Riddle's type is someone cultured. A quiet person with whom he can have a detailed conversation, perhaps accompanied by a cup of tea. What he looks for in a partner is someone knowledgeable yet that doesn't flaunt it. What pulls at his heartstrings is the shy, maybe a bit nerdy, bookworm. That one that goes on a tangent when talking about a topic, cheeks going red with every passionate word that leaves their mouth — and that has to find that one person in a million to truly be themselves. What Riddle truly seeks for in a partner is someone smart, and shy, enough to know that it is better not to contradict him.
Ace's type is someone easy-going. Someone who's laid-back and prefers to go with the flow rather than stress over the small stuff. What he looks for in a partner is someone relaxed, adaptable, low-maintenance, especially for him who appreciates a stress-free, easy going relationship. They don't have to be clingy, sensitive and dramatic because he made a joke, or overly possessive — in his mind he probably goes "just because I gave a look at someone doesn't mean I'll cheat. I'm with them for a reason, geez...". What he really likes about this type is their nonchalant nature — or what I call it, the idgaf attitude. What he really seeks for in a "relationship" is more of a best buds/friends with benefits type of situation. The ones with barely any effort input that can be only jokingly called a relationship. This way there won't be any drama or cries or whines when he decides to end things because he got bored. Ace's type is someone that doesn't care about being in a relationship when they can do the same things as friends.
Deuce's type is someone who is hard working. Someone always up for a physical challenge, who's energetic, disciplined and competitive — a sporty, if you will. He’s not into the “damsel in distress” trope too much, he actually finds it quite annoying. Turns out the whining until you get what you want strategy is not effective on him. He likes the ones that built things from scratch, busting their asses to get where they are and that can enjoy the fruits of that labor because they earn it — bonus points if they came from rough households or awful childhoods, he has mad respect for those.
Trey's type is someone older. And I don’t mean he’s into MILFs, okay? Get your minds out of the gutter. What Trey really likes is a person who’s, arguably, not much older than him but that has seen the world for what it’s like and knows how to overcome things — someone wise, if you want to stretch it. That being said he doesn’t dislike someone who’s younger or the same age as him, but being known as the older brother or mother hen of the group really gets under his skin after a while. He doesn’t spite taking care of others…but he would like being the one that’s taken care of, for once.
Cater's type is someone as Social Enthusiast™ as him. Someone who's always about the right angle and lighting and, of course, the most shot worth spots in the whole city. If you thought Cater on a daily basis is annoying, with all his hashtag talk and selfies requests and thousands of pics taken for just a cute decorated coffee, well, you haven't seen his partner yet. Remember the iconic Team Rocket line? “Prepare for trouble and make it double”? That is Cater if ever found someone like himself as a partner.
Both Jade and Floyd’s type is someone innocent. I’m not talking about childlike personalities — Floyd would get bored easily and Jade would find them annoying. No, I’m talking about the kind of person that, despite all the horrible things happening in the world and the complete distrust from human to another, still believes in peace and compassion, who values other’s lives like gold. The type of person that harbors a deep-rooted hope in their hearts despite the odds, whose words are sweet and light and refreshing like a glass of cold lemonade on a scorching summer day. It is unclear if it’s a sort of corruption kink or if they’re genuinely attracted to someone who doesn’t know what despair and cruelty are, but either way they do blush and grin at this type of person.
Kalim’s type is someone energetic but empathic — is a lot to ask, I know. Kalim basically seeks for an extension of himself, someone cheerful and full of energy like they’d ingested a truckload of sugar for breakfast. Someone as curious and willing to explore new things and places like he is. But also someone who can perceive others’ emotions and blend into that wavelength like a second nature, comforting them and being their shoulder to cry on and the one who always know what to say.
Jamil’s type is someone that breaks the mold. Someone like Jamil surely doesn’t look at things like beauty standards, latest fashion or political topics. He would long for someone that refuses to blend into society, standing out and be proud of that — unlike him. Perhaps someone with dyed hair, maybe piercings or visible tattoos that are accessories and not a full canvas. Bonus points if they have artistic talent.
Vil’s type is someone with class. What a shocker, right? Jokes aside, Vil’s type is more aligned with someone who’s in the fashion industry perhaps — someone that’s both good-looking and competent in their field. Not necessarily a model…but neither someone relegated to delivering coffees inside an overcrowded office. He has standards. Though he’s willing to lower a teensy weensy that bar in favor of someone that has a keen eye for beauty and artistic vision — like a photographer.
Epfel’s type is someone that can say “I look cute and I can kick your ass”. Pretty self explanatory I’d say on this one. Country bumpkin learned to like his princess-like appearance and the satisfaction that comes with it when someone underestimates him and his strength, so it’s no surprise that he fancy for someone that looks all pastel and rainbows and that can make someone’s teeth fly with a glittery hot pink knuckle brass if they get pissed. (Just imagine someone with platform shoes, ruffle skirt and pink shirt pulling out of a Hello Kitty themed purse a gun with cute stickers. That’s what I’m talking about.)
Idia’s type is someone strong-willed. He’s not the best example of productivity when he’s not motivated, he knows, he’s also very much aware that his attitude can be stressful to deal with, so he needs someone who can put him back in his place with the same ease as he completes a hard level on his favourite RPG. Someone that basically bullies him into attending meetings, respecting deadlines and act responsible. Someone that knows which buttons to press to make him go from a demotivated low tier office worker into a steaming, lightning speed typing workaholic that lives off arabic coffee like it’s blood.
Malleus’ type is someone that understands him. He’s been through a lot and he’s not willing to open up about his past to the first person that asks. Malleus recognizes pain when he sees it, anguish at having lost everything dear with a blink of an eye. His heart understands. Malleus is moved by someone that has lost everything, has experienced trauma and, much like him, has nothing worth starting over, but still is resilient to keep living like it’s the biggest goal to aspire to. Someone like this reminds him of himself and knows they won’t judge others with the same experience, building up a new life stronger than before.
Silver’s type is someone quiet. Big surprise, I know. Silver is awfully quiet by himself, speaking softly and moving even more silently. What he really seeks for is someone who’s comfortable to let the silence left unfilled, someone that appreciates the stillness of the air while drinking a cup of coffee, someone that Silver feels comfortable falling asleep next to. In a metropoly always busy and chaotic and noisy, peace and quiet are qualities Silver always appreciates.
Lilia’s type is someone mysterious. Think of like an ancient vibe — Greek Nymph or Medieval or Gothic, it works either way for him. A painting come to life, basically. Someone posed, quiet, refined and noble, practically glowing with their own light. Someone that every word spoken is an event to be remembered and whose movements look calculated and effortless at the same time. Someone he has to work hard to read, unlike the rest of the people surrounding him.
Sebek’s type is someone mischievous. You heard me right, this Greek statue of a man is into cheeky ones. Sebek’s always serious, posed and ready to fight if the case ever presents — not exactly a party animal, if you catch my drill. It’s a bit of a surprise that the one type he’s attracted to is someone who can tease him and poke his sides and make him lose his composure, someone so lively and so untamable that it kinda represents a challenge for the ones like him.
✠ Back to Bullettin Board
✠ These are answered questions, for the sake of being completed, that didn't have their time to shine during the weekly interviews.
If you want to see more stay tuned and don't be afraid to leave a message, Boss is always happy to see what you think.
This Mafia AU isn't mine, it belongs to @twistedmafiaau aka Boss who is indulging my brain worms and feeding them with content while I also give them words to giggle and kick their feet over.
This piece is in collaboration with the Summer Ballroom Chatters Boss is hosting. This is piece 1 of 2 and does fall in universe with our current timeline. The effort I put into this and the brain power, my first time ever writing for a Twisted Wonderland guy, be gentle with me. Mort and Hitman are next on my list, pray to the writing gods cause Ruggie isn't as easy as Jade for me to dissect. I'm like Mort, I just can't read him quite right 😂 -Echo
Want more of Daphne and Amaris? -> Here
Warnings: Daphne's mental mouth, Daphne's dirty thoughts (It's Jade are we surprised she has them at this point? I kept it as vague as possible, she is not easy to reel in), cancer mentions and all the trauma and issues that go with that, body image issues due to cancer, triggering talk of assaults and harassments, Mort's files opened and made public by guess who so warning for their contents. I'm sure I missed something…
Fancy Clothes & Fancy Cars
“Did you hear about The Tacts’s board of directors and sponsors?”
“Yes, that's so sickening. To think so many had their hands in such filth. Associating with the Desmond Family's deep pockets and a public walkout with the police, in cuffs. It was all over the sister news stations. It seems that there is really no loyalty in that business. It's all a cash grab like Mort says. Loyalty is dead.”
“The Tact will probably shut down along with all of its sister branches. Mort will be out of a job, but knowing her, she probably knew. Did you see her photo standing with the board from the auction night back in March? She was stunning, and that necklace… I'm swooning. Just one chance, that's all I need with her. I can show her women are superior to men."
"I can't believe they dared to even look at her like that in the photograph. The audacity to touch her even! She's clearly uncomfortable with the tight smile. See?”
“You're right, it seems Mort does know a thing or two about surviving. Did you hear that someone released the precinct's files from her childhood and found her in The Justice Papers?”
“No, what's in them?”
“Everything. She was a victim and apparently, her uncle pimped her out across the world for some reason as a teen. Even had his way with her until she was eighteen according to the police report where she talked about it back then, but the court cases were seen to not have enough evidence. All of it was thrown. And now the papers, the latest, she was being trafficked until last year still, in that system the Desmond's used. There are countless mentions of her under a three-letter code someone at the precinct figured out. Officer Bellamy I believe, he released the information for study but someone hacked the system and made it public."
"Oh my ...."
"I know. It's disgusting. There are photographs and recordings too. Look at this list a reporter put together. No one is safe from the world's lens, not even Mort."
"Ew, put that away. I feel sorry for her, I pity her. I can't imagine how terrified she must be all the time. Being left to the wolves like that and then getting away. She did get away right?"
"Well obviously, she's here and thriving. She must really be magic in the sheets. I wish she'd give us all pointers instead of playing innocent like she's dense in bedroom play.”
“Well she is a victim, and I don't believe she is playing innocent. She's shown enough times that she's perfectly capable in her blog to get intimate. Maybe the act of intimacy itself is hard for her? She has hinted at several instances where she could have taken things there, but didn't. After all— for all intensive purposes— being a high-end courtesan to the elite had to be triggering. Can't imagine what they paid her uncle for, to do to her themselves.”
“Honey, have you read her blog? This woman has endured more than most women can and stayed sane through it. With Dahlia tailing her, the horrors he's done to her, and other odd things no doubt we know nothing about from this past year, she's a survivor trying to escape from some very big fish. This is probably nothing to her.”
“Thank the Sevens for The Justice Papers then coming out and giving her case validity after all these years, even if her information was leaked.”
“Yeah, in more ways than one. Mort's coverage on the papers and her blog on the Mafia, along with her travel pieces, are single-handedly keeping The Tact floating right now. She's a golden goose, the captain at the helm, and she's carrying it all, creating new structures and programs from ashes.”
“I heard one of the board members tried to get her on the board. Is that true?”
“It's a rumor, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's real. They're trying to save face.”
“Well I hope it sinks and then Mort can find a better job, somewhere she's appreciated.”
“Didn't you hear? Someone bought out all the stocks during the crash in March. They have to be insane. The company is worth nothing now.”
“Poor fool probably got hoodwinked.”
“No doubt.”
Overhearing the women talk about her best friend was hard, hearing them discuss her private affairs was harder. But she had promised Amaris to do better, be better at not flying off the handle, speaking before considering her words. It was turning out to be a chore she hated.
“You look lovely in that Miss Daphne.” Her regular attendant for this particular shop smiled as the pink dove twirled in the mirror. Shimmering gossamer refracted blends of iridescent pearl pink light as the fabric caught the rays of sunshine on her curves. Golden hair splayed around her shoulders.
A gift to herself, since treatment had been going well. Well, as well as one with cancer could manage. Her body had been rejecting treatments, putting on more weight with the meds and radiation making her hate how she looked. Each curve now was settled just a bit more than she'd like, and her old wardrobe was funneled off to different thrift shops in the area to help fund projects for the local community. A new wardrobe was being purchased in the only therapy she knew, shopping.
Nothing was working anymore, even Amaris’s blood transfusions were beginning to waver after all these years and that alone told her soon she'd be counting seconds and not days very soon. Her body was collapsing in on itself and she didn't know what precious time she had left.
But she still hoped, still wanted to stay here and live. There was a world outside waiting to be discovered. People to love and laugh with, places that would make her cry from the beauty. More dresses and shoes to wear. More hearts to embrace and men to kiss. Maybe she'd give women a try? Why not, after all she was a dead girl walking, might as well try everything on the menu. She was a lover at heart and believed everyone deserved to be loved, to have it if they wanted it. Even as she embraced the sands of time to stop fretting as they passed through her fingers that cut her time shorter and shorter. She'd live unapologetically till the day her heart stopped. Love with everything she had.
The world was far too cold and distant. Everyone was wasting precious time. Why waste years when one isn't promised them? For what, assurance?
She couldn't understand those that sat by and waited for it. Amaris was sitting on her hands when she should be kissing a Mafia boy like the stars would burn out. After all, neither she nor her friend had time… she didn't know what her family would do to Amaris after she was gone. Or if Amaris could live after having her body torn apart. Could one live without vital organs? A picture that made her pale flashed across her mind and she wanted to scream. No. She wouldn't let Amaris be a vegetable, a body in a bed to harvest from.
And what of Ruggie? Surely sooner or later age would catch him and he'd end up dead or worse, trapped and unable to be free because of unforeseen circumstances. He could get shot! Life didn't play favorites. Money wasn't happiness, but it did help make things easier. She was very aware of that fact. But that didn't make it worth the price. He was wasting time when he could be in Morocco.
Her hands brushed at spots hidden beneath the slinky dress, puckered scars where organs were taken and replaced like candy bars in a checkout aisle. There were only so many rh-null bodies on earth, fewer willing to sell organs for cash. Few yet in her age range.
She had to think of something to hide Amaris, free her, but how? She wasn't a human being, not under law nor science. Humanity wasn't gentle with things it didn't understand, it destroyed them. And it wasn't like she could find proof that she was the exception to the rule...
The world didn't care about Amaris.
Across the street a few couples walked and she had to rub her eyes, swearing she saw pink hair. This was up-town, dyed hair wasn't exactly the norm. Glancing again she noted it was a feathered head piece. Maybe there was a film shooting nearby?
Shaking her head Daphne rolls a diamond earring between her fingers looking at the mirror once more.
“I'll take it.” Her honey eye slid to the black-clad woman with a name tag. “Pack it for me? And don't forget the other things for Amaris. Her birthday is going to be good this year. I'm making sure of it.” The memory of opening that box—seeing the skull of Amaris’s father— crumbling on the paper was still carved into her mind. She despised Dahlia, but what could she do? Money was worthless against blood and bone. If hiring someone worked, Dahlia would be gone by now …
Stepping back into the changing room she hands in the pieces she'd rejected, pinks and baby blue, a few whites and some sunny yellows with minty accents.
Bright colors were her armor, and her shoes were her sword. And she wielded them with the same precision her best friend wielded her pen and lipstick.
The saying was true; give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.
Stepping out, she brought the dress to the counter, soft pink a-line skirt cradling her legs that wore those diamond studded heels still. She settled the slinky fabric along with the shape wear to go beneath as the lady servicing her smiled and made small talk with the blonde. Each purchase coated in tissue paper and boxed with care, taped shut. Those for Amaris were tied with ribbons in deep sapphire, it seems they had read her account preferences, probably had Amaris's name on file since she talked about her so much.
Too bad she couldn't buy what would change lives.
“Oh sir, we take returns at this desk.”
She pulled her pink-cased phone from her coach purse that was hot pink, the shell a rather hardy one, as she popped a hip. Nails tapping away she scrolled and wrote a few lines for a piece on the latest TV show that claimed to be a paradise for love. She adored it, but seeing the same roles play out over and over made her sad. Why play games with so many? Why not just decide to be a poly? Clearly, they were all attracted to each other. She never understood monogamy. Love could be shared, not just possessed as long as everyone communicated and was respectful. Hell, she did it.
Her boys, her perfect and handsome men, flashed through her mind as she side-stepped a rather tall man who stood to her right, scanning a message from Des who was currently organizing her desk like a good intern. Maybe she should get him something… nah.
“Pardon me,” The man says and her fingers pause. Gilded nails arc for the glass as her screen goes back and she sees his face behind her.
Teal hair, with the striking back streak, swept back from mismatched eyes. She knew which pair belonged to which twin, memorizing that months ago. Well-matched and layered clothes impeccable and clean. Face carved like an Adonis statue in Rome with how he watched her from that little back box. His under profile was attractive too?! She gasped and looked back at him, heel slamming on his toe before her back met some part of him she couldn't name because her heart was in her skull and her brain had turned off in favor of the heat she felt running down her spine.
She was a deer in headlights as he shone her with a smile, head tilted, wincing.
Jade Leech.
Crap her heel was on his toe. Move Daph.
“Sorry!” She exclaims and turns retreating a few steps away apologizing profusely in Russian with pink cheeks and busy hands that rolled her phone. “Is it broken? I can call an ambulance. I'm so sorry!”
"You certainly do make an entrance, mi cara*." The corner of his mouth lifted. "Did your friend teach you this as well?” Those words made her rather sheepish as she watched him move his dark Italian leather shoes a bit before returning that dual gaze to her.
She got the color right for her ribbons.
“No-I mean- she could have, it's been so long-” she pauses, closing her mouth and turning away. “No, no, I won't be made a fool again by you.”
It was his turn to blink at her, how dare he act so innocent. “As you wish. I simply wished to say hello.”
She couldn't see his face, but the flash of fabric on his arm made her pause and look back just a smidge. The glossy fabric has her all but swooning. Maria had taste. Or maybe it was one of his other friends.
“It's pretty.” Her voice, crippled in shyness, dares to open the door between them again. “Maria's?”
“It failed to meet her expectations." His fingers smoothed over the fabric. "A tragedy, really. Fancy meeting you, I expected a dull afternoon, not one with lovely company.” His fingers caress and edge and her eyes track them like a biscuit for a hound. All of her self-built hatred was crumbling, gods she hated how easy she caved for a handsome face.
How much she wanted to lick his fingers and have them at her lips, keeping her in check while he did other things to her. This was hell. And his name was Jade.
“Would you be available to help me find something for her to replace it? I'm still learning about fabrics, and you always seem to mesmerize the room with color.” His head tilted, no doubt studying her as she twitched like a crack addict. Is this what Bellamy felt like next to Amaris? No wonder the idiot was so stupid. She couldn't blame the guy either way.
“Sure.” She wanted to scream at her weak will. She had six men, six! Why was he able to just wrap her around his finger…
Amaris was gonna kill her.
“Excellent.” He lays the dress on the counter and extends a hand behind her like a gentleman would in letting a lady lead the way. “Then I shall rely on your expertise.”
Flushed crimson a hand flies to her heart as her previous shopping partner gives her a thumbs up as she set her large purchase aside to be picked up when she and Jade were finished.
“Oh, you shouldn't give me so much credit, really, I just dabble here and there.” She babbles as she starts pulling fabric squares from a rack. “We should start with fabric, then what dress cut she likes. I know I met her before but I feel so bad. I was really sick you see, and I don't remember anything from her helping me. Oh, I'm terrible, I know, who forgets someone who helps another, but maybe this will make it better?”
Pink infused glitter nails hold up some textiles for him. “Silk, cotton, linen, the list is endless really. Does she have a favorite?”
“If you wish to make this an apology gift then you should pick the fabric, yes?” He says from the couch before her having sat down to watch her flit about the show room, that familiar smile, pleasant enough to soothe and unsettling enough to make her wonder what he was thinking. She almost lost air for the sake of paying to keep it.
“I suppose so.” She fingers the fabrics looking them over carefully. “Every woman deserves to feel like a princess at least once in her life.”
He doesn't answer, just smiles, watching her as she talks to herself, admiring patterns and threads before moving on to a cut that she was sure would flatter every body type.
“This is similar to what I got Amaris the first time I bought her something. The universal secret weapon of every woman's closet. You will always feel like a million bucks and look spectacular.” She brings over the dress holding it up for him.
“Do you always choose based on what looks best on another?”
“Of course. My preference doesn't matter, it's not like Maria is wearing this for me.” She explains hanging the expensive gown in view for him. “That is a whole other story and dress.”
“Show me that one,” She could hear the amusement. Shivers running up her neck and scalp as such a tone. Dangerous thoughts purred in her mind. “If you wouldn't mind.”
“What I would pick?” She points to herself and he nods. “But…”
“You do not have to, I was simply curious how you would dress a partner if given the chance.”
Huffing at his clear guilt trip she doesn't stop her hands from reaching into a pile of fabrics. Yeah, she was walking right into this one. She didn't want to be saved. Gods she'd need a drink later, Mafia were so out of her league to mentally spar with.
Amaris would kill her and then bring her back just to do it again. Fuck this was bad, what kind of cuckolded madness was this? Her picking a dress for his lesbian lover.
She smiles as she finds what she was looking for. “I don't know anything about her beyond what Amaris told me. Pink hair, midwife clothes, Italian roots like you.” She fired off trying to bring some sense of intelligence to the conversation. He had to be so bored listening to her rattle on about clothes.
“She said Maria liked using the saints names so I would infer she has a faith, or at least regards herself with it, so maybe cream? Not for purity, but because Italy is hot and the churches are cold if I remember right. Stone and stained glass. The light color would travel well too in other parts of Europe and the sea side. She should have her knees, shoulders and chest covered according to some signs I saw when visiting Italy… so maybe a veil of some sort around her shoulders? Veil isn't the right word… oh, I'm sorry, my English is still a work in progress.”
He rose, joining her in admiring the dress she had chosen. “You have been to Italy?”
“Yes, though not the countryside. Just the main cities. The doctors are quite good, and the sea is…” She paused when his fingers brushed hers, buffering in real time as she screamed internally. His hands were soft, a man with soft hands was unheard of and he clearly took care of them by how he rubbed the fabric between his fingers. She wanted to bite them, lovingly, it was unfair he looked so yummy everywhere all the damn time.
“The sea?” Those eyes of cerulean sea moss and light house glow meet her honeyed ones. She wanted to be a puddle on the floor, melt for him into a gooey mess to play with. Fuck she was screwed and he wasn't single which made things worse, so much worse. “Most people remember the food.”
She didn't do attached men, she didn't do men who had side chicks. She was fiercely jealous unlike Amaris who would just shrug and cut a guy off with no revenge. Something about knowing one's value... She wished she could be so easy going, but she loved hard and when that broke …
“Yes,” she lets the dress go, hands retreating to her heart. “This is what I would choose. It just needs a… veil? And yes the food is delicious, like the pasta and rich sauces without all the additives, but there's something about the water.”
“Shawl I believe is the word you are looking for.”
She clicks her tongue and sighs. “Yes, yes, that's it. Shawl.” Her arms lift to do the motion of putting on such a piece. “Maybe something embroidered with something she likes? I can do it but I have no idea what her taste is.”
“You sew as well. My you are quite gifted.” He tugs a scarf, long and sheer from a display dropping it over the gown. “How does this look? Is it too little? I'm partial to linen, it's a finer weave.”
“It's perfect.” Her fingers adjust the scarf to lay as it would for modest dress, perfect for a church. “And she could wear it anywhere really. The color is stunning. I just wish I knew her jewelry preferences. She needs something to go with it.” She taps her rose painted lips, scanning a jewelry table as she starts picking pieces and setting them in the fabrics he held. “Speaking of, if I gave you a gift for Mrs Moon could you find a way to make sure it reaches her for her baby shower?”
Jade, much to her amusement, followed her around as she piled on assorted metals and gems, pearls and stone babbling about complexion and coloring, asking him questions that weren't really questions but trying to chop her nerves off at the roots for fear she would grow far too comfortable with the Mafia member.
“You seem remarkably invested in making Maria happy. Anyone really.”
“Ofcourse. You asked for my help and I will give you my best effort.” She clicks her tongue and pulls a few sets off and grabs a box to set some platinum moon shaped earrings with a blue stones and a simple necklace. “This is for Mrs. Moon. Someone needs to look after the mom and get her something nice that won't make her feel fat. I can add a receipt so she can return it and get something else if she dislikes it."
She couldn't tell if he'd frozen or just was processing, either way he accepted the box with little delay after a moment. “You are very generous. When choosing a gift, do you generally prioritize usefulness or sentiment?”
“Why not both, that's what makes a gift so good after all. One must be able to use something and also be able to see the sentimentality in it. Otherwise it's worthless.”
By the time they finish and make it back to the front with the dress and all of its many elements she swipes her card and has it packaged specifically with Maria’s hair in mind. A white box with a hot pink ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
She goes to hand him the gift and sees he was already carrying every single bag she had her purchases tucked away in.
“Oh, you don't have to do that. I can call someone.” She holds his box tightly twittering over in those shiny heels that put glass to shame.
“Consider it my payment, Azul makes a fuss if we are in debt to anyone.” His lips go up again and she can't help how her shoulders rise in bashful flattery at his next sentence. “Though it's my pleasure to assist you mi diamante*.”
“I'll drive you to where you'd like as further payment then. Those bags are heavy, I know what I bought.” She plays with her hair, undecided on tucking a few strands or leaving them. “I'm trading in today, so I hope you don't mind coming along. I could always use a second pair of eyes with the dealerships.”
His brow rose and she hoped he didn't find her shallow. Amaris was like him, in a way, and she knew her friend hated going to the dealerships with her. Something about mindless prattle and obvious kiss assery for the sale.
She quite enjoyed it, she loved the attention and feeling taken care of. Some of her best interactions were with such places specifically for that. They were being paid to be charming, and she had money to fork over. After all, she couldn't build with the time she had, so she had to buy it all or miss out. And she hated missing out.
“I would enjoy accompanying you.” He bows a bit, arm shifting and she quickly waves for him to stop, eyes wide in fond adoration. How the hell did he end up with a lesbian? How lucky was Maria to have such a man. He was perfect.
“Please don't bow unless you want to actually, I can't imagine how your back feels at the end of the day, being so tall. Save your spine the effort, for my empathy, if not your own sake.” She leads for a moment moving to get the door before his hand slides against the brass bar to her own, body bracketing hers just enough to register the heat from him. She about blacks out in a swoon for a breath before stepping into the sun.
Maria had to be a saint like Mrs. Moon. They had to be of the same pantheon. It was the only explanation for such men to be so perfect. She was going to cry into a silk pillow case tonight no doubt.
Caught in the golden afternoon she blinks shielding her eyes with a hand, Maria's gift tucked safely against her chest as she watches him hold the door for some elderly ladies who thanked him rather boldly for holding the door for them.
“Are you always like this?” She flushed, balking as he turned to her, falling into step side by side. Of course, he took the street side, mindful of traffic. No man she'd met in the city had known that was etiquette and she was giddy with joy at being treated like a lady. Like something precious.
“Like what?” He counters and she huffs adjusting a bag on his arm that was sagging and cutting into his elbow.
“You are so well-mannered, composed, articulate, and charming in a genteel manner. If it's the mask you wear then… I wish you wouldn't wear it with me. Not unless it's real.” She rolled her lips into her teeth, gnawing on them as her heart spilled out far too easily.
It's silent for a time. Something she knew well with Amaris, it was how thinkers processed, needing space and time to conclude things. Did he like puzzles? He seemed the type to like what was interesting or different and he did say he preferred surprises. How could she be better at that? She'd need to ask Amaris tomorrow about it at work. She'd never dared to talk to, let alone consider, an intelligent type. They usually found her boring and rather plain-minded. But he was here, and he had been showing interest… right?
“In our interview, do you recall what I said about my qualities?” He starts, looking to her face as she frowns and shakes her head, trying to recall the moment
“No, I don't. I'm sorry…”
“There's no need to apologize. I can remember for us both.” His words struck her, no one had ever offered to remember for her. To see any memory worth keeping as precious enough to recall openly, to say he would just made her fall harder for the man beside her. Fuck, so his was polite intelligence, it was subtle and no wonder Amaris had so many marriage proposals herself. Too bad slow and steady was choking her clock.
She wished she had more time to just know him… he seemed worth it.
“I spoke of being pleasant and how it benefitted not just me, but those I interacted with. It's a quality I possess,” He explains. “So you can rest assured my behavior isn't an act. It is beneficial, but not untrue.”
Daphne let his words marinate in her ears, he really was so good at calming her worries. She had known it straight from the second he spoke to her, called her a funny name. He was gentle with her and all she wanted to do was climb him like a tree. Maybe this was what grounded heat felt like?
He wasn't wild like Roberto, or overbearing like Alejandro. And he was far from demanding as Miguel was of her time. Even Brutus and Denny sat behind him in terms of eloquence and stability. He made her heart quiet, not race like so many others. She was hot and bothered, sure, but not like she'd known with Alphonso. Jade was a peace she felt like he had a medicine in his presence she'd been looking for all her life. They had tried but in the end all her boys couldn't handle the weight of her fate. So they ignored it.
Something told her Jade wouldn't, if he liked her enough.
But was it fair to let him in when she could die?
Did she care? A part of her wanted to be selfish and just try to buy him, it had worked with her other boys. Everyone was happy after all. Everyone had a price somewhere and money was its own form of love.
But the other part of her shrank at the idea. She wasn't going to be that way with him. He deserved her best if he gave her his. So she bit her tongue and swallowed her inner harlot.
“I thought you would have shown up at the auction night.” She starts changing topics, clearly rattled a bit by his honesty. She loved it.
“I did, many did in fact.” Her head snaps over.
“What! No, you guys did not. I was at the door.”
“And very distracted.”
“You can't be serious. What were you hiding as?” Vexed and eager her steps quickened into shorter ones besides his strides.
“I was a waiter. Tell me, does your teacher have bad eyes, is it sensitivity to light or the flashes?”
“She hates cameras for that reason mostly. The bright flash— hey! I shouldn't be telling you this. If you hurt her …” The comical visage of a five-foot woman pointing rather venomously at a six-foot-something man was a vision of hilarity. Several people pause to watch the woman fire off in Russian, not having a clue that she was indeed telling him in detail just how fucked he would be if he— or any of them— dared to harm Amaris.
“You give me far too little credit.” He smiles again, and she wants to shake him for being so damn attractive and not terrified of her temper. If he compared her to a Chihuahua she would summon lightning to fry his seafood ass. “Though your loyalty is noted and your method of rage is recognized. I do believe we had the wrong idea about which of you was the Spitfire.”
She continues walking, taking a few bags seeing his arms drop just a bit from the weight. She didn't want to wear him down, especially since he clearly was working, or something. She'd never forgive herself if his arms were too tired from helping her to do his job well. Amaris had drilled some level of self-awareness into her after all these years. There were too many bodies in those years to be blind to the privilege she had been born into. She needed to care about her impact on others, or else she would be just the same as those who hurt Amaris. Worse.
“No. I just have a temper. Someone has to bark at the rats at her back. It's the least I can do. She's more cunning, I'm more explosive.”
His eyes slide to her, catching some light to make them two-toned gems. Fucking hell she wanted him to look at her naked, to see them travel over her figure. “Interesting, you know her well then?”
“Better than most. One just has to pay close attention and she's not so complicated. She's a writer at heart, loves creating pieces for people to read and disappear into. She simply did that in her blog. Lots of red-fish but hey, she loves Agatha Christie when she is not reading smut.”
“Red-fish?” He chuckles and all she wanted to do was hide, face dark in embarrassment. What she witnessed though was Jade's brow lowering, that familiar crease settled between his brows, one she could never quite decipher on Amaris, nor him apparently.
“I don't know the term.” She confesses fingers tugging at the ribbon on Maria's gift.
“Red-herring. It's when the author deliberately misleads the reader in one or several directions in order to keep the true secret to the mystery hidden. At least that is what I recall from my school years.”
“Red-herring.” Daphne sighs, face hot from everything but the sun by now. “I'm so embarrassed …you must think I'm a fool.”
"You place a great deal of weight on small mistakes.”
“Small mistakes add up. It's important to be aware of where one is weak, or else you'll get taken advantage of.”
“Another Amaris idiom?”
“Probably.” She shrugs. “She's been by my side for a while now. It all blends together. Becomes a part of you, as she talks about. Changing constantly and becoming better.”
“Ah, yes, I recall you giving love advice. Love doesn't hurt you, a person who doesn't know how to love does.” He recited, making her gawk at him.
“You memorized my words?” She huffs, pouting a bit as they reach the dealership. He simply continues forward leaving her to catch up. It was a luxury brand that specialized in custom orders and trade-ins. It smelled like money and leather the moment they stepped in.
“Miss Daphne, how good to have you back.” A stout man in a pinstripe suit strides over hugging the curvy blonde as she laughs.
“Hello Gregory. Do you have my car for me?” She teases and the man waves a finger at her.
“For you Miss Daphne I will give you the world-” His eyes travel to Jade looming at her shoulder like a silent sentinel. “I see you brought a friend. Is Miss Amaris busy today?”
Slipping into her work mode she began dissecting Gregory's posture and tone. Mostly tone still, she couldn't read people's bodies very well unless it was obvious or something she had trained herself to see. Sadly she was not Amaris.
Gregory was afraid of Jade, no doubt recognizing him as she knew he watched the interviews. Time to make a good impression.
“Oh, this is Jade.” She extends a hand to motion to the tall eel beside her with a kind smile. “We happened upon each other earlier and I invited him along with me. I hope that's alright.” Not a question, a statement. She knew how to get her way. She was born and raised to have everything, and she has been taught how to come across as deserving of it all.
“Yes, yes it's quite alright.” Gregory quickly recovers and reaches to shake Jade's hand and then notices the bags. “Ah, my apologies. But please, do sit. It must be scorching out there today and you both are dressed so nicely.”
“Your kindness is appreciated.” Comes from over her shoulder as she sets her bags down with Maria's package at a chair and goes to get her and Jade some water.
This was good, maybe she could help make connections for Jade's family, create a bond? The idea made her giddy. The Ashengrotto Family likes deals so why not help? Surely it couldn't hurt to show Jade she could make an impact.
Returning she found Gregory quite pale and retyping her contract for her trade-in as Jade lounged in a chair that could hardly fit him. The men looked to be polar opposites, the tall one at ease and rather satisfied for some reason, and poor Gregory looked ready to dig his grave and lay in it willingly.
What had she missed?
"Is everything alright?" She pokes the space.
“Just retyping Miss Daphne. Mr. Leech here found a few errors and I'm so embarrassed to have missed them.” Gregory shakes as his fingers clatter on the keys and she frowns walking over to Jade handing him his water.
"Mistakes? But I wrote it, I made the contract.” Deep amber irises find his mismatched ones. “What did you find Jade?” The sugary tone was a performative one, a classic she weaponized often.
He sits forward a bit, hands closing around the glass, holding her gaze, interested maybe. “It was a fine deal, but you were overpaying, I assumed someone had tried to steal what was yours.”
Ah, that made sense. He didn't know how she did business. It was adorable how protective he was.
“I overpay because Gregory has three kids that he pays child support for. The extra money is his for refilling the account his ex wife has him put money into for them. I give him the price up front and additional for taxes. That way he can study nights and go to college online without going bankrupt. And be able to get a court order to let him see his children.” She takes a sip, not amused he probably intimidated her favorite car salesman.
Those eyes widen a fraction. “I see.”
Gregory turns the screen to her. “Is this okay Miss Daphne?”
Turning away her fingers trace the screen changing things here and there, muttering numbers beneath her breath before nodding as she signs with her finger. “Perfect as always.”
“Wonderful. Now let me show you to your new car. It has the latest specs you requested and more.” The stout man stood, adjusting his suit before leading them across the polished marble floors and out into a private lot where their most expensive cars were kept safely hidden and secure.
He pops the door open on the pearly white car, almost iridescent in reflection off the wax. The door rose above his head and inside the screen flickered to life with pink ambient lighting everywhere. It read: Welcome Daphne. “I took the liberty of getting the specs you prefer installed since you're such a loyal customer.”
She peers inside and squeals, heels bright with joy as her face reflects the glow all too well. “Oh it's perfect Gregory. Thank you so much.” She hugs the man with a little hop and he chuckles patting her back.
“Anytime Miss Daphne. Though I would like to know if Miss Amaris is finally with her mon rêve. Summers are made for romance.” He pulls away and she laughs.
“You know how she is, very busy. I believe she's in Morocco currently. She got asked to write a piece on some horseback experiences. Be in a few desert videos to promote tourists to come visit. I think she's staying with a friend.”
“What a fun time then. Is her mon rêve with her? Do tell me she's with him now, it's been what? Almost seven or so months? Longer? A year maybe?” Gregory pulls his tablet with her contract and she slides her card sealing the payment.
“Sadly no, she'll be back in July, maybe August, she has a few more places this summer that demanded her personally despite her trying to get the interns in, and no they aren't together yet. It's frankly annoying. I just don't get why she's sticking around for a guy that is so slow. She doesn't have forever, none of us do.” She hisses, closing her purse. “She never just sits and waits so he better know how special he is to make an all gas no brakes girl like her heel.”
“I think that much is clear to everyone who reads her blog. She is quite the accomplished young woman. Such a shame she's single.”
“Don't let her hear you. She may write about it.” They laugh and she looks over at Jade noting how he seemed quieter. Her fingers brushed his arm, checking in as Gregory gave her the run down of her new car.
“Are you alright?” She whispers seeing his brow tucked just ever so slightly, thank god Amaris had drilled basic kinetics into her brain.
He didn't answer, instead he motioned to the car. “I don't believe there is enough leg room.” And just like that she mellowed from the Twitter of life and looked back inside playing with the seat controls to see if she indeed needed a different car.
“Thank you for catching that. I have a hard time registering what isn't obvious to me. Well, except for love but what can one do?” She sighs and moves a bit to the side so he could see if it was enough.
“You asked for my assistance, I'm simply doing so.” His voice settled into a framed cover and once more she had Amaris to thank for recognition of such a subtle cue. She couldn't name it, per se, only that his usual ease felt slightly restrained.
“Jade, I can get a different car.”
“An odd thing to say to a man you may never have in your vehicle again.”
“No it's not, it's being kind. And you shouldn't have to put up with less simply because of what I desire.” She argues before her shoulders drop realizing the argument was silly. It was a car for crying out loud. “Besides… I need to be better about considering others in all areas. This is good practice.”
“From what I've seen, consideration isn't something you lack.” She about tripped her way into the car.
They pulled out of the lot in a different car that had Jade far more comfortable, bags tucked away, Maria's box settled in the back like a cherished treasure as Jade took the passenger seat. She waited for thirty seconds before resting her truth at his feet while he pointed where to turn to reach his destination.
“Listen.” She starts in the soft glow of the screen as the day wound down to late afternoon. “I love you, a lot. But you're dating Maria and it's clearly complicated. She's your person and I would never step on that. But I won't not say anything to you. Because clearly you are sending me messages you like me back, and I've learned that if a smart person starts acting like they want you, you listen because they have already gone through all the reasons why it's a bad idea and decided it was a good one. So there. I'm falling deeper in love with you than I already have.”
She continues, hand tight on the wheel as he stills, vaguely directing now instead of more focused as before. The screen light cast him in a blue lighted shadow, it suited him in an odd way, like glowing was a part of what has been missing from his appearance before. Maybe it was his mer-nature she was noticing?
“A logical conclusion, given your way of thinking.” He added briefly and she flushed.
“I move fast, I always have. I make Amaris look slow by comparison. I'm bold with affection and I don't apologize for loving, I'm loud and live life passionately. I don't have time to be subtle. I'm dying and I don't have a lot of time to play with.” She paused, swallowing a bit as her mouth dried from anxiety. “I have cancer and nothing can be done in my case. Just prolonged care, which has been my life since I was a little girl.” She looks over, glancing to check his expression but the honk of a car in the opposite lane brings her eyes back to the road. A fire truck screams by and several police cars follow with an ambulance. She said a quick prayer before glancing at him again.
“I can see this isn't something you disclose lightly, or regularly.” His voice bled with what she hoped was sincerity.
“I'm not saying this to pressure you or scare you. I don't even need an answer right now, though it would be nice to have it. I just wanted you, Maria and your coven of ladies to be able to talk and discuss this stuff. It's heavy, and there is no for-sure cure for blood cancer at my stage with my needs and limits.”
She lets out a shaky sigh, telling people was never easy for her, never quite something she got used to.
“So I get if you are upset with how I was in the dealership. It was childish to be so bothered by Amaris’s love life. I just hate watching people love and never get anything from it. It's wasting time, precious time. I'm done now.” She adds and lets silence return. No radio to crowd the space, she lets what she dropped linger in his lap, let's him digest it.
“I see.”
Something in his expression settled before he asked her to pull over, a side street near what had to be a territory marker of some sort. She didn't care about that though, she cared that he heard her and had all the pieces to make his own choice. She could only ask him to be as honest when he was ready, if he wanted more from her.
When he shuts the door and leans down to the window she gives him a smile. “Be safe. And no rush but rush… as soon as you know your answer just get it to me. I don't care how. I just don't want to be waiting when I could spend my time elsewhere. Expiring clock and all."
He bows his head, hair sliding into his face before he draws it back with a large hand. “I will do my best to do so. Thank you for telling me this, it's been very informative.”
“I hope it fills in some gaps.” She taps her keys that had plenty of charms hanging off them. “I personally hate being blind in a situation I need to see clearly in. And I would never try to trick you Jade. I decided, when I came here to this country, I would leave that world behind. I want to be a good woman and love hard with what I have left. But that doesn't mean you have to be a part of that.”
“I can see why you move the way you do..” That smile was back and she wanted to kiss him as he held out a hand to her and she easily gave him her small one. Her pink glitter acrylics sparkling against his skin as he leaned down to kiss the back. “Good night piccola guerriera*."
And just like that she was reminded of a world that she missed. Fine gentlemen in suits, polite manners and crystal table settings, live music playing and of course the fated kiss to the hand on arrival and departure. She missed Russia so much, sometimes it felt like a part of her was gone and she didn't know if she'd get it back. Yet, here was Jade. Giving her a moment she had forgotten meant everything to her.
She wanted to grab him by the collar and figure out how to close that height gap, car or no car. A vehicle would not dissuade her. That would be her favorite problem …along with sex but she was getting ahead of herself.
“Oh, Jade!” She calls after him from the window, the soft glow of the screen lighting her face for him to see. “Tell Maria if you both are interested, so am I. I’m polyamorous, you just have to be clear with me. And I've never been with a woman but if you like her I can try. Okay?”
His eyes glowing in a street light and he gives her a toothy grin, box under his arm. “I will be sure to tell her.”
She nods and puts her car in drive pulling away from the curb. “See you around!” She calls and once more the wind is the only thing that answers her as she makes her way home. To luxury counter tops and plush white couches clean of Des’s shoe stains.
She sets a hand in the passenger seat, the leather still warm as her eyes tear up.
Oh she hoped this didn't just all go up in flames. But she would move on, she had others …others she paid.
Acrylics turning on the radio with a tap the first thing that comes on is a news report of a female citizen visiting Morocco escaping a potential lethal stabbing.
She had never dialed Amaris’s number so fast. As she waited for her best friend to pick up one thought slipped across her mind.
Gods she hoped Jade and Maria were interested… otherwise she just made things awkward.
“You got played.“ Amaris giggles through the phone as Dove stands there with her mountain of bags the next day in the reporters apartment with an ear piece in. She tucks a few gifts into a corner and puts a few more on the couch where Des crashed. Rub it in his face a bit. “Oh dear sevens you got played and he was happy to let you set up the game.”
She paused half aware until it clicked that she was talking about her and Jade's outing. “What?!”
“He likes you.” She listened to her brunette friend's voice fill with what had to be amusement. “He likes you enough to let you decide something for Maria. Daphne he is flirting with you. Not to mention he asked you a lot of stuff.”
The blonde stands there mortified. Replaying the day as it became clear. Horror coats her expression. “Oh my God I bought a dress for his girlfriend and he thanked me for it! I took him home in my car! I confessed to him! I told him so much about me and I know nothing about him!”
Amaris is choking on laughter, bent over most likely in the most undignified position to date. “You are so innocent. Oh Daphne he really really likes you.”
“Then why doesn't he just say so! We could have made out! He could’ve called Maria and we could have had a threesome! He missed an opportunity!” She exclaims half pissed at being strung along again and half angry at the man for not capitalizing on his benefits. She could have had sex with two gorgeous souls that vexed her.
Shouting in Russian as her heels stomped across Amaris’s floor the whole room was covered in the reflection of diamonds, scattered like the pulse of a very angry Dove.
Hello! Happy birthday and hopefully this month is kind to you! can i please chose The King with the letters G, K, and M! thank you and once again happy birthday!! 🎁
Thank you so very much for the kind words ❤. I hope you'll be back for seconds after this piece
We all know Leona is a gentleman, impeccable in his manners, especially with ladies—it was ingrained in his head since he was a child, so it’s unsurprising in this aspect
However!
If you think this man is gonna kiss the earth where you walk, I’m gonna need to stop you right there ‘cause you’re sorely mistaken
Do not get me wrong, he won’t treat you the same way he does with his subordinates, or worse like with other mafia bosses—which would be well-concealed disdain, if not pure irritation and mockery
I’m digressing!
Outside, in public, he would certainly be a charmer—the perfect cover boy for a “top 10 best boyfriend material” articles. Opening doors for you, offering you his arm when you walk into a large group of people, bragging a little to other businessman about you…the whole nine yards
But when you’re in the private space of a house—or his office, or his bedroom, or your house, I can keep listing honestly—he’ll feel like he won’t need to keep his mask up and becomes his usual sassy and sarcastic ass. Even with you
From him you can expect everything, from prey animal nicknames to teasing comments to him acting like his true lazybones self just to inconvenience you
He’ll basically be in your personal space, acting exactly like a cat, all day long whenever he has time to spare
I don’t know about you all, but I wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of the guy who thought it was a good idea to hurt his partner to get back at him
Spoilers: it is not a good idea!
Contrary to what one might think Leona takes this kind of insubordination very seriously. It’s like robbing a ferocious dog of his bone straight from his mouth—you really expect to walk away with both your hands still attached?
If you think he’ll pass the task to find this guy or his organisation to Ruggie or anyone else, sorry-not-sorry, but with his partner on the line he’s not gonna sit on his ass and wait like you would expect from the king in a chess match
Nope!
This person dared to challenge him and he’s gonna answer personally
Admittedly Leona’s gonna enjoy toying with the guy, planning his down downfall with excruciating precise organisation—he’s gonna cut all his possible contacts, all his escape routes, anything that can help the guy get away with what he’s done
And you can bet your stack of winning chips he’s gonna deliver the punishment in the most painfully slow and sadistic methods he knows
Yes, this man—as unbelievable as it may sounds—has a control on his libido compared to a monk’s, and needs a very solid motivation to get frisky
As much as he would love to abandon the party he’s attending and have his fun in the bathrooms he has a reputation, hence he can’t disappear however and whenever he feels like it
To get him where you want him to be you’ll need to really test his patience
Be the most insufferable of brats—side note: do not act too childish and start whining or he’s gonna hand you off to Ruggie to send you home. Reject his touch, talk back to him the way he usually does, act like he doesn’t have the rights to be the boss of you…
Challenge him in every way possible and be smart about it—he likes no himbos
The way his patience starts to slowly crack…
You know he’s as impatient as you to get to work when he start to stalk you through the crowd like a predator does
I hope you know how to keep your volume down
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You entered the lounge all finely dressed with your best clothes. The dim lights hid your nervous blush very well — you were about to meet your favorite after all, who could blame you?
The head waiter with their polite smile approached you and asked:
“You wish to be seated with Hades correct?”
As you nodded they gently led you to your assigned table, him waiting for you while sipping a glass of his favourite alcoholic beverage.
Ready to start the night?
The night barely started and you were already too much of a mess to go back to the main lounge.
It started simple. You were sitting with the one and only Hades, a.k.a Idia Shroud the young president of the Shroud Tech Industries and boss of the aforementioned family, chatting with him — occasionally throwing a jab in his way to reply to one of his own — and drinking. It was at that moment, when he started playing with the cherry of his Manhattan cocktail — licking it to get the flavours out, chewing it, rolling it across his tongue like candy — that your mind started to wander in the wrong directions.
You wondered if he had a tongue piercing and how it would feel if he decided to break the "no engaging too far with the guest" rule and kiss you. Would it be like a marble? Would it be scalding hot in his mouth? What if he decided to kiss you lower? Your chest, your tummy, your thighs, your—
“Your face is so red. What? Is the drink too strong for you?” Idia said, pointing with a glance at your unfinished Cosmopolitan, snapping you out of your fantasy. His slight mocking grin was of no aid to the situation happening in between your legs.
Your eyes zipped from side to side, trying to find an excuse to leave the table, the throbbing between your thighs desperately calling for your attention.
“I…uhm…I need to refresh myself for a moment! Please excuse me!” you blurted out while getting up, almost throwing the chair backwards as you did so.
That’s how you found yourself sprinting down a hallway, sweat getting cold but still burning its way down your spine, heat pooling in your stomach demanding to be quenched and mind reeling to find an empty restroom.
The bathrooms, of a contrasting black and white with just a hint of red, were so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Oddly more uncomfortable than a room full of strangers that could hear everything you were going to do behind the restroom door.
You got in, closed with the flimsy security lock and shoved your underwear mid-thigh down your sweaty legs, cursing during the whole time the moment you chose to wear a dress like this one.
Relief washed over you the moment your fingers got to work, massaging and teasing. Quiet moans climbed up your throat and bubbled out of your mouth, nerves and skin setting ablaze the more you kept pleasuring yourself, toes curling everytime your fingers brushed that spot that made you see the stars.
The tight coil in your stomach begged to be unraveled, your legs trembling as you approached the peak of pleasure. You threw your head back, the nape resting on the cool porcelain and causing you pleasant shivers, and a moan died in your throat when your eyes met with a pair of topaz ones, staring at you from above with curiosity.
Idia was perched with his chin atop the door, hands hanging lazily — not that it was a challenge, he was barely standing on his tippy toes anyway since he was way taller than that door.
When you stared at him back, shocked, his expression barely changed.
“Don’t mind my peeking. I’m just enjoying the show from here. I’m not going to interrupt you.” he said mockingly, almost prompting you to continue — as if you could, now that he was watching!
The sweat cooled on your skin, the pleasant heat replaced by the flames of shame burning your cheeks. If there was a hole deep enough for you to jump in you would’ve taken the hit very gladly.
“What’s the matter? Where you close? Did I perchance ruin your orgasm?” he asked, a wicked grin stretching across his bluish lips.
You stuttered not really knowing what to answer.
The situation was shameful, degrading even.
“Just for asking: were you thinking about me?” he asked, as if he didn’t know the answer already. The way your eyes went wide as saucer plates and your face going from a blushing cherry to a deep cadmium red gave away your thoughts.
“What a naughty little thing you are.” Idia giggled devilishly, that grin only getting wider as he knew you were the only one embarrassed in that moment. You choked a whine, pressing your thighs thogether, once again your mind betraying you by repeating his that sentence over and over.
“Say that again...please.” you whispered. Idia tilted his head sideways and you hoped he didn't hear you.
You did saw the underside of Idia’s eyes going to a pastel pink — pleased, slightly embarrassed, who knew?
“Can’t say I’m not flattered.” he said, gently pushing the door and opening it like the lock wasn’t in place and standing right in front of you.
You scrambled to get up and recover that minimum of decency, pulling your clothes and your underwear hastily, but Idia stopped you by pushing you to sit back on the toilet.
“No, no, no. Not so fast, you're not going to run away like that, are you?” and got inside the small restroom booth, closing it with a small tap of his heel. “I interrupted you right at the best moment. I almost feel guilty for not letting you finish. It seemed like a good ‘n hard breath-stealing orgasm, that one. Why don’t I help you reach the peak again?”
The crooked smile he gave you, as he hovered with all his intimidating height in your personal space, sent shivers up your spine, that aching in between your legs screaming louder it demands.
“Oh, look at you. — he said huskily, breath fanning in your face — Darling, you’re shivering. Come here, let me warm you up.”
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If Riddle is to be imputable with a deadly sin it would most definitely be wrath—beacuse that’s what’s running through his veins the moment someone reports to him that his partner has been injured; it could be a low-level thug trying to make a name for themselves or a gang that decided it was smart pissing Thorny Rose off, he could not give less—he’s gonna obliterate them
Even in his anger, however, Riddle has a method to find the guy: he’s gonna unleash Cater (the social media hunter), Ace (who has acquaintances in gambling parlors) and Deuce (who’s very familiar with a ruthless biker gang in the slums) to locate this guy quickly and efficiently
If you’re wondering about Trey’s role, don’t worry, he’s gonna do his part later on
Riddle doesn’t do much in the whole process except tending to your health and safety—he needs to show you he has the reins of the situation, and assures you he’s gonna handle everything accordingly
When the guy has been found and apprehended here comes Trey with the last piece of Riddle’s revenge plan—the guy’s previous victims/guardians of the victims, all of them armed with blunt weapons (hammers, baseball bats, shovels, iron pipes…)
Riddle will give those people a sort of motivational speech. “Gentlemen, here before you is the man responsible for all your anguishes and anger. I know I don’t need to remind you lot what this man has done to you, your spouses, your children and your families as I reckon that is still a very fresh wound. Justice has done nothing for you except feeding you false hope that this individual would be granted his punishment, justice has done nothing for the people who believed in it. Well, I believe in karma, and it says ‘To tee who spread wrongdoing thou shall receive the consequences of tee actions with the strength of a flood’. Right now, gentlemen, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m offering you a deal free of charge.”
Riddle knows he managed to convince already desperate people to cross the line of no return, so he steps aside and lets those people deliver the punishment the guy deserves—he has the power to stop them…but he isn’t going to
One, if not the most, difficult decision of his entire life
It’s like asking a child if they like their mother or father the most—it’s impossible to choose!
You’re important to him, you’re like the first soft rain of early spring after the frigid winter; washing away the stress and expectations of his role burdening him daily—you’re like a breath of fresh air after so many years of enclosure
On the other hand though…being the head of the family is what he was brought into this world and raised for—being the leader of the Roseheart family is his purpose, without it he’s an empty shell of a man
Even in the remote possibility that he’s thinking of leaving the mafia behind, there’re just too many variables; he has a name, a role, a reputation and those will follow him everywhere, so there’s no possibility to start a new life even if he wanted to. Turning to seclusion, as Farena, the previous head of the Kingscholar family did, is out of the question a priori—his sanity would erode at a record speed
He’s the equivalent of a soldier who was born into war and fought in it never knowing what peace is
Riddle will try to compromise for not giving up either of the things he deems vital—you and his role—offering protection and a peaceful bubble for you to live without worrying about paparazzi or other possible inconveniences
Boss once said that “If he ever decided to let his partner go, if they ever so wished, he would let them go albeit with a very heavy heart. I can imagine him dress like a mournful widow for as long as his position lets him live, knowing there won’t be another one that can make him feel like his partner did. He’s sentimental and devoted…but also a caged little bird that refuses freedom because it only knows how to be imprisoned.”
𝚆 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍 (𝙰 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖)
I asked Boss about juicy details and, to be fair, they had many on the go, but unfortunately, for this segment only one has the space to be shared…
So I’m gonna talk about my favourite one
Lend me your ears, everyone: Riddle has the worst green thumb of the whole Roseheart family
Quite ironic, isn’t it?
The Roseheart family manor is now in the whole city for their gorgeous, competition-winning quality rose bushes—not only red roses but the private greenhouse is home to other species of roses, from pure white to the very rare pitch black ones
Riddle not only is not capable of growing them properly, he’s also a disaster in keeping said roses alive
It seems those flowers he takes very much pride in are mocking him, no matter how precisely in diagonal he cuts their stalk, how much sugar he puts in the water, how extensive his talks with them gets… those flowers just don’t want to cooperate with him
“It came to me as an odd surprise,” said Madame Galatea when discussing the topic. “For a family that prides themselves on their symbol in botanical form it is almost shocking to know that those beautiful roses were grown by someone else’s hand. Such fuss for something so small as a flower.”
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Mafia!Leona is a very good dancer — no, exemplary. Although he is not the darling of all parties he has been taught since he was a kid the most popular types of ballroom dances, from waltz to salsa; even foxtrot poses no challenge to his talent. He once admitted, under the fumes of alcohol, that he prefers tango.
Mafia!Ruggie, despite the comfortable life he now leads, is still tied to some old habits. One of these is frequenting the local market. Why spend a lot of money in a wholesale supermarket when you can count on zero-mile quality, and at a low price to boot, he would say with a smirk. Local vendors adore him and the business he brings. Between us, though, he hasn't lost the habit of bargaining on prices either.
Mafia!Jack, after starting a relationship with his girlfriend, grew interested in telenovelas. It was barely a glance at first, then he started doing chores in the same area where you were watching your favourite telenovela and finally sat beside you, trying to wrap his head around the general plot of the whole thing. It's actually quite funny and cute the way his expression shifts during a scene, and the way he comments how the female lead can do much better without the guy.
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Jamil is always uptight. Perfect posture and always obliging—he has a role sewn to his skin that he needs to fulfill and can’t back down from ever
When he finally finds someone whom he doesn’t need to wear his mask around, it feels like a boulder has been lifted off his shoulders. As that realization hits him you can see how he breaths easier and seems more spontaneous…in certain things
He has an awfully tight schedule—Kalim has the energy of a person that drinks Monster like it’s water and is hyperactive like a kid who had too much sugar in one sitting—it’s no surprise on why Jamil comes home physically and mentally destroyed
Jamil is also tight-lipped when it comes to his private affairs, such as his job, but I feel like if you’ve been in a relationship long enough (and bugged him for long time) he’d open up, especially on things that’ve irked him during his work day
“...and then he had the fucking audacity to demand we extended the consignation period for another month.” he complained, curled on your sofa and sipping a glass of your store-bought wine. “And what did you say to him?” you inquired curiously, invested in the office drama. “I said to him: It isn’t my fault if he can’t be enough of a decent human being and boss to have his department work for him, instead of sitting at their desks in protest. If he’d been less of a man-child the project would’ve been completed in due time. Then smartly he decided to throw some choice of words at me so I e-mailed our conversation straight to HR. Fuck you, Ned. See if you get paid this month for being an asshole.”
You have no idea who this Ned guy is or what face does he have, but you are fed up about him as much as Jamil is
On a side note: Jamil’s love language (unfortunately for him) is Acts of Service, so it’s a bit of a minefield of a situation when he wants to do things for you—like cooking, cleaning, fixing stuff around your house—after a ten-or-so hour shift. You’ll need to koala-style stop him; pry the pans from his hands, hide your bleach and mops, lock your tool box…he has worked hard enough, he need to rest
Even in the intimacy of the bedroom he can’t help being the one who gives, instead of receiving pleasure—all his life he gave to others that now he doesn’t know what it feels like to be on the other side
Like in all healthy relationships communication and patience—lots of it—are the key
You wouldn’t think this man would stoop so low to feel jealous if some other man is talking to you or getting a tad too close
Well, you thought wrong
Phycology sais that the impulse of jealousy in a relationship is a result of some other deeper feelings—like a great sense of insecurity for example
Jamil isn’t a free man. He’s not free to speak his mind, to go where he desires, to not be shackled to a person whose life is much more valuable than his
A relationship isn’t something he was looking for but still happened and the thought of losing his girlfriend—that one small thing that gave him a taste of freedom—fills him with dread. When he’s been gifted with something/someone that is solely his, believe me, he can be incredibly selfish
When someone is interested in you, obviously he’ll get jealous, but he leaves to you the reins of the conversation, limiting himself to just stare the other guy with an apathetic expression—hope you don’t suffer some social anxiety because Jamil will notice your every stutter and crack and pitch in your voice
In private he has no need to cry or yell or be overly dramatic—no, he uses the lowest of low technique ever created by mankind
Guilt tripping
“Hey, do you like that man more than me? It’s okay if you do,” he’ll say, shrugging as if it doesn’t bother him one bit yet wearing this kicked puppy expression. “After all, he can give you the freedom I can’t. I understand if you want to end this and start anew, being in a relationship with strings attached must be exhausting. Come on, don’t cry, I’m setting you free. Spread your wings, expand your horizons, find your happiness without such heavy ball and chain like me. I’m not doing this for myself but for you.”
Jamil can be really slimy. Of course, your heart will sink at his words. Of course, you’ll burst into tears like Niagara Falls. Of course, you’ll throw yourself into his arms, showering him with apologies, pleas, and praises. Of course, you’ll stay with him
Is he awful for keeping doing this? Yes, he’s very aware of that. Does he care as long as he can have you for himself? No, he doesn’t care in the slightest
Much like Leona, Jamil needs a very solid reason when out in public—he’s Kalim’s right-hand man, subordinate and bodyguard, he can’t just take and leave when he wants
Unlike Leona, that needs both a physical and mental challenge in order to be interest, Jamil has more simple tastes—your strength lies in quietness and subtlety
It’s a silent game you must play—no words needed. No flirty words, no unnecessary cleavage showing, no hands groping in places that are inappropriate for the place and time you’re in. Don’t act like a bawd—be classy.
Small, lingering touches that seems controlled and deliberated yet taste desperate—pinkies brushing, knees bumping into one another, shoulders touching, fingers getting caught in the sleeves or hair; and don’t forget the most important thing of all: the bedroom eyes
Look at him with the most shining eyes, brows creased just a tad and bat your lashes slowly, cat-like; make him feel aroused as you are to the point where he can’t ignore it further
You’ll make his heart skip a few beats and skin heating up, cheeks dusting red like the wine you were drinking previously
As he fetches your wrist and quickly finding an excuse to throw at Kalim that sounds plausible, Jamil is also mentally weighing if a quickie is enough to satisfy you both
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hey boss, happy new year and i hope you had a good christmas
anyways i just wanted to ask for thorny rose and for letters h/l/g
thank you very much boss and happy birthday
Happy New Year to you too! I had a lot to eat for Christmas (like an army of sumo wrestlers) so I'm quite content ❤
𝙷 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙷𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 (𝙰 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜)
Riddle’s hands are tiny but not small, doll-like hands that looks too fragile to handle a gun or a knife
The fingers are slender and delicate and looks like no ring is gonna fit them unless is custom made—that much they’re different compared to other’s hands
The palm is average size, missing a few lines used for telling one’s fortune if you look closely and the smell a mix between roses, paper and ink, like a writer or a gardner—strangely not like tea
Upon close inspection his right hand has fading little scars he got himself when he was a child—one of the reasons why he wears gloves when in public and at work
Riddle has pretty, dainty-looking hands that are perfect for tending to his rose garden, gently held your hands and strangle someone if the occasion ever occurs
I feel like Riddle won’t do a total 180 with his personality with a partner—he has a reputation to maintain, okay?
Riddle is rigid and inflexible as can be with rules and moral codes—in his head that’s how you maintain the complex organism that is a mafia empire without nobody ever questioning his leadership
He won’t be that cutthroat about it, though. He is mature enough to understand that some rules have exceptions and that he needs to be somewhat understanding of these potential eventualities
With his partner, however, is like a constant tango-ing of how much he can bend his back for them
Part of him wants to be as permissive as a grandmother with her only grandchild—spoiling them rotten, that is—but realizes he can’t let the leash too loose and find more elaborate excuses to justify your actions or other members of his household might start pretend the same treatment ‘cause “it’s not fair they can and we don’t”
That’s exactly how rebellions start, let me tell you
At the end of the day he’ll be indulgent with his partner…but not too much
Let’s say that Riddle is far from being impulsive, especially with delicate decisions such as this one—he’s the head of an empire he doesn’t take things lightly, not even the smallest ones
But when it comes to romantic relationships he can be a little dense
Thank the Lord above Cater swooped in and gave him copies of what would be the equivalent of “Modern Woman” magazines—when he read that one of the biggest red flags of men is refusing to put a label on the relationship (thus implying they might be cheatin’) his eyes went cartoon-style wide
Him cheating on his partner? Absolutely not!
As said above Riddle is not an impulsive man, but when he decides you’re the one doesn’t matter if you’ve been together for two months or two weeks he’s gonna say the three-words sentence or may the Hells be frozen
And you can bet he’s gonna do it in the most old-fashioned of romantic ways ever known in the history of humanity
I’m talking about candle light dinner with live orchestra, him suited and booted to perfection with a big bouquet in hand, speech handwritten by himself as if he’s gonna stumble on his words—he might—before discarding it completely and just blurting the words out with a time hoarse voice
You can tell he’s very committed to his choice if he’s gonna revert back to a shy high school boy with his first crush
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