're thinking..." Does this woman ever shut up? "I'm not related to the royal Tindalls, no."

"Did I ask?" Wilhemina cocks her head a little towards her and she quickly shies away, "Get out of my sight," The blonde scurries off to the other end of the bar while Wilhemina tries to enjoy her drink.

"Mom, what's this?" Ally looks over her shoulder, her arms elbow-deep in her sink as she washes up the dishes from dinner.

"Not sure, Ozzy. Can you read it for me, Sweetheart?"

"To whom it may concern, You are not alone.

34.0443° N, 118.2508° W

Ally, Audrey, Bette, Billie, Cordelia, Dot, Karen, Lana, Sally, Wilhemina. What does it mean, Mom?"

Ally empties the sink and clears away the dishes before wiping her hands on a towel, "I really don't know, does it say anything else? Give it here," she holds her hand out and he passes it to her as she studies it curiously.

"Karen!" The woman turns her head towards the door at her friend with a little smile on her face, "Guess who has mail?"

Her eyes widen in anticipation, "No, you're joking! Me?"

"Of course you! Open it." Mickey smiles as he passes it to her. She excitedly rips open the envelope, careful enough not to destroy the contents and unfolds the paper curiously. "Well, What does it say?"

"A bunch of numbers and names, Mick I think this is just junk,"

"No, Karen, the first mail you get in years, it can't be junk. Let me see," she passes it to him and in the dimness of the room, he looks at the letter. "They seem to be coordinates for somewhere,"

"Like for treasure?"

"Exactly, well, you never know, but could be someone who wants to murder you for all we know. But look, it says You are not alone."

"Course I'm not alone, fuck face, I have you."

Cordelia sets aside her paperwork for the evening, cradling a cup of hot coffee in her hands, she sighs as she takes a look at the monstrous pile of work ahead. She nudges her glasses further up her nose as the door of her office swung open. "Madison, how many times have I told you to knock?"

The younger blonde rolled her eyes as her arms crossed against her chest, "And why would I do that?"

"I could have been doing... something." the Supreme says before taking a sip from her coffee.

"When exactly was the last time you got laid, Cordy?"

This time the Supreme rolls her eyes before glaring at the younger witch, "And when was the last time you got laid, Maddy?" she snaps back, Madison slumps her shoulders, the smirk that graced her lips disappearing quickly, "What do you want?"

"I forgot to give you this when the mail came this morning," she absentmindedly threw a letter down on the desk before storming out.

Cordelia once again rolled her eyes at the girl, eyeing the mysterious envelope before picking it up.

Wilhemina looks down at the watch on her wrist whilst trying to figure out who exactly she's supposed to be meeting. The bar is seemingly quiet, and she stays seated at the stools near the bartender, Liz, who had told her her name, although she definitely didn't ask. Liz is a talker and a very annoying one at that, although Wilhemina is quite enjoying her company right now, or rather lack of as she attends to other women at the bar. A thought enters her mind at that moment, the name Audrey did ring bells, although not any ridiculous royal ones. She pulls the letter out of her blazer pocket and adjusts the glasses on her nose. There. The second name. Audrey. Was that her? Great. Now she does have to actually go off and talk to the chatterbox. She rolls her eyes before sighing, picking up her cane as she makes her way over to where Audrey is sitting, she seems to be sitting next to a brunette who did look quite familiar.

"Oh, hey!" Audrey greets, getting up from her place at the booth seemingly for Wilhemina to seat next to her. Wilhemina quickly turns around grabbing a chair from behind her and drags it to towards the table closer to the brunette instead, "Oh," the blonde says before pulling out a packet of cigarettes from her purse. "Do you mind?"

"I do actually, yes," Wilhemina says and the brunette turns to her.

"Are you here because of the letter as well?" Wilhemina nods and the other woman brings out her hand towards her for her to shake it, "I'm Ally, Ally Mayfair-Richards?"

"You're the one that was in that cult weren't you?" Wilhemina says. This has got to be the most interesting thing that has happened all night.

"Oh." Ally pulls her hand away looking around slightly awkwardly, "So you don't know me from my senator work? How did you know about the -"

"I saw it on this silly show I watched on the True crime channel."

"Right. So must know a lot about me then," she sips from her wine and Audrey annoyingly, despite Wilheminas dismissal, lights up a cigarette. "What's your name."

"Wilhemina Venable."

"Oh your name is Wilhemina, it's such a -"

"I'd prefer to be referred to only as Ms. Venable." Fine. Wilhemina has now made this awkward, thanks mouth. Change the subject. "Seven more women to find," she states, looking at the two, her hand gripped tightly around her cane. "Is this some sort of gangb-" Nope. "Right, I'm going to get another drink, excuse me."

"Sally that girl, what can I get you?" Liz asks a blonde that is definitely stuck in the '90s. Her hair is fully crimped, her outfit choice, however, is far more ridiculous, fishnet tights, a very short skirt, revealing shirt. Stop staring.

"The usual," she mumbles before diverting her attention back to the woman beside her. "So, are you from Tennessee? You're the only ten I see," Wilhemina almost spits her drink out as she hears the conversation between the two.

"No actually, I'm from Massachusetts." the brunette says, nodding slightly, clearly slightly uncomfortable.

"Oh, it's pretty close though, right."

"No you blonde idiot, it's a 17-hour drive," Wilhemina says and the blonde turns to look at her and this time she looks at her face.

"Did I ask you?"

"No, course not. I just like correcting idiots,"

"Well, I'm sorry we all couldn't afford to go to private schools," the blonde then storms off somewhere else, Wilhemina genuinely doesn't care. The brunette, however, slides closer over to Wilhemina.

"Thank you," she smiles.

Wilhemina's face turned to one of a fish, "What for?" The other woman continued sipping from her drink before leaning a little too close for comfort to Wilhemina before taking a deep breath.

"Is this.." she pauses, Wilhemina only furrows her brows at her, "Is this a 'girl' bar?" she asks curiously, "I'm only asking because..."

"Good question," the redhead smiles as she looks around the room, only women are seated, mainly bundled together with Ally and Audrey," Maybe this woman is one of the names on the list too. "Surely hope not," she mumbles. She doesn't want to make conversation but it seems she needs to. "What brings you here?" she continues to drink the nuclear waste that Liz calls a drink and looks at the brunette. She seems familiar too.

"I... This is going to sound really weird."

"Not as weird as that, I assure you," she points behind her and the brunette turns around to see a woman with two heads walk through the door with the frizzy blonde talking to them.

"Probably just as... How is that possible? That's fascinating." The brunette brings up her purse and pulls out a notepad."I'm a writer, you may have read my book. It's quite popular among women." She speaks but Wilhemina isn't listening. Distracted by the definition of fucking weird that just entered the room.

"You girls here for the "meeting"?" the frizzy blonde asks them and the head on the left nods. Creepy.

"Nice," she grabs a cigarette, it hanging from her mouth lazily as she spoke. Ok, so far there are Audrey, Ally, writer girl, the one Liz called Sally, the two-headed beast... Wilhemina looks around and spots another blonde speaking to Audrey and Ally. So extra blonde. And a homeless woman sitting at the back end of the bar.

"If you're here for the meeting, come over here!" extra blonde calls out over to her table and Wilhemina rolls her eyes, her cane clanking loudly as she walks over to the table. "I'm Cordelia Goode. Supreme of my coven in New Orleans."

"Ally Mayfair-Richards, I came here from Maine. Had to find a babysitter before I drove all the way here,"

"Audrey Tindall. Had to get a flight back from England."

"Lana, Lana Winters." the writer girl added.

"Wait.." three heads turn to her. "How is that possible?" Ally spoke.

Lana shrugged, an uncomfortable smile gracing her lips, "What do you mean?"

"You're... young?"

"Oh, wow, am I that old?"

"I- no of course not."

"What's that?" Wilhemina turns her head towards the left of the beast as she stares down at Sally's cellphone.

"Oh, come on I've been stuck here since the nineties and even I know what it is." she rolls her eyes.

The right one furrowed her brows. "90s?"

The two of them stared into space for a moment, their expressions changing every so often as if they're in a conversation and Wilhemina shakes her head and diverts her attention to the homeless one toddling over to the rest of the group. She looks paranoid, looking over her shoulders as if someone is following her.

"The rest of the introductions?" Audrey says, bringing the letter out and Lana handing her a pen from her purse before she ticks off the names of people here. "What's your name, sweetheart?" she asks the homeless one but she doesn't answer, peeking into the massive tote bag on her shoulder before Wilhemina hits her ankle with her cane to gain her attention.

"I'm not telling you my name. I don't even know who you are," she states

"Why are you sitting with us then?" the right one says before the homeless one gives them a look.

"I know people like you, fuck faces, huge assholes," she mutters

"I'm Dot, this is Bette, "Right one says almost headbutting the other

"I can introduce myself, Dot,"

Dot turns her head to look at her, "Well you were taking your sweet time,"

"Okay, we're only missing Billie and Karen."

Sally chuckles, her cigarette still hanging from her mouth, "That's definitely Karen," she points over to a blonde with wavy hair, pink blouse, pearl necklace and a pencil skirt and fake nails. "I actually thought you were Karen until you said your name is Audrey," she looks to Audrey and Wilhemina purses her lips trying to stifle her laugh.

Audrey looked offended as if someone ran over her mothers already dead body. Her nostrils flaring as she leans over the table towards Sally, "And what do you mean by that?"

Before anything happens and all hell breaks loose in the Hellmouth they already were in, the homeless one squeaks up. "I'm Karen."

That's it. Wilhemina laughed. "What's so funny?" Cordelia asks the redhead who continued chuckling as she tried to drink her acid.

"Nothing, continue."

Lana finally pieces the puzzle together, "That's Billie."

"Congratulations, would you like a gold star. I'm sure Mommy senator here has plenty for you." Wilhemina chuckled at her own joke because it was funny. The other women did laugh too. Billie made her way over somewhat gracefully, her hands flaring as if she's trying to pick up a watermelon. Karen probably has one hidden in that Mary Poppins bag of hers.

"Good evening, girls. I'm Billie Dean Howard, Medium to the stars." she flutters her fingers around like one of those stupid ASMR videos that Wilhemina has not ever watched before and took a seat beside Bette and Dot.

"Were you the one who sent the letters?" Bette asked, her fingers fiddling with the hem of the dress she shared? with Dot before Dot slapped her fingers away.

"No, I assume you're all here for the same thing. As am I. Unfortunately, it had to be here though,"

Cordelia sighs, shifting uncomfortably in her seat seeming to know what the hell Billie was actually talking about. "I know, it's like they're screaming in the walls."

Liz comes over handing Billie her drink while giving a pointed look towards Sally, "What? I didn't kill everyone here, y'know."

"Your reputation says otherwise." she turns to the rest of the group, "Enjoy your stay,"

"Does anyone actually know what this is about... Wait I know you, I've seen your face on the side of a bus," Audrey says excitedly

"And I know you, Ms Audrey Tindall. Making a big name for yourself I see after My Roanoke Nightmare." Billie smiles at her and Wilhemina gives a look of impressive to the two blondes.

"Oh god don't. My shrink is still drilling it into my head that it wasn't real."

"What wasn't?" Lana asks curiously, her notepad in hand as she continued to write notes.

"You haven't seen the show?"

"What show?"

Wilhemina diverts her attention towards Ally's and Cordelia's conversation although it seemed to be about cheating exs so then she focuses on what Dot, Bette and Sally were saying.

"It's 1952 where you're from?" Okay, now that is interesting. "How did you get here?" Sally points her phone in their faces.

"Can you please get that thing out of our faces! It's scary," Bette says,

"We killed our mother and you're saying that's scary." Fine. She stood up and made her way to Karen.

"Don't want to talk to you." she mumbled, seemingly comfortable slightly curled up in the seat.

"I don't want to talk to you either." Hmm, maybe the homeless one isn't too bad after all.

After a few extra drinks, everyone seems to be in a better mood, laughing, joking, much to Wilhemina's dismay, and even still trying to make conversation with her. Which she has done. Gotten to reluctantly know more about those with who she was almost forcefully made to be made acquaintances. Sally stood up on the chair, wobbling slightly as she tries to regain her balance. "Ladies, Unfortunately, Liz is closing up for the night." most women whined but Wilhemina was genuinely happy she finally got to go home. Was this it? What exactly was this about? "But... We can take this party up to my room,"

Wilhemina almost growled to herself, the thought of being at home a lot more comfortable than being in a hotel room with nine other women. All women stood up and followed Sally to the elevators. Billie and Cordelia following behind as they chatted.

Wilhemina slowed her pace a little mainly because she felt like her back couldn't handle it but also because she wants to know what the two blondes are talking about. "If the letters weren't really from you, then who was it?" Cordelia asks

"I genuinely thought it was you, dear. Seems like a 'you' thing to be bringing in people of all backgrounds, especially lonely ones at that,"

"I'm not lonely. You don't even know me." Karen pipes up defensively, still holding her bag close.

"No, not at all." Billie shakes her head, "But I do know when one is feeling lost and doesn't know how to get back up," she says before rushing off to get to the others.

Wilhemina's steps slowed as she enters the elevator, not one for taking the stairs. She opens her mouth but Cordelia is quick to speak, "I like your hair," the redhead raises an eyebrow at the blonde, a hint of a blush rising on her cheeks.

"You're drunk, Ms. Goode,"

"Oh, please. Call me Cordelia. I'm nothing like my mother." she says before her expression turns somewhat sorrowful. Her mouth opened, slightly agape seeming as she wants to speak but she doesn't. So Wilhemina decides it's humane of her to change the subject.

"You know Ms. Howard?" she looks down at the floor, the elevator dinging indicating their arrival on the floor where Sally's room is located.

"Oh yes, she's not a witch though," the blonde slightly stumbles out, almost tripping on her heels when Wilhemina rolls her eyes reaching her arm out to catch her.

"I didn't ask," she states, although she is due for another awful round of dosed up fuckery that is her medication she fights through it, tries to anyway. Liz's miracle drinks seem to be working fine as an atomic type of painkiller. She allows Cordelia to loop her arm around her shoulder, hers around the blonde's waist as they walk down the hallway towards the room Karen just strangely snuck into as if she's there on a heist.

"You know of my story then?" Lana asks seemingly gobsmacked towards the other women, "And not from my book, from my talk show? One I don't even have yet?"

"How exactly did you get here?" Audrey asks curiously as she sits down on the bed, crossed legged like an elementary school child.

"I received the letter, like the rest of you. I took the train. Fell asleep, woke up at the station and everything was different but I couldn't really explain it. Then I asked around about the coordinates and someone guided me to this hotel."

"The same thing happened to us," Bette smiled at her but Dot was quick to scold her

"Don't listen to my idiot of a sister, we've never been on a train in our lives. We woke up, found the note at the foot of our bed and started to get ready for our show."

"Show?" Billie asks before closing her eyes for a brief moment. "Does the name Eudora mean anything to you?"

"We work fo-" Bette starts

"No, absolutely not. Bette, we're leaving."

"But we've been having so much fun, Dot."

"No,"

"She says she forgives you."

Tears well up in both their eyes for a moment as they sit back down on the bed. Wilhemina slowly helps Cordelia sit down on the armchair beside them and awkwardly perches on the arm of said chair.

"She forgives you Bette for what you did but," she closes her eyes before facing Dot, "She doesn't forgive you for what you tried to do to your sister."

An awkward silence filled the room, only to be heard are the sniffles from the twins and the lighting up of cigarettes before Sally broke the silence, "You know, I would probably do anything to have a sister and you tried to kill her?" Dot looks away ashamedly.

Bette, sweet Bette, she seems so childlike, she just smiles, "I would do anything to make my Dot happy,"

"I would rather kill myself than let anyone treat me the way she treats you." Sally rolls her eyes "And I'm dead," she brings her hand to the side of her mouth as if she's revealing a huge secret.

"At least she's not alone," Ally says, sipping on more wine. "I'd do anything for my son, the way Bette clearly would for her sister."

"And let her kill herself?" Audrey remarks, "That's not love."

"Wouldn't you kill for love? Fight for others."

"I'd rather be a lover than a fighter, because all my life, I've been fighting." Lana says, "I've lost the love of my life and had been through so much I ca-" tears escape her eyes and Audrey curls up beside her, wrapping an arm around her frame.

Karen opened her mouth wanting to speak, most of them probably expecting her spewing profanities but instead, her face was calm, "I've never felt a feeling of comfort. All this time, I've been hiding. Where I'm from the stupid fuckfaces who live there..." There we go. "All they do is just think I'm some mad homeless woman -"

"Aren't you?" Wilhemina blurts out, a smirk gracing her lips and Karen glares at her.

"That's not the point, you fucking, purple, fucking, dragon bitch."

Wilhemina tilts her head, impressed with the insult. "Carry on."

"I don't want to anymore."

"I never had someone to call my own," Bette says, her usual smile now a frown as she fights back her own tears

"I'm so used to sharing." Dot mutters, looking down at her fingers. Billie reaches out to hold their hands to comfort them.

"Love only left me alone," Audrey says,

"I've found peace in the violence, can't tell me there's no point in trying," Sally says, cigarette hanging from her mouth as she speaks, mascara running down her face

Wilhemina thinks it's her turn to speak, Cordelia looking at her intently from the seat. "I'm in need of a saviour," it feels like she confessed her deepest darkest secrets. Words she would have never thought she would say out loud to anyone. She sees Billie lift her head as if to speak "But I'm not asking for favours," she says, Billie nods understandingly.

"My whole life, I've felt like a burden," Cordelia pipes up, her chin quivering as she spoke. "I think too much, and I hate it"

Ally pulls a small face, finishing her wine before she spoke, "I'm so used to being in the wrong. I'm tired of caring."

"Loving never gave me a home" Karen speaks again, probably feeling a lot more comfortable with the group now. Which is surprising as she acted as if they would kill her.

"I'll sit here in the silence," Billie says. She hadn't said anything. She gave a small smile before lighting up a cigarette. Wilhemina only groans, now her clothes probably stank worse than an ashtray at the amount the four women had smoked like a chimney. "I'm at one with myself. I've been quiet for so long."

There's silence for a few moments. Not uncomfortable at all, surprisingly. Although plenty of tears, small sobs escaping and a few hugs. This was needed. Everyone felt seen, even in the silence of the room. They felt heard. They all understood and could relate one way or another to each other and, maybe the letter was right. You are not alone.

But the one question is... who was the one who had sent it?

Maybe someone out there who cared enough for each woman individually and knew their struggles maybe even up to a personal extent. Maybe whoever sent it just wanted the women to know that they are loved and people do care.

Maybe it was you.

The night was slowly coming to an end, the women started to say their goodbyes when Lana had an idea, "Sally?"

Sally lifted her head from where it lay on Cordelia's shoulder as the two blondes were almost fast asleep. "Hmm?" Wilhemina stood, collecting her cane ready to leave but Cordelia's hand stopped her, grabbing onto the hem of her blazer.

"Give me your cell number, I have an idea." the brunette gave Sally the pen and paper and Sally wrote her number down, passing it back. "If I remember you'd hear from me again," then the brunette vanished. Magic tricks aside, most of the women were either too drunk or half-asleep to even react. Sally's phone began ringing loudly, Wilhemina picked it up, disgusting fluffy case in hand as Sally snatches it from her.

"Hello?"

"Sally? It's me, Lana. Put me on speaker." the familiar yet different voice said. The women looked, Wilhemina observing from the door until she noticed Bette and Dot aren't there either.

"Lana, it's you?" Audrey says, tears in her eyes, "God I've missed you." It's been less than two minutes you dramatic blonde. Wilhemina rolls her eyes as Lana chuckles down the phone.

"I've missed you too, Audrey. It's been fifty-five years since I had last heard your voice."

Wilhemina, now confused, was ready to leave. She pried the sleepy blonde away and left. On the way back to her home, she magically bumped into Billie. "What do you want?" she almost snapped.

"We're wondering if you'd like to meet back up at the hotel again next week." the blonde smiles, of course, cigarette in hand. Wilhemina sighed, as much as she hates to admit it she really did enjoy the company in comparison to her lonely nights at home in the silence.

"Okay," she says, Billie, raising an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"Okay? That was easy,"

"Don't think it'll be any easier than this, Ms. Howard, I'm a busy woman."

"Hm, I'm sure."

"If Ms. Winters is.. a woman of age now, What happened to the Tattlers?" Wilhemina asks out of curiosity, Billie purses her lips as she thinks of an answer.

"They're gone. They're at one with the silence."

"Good night, Ms. Howard." Wilhemina opens the door to her car.

"Good night, Ms. Venable," Billie says but Wilhemina can literally hear the smile that's on her lips as she says it. "Oh, Cordelia wants me to give you her cell," Billie hands the redhead her number through the crack of the window. "Then you don't have to be at one with the silence for so long. Neither of us do. We have each other now, just remember that. All thanks to Y/N."

#sarah paulson #ahs #wilhemina venable #cordelia goode #billie dean howard #cordelia foxx #tb karen #lana winters #audrey tindall #sally mckenna #bette and dot tattler

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doubledgesword-2 · 3 years

Note

Can I get Vil Schoenheit x Rival Celebrity? They shoot insults at each other but end up flirting? Take it as far as you want! Any gender reader is fine lol

Oh, ma Gooosh!! This is the first Matcha Tea I've gotten, and I'm all for this. I had so much fun with this one, and I want to show you lil' sugar cubes the difference between characters I know and the ones that I don't. I do my research before writing a character that I'm unfamiliar with, but I will be sincere: I butchered the last request (Shalnark's). I will try to rewrite it, but other characters apart from the stated ones are a bit hard for me ( ˘︹˘ ).

I will always try my best for ya'll! Enjoy this steaming Matcha (❛‿❛✿)

“What a shameless potato,” nimble fingers scrolled down on their phone, looking at the menagerie of pictures from one single account: yours.

You and Vil were from the same industry, just not the same department per se. While he was a model and actor, you were a j pop star and actress. Your popularity and his were on the same level, but he was slightly higher if you asked him or his fans. Ever since the two of you met on set for a fantasy-like movie, you repelled each other’s presence like oil and water.

Amethyst eyes glared at your smiling picture, and a thousand critiques passed through his mind. Your make-up did not complement your features; what was your make-up artist thinking? That nail polish didn’t match with your skin, and your haircut didn’t go with your face and countless other thoughts. But that wasn’t his place to tell, and besides, you living in his head rent-free wasn’t good for his skin. Stress kills, and thinking about you was very stressful.

The subway doors opened, and Vil gripped his side bag, adjusting his beret and sunglasses and walking out with the amount of confidence and power it took to walk down the runway. The sea of people diligently coming and going parted for him without a cue. They just did like mindless fish around a predator. It was in their nature to give in, in the presence of something so regal.

Vil had a photoshoot to go, and he couldn’t miss a beat. His agenda was full and complicated; anyone who tried to follow it would surely lose their minds after the first three days of the same arduous pace. But he could handle it with the grace of a swan. He was the great Vil Shoenheit. He wondered if you could handle a week in his shoes. You probably would drop exhausted and disheveled, complaining about the hard work. The thought made him smirk smugly, and passerby fans who recognized him couldn’t even keep up to ask for an autograph.

He just couldn’t fathom how you had such a fan base with your attitude and manners. Sure, in front of the cameras, you were a sweetheart, stealing everyone’s hearts, singing like an empowered angel, and making them think you were as far from the villain he knew you truly were. Vil knew your kind and recognized it the moment he met you on set. Heck, you couldn’t even contain your disdain in interviews when the two of you had to sit side by side. It was uncomfortable, to say the least; the poor reporter was so painfully awkward trying to alleviate the tenseness in the room.

“So (Y/N), how do you feel being an actress in a big-budget movie while also singing and performing the next week? Is it exhausting?”

You sided glared at Vil, and gave the reporter a smug grin. “Well, I think I can handle a little bit of work. It’s not in me to sit around and look pretty, you know. But then again, I guess that’s what some people are into, so we can’t judge them. They might not understand hard work.”

Vil smiled with closed eyes. You were such an amateur. If it weren’t for the fact that you were actively throwing shade on him and being so annoying at it, too, he might think you were cute.

Of course, Vil wouldn’t back down; that’s not what he was taught. The crown was his, and he would take it with hard work and determination. Which means potatoes like you don’t really matter in the long run of things.

“Vil-senpai, how do you manage your modeling gig and your acting? I mean, it must be hard to run from one event to the next since they’re so close behind each other?”

“Well, dear, we models are more than just a pretty face. We represent big companies and events that many couldn’t even fathom getting into. My schedule might be a bit tight, but I was born into this lifestyle, and I have learned many skills to help me move and work in these types of environments. I can say one thing for sure not a lot of people can handle my agenda, one day in my heels, and they might slip if you know what I mean, darling.”

You scoffed under your breath, and it made Vil’s smile grow wider.

“Ahh, Vil-senpai is a hard worker for sure. Perhaps one day I could do an interview that can provide insight to one day of your agenda.”

“Anytime you want, darling, it would be lovely,” he knew with every word that came out of his mouth; you simmered even more.

“Are there any hobbies or activities that can fit into your schedules?

Vil was about to open his mouth when you beat him to it.

“Well, I don’t think he’s allowed to have any, you know, with his busy schedule. But I do love partaking in (hobby). I think it is a nice way to unwind and take my mind off of everything. Since stress it’s not good for your vocals, you know. I try to keep myself in top shape for my lovely fans.”

Vil was raging. How dare you interrupt him when he was clearly about to talk. Didn’t your parent taught you any manners, or are you so much of a spoiled brat to care for?

“Ahh, interesting. Does Vil Sendai have any hobbies in particular?

“As a matter of fact, I do” you were looking at him with an expectant smirk. You were genuinely curious to hear what he had to say. “I like to make beauty and make-up tutorials that are beneficial for a lot of my fans. I like to show them how to use brushes correctly what and what not to do with concealer. Those are bonding moments for me and my fans. I think they are important.”

At the end of that interview, a single question brought the anger and tense meter to burst. Now the tensions and dislikes weren’t palpable. They were visible.

“Oh, I’ve had some partners, but I like to focus more on my work, unlike some other artists who like to jump around; my projects come first, and I don’t want to ruin my partner’s and I relationship by not spending enough time with them.”

“Wow, he really doesn’t like to have fun.”

“I do just not with the likes of you.”

“Come on, pretty boy, you couldn’t handle me even if you were begging pretty on your knees.”

“Dream on, potato, you might be prettier than most potatoes, but you’re still that a potato with some potential. I bet if push came to shove, you wouldn’t last seconds with me.

“I bet you wouldn’t make it into the second round without having to retouch your make-up with me. Besides, it’s not like you’ll last long enough to even sweat that much.”

“Well, that’s a relief to know I wouldn’t have to put much effort into pleasing someone like you.”

The reporter was utterly flushed, and that was cut from the interview recording. Good thing that it was, or people might’ve gotten the wrong impression. That you liked each other or something.

Or something.

After that interview, rumors spread like they always do, and fans started gossiping about the two of you secretly together but having to hate each other in public to save face since it’s a big rumor that singers and models don’t actually go well together in the industry.

Such wild imagination and machinations fans have. It brought out a small chuckle.

Vil passed through the automatic doors telling the receptionist his name and guiding him to the set. Once there, he settled his stuff over the make-up table and sat back to look once more through his phone.

“Have you seen this?” A text notification annoying appeared on the screen.

Vil tch and opened the message to reveal a very well photoshopped photo of him and you sitting and drinking at some café. You were smiling like he just told you you were beautiful, and it was a good look on you.

This was outrageous. Who would go to such lengths? Suddenly a bag dropped right on the table next to him. He looked up to meet your eyes as you took off your sunglasses, slowly realizing who was sitting beside you.

“Oh no,” you faintly muttered underneath your breath but not faintly enough that Vil couldn’t hear you.

He scoffed and went back to look at the stupid picture, texting his manager as mad as he was.

“Oh, you saw it too,” you commented, sitting down and looking at your own phone.

Vil didn’t answer. He really didn’t care about your opinion on this; his credibility was on the line. He was supposed to hate you, and that’s how things should go.

“Well, at least they got a good angle of my face, not to mention I’m actually smiling for once.”

“Actually, smil- what are you talking about potato? All you do is smile in all of your pictures. That’s why you have to hide your wrinkles with make-up,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Well, as presumptuous as that was, proud little peacock, I actually never smile genuinely for the cameras. My genuine smile is reserved for good moments. I guess not anymore.”

At that, Vil felt like the two of you clicked. He knew the feeling, the invasive nature of fame, and the lack of privacy was very real in the industry. It’s the first thing you have to get through. But listening to you say made him realize you’re just like him.

“Well, if you behave during the shoot, I might feel inclined to reward you for good behavior” he grinned at you.

“Mmm, you make it sound as if you don’t like the way I make you crumble in front of everyone. It’s like you’re denying yourself the pleasure, and here I thought you liked the masochism.”

“Hahahaha, I’ll step on you once we’re done here. Maybe that and a little bit of discipline will put you in your place. However, your lack of manners and running mouth might be a problem; perhaps all you need is a nice pacifier. I can help with that.”

You both were so close to each other muttering salacious threats that you didn’t realize how flustered everyone else was in the room.

It was going to be another one of those shoots.

#twisted wonderland #vil x reader #vil x mc #vil shoenheit #twisted wonderland fandorm #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland fic #fanfiction #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland vil #disney twst #twst vil

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strangeinternetwasteland · 3 years

Text

Cross the Line- Bakugo X Reader 18+

WC: 3.5K

Warnings: Angst, Anger, Unprotected Sex, Swearing

“I am pregnant, Kaa-Chan.” You whispered as his hand was wrapped around your throat intent on killing you. He lowered his hands and walked away. You were the enemy, the one he had to kill.

~~~Eighteen Months ago~~~

“Y/N. You understand the mission, correct?” Shigaraki asked.

“You know I am not a fucking idiot? Who do you mistake me for? Chisaki or Dabi?” You retorted back.

“Y/N.” Shigaraki gave you a threatened tone.

“Get close enough to the loudmouth hero to kill him." The sarcasm dripped from your tone.

"Good girl." He replied and left you alone.

For a few months, you followed Bakugo learned his schedule. You learned where he lived, how often he trained, his shopping habits, but most importantly, you learned that he didn’t have a significant other.

It was easy to become his neighbor, and for you to keep ‘bumping’ into him, but the hardest part would be getting to be part of his agency.

~~~Fifteen Months Ago~~~

“Hi! I am Quiver!” You were standing in front of Lord Explosion Murder in his agency. His crimson eyes narrowed looking at you in your hero suit. It was black and skin-tight with red accents.

“Do you want a fucking cookie?” He asked with disgust in his voice.

“Oh?” You feigned innocence. “Well, I am your new sidekick, but it looks like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I will just leave you alone.” You told him and you walked out of his office. You had heard he was difficult to deal with, but this wasn’t what you were expecting. You decided that if he was going to act like a complete and utter jackass you weren’t going to take it.

“Oi!” He came charging out of his office at you. “What the hell dumbass?” He yelled at you.

“Hm, well if you’re going to take that tone with me, I will come back tomorrow when you’re less stressed.” You told him as you walked out the door. You went home for the rest of the day.

The next day morning you had arrived and entered Lord Explosion Murder’s office again.

“Good Morning! I am Quiver!” You greeted him chirpily.

“Who the hell do you think you are leaving like that yesterday?” He yelled at you again. You turned around and left again. This continued for the rest of the week. He didn’t learn very quickly, but being cute probably helped him, you thought to yourself. By Friday, he had left you a seething voicemail saying how lazy, rude, and entitled he thought you were and that you were fired. You replied with a very short text stating, “K.” You knew it would probably anger him more. You weren’t there to make friends, you were there to kill him.

When you arrived at work the following Monday, the receptionist's eyes grew wide. She very clearly heard the voicemail and very deliberately chose to ignore it.

“Good Morning, Sir.” You said as sweetly as possible. Lord Explosion just stared at you as if you were a ghost.

“I thought I fired you.” He said as calmly as he could.

“Oh, you did? I didn’t really listen to the voicemail. I never do, but it seems as if you learned your lesson from last week.” You said with a hint of condescension.

“I don’t have time for you Dumbass. Just leave.” He told you with a huff of annoyance.

“Oh, Dumbass is a pet name?” You asked him. “I know that a sidekick isn’t what you want, but in order to be more appealing to not just the commission, but the general public as well.” You told him. Yes, you were all too well aware of his “image”, but with you working for the enemy, you truly didn’t care.

“Fuck, you’re right” he mumbled under his breath. He looked at you over steepled fingers. He stood quickly, to close the door to his office.

“Alright, Quiver, let’s begin.” He began as he sat back down in his office chair. The rest of the day, he went over rules for the office, his expectations for you, and how often he expected you to train. The rest of the week was tough but doable. The weekend didn’t come fast enough for you. As your patrol finished you got your weekly text from Shigaraki. You rolled your eyes and ignored him. The best thing about this job did not only do you have to stay away from the small hideout, but you could sleep in on the weekends, and you didn’t have to hear Kai or Dabi bicker.

Lord Explosion Murder noticed your smile. He saw how happy you looked after receiving your text.

“What’s got you smiling so big, Dumbass?” He asked you paying a little too much attention.

“Oh, nothing really. I get to sleep in tomorrow. As much as I enjoy working, I do enjoy a day off too.” You replied.

“You sure seemed happy after that text though.” He said with a hint of jealousy that did not go unnoticed by you.

“Oh, that was my annoying ass friend. He is going on about working hard and blah, blah, blah. I swear to goodness, his crusty ass is getting ignored all weekend.” You vented.

“Oh. Well. Okay, do you need me to walk your dumbass home?” He retorted not really sure of what to say.

“No, I am good!” You waved goodbye and ran at full speed to get home. You ran to your apartment in the building, showered quickly, changed, and fell asleep.

The next morning you awoke to a yell, the voice sounded familiar, but you couldn’t place your finger on it. You walked outside to yell at whoever was causing the ruckus.

“I told you, nerd, that is not in bounds.” The male yelled. Looking down from your balcony, you saw Lord Murder Explosion. You did pick this apartment building because he lived here, but didn’t realize that he was his hero identity 100% of the time.

“Hey, asshole? Could you shut your mouth? It’s too early for you to be yelling!” You shouted over your balcony to the group below.

“It’s the afternoon, dumbass!” He shouted back to you.

“Kaa-Chan, be nice. She’s your neighbor.” A green-haired man said.

“ You wanna fight? I could take you right now.” You shouted.

“Oi! Get down here and say that to my face!” He said the anger rising within himself. Without thinking, you jumped down ready to fight him. When he gave you his wide smile, your heart stopped for a moment.

“So you want to fight?” He asked with the most curious look on his face.

“Bakugo, don’t do this.” The green-haired man begged him. “The press will be all over this.” You knew with him there was always someone watching.

“Bakugo, don’t.” His friend with red and white hair said holding him back. It was no use though, he was in your face and chest to chest. You felt his warmth. The onlookers continued to gather, many with phones out ready to watch the fight. You knew that there was only one option in this case.

You grabbed his shirt, and quickly closed the gap between the two of you. His lips against yours, and while his body was tense, he was not fighting it. You pulled back a moment, and looked up at him.

“Well isn’t this something Lord Explosion Murder?” You whispered before turning away and going back to your apartment/

~~~12 Months Ago~~~

The following Monday morning was awkward for Bakugo, but you didn't pay any attention to it, you really didn’t want to bring any attention to you at all. However, that isn’t what happened. You did bring attention to yourself and of course Shigaraki was very upset. The news died down pretty quickly, though, probably due to his one friend being Endeavor’s son. The next three months though passed quickly and you never thought of the kiss again.

The nights you patrolled with Bakugo he didn’t mention the kiss, he didn't’ mention anything about you knowing his hero identity, but he did try to get to know better. You were on the last patrol of the night, just before you said goodbye for the weekend, Bakugo spoke to you.

“So, uh. Quiver. Y/N. I don’t know what you want me to call you, but if you’re not busy, I’d like to take you out on a proper date or something.” A light pink dusting on his cheeks as he asked you.

“Is this because we kissed forever ago?” You questioned.

“No, Dumbass. Out of all the people, I hate you the least.” He retorted.

“Oh, how very manly of you.” You laughed at him.

“No. Forget it. It was very stupid for me to ask you.” He said walking away looking dejected.

“Tomorrow. 8PM. Don’t be late.” You told him as you skipped home. Getting this hero to die would be easy, so you thought.

The next day, you woke to a very angry phone call from Shigaraki. He demanded answers for why it was taking so long. If anyone else had done it it would’ve been done by now, and other bullshit you didn’t have time for. You knew that everyone would notice it was you right away. So while you ignored your phone call, you focused on your date this evening. The day flew while you were taking care of errands and miscellaneous tasks that you’ve been putting off for too long.

Before you knew it, there was a knock at the door, you went to open the door, and saw Bakugo standing there with flowers.

“These are for you.” He thrust the flowers toward you while looking away.

“Thank you, these are beautiful. While I put them in water, why don’t you make yourself at home? I still need to put on my makeup.” You told him.

“Really? I don’t think that is necessary. I mean, you look beautiful the way you are.” His face was getting redder and redder.

“Thank you, you’re very kind. I will be but a moment.” You told him as walked into the room. A few minutes you were ready.

“Okay, I am ready. What are the plans for tonight?” You asked him curiously.

“Well the stupid nerd convinced all of us that went to UA together to hang out. They want to have a few drinks and karaoke.” He admitted annoyance laced in his voice, but the look on his face told you otherwise. The night was fueled with alcohol, laughter, and memories. You knew that you had to keep it professional, and your job was to eliminate him, at least that is what you kept telling yourself.

The following months went by fast, when you weren’t working, or training, you were hanging out with Bakugo and his hero friends, or just the two of you. Everything was blissful.

~~~9 Months Ago~~~

Angry with the lack of contact and results from you. Shigaraki had enough and was going to take things into his own hands even if you were a casualty.

“Dabi, I need you to go and see what is taking Y/N so fucking long.” He demanded. “Don’t kill her yet, we will kill her when we kill that loudmouth as well.”

Dabi just shook his head and walked out the door. Whatever you were doing wasn’t his problem. To him, getting rid of you wouldn’t matter to his plan. So he did as he was told. He followed you and learned your schedule over the next few weeks.

“She’s so fucking predictable.” Dabi said to himself as he snapped a picture of you and Bakugo kissing. When Dabi returned, he informed Shigaraki of what he found, and together, they plotted your downfall.

~~~6 Months Ago~~~

Bakugo had awoken to a phone call in the middle of the night. He felt you stir in your sleep next to him. He rushed getting his things together and left slamming the door behind him. You turned over in the bed and looked at the alarm clock. The bright red number read 2:43 AM. You texted Bakugo quickly. He responded with Hero Shit. I’ll be safe and see you soon.

You couldn’t sleep. You got up and paced around his apartment. There was something gnawing at the back of your mind. If it was an urgent matter, you’d be called as well. If it was something more serious, they’d only call in the Professional Heroes. Which led you to believe that this was the case.

Two hours later, a very tired Bakugo entered the apartment. You ran into his arms, and held on to him for longer than you should have.

“Were you worried about me dumbass?” He asked you playfully, but the worry was thick in his voice. There was no mistaking it.

“No. Never, but if I didn’t get called in with you, it must be serious.” You told him. You knew you were lying. You were worried, and that scared you more that whatever he was just told. It meant that you had already failed in your mission. That you actually cared.

“Y/N. I need you to know this. I love you, and I will never let anything happen to you. The League threatened us. Specifically, you and me.” Bakugo told you honestly, and openly. “They didn’t give a specific timeline, it was just a general threat, but I thought you should know. Keep your guard up.”

Your heart leaped at his words. You knew you failed. You knew you weren’t supposed to fall, but you did.

“I love you too, Katsuki. I will stick so close to you, you’ll wanna hurl me off the balcony.” You replied. He kissed you deeply with every emotion he felt. He pulled you into the bedroom to further explain how he felt.

~~~3 Months Ago~~~

The two of you were public, there was no denying it. The Commission felt the transparency was necessary to let the League know that a threat wouldn’t stop anyone from living their life. The public cheered for you. The threat was always in the back of your mind. You weren’t sure what scared you more, Shigaraki ceasing all contact with you or the calm that had come over the city.

During your late-night patrol, you and Bakugo happened upon a crying child. Bakugo quickly picked up the child. Cradling her in his arms, and trying to soothe her. It was right then you realized, you wanted a family. Life of a villain wasn’t conducive to having a family. Bakugo found the child’s parents within a matter of minutes, and if you weren’t sure before, you sure were in love with him.

You dragged him into a dark alley where no prying eyes could see the things you were about to do. You took him and pushed him against the wall, and kissed him hard. He happily grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, pressing his hardening length against you.

“What are you doing?” He hissed into your neck where he left a trail of kisses, causing you to shiver.

“I saw you with that child, and I thought why not try right now?” You shot back. You unzipped his pants to free his hard dick. Your eyes grew at his size every time you saw it. You undid your pants and pulled them down, exposing your dirty little secret, that you weren’t wearing any panties.

“Y/N.” He groaned into your ear as he pressed eager fingers into you. “Shit. You’re so wet for me already.” You took him in your hand and started stroking him slowly.

“You know if we weren’t in the middle of a patrol, I’d definitely take my time.” He told you in between breaths.

“I want you Ka-” He kissed you hard, entwining his tongue with yours. He was so needy for you. He grabbed you by the hips and lifted you on top of him, making sure you and he were lined up. He slowly entered you. The way his hips moved slowly at first to let you adjust and then quickly increased his speed made you moan loudly.

“Keep quiet, dumbass. I don’t want to get caught fucking you on camera. Although that would be pretty hot.” He smiled at you. You were already so close for no good reason. You felt yourself release on him.

“Well, shit. You were already hot for me huh?” He asked you cockily and he increased his speed. You couldn’t deny it felt amazing.

“Tell me where you want me to come, because if you want a child I will give you one.” He teased you. All you could do was nod at him.

“Oh, did I fuck you stupid?” He asked you smugly. He didn’t wait for an answer, he released deep into you, painting your walls white with his seed. He kissed you once more before dressing and acting like he didn’t just fuck you in a dark alley. You got your bearing and did the same.

~~~Present Day that Morning~~~

You had been feeling off all day. It wasn’t like you to feel sick, but here you were feeling nauseous. You ran to the toilet and slammed the door behind you. You let all of your breakfast out.

“Dumbass! Let’s get going, we’ll be late for the meeting.” Bakugo yelled at you. You immediately felt better, quickly rinsed your mouth with mouthwash and walked out the door.

The Commission had summoned all heroes and their sidekicks for a meeting due to the increase in League activity. You often wondered what Shigaraki was thinking, but since he was number two, whatever it was that number one wanted he got. The meeting was boring and lasted a while, and there wasn’t any new information. You were dismissed and were told to continue on your patrol routes as normal.

You felt that same feeling coming over from this morning. You quickly left and ran to the bathroom. You sent a quick message to Bakugo telling him you weren’t feeling well, but you’d see him on patrol. You went to the corner store where you picked up some medicine. You came across the pregnancy tests. You hesitated for a moment, decided against it and kept going. The gnawing feeling at the back of your mind started up again. It didn’t let up until you had a test in your hand.

You headed back home, took some medicine and ripped the test open. You knew you couldn’t be pregnant. There was only one time you and Bakugo haven't used protection, and you had your period since then...right? You didn’t think twice about it, peed on the stick and waited for the results.

It was on your patrol route that evening, when you were confronted by the League.

“Hello, Y/N.” You heard a deep voice.

“Dabi?” You replied, he was ready with his quirk with intent to kill.

“I don’t think so.” Bakugo came charging at him with rage in his eyes.

“Do you think that some pathetic grenades will stop me from killing her? She betrayed us for you.” Dabi confessed. The look on Bakugo’s face changed from rage to utter betrayal. He shook off the words. He didn’t actually believe you’d do that.

“She loves me, you dumb piece of shit. She’s one of us.” He barked at Dabi, firing shots at him.

From the shadows emerged Shigaraki, he silently walked up behind you and clicked his tongue.

“Such a shame, that boy is a fool.” He left you alone for a moment and went over to Dabi.

“Well, if you are one of us, Y/N, finish the job you were sent to do.” Shigaraki shouted to you. “Kill this hero that stands in our way.”

Before you knew it, you were pinned against the wall. The anger that radiated from Bakugo’s body was undeniable. His hand wrapped around your throat, tight enough to kill. You gasped, clawing at his hands.

“Kaa-Chan, I’m pregnant.” You whispered. He lowered his hands and walked away. You were the enemy, the one he had to kill. He fought back Shigaraki, and Dabi enough until other heroes arrived to help. He walked back to where you were, all of the feelings he felt for you were real. How could you betray him like this? All his hopes of having a family, being a father, being a husband, and a great hero; were crashing down as soon as they were built. The pain in his face was almost audible, it broke your heart. He took a deep breath, got super close to your ear.

“You’re dead to me. I loved you. I gave you everything I had. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you right here and now. Get your shit out of my apartment. I never want to see you again.” The venom dripped from his words. He turned around and didn’t look back.

#bnha smut #bakugou smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo x yn #bakugou angst #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo x you

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stevenbasic · 3 years

Text

shhhh.

ugh.

That’s...that’s someone texting me.

I was woken by the sound of my phone, the first beams of sun sneaking in through the cheap plastic blinds of my apartment’s small, single window. I was disoriented - what time was it? How long had I been sleeping? I thought I was in my office, on that cot? Anyway, someone was texting me, and…

There it was again, a fourth alert, from a number I didn’t recognize. And it was morning, not quite quarter-to-seven. Swiping into my texts, I immediately saw the photo…

Two of my receptionists, Brittni and Bobbi, Young girls, friends, inseparable. They were here for, uh, jesus-

"were here to pick u up n get u to the hospitall for your rounds"

Oh shit. It's Thursday morning.

Was it Thursday already?!? I was due into the hospital in - oh christ - twenty minutes!

And my - ugh ugh ugh - my car was gone! The facts, the events of the past two days began to settle back into me. It had been taken away by Sheryl, my wife. My wife had taken away my car. In my distress I had torn through the office yesterday morning more or less naked, lap-swaddled by Melissa, lifted, carried and then holy shit basically hand-raped and boob-smothered by the new Eastern European APRN, Morgan. This was all on Wednesday morning. And it was somehow Thursday already?!? How had I slept so long?!? And - who moved me from the cot in my office to here???

Anyway - I didn’t have time to think. I sprang out of bed. I needed to get ready, fast! The ignominy of needing a ride to the hospital this early AM from two of my youngest employees - something arranged, no doubt, by Melissa - was a fact I was going to have to ignore. Shirt, pants - too big. Belt - yikes. Shoes - I’m swimming in them. Was I actually 5’3”?!? Like Morgan measured yesterday? How could this be happening??? No time to be anxious, I’ll figure this out later, I decided, slamming the door to my apartment behind m-

What the hell?

The hallway was sealed off, plywood blocking the way that would have led to the stairs down to the atrium. The construction! Yes! Melissa had said they were working to tear down most of the second floor and - jesus - there were the new, small stairs, spiral, that would lead me down…

In the near-dark of the early morning I made it down, through Melissa’s silent office, and - the front entrance, also sealed - out through a side door. I was confused, disoriented. Holy shit what was happening to this place?! My practice?!

Hurriedly making my way out, finally, to the front parking lot, I found the two girls in Brittni’s white minivan, pulled up to the curb.

“hiiiiiiii….!” they sang in unison, turned from their front seats to watch me enter as I slid open the passenger’s side back door and hopped in. Their smiles were huge, delighted, and it smelled nice in the car.

“Good morning,” I answered, struggling to slam shut the door behind me, “thanks for doing this…”

“Seat belt…?” Bobbi suggested, brows raised expectantly.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I agreed, clicking myself in, looking around the cabin a bit as we began to pull away “Nice…van.”

“It’s my family’s?” Brittni answered, turning out of the lot onto the main drag. I felt a quick, small pang of nausea hit me, like car sickness.

I shook it off.

Excited, the girls talked non-stop as we drove, Brittni with her eyes on the road or watching me in the rearview, Bobbi turned in her seat the whole time to face me. Both girls were dressed in jeans and black tops, showing - yikes - more cleavage than I’d seen in either one of them before. I did my best not to look down at Bobbi’s inviting chest, or steal glances at Brittni’s curvy profile. They were young - what? Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one? - but double yikes. Had they always been built like this??

It was thankfully a short drive to the small community hospital where I saw my patients, maybe about ten minutes. But throughout the whole thing they were giddy, giggly, obviously tickled pink by their assignment of chauffeuring me to work and amused that it was just after sunrise and they were driving their boss around since his wife had taken away his car. Their eyes glittered merrily, their smiles wide and white.

For myself I did my best to sit straight, look confident, speak clearly. My rumpled, oversized clothes and messy hair might not have helped matters; I’d gotten myself dressed and ready in all of three minutes and it showed. But, I hoped I could keep up at least some airs of professionalism in this otherwise totally demeaning situation. I needed to remain an authority figure, as best I could, to my young employees. I’d thought I was doing okay, keeping up with the light conversation which was - at the very least - thankfully distracting me from thoughts of yesterday, or how I was going to return to work at the office without melting from the humiliation. Two of my new employees - Shanette and then Morgan - had had their ways with me in less than the span of twenty-four hours. And that was notwithstanding the fact that I’d spent time cradled in my office manager’s lap. Oh my god what was happening??

In a brief moment of quiet, as Bobbi and Brittni tittered between themselves over something, I took the chance to gaze out the window. I thought about the office, remembering the hallways, the breakroom, Melissa’s couch. Aside from the humiliation I was beginning, for some reason, to feel a little...homesick? Thinking I shouldn’t be leaving, driving further away. It made me feel funny, like I was doing something wrong. Another brief wave of nausea hit me; I took a deep breath and stopped looking out the window. Settle down, I told myself, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. A deep breath - smelling of the girls, that new perfume - helped.

Before I knew it, though, we were pulled up to the front entrance of the hospital and Bobbi and Brittni were waving me goodbye, each smiling out the passenger’s side window as I gathered myself and stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Byeeeeee…!” they both sang, giggling as I hurried away. Thankfully I’d remembered my briefcase. “We’ll pick you up here at eleven..!” I heard Bobbi call after me.

Inside the front entrance, I stopped. I heard the sliding doors close off behind me, and I took another deep breath. There was that nausea again. Get it together, J.

Rounds. My Thursday mornings had, for years, consisted of me visiting my patients in their rooms: the diabetics, the stroke victims, the heart failures. Those that had been brought in as emergencies or ones that I’d admitted myself over the past weeks. Part of me always enjoyed rounds, seeing my patients in a different environment than the office, helping coordinate their care. I also liked the staff at the hospital, and had grown friendly with many of the nurses, receptionists and other physicians.

But, right off the bat, my visit this week went weirdly. Aside from the now-frequent waves of nausea, I was acutely aware of the stares. If I’d had hopes that no one would notice that I looked small, pale and weak, that my clothes didn't fit, that I was basically a shrunken mess - well, I was sadly mistaken. Not that much was mentioned, at first, but I’m sure they all saw how I was making mistakes, unable to concentrate, dropping things and stumbling over my words. It took one of my patients, though, about halfway through the morning as I visited him in his hospital bed, to speak the unspoken; “Where’s my real doctor?!” the old man croaked out, “This guy’s just a kid!!”

The two nurses in the room - each taller than me but somehow holding their tongues - turned to me. I began to stammer something, began to try to explain, but was immediately clenched with another grip of nausea, the worst yet. “Excuse me…” I asked, and rushed from the room.

I made it as far as the floor’s breakroom before I had to vomit in a sink.

===========================

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#growing into the job

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leighistired · 3 years

Text

Out Loud

A Martin character study AO3 Link

“G’night mum, love you.”

“Make sure you put the trash out, don’t want it stinking up the house.”

At 12 it occurs to Martin, he can’t recall the last time his mother said “I love you” to him. She must have. He knows she loves him, so why can’t he remember her saying it? Was it before dad left? It can’t have been that long ago. He knows if he brings it up she’ll just tell him off for being silly so he just decides to not say it unless she says it first. She doesn’t say it.

“Look how nice our neighbor’s garden is,” she says instead. “If only we could have such a nice garden.”

“The neighbors hire a man-” Martin tries to explain. He had just done law maintenance over the weekend; he would have to bring up memory issues next time they saw a doctor.

“Aren’t you happy with how I provide for you?” She snaps. “Ever since your lousy father left us I have done my best even with my health and all you can talk about is getting a bloody gardener.”

“Sorry, mum,” he says. It’s better not to argue when she gets like this.

“Forget it. Just get me my tea.”

He goes and brews her a cup of Oolong tea. It’s far too bitter for his tastes but it’s all he buys when he does the shopping. Perhaps that was it, instead of saying she loved him she just provided for him.

Martin tells himself that until she gets too sick to work and begins needling him to get a job at 14. Suddenly he’s providing for her on top of school and everything else but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She was just sick and the medication she was on made her tired most of the time so it wasn’t like he could expect her to be excited to see him; especially not when he’s the one bringing it to her.

“Is soup the only thing you buy?” She asks one evening when he brings her dinner.

“You didn’t have soup last night,” he reminds her patiently after a long day of school and work.

“Oh, so you think I’m ungrateful? I am your mother! I gave birth to you! You should be happy to take care of me!”

“It would be nice if you acted like a mum for once!” Martin snaps back. He regrets it as soon as he says it and doesn’t wait to hear her response. He leaves the house and sits in the park near his house for a long time and cries. Of course she loves him. It must be so hard on her to be stuck at home all day with no one to talk to and there he went snapping at her. She’s asleep by the time he comes home and neither of them mentions it in the morning.

Martin doesn’t know what he expects when he starts to transition. He hadn’t even called it a transition at first, he just likes how he looks with short hair, baggy clothes, and a sports bra. His mother disagrees. There are days she won’t even look at him and when she does it’s usually even worse.

“You cut your hair again,” she mentions one morning over breakfast. “Just when you were starting to look like a girl.”

“Yup,” Martin replies tight-lipped. He had been thinking it over for a while and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a girl. The way she says it hits him sharply. If she was never going to say “I love you” to a daughter, why would she say it to a son? He doesn’t bother coming out to her properly because he can already see the disgust on her face when he gets a proper binder.

When she decides to move into a full-time care facility, it’s almost a relief. He feels foolish for expecting her to say it when she leaves. He feels even more foolish when he says it in goodbye. The receptionist gives him a sympathetic look when she doesn’t say it back but the receptionist probably assumes his mother has memory issues and forgot who he was. She doesn’t. Still, he appreciates the gesture.

Dating is nearly impossible for most of his life. It’s easiest to blame his busy schedule; he doesn’t even have time for friends outside of school. The fact that no one even asks him out isn’t something he wants to think about. After he drops out of school and his mother leaves, dating and friendship don’t get any easier. He can’t let anyone he works with get close enough or they’ll find out his real age and utter lack of qualifications. Online dating is also out of the question for similar reasons. If one of his coworkers saw him with the age 19 in his profile they would either know he wasn’t actually 25 or they would think he was a creep and he didn’t exactly feel comfortable lying about his age to potential dates. Meeting people organically isn’t the worst thing in the world but it’s difficult. He makes a few passing friends at a local trans support group but even then, he can’t get close to anyone without risking someone discovering his falsified CV.

He doesn’t have his first real boyfriend until he’s 23 years old. They meet at a Holloween party thrown by a mutual acquaintance and date for almost five months before Martin ruins it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dominick, I love you,” Martin says as he serves dinner.

“Oh, uh, it’s a little fast to say that, don’t you think?” Dominick had stammered awkwardly. Was it? It didn’t seem like it to Martin and even if it was, it was true. He loved Dominick.

“I-I don’t think so,” Martin replies nervously. Some distant part of himself starts to berate him for being so needy.

“It kind of is. Let’s just pretend you never said it and we’ll see how we feel in a few more months, ok?”

“You mean we’ll see how you feel,” Martin says a little bitterly.

“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the holiday?”

Martin had sighed in resignation and picked at the rest of his plate. They broke up a week later because Dominick felt like they were “looking for different things.”

Martin doesn’t have another serious boyfriend after that. He goes on a few more dates over the years but nothing that lasts longer than five months. Nothing that lasts long enough to say “I love you.” In some deep dark part of him, he wonders if he was ever meant for love. His father hadn’t loved him enough to stay, his mother hadn’t said she loved him in over a decade, and he’s not even sure he was in love with Dominick. He gets crushes, sure, but he just throws himself into his work at the Magnus Institute instead.

Working in the library isn’t bad. He gets along with his coworkers well enough but he can never get close to them. Not close enough to love them as friends or be loved in return.

Then he gets transferred to the Archives.

Jonathan Sims is not the first asshole boss Martin has ever had. He doesn’t understand why Mr. Bouchard sent him down to work in the Archive in the first place and his first impression with his new boss is less than stellar when a dog follows him into the building. It doesn’t help that Jon is good-looking and every once in a while Martin catches glimpses of a version of the Archivist without a stick up his ass. Like when he spends Martin’s ice cream birthday talking about emulsifiers. If only he would be clearer about what he actually wants from Martin. No report or follow-up seems to be good enough, even with the help of Tim and Sasha.

Martin works hard for Jon’s approval. He doesn’t know why he wants the recognition but it’s either this or quit and he really, really can’t quit. So he spends three full days looking for every woman named Angela over fifty in Bexley only to be berated for actually talking to one of them and then he offers to look into a case about spiders that clearly upsets Jon only to get trapped in his flat by a zombie worm woman.

When he finally escapes, he takes a few worm corpses with him and he dumps them on Jon’s desk while he’s in the middle of a statement. Let Jon try and disprove that When he gives his own statement he makes special emphasis on reminding Jon how hard he worked to meet his exacting standards. He refuses to be yelled at for this.

Except Jon believes him. More than believes him, in fact. He offers Martin a place to stay. Of course that would be enough to ignite a crush in Martin.

As soon as they get to document storage Martin sits on the cot and begins to cry with exhaustion. He expects Jon to leave but again he surprises him.

“I-it’s alright, Martin,” he says awkwardly as he pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe here and I’m certain Elias will respond promptly to my request for extra security.”

“Thanks,” Martin sniffs. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person.

“Would...would you like me to stay until you fall asleep? If- if you think it will help.”

“Oh, er...no...I’ll be fine, thank you. You should be getting home, anyway. It’s Saturday, Jon.”

Martin blacks out as soon as Jon shuts the door to document storage. When he wakes up he finds his crush on Jon stubbornly still in place.

He can’t help himself after that. He starts taking special care of Jon in hopes of encouraging the kind man he saw that night into emerging. At the very least Jon doesn’t yell at him as much and he even thanks Martin for the tea he brings. It’s then that he notices other things about Jon, like how rattled he gets by certain statements and how he’ll often go an entire day without eating or drinking anything unless someone brings him something. That someone being Martin. He also notices how late Jon leaves, if he leaves at all.

It’s on one such night of Jon still being in his office at 11 o’clock that Martin knocks on Jon’s office door.

“Jon?” He calls gently.

“Hzzmt! Martin?” Jon responds, having been startled awake from dozing at his desk. “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be home.”

“I see your point,” Jon sighs. “I’ll finish up here and head home. Unless you need something?”

“Actually….I-I was thinking,” Martin beings. “Since I sort of kicked you off your cot...D’you want to come back to document storage with me? You know, get some sleep?”

“What?”

“Er...forget I-”

“The cot would be rather cramped with both of us,” Jon warns as he gets up from his desk. “If...if you’re sure you want me to join you.”

“Yeah...I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait until morning, no use keeping you up longer than necessary.”

Martin only half regrets offering to share a bed with his crush. Jon was right, the only way to fit both of them on the cot is for both of them to sleep on their sides (or for Jon to sleep on top of Martin but even the thought has his face burning) and it’s difficult for him to fall asleep with Jon’s back pressed against his. It’s good to hear Jon fall asleep, though, and as time wears on it’s easier for Martin to goad Jon away from work to sleep a few hours.

The more of himself Jon reveals the harder Martin falls for him. Especially after Jon accuses him of being a ghost during the Prentiss attack. Even with the guilt Martin feels every time he looks at Jon mummified in bandages. That was Martin’s fault. If he had just paid more attention then he wouldn’t have lost Jon and Tim in the tunnels. He does everything he can to try and make up for it; despite Jon becoming more and more closed off by the day. Intellectually, Martin knows that Jon has gotten like that with everyone, but something deep down makes Martin feel like it’s his fault Jon’s gotten so cold. It doesn’t help that Jon seems to have gotten friendly with the policewoman investigating the murder of the previous Archivist. Tim even seems to think they’re having an affair which does wonders for Martin’s self-esteem. Jon wouldn’t be the first straight man Martin has ever had a crush on but Martin was pretty sure Jon wasn’t straight. Again, he wonders if he’s done something wrong to push Jon away.

After Jon stumbles out of his office covered in blood claiming to have had an accident with a bread knife Martin finds all the excuse he needs to regularly drag Jon to the canteen to make sure he eats something. The silences during those lunches are hard. They had eaten together before but now Jon wasn’t talking to him. The most Martin could get out of him were a few one-word answers. He tries not to think about how it reminds him of his mum.

“So,” he tries for the millionth time while Jon picks at his sandwich. “Did I tell you what happened while you were at physical therapy the other day?”

Jon doesn’t say anything but he looks up with a gaze that bores into Martin.

“Uh...A little girl came in alone with a statement, she must’ve only been eight years old,” Martin says. Jon looks at him with an expression that almost seems afraid. “Don’t worry, it recorded fine on digital. She walked right down into the Archive, walked up to my desk, and said ‘Excuse me. My name is Beatrice Walker and I’d like to make a statement about a supernatural occurrence.’ She sounded so grown up and she refused to leave until I had recorded her statement. Turns out her dad was using the library for research and she had just wandered off.”

“What was her statement about?” Jon asks to Martin’s surprise.

“Oh, a hamster with mysteriously changing spots.”

“Ah,” Jon replies thoughtfully. “Not much need for follow-up there, I suppose.”

“Not unless you really need me to track down the shop where her parents picked up the new hamster.”

He catches the briefest of smirks from Jon before the conversation dies again.

After that Jon’s coldness and paranoia comes out in the form of a screaming accusation over letters Jon found in the trash. Martin barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he bursts into tears after coming clean about his CV. Tim thankfully doesn’t check on him while he silently curses his taste in men. Jon doesn’t meet his eye for the next week in what he bitterly hopes is guilt. He does seem slightly more willing to talk with Martin at lunch, though.

Then Jon goes missing. After trying to get Martin and Tim to go home early because Jon was feeling under the weather; he disappears. Not before apparently bludgeoning someone with a pipe and isn’t that exactly what he and Tim need to see as soon as they get back from a two-week kidnapping by a spooky door monster?

With Sasha gone, Jon missing, and Melanie King being suddenly hired by Elias, whatever’s left of Martin’s relationship with Tim deteriorates. More so when Martin becomes the only one in the world to believe Jon could be innocent. It’s probably that that makes the police detective “investigating” Jon so actively hostile toward him. Apparently, people say he and Jon are “close” and that probably only means the lunch thing but he wants to imagine it’s something more. Like people are somehow picking up that Jon likes him back.

When Jon comes back to confront Elias it’s all Martin can think to do to fall back on his tea-making. He ducks into Jon’s office with a piping cup of the overly sweet tea he spent months perfecting to Jon’s taste and finds him with his face buried in his one non-bandaged hand.

“Jon?” He calls as gently as he can while he closes the door behind him. “I brought you some tea.”

It’s when Jon looks up that Martin notices the bloody mess down the front of his shirt.

“You’re hurt. Let me go get the first aid-”

“No!” Jon interrupts frantically. “Just...Could you just stay with me for a moment?”

Martin acquiesces and they sit side by side on the sofa in Jon’s office in silence until Jon starts sniffling into his tea. He offers Jon a hug and Jon all but dives into his chest to cry. It’s the saddest most broken thing Martin has ever heard and it’s all he can do not to pull Jon into his lap and curl around him protectively.

“Martin...I-I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. For Sasha and Prentiss and...and for the way I treated you. You didn’t….no one deserves that.”

“None of that was your fault and I sort of deserved it. I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Jon insists before going back to quietly crying into Martin’s jumper. Martin doesn’t respond. He can’t recall the last time someone’s apologized to him. At least not like that. He’d been told off most of his life for not doing things up to people’s standards. A few people over the years had told him he didn’t deserve it but Jon was the first person to apologize. No wonder Martin was falling in love with him.

Damn it.

Cuddling doesn’t become a regular occurrence for them by any means but Jon begins doing more to seek Martin out after that. They eat lunch together more often and Martin stays up late to talk to Jon while he’s abroad. It drives home how deeply buried into Martin’s heart Jon has become. Especially after he comes back after going missing for a month and has the audacity to joke about being moisturized by a clown mannequin for a month.

He wonders if Jon feels the same way. Sometimes Jon will smile shyly at him, and he can almost believe that Jon would be interested in a relationship if the world wasn’t ending. The last time they speak before the Unknowing they’re in document storage.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks as he shifts nervously.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin signs. He heard what happened to Melanie. He knows what’s likely to happen to him. Some small part of him is screaming to just tell Jon his feelings like it’s the climax of an action movie.

“Stay safe,” Jon says.

“Come back,” Martin replies. Jon offers him a hug. It’s no movie kiss but it allows Martin to hold Jon as close as possible. Jon himself is hanging off of Martin’s neck and it feels like a final goodbye.

Then Elias confirms what Martin has always suspected deep down. That his mother never loved him or if there was a time when she did, she stopped when his father left. Even after everything. After he spent years taking care of her. After he had to quit school to care for her. All she ever saw was his father. All his transition did was to remind her further of how much he looked like his father’s son. At least it was worth it. To distract Elias so Melanie could find evidence to arrest him.

Then Peter Lukas shows up and reveals that Elias planned to get arrested. Worse than that, he offers Martin a promotion of sorts.

Then they get the news from Yarmouth. Tim’s body is found in a charred heap, Daisy is missing, and Jon is dead in all but brain activity. At least Basira is physically alive.

Martin spends as much time as he can next to Jon. He’s used to loving someone who can’t love him back. Maybe this is all he’s destined for. Love unrequited. He talks to Jon’s dreaming corpse. Tells him about his day, reads him poetry, even a statement, but nothing draws Jon out of his coma.

Then his mother dies. He barely has the emotional strength to mourn her. Instead, he scatters her ashes and mourns his childhood lost to trying impossibly to earn her love.

After the Flesh attacks, Martin makes a decision. He’ll join Lukas. It’ll probably lead to his death but what did that matter? His mother was gone and didn’t care about him anyway. Tim and Sasha were gone. Jon was basically gone. Basira and Melanie were the only people left that he vaguely cared about and by doing this he could at least protect them.

He visits Jon one last time in the hospital. He’s still covered in wires and his eyes still flit around violently behind his lids as Martin sits down next to him and takes his hand.

“Hey Jon,” he says quietly. “I...This is the last time I’m going to see you...Probably ever. I know, I know old dramatic Martin surely he’s exaggerating. I’m not. The Institute is in danger and...I have a way to keep Melanie and Basira a little safer, so I’m doing it. I just came by one last time to say...Jon, I...I love you. Goodbye.”

He gets up and presses a kiss on a part of Jon’s forehead not covered in wires before leaving. It’s alright that he doesn’t say it back. No one ever says it back to Martin.

When Jon wakes up everything becomes that much harder. Suddenly he had a reason to live and the way Jon pursues him makes him almost believe...No, even completing the thought would be dangerous for all of them. Jon trusts him enough not to be constantly badgering and that makes it worse. When Jon is there the Lonely makes Martin resent his presence and when Jon’s gone Martin resents his absence.

The final, most excruciating pain is when Jon comes after him in the Lonely. He’s excepted his fate in the chilling numbness of the Lonely. Maybe that’s why he says it. The certain, inevitable rejection would be numbed utterly. So he says it.

“I really loved you, you know?”

And Jon looks broken. Even after he rips Peter’s statement from him. Even when he reaches for Martin’s face with hands that seem far too warm and makes him See. Knowing Jon loves him isn’t like “knowing” his mother loves him. Instead of a lie born in Martin’s mind to stamp down the fear of rejection, it’s a reality pouring from Jon’s mind mingled with Jon’s fears of rejection.

Jon’s hands still feel too warm compared to the icy chill of the Lonely as he leads Martin out. Still, he refuses to let go all the way through the tunnels, the Institute, talking to Basira, packing at each other’s flats, and on to the train. The way to Daisy’s safe house feels like a blur and when they finally arrive it’s all Martin can do to remember to take off his binder before collapsing into bed with Jon’s warm arms around him.

He wakes to Jon’s quiet crying. The awful, stifled thing that breaks Martin’s heart.

“Jon,” he whispers.

“Martin? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” he assures as he swaps their positions so Jon is tucked firmly against him. Jon makes another broken noise and Martin can’t stop himself from crying, too.

“I-I’m here, Martin. You aren’t on your own,” Jon soothes and Martin almost has to laugh. They lay crying and comforting each other until they both fall back asleep.

When they wake up properly they take stock of the safe house’s pantry and make a list of things to pick up in the village after breakfast. Martin gives in to the temptation to buy a new notebook to try and write poetry in. They have enough canned food to survive to the next ice age so they pick up perishable items like milk, bread, butter, and eggs. Jon also picks up fresh peaches and a box of Martin’s preferred tea. It’s easy to pretend like they going on a normal shopping trip as they walk up and down the aisles to check things off their list.

They return to the cabin and settle in. Martin sits on the sofa and tries to write out a poem while Jon tries to read a book from Daisy’s personal collection. After a while, Martin beings to feel Jon’s gaze on him.

“Is there something on my face?” He tries casually as he’s met with an expression he’s never been on the receiving end of.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Jon sighs. Martin can’t stop the noise that comes out of him. All his life trying to earn love and Jon just says it while Martin’s thinking of a synonym for ‘yellow.’

“I-I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” Jon says quickly, his soft expression suddenly turning worried.

“But I do.”

“Oh…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Jon starts giggling and it’s impossible for Martin not to follow suit until happy tears stream down both of their faces.

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jonathan sims #I wrote a fic #this was supposed to be posted on valentines day

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mrs-march-ahs · 3 years

Note

you get the chance to sleep w evan peters but he looks like jeff pister the entire time. what do you do, traveler?

Jeff’s New Assistant

I would definitely sleep with him, but only if Evan agreed to act like he’s never seen or felt a vagina before. Because we all know Jeff hasn’t.

This prompted me to write smut about Jeff that literally nobody asked for. Thank you, traveler. This is lowkey a joke but also not.

Enjoy:)

----

You walk down a long white corridor holding two coffee cups, looking up at signs on the walls and the doors to navigate where you want to be. Eventually you approach a white shiny desk with a pretty woman behind it. You shyly walk up to her and smile at her, which she doesn’t reciprocate.

“Hello, I’m looking for Jeff Pfister?”, you say to her. She stops packing her stationery into the box on her desk and looks at you. She has flaming red hair, which she must have used hairspray on. Not a single hair was out of line and her purple uniform looked like it was worn for the very first time. Her professionalism was very intimidating to you. She looks at you through her thick clear glasses and doesn’t say a word. Her stare makes you uneasy and you continue mumbling.

“He uh offered me a job? As a receptionist here? He found me on Reddit and-”

Although you were only trying to explain your reason for being here, you feel as though you said the wrong thing. She slams the stapler in her hand into the box and starts walking very fast away from you. You nervously follow her, not knowing what else to do. She eventually leads you into a room, to which she powerfully slams open the double doors and looks at the two coconut heads sitting at their desks, snorting cocaine.

“I haven’t even left yet, and you already found a woman to replace me? On Reddit out of all places? Not even a job website?”

Mutt looks up at you, and then turns to her, not looking intimidated by her whatsoever.

“You didn’t want to work here. We need somebody to make us coffee. Y/N said she can make coffee and needs a job. What else do you want me to say?”

You stood awkwardly watching the blonde coconut boy continue snorting coke, clearly not phased by losing a worker. You quickly glance at the lady by your side and she takes keys out of her pocket and slaps them into your hand.

“Good luck”. The second those words came out of her, she promptly left the room, without a goodbye. The men looked at her leave but didn’t say anything, the only sound in the room being her heels clicking on the floor. Once the doors shut behind her, they both look at you, and you take a deep breath.

“I got you both coffee”, you say, passing them both their cups. You anxiously watch them both take a sip and hope you got their orders right. Jeff takes a drink of coffee and continues typing on the computer and although a ‘thank you’ would be nice you were at peace knowing at least he liked it. Mutt on the other hand, takes a sip and immediately grimaces.

“You know this is your job, right? You want to get fired already? Do I look like the kind of man to drink a latte?”. After a couple seconds without your reply, he angrily throws the cup into the bin by his desk and stands up, walking towards the door. He slams the door behind him and you sigh, trying to not take his actions to heart, knowing that you did your best. You look around the office, filled with computer equipment and papers everywhere, and take off your jacket. You hang it over a nearby chair and wonder what exactly they are working on. Just as you’re about to ask him, you turn your head to look at Jeff and notice him already staring at your chest. When you make eye contact, he quickly looks back down at his keyboard and continues typing. With a new boost of confidence, you walk over to him and slide your hand on his desk.

“What are you doing?”, you smile at him and ask. He awkwardly looks up at you from his chair, clearly trying to avoid looking at your chest. He types a few things on his keyboard, and they come up on the black screen in green letters. Within a few seconds, he looks over at the robotic hand and arm on his desk and it begins to move. It simulates a handjob and you let out a single chuckle. You decide to act dumb and slide your fingers around on his desk.

“I don’t get it”.

He snorts at your comment and explains, in the most condescending manner he can manage. “Of course you won’t understand. Coding is a complex set of formulas and commands that require vast knowledge of not only math but also intensive knowledge of computing-”

You interrupt his nerd-fest and lean down closer to his face.

“No, I mean…”, you put your hand on his thigh and slide it up. “I don’t understand why you’d build a robot, when you can have the real deal”.

He looks at you and sucks in his lips nervously. You smirk, knowing that you broke the confident shell and are now looking at the inner incel that you expected. You slide your hand up his arm and on his shoulder, to sweep his hair out of the way and place a few gentle kisses on Jeff’s neck. He puts his arms on the arms of his chair and grips onto them for dear life. Within only a few seconds, a very soft moan slips out from between his lips and you suck harsher on the part of his neck that made him moan. Hitched breaths escape his lips and you look at his pants practically bursting open. You drool looking at the tent in his pants and ache to release him, so you reach down and teasingly unzip his pants.

He holds his breath watching you slowly undress him, and breaths in quickly when you palm him through his white boxers. With one finger, you pull back his underwear, and bite your lip, yearning to see his big dick spring open. Instead, you are greeted with a tiny thick peepee, slipping out of his undies. He exhales at the sight of you pulling out his dick and feeling the air on his precum. You are stunned by his tiny size and hesitate to touch him, making him look up at you like a pleading puppy. Looking him dead in the eye, you spit on your hand and wrap your hand around his tiny cock. He grips onto his chair more than before and bites his lip when you start moving. You can barely stroke him, but you try your best, and go back to sucking at his neck. He clearly can’t handle both and quickly melts, throwing his head back, completing giving into your minimal touch. You suck a hickey on his neck, making him groan out a long moan, and decide to toy with him more.

You jerk him off quicker, and when his grunts become high pitch and he closes his eyes, you take your hand off him. He looks at you confused and desperate and you drop down to your knees. He looks down at you with wide eyes, not believing in what’s happening until you take his tiny dick in your mouth. He bites his lip to hold in the moans from you suckling at his cock, you wanting to deepthroat it, but not being able to. You use both hands to play with his balls and suck him only with your mouth, not even having space on his dick to stroke him while you suck. After only a couple of seconds of passionate sucking, he grunts and releases into your mouth, which you quickly swallow. You continue working on him with your mouth after he releases, but when you look up at him and make eye contact with his tired and shocked eyes, you stop.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening hits you both and you immediately jump up off your knees. He shoves his soft cock back into his pants and zips them up, looking at Mutt who comes in the room empty handed. You look at him and wonder why he doesn’t have coffee.

“I thought you were going to get coffee-”

“And I thought you were going to be suitable for the job, clearly we were both wrong. Costa was shut for some reason and now I’m left with nothing!”. He snaps at you, and sits down in his chair, quickly sliding over to the table covered in cocaine. He points at you and barks, “You’re fired”, before leaning down to sniff a line.

Before you have time to say anything, Jeff defends you. “Whoa whoa whoa, she’s staying”. Mutt looks up at him confused and angry. He rubs the white powder off his nose and leans back in his chair, huffing.

“What’d she do that’s so good? Suck you off?”

Jeff looks at you awkwardly, not quite knowing how to respond. Mutt looks at you in disbelief and whines, “Not fair! Why him but not me?”.

You walk over to him and drop to your knees in front of him. He looks down at you happily and you smirk, knowing this is the job for you.

#ahs #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #ahs apocalypse #jeff pfister #evan peters characters #ahs jeff #ahs jeff pfister #jeff pfister x reader #jeff pfister smut #jeff pfister fanfiction #ahs smut #ahs fanfiction #ahs imagine #ahs mutt #ahs jeff and mutt

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