#crack my spine under her stilettos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

prettyboykatsuki · 2 years

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where were you when i was lonely (my divine - love, love, love) | k. tetsuro

♡ tags ;; fem!reader (wearing a dress, heels, makeup), friends to lovers (kinda), inappropriate workplace relations, jealousy, confessions, hurt/comfort, riding, protected sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f!recieving), handjobs, very vanilla and lovey stuff. this is the most soft thing i've ever written ever.

♡ wc ;; 8.3k (please.)

♡ a/n ;; hi!! i haven't written anything cohesive in ages. but i managed to get this out. this was written for @spacelabrathor and @titan-fodder's better than fiction collab. please check out the masterlist here!!

additionally - this is very different from everything i've ever written before. it focuses a lot on feelings of? jealousy and how love changes as we get older so i hope you enjoy. title is from a mac miller song!!

♡ synposis ;; kuroo and you have known each other since you were 15. you've been through every milestone under the sun. but more and more you think to yourself - how nice it'd be if he wanted you.

“Do you wanna see a magic trick?”

Kuroo’s taken his suit jacket off for the night. The heather grey vest is still buttoned tight to his torso, accompanied by a silk red tie (a gift from the sponsors’ daughter) and the crispest white dress shirt you’ve ever seen. You look around for it, among the tables.

Eventually, your eyes land on said girl from before. What was her name again? You don’t remember, something with an A, maybe. She’s holding it over her shoulders with a soft flush on her face, cuddled into the material. You remember she’s still in college, and then roll your eyes as Kuroo steps beside you.

You shift your weight. The strappy stilettos dig into your heels, the bottoms calloused. You lean forward onto the table, cracking your neck.

“A magic trick?”

Kuroo lets his forearms rest on the table, mirroring you. He nods, grinning.

“A magic trick,”

The night air is starting to nip at your fingers, but you still reach over for a drink. A flute of champagne you steal off a server's platter with a grateful nod. Your lip color smears a little, dark on the rim as you take a long sip. Halfway between that and chugging it, until you feel a little warm from inside out.

“Not really,”

You laugh slightly as his face drops.

“Why not?”

“Are you gonna pull a deck of cards out of your pocket?”

He reaches into them with a mischievous grin, and you believe for a second he really will. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out a paper napkin with a phone number and a lipstick stain smudged on it. Not yours, but someones.

Your face contorts, trying to determine how you feel. Just business, you think. It’s always just business, but the soft and sudden wave of melancholy is hard to ignore.

“I would’ve rather seen you pull a bunny out of a hat or something,”

Your response is non-committal. You let your body sway a little, standing tall as a song you like plays. The beat thrums through your chest, makes your spine tingle. Maybe you’ll go dancing. If you’re already here, and your feet already hurt - it wouldn’t kill you to go dancing. Maybe with that one girl from H.R., you’re willing to bet she’d dance with you. The thought cheers you up. Enough that you smile, lightly.

Kuroo takes the paper and folds it back into his pockets. And then he looks at you, while you look around. You see him, indefinitely - in the corners of your eyes and lingering. But you’re busy trying to take in the surroundings. The outdoor party, the dance music, and rich CEOs with girls a little too young to laugh at their jokes.

Mostly, you’re looking at the lights. Little set-ups of fairy lights all around the outdoor venue that feel like magic. It’s cold. You wish you wore tights after all, and the lack of hair on your legs makes you even chillier. Your hands smooth down the front of your dress when you take the last sip of your champagne flute. When it’s all gone, you peep at the empty glass.

Kuroo is still looking with an unreadable expression. You’re starting to wish you just said yes to him when he asked you about his magic trick.

“It was a good trick,” You say, trying to ease the tension. Kuroo lets out a sigh and steps a little bit closer to you. He’s doing that thing where he’s in your space.

Backing down, or stepping back - somehow always feels like losing. So when his hands reach to your earrings and tug at the thin, dangly things - you end up looking at his face too close for your own comfort.

An unsteady breath leaves your mouth. Suddenly your chest feels tight as he stares at you keenly.

“These are new,”

Too much, you think. You want to put your hands on his chest, but you put them on his shoulder instead. Your heels click on the floor (stone? concrete? you can’t tell) and you give him another smile.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” You say, louder than you need to. For the magic trick. It’s not true. You think he’s had a glass, maybe two - and it takes about 4 times that to get him drunk. You know cause you’ve seen it tens of times now.

He steps back. His hands travel into his pockets, and he fidgets with the paper anxiously. Subconsciously. Your eyes flick down to his shoes. Expensive Italian leather dress shoes. It suits him. The style, the color, the nice material.

“Do you want some water?” You ask.

“Not really,”

He offers you a smile at that. You think he’s being sincere. You think Kuroo is sincere most of the time but you never commit to that with any real certainty. You huff some air through your nose.

“Tough crowd,”

Kuroo laughs at that, and the tension eases off a little bit. You hear something buzz from your purse (oversized clutch), and suddenly - you’re brought away from the entire scene. You reach for it, rummaging past powders and glosses and a couple of loose sticks of gum.

You take your phone out and the bright light hurts your eyes as you stare at it. A text from your boss.

“Deal just closed,” You say. And Kuroo looks over to the magic trick, Ayame? And she’s waving over to Kuroo before blushing all over again. He waves back politely and then looks at you apologetically. You don’t say anything.

Your phone dings again. Not your boss this time, but a friend.

yakuuu: (sent 11:11pm) if i never run again in my life it’ll be too soon. tell tetsuro i said hi.

[1 ATTACHMENT]

There’s a picture of him laying on some grass fields, sweaty. You tap love onto the image with a small laugh, typing back.

“Yaku says hi,” You say, in the midst of typing. Besides you, Kuroo grows still.

you: (sent 11:13pm) i will. my deepest condolences, the idea of running that much makes me want to puke.

yakuuu: (sent 11:13pm) you’re cute im sure you don’t have to worry about it.

That makes you snort, and you type back something short calling him stupid before telling him you have to go. Having your phone out too long at these functions makes rumors spread. You click the device shut and tuck it back into your clutch.

Reality settles back in when Kuroo is looking at you as soon as you look up. He’s got a half-smile on his face, hands in his pockets again. Something lingers, unspoken in the air. His tongue smooths, pink over his lower lip as he leans one elbow on the table.

“How much longer are we… obligated to be here?”

Kuroo checks his watch. Another expensive piece, a ROLEX. It was a gift from Kenma. He stares at the small clock face for a second or two and doesn’t lift his head to speak.

“It’s probably safe to leave now. Just have to make the rounds,” Kuroo says, voice mellow.

“...Did you,” ― You clear your throat awkwardly, wincing a little ― “Did you… wanna stay longer or?”

His eyes widen. Shaking his head, he laughs under his breath.

“No…I’m good to go,”

“You sure? I don’t ask ‘cause of your… magic trick, I just ask cause you tend to stay late. I don’t mind leaving by myself, I can always fall ill like a maiden,”

Kuroo laughs a genuine laugh at your quip. A pleasant warmth spreads through you.

“No, I’ve done enough business tonight. I wanna go home and watch a movie before bed,” He says, off-handedly.

“Busy day tomorrow?”

“Nah. Off-day. But I wanna spend it being a whole-hearted lazy bastard so,”

He shrugs his shoulders and you break out into a smile that turns into a laugh.

“Yeah, I feel you. Let’s make a game plan and head out,” You say, yawning and grabbing your clutch

“Sounds good,”

“Going in such a hurry?”

You look over at Kuroo who’s entertaining Ayame and her father very briefly. It’s just a flicker, a glance to see how long you have left. A while from the looks of it. Your feet are killing you, but you’re quick to redirect your attention. No use complaining now. You let your gaze go shimmery. Soft, delicate, round.

Pushing your lower lip out, you laugh followed by a yawn.

“I like my beauty sleep, Mr….?”

“Hayashi. You can drop the honorifics, I think we’re the same age anyways,”

You struggle to put it together for a second. Chestnut hair styled back, a handsome face with sharp eyes and full lips. Mixed with something. Hayashi. A company that’s been friendly with the Jackals and especially Kiyoomi.

The realization settles but you try not to let it show. You laugh lightly.

“I look younger than I am,” You tease. He laughs.

“Is there a way I should address you? Nee-san, maybe?”

You arch your brows. A soft smile graces your features, looking him over. Tailored slacks, loafer shoes, a tie with a flowery print, and bright colors. Among the stiff collars and black-tie formality, he sticks out sorely. Not rigid or overly formal speech, and with good humor. You don’t feel bad appeasing him. You smile.

“I wouldn’t get so cocky,” You supply. He laughs at that.

“Never hurts to try,” ― His nonchalance is relaxing. Familiar, but you try not to think about it. His fingers loop into his belt loops, stretching slightly ― “Is sleep the only thing that has you hurrying home?”

You tilt your head to one side, brows furrowed with an amused smirk.

“Like what, exactly?” You prompt.

“Mm, a lover? I guess I’m asking if there’s a husband or wife whose toes I might be stepping on.”

You scoff, just barely before grinning. Your cheeks burn from warmth and a mild embarrassment. When was the last time someone approached you so openly, you wonder? You can’t help but giggle behind your palms.

“You’re confident. Kind of inappropriate for the setting, don’t you think?”

He steps just a little closer to you.

“Not a fan of the overly formal stuff, if that wasn’t obvious. Perks of being an heir, maybe,” He says openly. “I didn’t get a real answer to my question, yknow?”

You look again, at Kuroo who’s talking openly. Just business, you remind yourself.

You shake your head.

“Nothing like that,”

He smiles back at you.

“Good to know,”

“Yeah?”

“Yes ma’am. Not often I see a pretty woman looking bored at one of these functions,”

“Who taught you to talk like that?”

“Picking up sweet talk is why you’re here in the first place. Gotta know a thing or two, right?”

“Can’t say you’re wrong,” You say back.

Of all the events from tonight, this conversation has redirected your attention entirely. You decide to let it happen, going along with his whims. You’ll be home in an hour and it won’t matter by then so you let yourself be swayed by his charms. He’s straightforward, and you like that. It helps that he’s handsome.

“Can I ask what you do? Your formal title?”

“Brand and budget manager for the MSBY Jackals.” You say almost on automatic.

“Charming stuff,”

You chuckle.

“Very. Do I need to ask you or is my guess of department head pretty accurate?”

He laughs full-on.

“On the nose.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two as you shiver slightly from the cold. You ready yourself to apologize for it but Kuroo finally seems to approach. You don’t know if you’re allowed to feel disappointed or not when he calls out for you.

“Hey, sorry - they had stuff they wanted to ask me about,” ― Kuroo says sheepishly, before pausing completely ― “Oh, who’s this?”

“Mr. Hayashi from the Hayashi brand.”

Kuroo sticks a hand out to him out of habit which he accepts. They shake hands firmly, nodding to each other.

“Nice to meet you. Kuroo Tetsuro,”

“Much obliged,”

Before you can get a word in, Kuroo is turning to you curiously.

“You ready to go?”

“Ah.. actually Mr. Hayashi and I were uhm -”

There’s a pause where Mr. Hayashi pulls out a business card from his wallet and a marker from the inside of his suit jacket. You watch alongside Kuroo, silent, as he flips the card over and scribbles something onto the back in black ink before handing it over.

“I wouldn’t wanna get in the way of your beauty sleep,” He offers politely, grinning. He hands the card to you, making sure to squeeze your hand for a long while. He pats your palm, staring at him a little awestruck. From beside you, you can feel Kuroo’s prying gaze.

“There’s my card and my personal number,” He says, voice dripping with such flirtation it astounds you “I won’t take it personally if you don’t call, but I’d love if you did.”

He steps back giving you a warm smile. You stare back, trying to pick your jaw up off the floor. You do your best to mirror him.

“Right, thank you,”

“Get home safe, Nee-san,” He all but coos. Your eyes go wide and then, without meaning to, you laugh loudly.

“You too,”

With that, he turns on his heel to leave. You can practically feel Kuroo’s eyes on your silhouette. You make a firm choice to ignore it.

“We should uhm… get home.”

He’s quiet for a while.

“Yeah,”

You wish you brought your car. But you and Kuroo always go 50/50 on Uber rides home - so you’re in the backseat with Kuroo six inches away from you. You try your best not to face the window, or to turn away.

But the silence feels like a broad-stroke - heavy and a little demanding. You fidget with a ring on your index finger, palms in your lap. Your eyes flicker over your bare ring finger. It’s not like you’ve ever cared to be married. You chose work on purpose, but the thought crossed your mind tonight, admittedly.

A husband or wife wouldn’t be so bad, you think. It’s a step too far to think about marrying Mr. Hayashi, but you can’t really control it either. Suddenly you feel a little flush, and you smile without meaning to.

“So.. what were you and Mr. Hayashi talking about?”

Kuroo’s voice is smooth as it pulls you from your train of thought. You look up, turning to look at him.

“Oh, uh - nothing really. We just started chatting. I wanted to make a good impression since he works with the Jackals all the time,”

“...You weren’t friends before then?”

“Why’d you think that?”

“He called you nee-san?”

Your eyes widen and then you break out into another laugh, before waving a dismissive hand.

“Oh, that’s just - I think he was… he was just cracking a joke. He asked me to drop the honorifics since he thought we were the same age. And then I said I look younger than I am,”

“And so?’”

“So, he asked if he could call me that and I told him not to get too cocky. He was nice. Kinda weird, but nice.”

Another silence stretches between you, a thin membrane. Kuroo frowns like he isn’t sure what to say, or how exactly to say it but it quickly turns back into a smile.

“Nice because he was flirting with you,” He says. It’s provocative and a little irritating. You’re familiar with it - the little vein that pops in his neck. You have a guess as to why, but you think of Ayame and all the other company dinners where Kuroo is charming the panties off of old businesswomen. Suddenly, you don’t feel bad.

Just business, he always says. You know that, and you think that’d matter more if you knew where you two stood. But you don’t other than close colleagues and estranged friends, so you just kind of laugh.

“Yeah, I think he was,” ― You tuck your fingers underneath your clutch, curled and look down with a smile ― “He was pretty forward, but he wasn’t bad,”

Kuroo looks like he wants to say something. He opens his mouth briefly, only to close it again.

“Are you gonna call him?”

You don’t mask your surprise. You look again, not at the car floor but at Kuroo who’s got shadows on his face. Underneath his eyes are shadows you aren’t sure were there before. Your heart pulls taut. You can’t breathe for a second.

“Maybe,”

You settle on maybe.

You don’t want to have this conversation here. In the back on Uber on a Saturday night with sore feet and a heavy head. You especially don’t want to have it with Kuroo Tetsuro - the guy who falls asleep at your desk when you work together during late nights and who shares most of your friends. Who you’ve known since you were no older than 15 - who graduated and followed you all the way here.

All that history begging to be unpacked rises like bile in your throat, and you take a shaky breath. Tomorrow, it’ll be all fine. You’ll get a 7am text and Kuroo will bring you coffee. You’ll take the subway together. He’ll stand behind you to fend off creeps. And it won’t be close (sometimes you wonder if you ever were) but it’ll be fine.

Nothing will change if you just settle down. That’s what you tell yourself. So you take a deep breath and find yourself facing the window.

“Don’t call him,” He says in a rush. You look over your shoulders. He looks…panicked? Worried? You don’t really know, maybe both. You pause.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to,”

Your brow furrows.

“Why?”

He looks uncomfortable. Nervous, like he’s gonna throw up. His brow creases and pinches.

“Because.” He says like he’s settled on it. Your face falls flat.

“I’m not doing this with you,” ― You say, rubbing your temples with frustration ― “It’s been a long-ass night. I’m tired. My feet are so sore and this dress is borderline itchy. I want to wash my face and pee in my own bathroom.”

You turn solemn. Utterly exhausted, you rub underneath your eye.

“If you’re not gonna tell me why, stop bugging me, okay?”

“Hey,”

“Tetsuro, I’m serious. Leave it, okay?”

“No it’s not - I’m not good at this. I’m sorry, I don’t mean -”

“You seemed good at it today,”

“That’s just -’

“Just business, I know. I get it. We work in the same office, went to the same university and high school. I’ve known you for almost a decade, Tetsuro,” ― You just barely keep it together. You don’t even know what you’re frustrated by. ― “You’re the most charismatic person I’ve ever met despite yourself and your stupid bullshit. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, but if you’re going too anyways - at least be honest with me.”

“Honest in what way?”

“I dunno. But don’t tell me you’re not good at it,” ― Your face burns flush with embarrassment ― “It’s fine if it’s me, like I… you don’t have to -”

“No, no. It is you but not in the way you think.” He corrects.

“In what way then?”

“It’s cause it’s you,” ― And then you see it when you drive past a streetlight, a warm blush painted on his cheeks that makes your heart stop ― “Because you’ve known me for almost a decade. Because you still like me through all of my stupid bullshit. It’s different when it’s work,”

Your heart does a soft pitter-patter. You breathe through your nose.

“But?”

“But that’s just work. I don’t care about those people. I just am what’s expected of me to close bookings and persuade deals. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And me?”

“You… well - obviously you mean something to me,”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” You say.

You feel tender. You can’t help it. Kuroo is a scar that never really healed. You never leave each other’s side, and he’s so considerate of your feelings. He means well, you know. You know everything there is to know about Kuroo, even now - because every attempt to avoid each other disengage has been split apart by the universe.

From going to the same university to working in the same field. You’ve done it all, been there for each other when you dated other people. You reminisce about Kuroo crying to you over his first real girlfriend. Kuroo drank with you when you broke up with the only other guy you loved.

And that’s life. Most people you meet come with love that existed before you did. Not often is it that we only experience love one time.

Your relationship with Kuroo often reminds you of the tide. With high highs, and low lows. Sometimes you crush. In high school and some time in your young adult life - Kuroo was a trigger for all your butterflies. After high school grad and just before college ended, you thought you hated his guts.

But lately, life doesn’t lend itself to either extreme. When your priorities change and your heartbeat is much steadier than it was when you were younger - lately you think Kuroo is handsome.

You think he makes you feel funny. That it’s not exactly butterflies. It’s just sort of warm and fizzy like soda pop or pop-rocks that melt on your tongue. It still gives you that giggly laughter, but you don’t feel hollow when it leaves.

Like always though, it lingers. He lingers, and sometimes that dull sensation aches.

So you’re a little jealous. A little petty, a little childish - but that’s because he makes you feel so awfully human. All he reminds you of is how awfully human you are, down to your wants.

“...It doesn’t?”

Your breath catches. When you look up, he looks almost angry.

You open your mouth only to snap it shut again.

“Do you really think I don’t care about you?”

“No, I know you do, and I care about you too.”

“Then what is it?”

And you kind of want to cry as much as you don’t. Frustration is present, but not drowning. It isn’t that raw, unbridled resentment that you would have once before. It isn’t even all that angry. It feels like hot wind on your skin.

For what it’s been, the long road looking back must’ve only been a few feet. You’re mostly just wishing you weren’t having this conversation in the backseat of a stranger’s car.

It’s here now, though. So you face it.

“I want you to want me,” ― You manage through an alarmingly soft whisper, strained and a little uncomfortable under the collar ― “But I don’t know if you do because I never really know where we stand. And I really didn’t have to be the one to say it. So, can we please drop it?”

There’s another pause. And you sigh. For what’s the equivalent of a confession - you feel strangely at ease. Not perfectly fine, but for the most part, you don’t want to puke. The rapid heart rate will settle with time and you’re relieved.

You get ready to go quiet for the rest of the car ride.

“I… It’s… I do,”

He stutters through every word. A flush on his cheeks and some sense of panic.

“You do?”

And he remains silent, the world is falling apart. This part is familiar too. Kuroo’s always been bad at honesty.

“Tetsuro,” ― You say, trying to encourage him just a little ― “What’re you still so scared of?”

“Of fucking this up,” ― He says with astounding sobriety, deep in thought ― “We’ve been through a lot, but - it could all go wrong. I don’t want it to end with me picking a box with my stuff in it,”

“We have been through a lot,”― You offer, with a soft breath. You lean your head back onto the seat ― “So even if we broke up, worst-case scenario - we take some time off. But we’re not good at being apart.”

“Yeah,” He laughs under his breath “That’s true,”

“I didn’t think you were such a wimp, Tetsuro.”

“I am not a wimp, you wench”

You snort.

“You are. Some rando hitting on me made you jealous and you can’t even tell me to my face that you like me,”

“Who said I even like you?”

“Oh?”

He shuts himself up.

And you laugh again a little harder.

You aren’t sure what you were hoping for it to feel like. You think you’d be content like this. Crystalized in ember, this soft hope. It’s not love in the way you wanted when you were young. Not a heart in your ribs. Not painful.

Like breaking in new shoes. The comfy kind that needs to be worn for a little while before they’re perfect - that you wear and wear and wear. You want to keep them. You hope they’ll always fit.

“I’m so tired,”― You say through a soft yawn and warm laugh ― “You’ve got ten minutes to say your piece before I fall right asleep,”

“Come home with me,” He says. Spits out like a loose tooth. Your eyes go wide. “Not like… you know. Just, I think it’d be easier that way. If we were together,”

You grin and then let out a laugh, a warm puff of air through your nose.

“Tetsuro, come here,”

He inches towards you, slowly.

And you face each other, just like that. You put a hand on his chest. Not his shoulder, on his chest. You can feel his pulse quicken underneath your palms. You smile, and the car ride is smooth and steady.

“Hey,” You whisper. He laughs a ridiculous laugh.

“Hi,” He says back. You grin.

“Are you gonna stop being a scaredy-cat?”

He laughs at that. You’ve never realized how weird it is to kiss in the backseat of a car, especially when it’s not your car. Still, Kuroo reaches a hesitant hand out. He cups your cheek gently in his palm and then giggles a little.

“Probably not,” ― He says, thumb smoothing underneath your eyes - just gentle enough your makeup doesn’t smudge. A moment slowed in time ― “But you could help me with that, right?”

“Yeah. I do with everything else, anyways,”

“Yeah… you really do,” ― He leans forward. The warmth of his breath, sweet and summery, fans onto your lips. You look up at him and smile ― “Can I kiss you?”

“You probably should,”

A grin breaks out into his face, and he’s laughing under his breath. He tries to kiss you seriously, but there’s so much unadulterated joy - that each one is broken up by a smile or whisper. Warmth spills from your fingertips. You hold onto his chest. You kiss him slowly, softly. Lips pressed together like shallow pecks.

“Will you come home with me?”

“Sure,”

“Even if I have bad intentions?”

You laugh brightly.

“Yeah, even then.”

“Don’t call that guy, okay?”

“Okay,”

Kuroo holds your hand the whole way through.

As you leave the Uber with a hefty tip, and as you make out in the elevator before his apartment. His fingers laced with yours or, a delicate hand wrapped around your own. He holds your hand through the hallways, and only lets go to open his apartment doors.

And when you stumble inside together, there’s this kind of tenseness that lingers. An awareness of how incomplete the two of you are, even together. You step inside, and you aren’t sure what you’re expecting.

Kuroo leads you into his bedroom, and you follow. But he doesn’t push you down against the sheets.

“Sit,” He offers. And you do.

Before you have a chance to question it, Kuroo is settling down on his knees. He’s still dressed, minus his shoes. But your heels are still on, and you thought maybe it was something kinky.

Instead though, his fingers carefully undo the faux leather. Your breath catches as you watch. The room is dimly lit, just one light in the corner of the room. But, Kuroo is looking - maybe right into you. His fingers are so careful undoing the straps slowly. He rubs, so carefully, on the indented skin.

He takes the first heel off and rubs the soreness on the soles of your feet. His lips are a ghostly sensation. But he kisses your calf, now bare. You stare for a long while, unsure of what to say.

He repeats it for your other leg. The same gesture, the same tenderness instilled. You can barely breathe as you watch him. Your hand reaches over to pet his hair back, and he smiles.

“Do they still hurt?”

“Not as much,”

“Good. C’mere,”

You stand, and you’ve lost height. Kuroo bends down to kiss you again, soft. When he pulls away he smiles.

“Lemme help you with this,”

You face away from him, feeling as he takes the zipper of your outfit and slides it down all the way. An exposed wave of air hits your back, and you shiver. He presses his lips to your neck, the nape of it - nose pressed against your skin. You ease the short sleeves off, and Kuroo’s fingers ghost over them. The fabric falls to the floor unceremonious. You step out of it, and Kuroo glances at you.

You’re not completely naked. You’re wearing a comfortable lace number, all of it matching. Kuroo grins down at you, sucking in a breath.

“Pretty,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… really pretty,”

You crane your neck up to kiss Kuroo in thanks. He receives you openly. The gentle air cools your skin as your nimble fingers reach down for his buttons. Your heart doesn’t hammer, but it beats loud. A gentle thrumming under your skin as you help him out of his vest.

He watches you with a cat-like grin as you loosen his tie. Then his white shirt, where your mouth goes dry at what’s underneath. Strong chest, flexing as the buttons of his dress shirt get undone. That comes off too, falls to the floor, and settles in the heap of clothes.

“You’re so hot, it’s so annoying,” You whine. He laughs at that.

“You really think so?”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. Feels kinda conceited,”

“God that explains so much. Yes, you’re obviously hot. That’s why people throw themselves at you, all day,” You snort. You rest your hands on his collarbones.

“Except you, huh?” He tsks. You laugh.

“I have to humble you ‘cause no one else will,”

“We’ll see about that,” He teases. You scrunch your nose up at him then laugh, letting your hands smooth over his chest. Your palms glide on his torso before you end up at his belt buckle. You hold his eyes when you do it, undoing the metal before taking the belt off.

You can feel yourself grow wet. It’s not the touch, but the motion - the watching Kuroo’s face as you undo his nice slacks and let them fall to the floor. Your manicured hands linger at his waistband as he steps out of them and they enter the pile of clothes.

There’s something about being naked with someone you like, or even love - the way pleasure and want stretch and cling so neatly to every part of your psyche. You want Kuroo. You want him to touch you. You want to touch him, so even when your hands shake - you want him. So you let yourself touch him, your palms cup his cock through his boxers

He’s hard, warm in your hands. You squeeze, letting your eyes flicker up to the ragged breath.

“Tetsuro,” You say, squeezing again. He inhales.

“Yeah,”

“Let’s get into bed,”

So you fall together, Kuroo sits on the edge of the bed and you sit upon his lap.

And you’re so wet. It smears through your panties, sticky and see-through - and you hover above his hard-on with a mischievous smile. Kuroo makes note to kiss you, the soft tug of teeth and gentleness of his tongue that swipes your bottom lip. He lets his palms squeeze your ass, massaging the skin.

There’s nothing you like more than letting him feel you. The soft way the kisses linger as he guides your hips together. Your rut yourself into him, the outline of his cock sometimes catching in a way that makes you gasp into his mouth.

The flames lick gently in your stomach. That fall-apart, gooey feeling that makes your mind sink. You let yourself succumb to the haze as you kiss and touch. Every particularly hard thrust makes you laugh or breathe into his lips, and Kuroo pauses in the middle. You’re so wet now, so throbbing - the dull need startles to settle in the pit of your stomach.

You get greedy when you wrap your arms around his neck and push yourself. But Kuroo leans back on his palms, keen to let you do what you want. The soft heat of your cunt over the clothes, the layers of fabric that tease.

“Tetsuro,”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I like when you call me that,”

“Mm, yeah. I like when you talk to me,” He says back.

“You should touch me,”

He grins at you, mischief dancing in his eyes. And then he hauls you up, flipping you until you’re on your back. A laugh spills out of you at the sudden movement, clinging to him.

“Jeez, you scared me,” Your legs wrap your his waist as he hangs off the edge. He leans his head down to kiss your jaw.

“Sorry,” He says, not sounding apologetic.

“Better be,”

His knees hit the floor again as he drags you over the side of the bed. Your legs dangle as he spreads them apart. His fingers trace around the dampened material, cotton soaked in arousal. He avoids where you need him most, massaging just the outside. It makes your stomach tight, the purposeful gestures.

Your toes curl when he decides to stop teasing you. Thighs tensed as his middle finger glides and pressed to your clit smoothly. Your voice gives in. You prop yourself onto your elbows to look but it proves to be a bad idea. Kuroo is right there. He moves the stretch of the fabric to one side and he touches you. Really touches you, skin to skin.

You’ve done it before, but not with Kuroo. Kuroo does it kindly. Kuroo touches you like you’ll break apart - with enough teasing to keep you wanting more, but not enough to make you agitated. You think the word for it is sexy. Kuroo is sexy, so terribly sexy when he watches for you.

“Does it feel better here,” ― He switches pace and position, more firm ― “Or here?”

“There,” You breathe. His lip meets your inner thigh. He rubs your clit with care and concentration. His free hand touching at you, warming you from the inside out. More heat, more pressure, more want - it all builds so steadily inside of you. You let yourself fall back as the stimulation to your clit proves to make you feel hazy.

When you’re warm, when you’re there - Kuroo lets his fingers go a little further. You aren’t expecting that sudden intrusion of his middle finger, circling just barely at your entrance. You throb a little, heartbeat in your clit fluttering at the gentle look on Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo is so much for you. You must be a lot for him too because he looks surprised when you clamp down on his fingers.

At first, it doesn’t feel like anything but invasive. Kuroo’s fingers are thick as they are long, and so much bigger than yours. You stare for a second, as he pushes. The stretch of your pussy suddenly grows, but it’s tipping on the edge of unpleasantness. There’s an ache inside, deep.

Then, Kuroo dips his head down. His tongue lays, flat on your clit before taking it into his mouth. You feel your spine arch at the sudden sensation. When you look down, Kuroo’s eyes are narrowed at you in a grin.

“You asshole,”

He smiles against your clit.

And then, you jerk - because Kuroo curls his finger inside of you until it hits a spot that makes your mouth drop open. You’ve never had someone else touch it before, not a person. Always some toy you bought on a whim, but Kuroo reaches it. Your mouth falls open completely, head feeling heavy as can be.

You groan, loud and shameless as it stops feeling like nothing and starts to feel like everything all at once. It’s such a sudden shift you almost miss it. You throb between your legs as Kuroo pumps his middle finger in and out of you - and you feel a rush of wetness run lewdly into his hands.

Another deep breath as he lets another finger. Time feels like it’s moving at a lethargic pace. The way Kuroo moves inside of you. There’s a staccato on how it feels with every move or change, but Kuroo always builds you back up. He knows how to get you on the edge every time you stay from it - and this time, he takes no short effort in making sure you stay there. You stay in that steady pleasure. The movement feels as natural as an oceans wave, enveloping and comfortable, and cool. You know at any moment the water could rush over and drown you, but you somehow how feel confident that it won’t.

You know you won’t mind if it does.

The two fingers stretch and stretch and stretch. You keen into the touch, moaning his name softly. Kuroo goes easily, steadily - and you almost feel relaxed. You’re not alarmed, just tense. Yearning as he fucks you right open on his fingers, and arousal drips onto everything.

“Tetsuro,” You moan.

He pulls off, slowly. And the heat cools rapidly, but he kisses your clit soft.

“Just let go when you feel it,”

And you nod, shakily. He gets back to it. A little more pressure, a little more suction, a little more giving. Enough that you feel all of it in some rapid succession. What felt like it would take minutes now starts to impend. You want it, want him - and you don’t have the strength to be propped up on your elbows when that syrupy warmth settles in the bottom of your stomach. Everything pulls you.

Kuroo’s fingers rubbing against your g-spot, the hot sticky suction of his mouth, his free hand holding you so gentle, like you’re pretty. He touches you in a way that makes you feel wanted. You wonder if that’s on purpose.

It’s dark, but you can see his eyes still. Light and hazel and piercing. A wave of electricity spikes through you.

You cum hard, the first time. Your entire back arches off of the bed, mouth dangling open and legs jerking. Your toes curl as you try to close your legs, overwhelmed. Kuroo doesn’t pull off from you, just guides you through it as a wave of euphoria hits you all at once. Startlingly hard, you cum for what feels like an eternity the first time.

When you open your eyes - Tetsuro is giving you a big grin. He gives you a laugh as you lay in his bed, limp.

“Don’t tell me you’re already giving up?”

“Never ever. Come fuck me,”

He laughs at that. You watch as he walks towards his drawers, pulling a condom from them before returning to you. You’re sitting up now, leaning back as he comes back towards you.

“Do you wanna put this on for me?”

You nod. Kuroo laughs at you and stands tall, hips jutting out. It’s funny enough that you laugh, as your fingers dip into his waistband.

“I hate you,” You say through a smile. He laughs back.

But you do take them off. Slowly, you watch as his boxers drop to the floor. The sound that leaves your mouth is nothing if not shocked. You weren’t expecting him to be… small. But seeing it so upfront, he’s much bigger than you would’ve expected. Bigger than average at least.

There’s a clean bit of hair, well kept. Kuroo is longer than he is thick, and cut - brown tip, and heavy. Your palms wrap around the shaft, eyes wide.

“You’re so big,”

“Y-Yeah?”

You know you’re getting distracted but with it so close to you it’s hard not to be. You can’t focus, so you lean into the urge to touch. Your grip goes a little tighter, and you spit onto the head. Kuroo hisses under his breath as you tug, jerking him in your palms with a sparkle in your eyes.

“Fuck, that’s -”

“Huh?”

“You’re… fuck - I’m so hard. Kinda hurts,”

“From me touching you?”

“Yeah. And seeing you spit on it. And you in general, I guess,” Kuroo huffs, wincing. You take your time, feeling the weight of him in your hands. The curve, the warmth, the veins - you watch as his eyes go lidded from lust and suddenly there’s warmth in your stomach you can’t control. You practically shaking.

It’s you who’s making him like that. The thought of that has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Tetsuro, I want -”

He looks down at you, smiling.

“Me too, ‘s okay. Put it on,”

You pull away your hand with hesitance and the condom comes on. The wrapper crinkles, gets discarded somewhere you’re not paying attention. You pinch the tip and roll it down his length with a warm grin. When it’s on, you look at each other and there’s another bit of warm laughter.

“How do you want it?” He asks, cupping your cheek in his palm. You lean into the touch.

“I wanna ride you,” You say. He chokes on his breath and you laugh at him.

“Seriously? Kind of a lotta work for someone with sore legs,” He teases.

“Guess you’ll have to help me then. Think you can do it, Tetsuro?

“Fuck, you’re killing me. Come on,”

You watch as Kuroo gets on the bed, rearranging some pillows before laying down. He pats his thigh, signaling you over. You smile, throwing your legs over either side of his thigh.

He rests his hands on your hips, traveling to your torso. You size him up against you and he groans.

“Don’t hold out on me,”

“I won’t, I won’t,”

You adjust your hips a little, sitting up. You let yourself lean on Kuroo, holding his chest as you try and line yourself up.

There’s this second where you catch his eyes. You sink down on his cock, and the stretch of it is just right. He’s big, so it burns pleasantly. It’s a lot, immediate. The feeling of being full and the familiarity of another body. Everything realigns in your togetherness and you think about how much you want him. When your eyes meet, it’s all that’s on your mind.

You want, you want, you want. You want so much you can’t help but cry out a little at the feeling. Kuroos fingers dig a little harder in your hips as you slowly adjust. You don’t know how you’re keeping it together, so you breathe then grin.

“You feel so good,”

“You look so fucking good,” Kuroo says back. You moan as he bottoms out. The sudden feeling of completion. You lean forward as you get adjusted to it, rocking forward. Kuroo watches you, awestruck.

You’re together and you feel like something that’s been missing clicks together. So suddenly, does the realization hit you that you’re with him. You think it’s a weird time to get emotional since he’s inside you, but you do. You feel yourself overwhelmed with affection as you rock against him. You let him hit that soft spot in your core and then hold his face in your hands.

“Tetsuro,” ― You say with the happiness spilling through every syllable ― “I like you,”

His eyes go wide. And then your infectious smiling nips at him, and his whole face goes flush. Maybe embarrassed, but happy too. Happy together like some kind of magic.

“I like you too,”

You kiss him softly, a short reprieve. A break in between everything.

“Can I move?”

“Mhm,”

Kuroo holds you up. You secure yourself on his shoulder, burying your face in the space between his shoulder and neck. He smells like cologne and sweat. You breathe in sharply.

Then he’s moving. Not fast at first, like he’s trying to ease you into it. The soft drag of his cock is enough to make you moan. It’s a broken jagged sound. This position makes you feel it so deeply, makes it touch in places you didn’t know existed. The soft stroke is enough to make you feel so good all over again. It’d be fine if you didn’t cum again, but it feels like you just might.

Kuroo doesn’t fuck into you hard enough to make you cry. But he does hold you, tight to his chest. He fucks you like he wants you to feel every inch, not too slow or too fast. There’s a rhythm to it, a constancy. It’s harder than you could ever do on your own. Deep thrusts that you can feel him all the way in your stomach. Over and over and over.

“You feel perfect,” He huffs. You moan into his neck, cheek pressed to his skin.

“Wanna cum again,” You admit as he fucks into you. His thrusts stutter, slowing.

“Touch yourself for me,”

You feel your whole body shiver, nodding.

You managed to sneak a hand between your sweaty bodies. Kuroo lets you get used to it.

“Gonna move again, kay?”

“Okay,”

And then it’s there again. At the same pace, hard enough to feel good - but slow enough to feel too painful. Your fingers shake as they rub against your clit. The pleasure washes over you. You cry out.

“Oh, fuck,”

“Do you feel it?”

“Yeah. God, yeah.”

He presses a kiss to wherever he can reach. For now, on the side of your head.

You move with each other, just like that. Soaking each other in like basking in the sunlight at high noon. Warmth and pleasure envelops you as a familiar knot twists in your tummy. Your thighs are tight from the position. Tense and clenched muscles as you get so close to another one. You’re a little overstimulated, so your movements are rushed. Sloppy, but it does the job. So close, so close.

“Cum for me,” ― Kuroo encourages, soothing ― “One more,”

Your voice crackles as it hits you with astounding impact. You cum, and you cum hard. This time the waves are a little longer. Instead of a constant one after another wave, they’re long and drawn out. Much deeper than before. You say his name like a prayer from your lips. Love like worship.

“Oh, god. Tetsuro, shit,”

“Shh, shh - it’s okay. I got you,”

You ride your high out together. Kuroo moves with you until you’re finished, and then he stops. Your eyes are bleary when you open them to look back at him.

“Hey stranger,” He hums “You okay? Can I keep going?”

You nod, bracing yourself.

“Yeah… give it to me,”

“Anything you want,”

You can feel Kuroo let himself loose. You encourage him through it. Tell him to go hard, to cum. You have just enough energy to match him, so you do. You move your hips with each thrust, smiling as he throws his head back. His hold gets tight, teeth gritted and eyes screwed shut hard as he finishes.

“Shit, shit,”

You can feel his whole body spasms, jerking as he buries himself to the hilt and finishes. It’s a shame you can’t feel him. Another time, you think to yourself.

You feel lethargy, bone-deep, creep into you when you finally manage to come back from everything. Kuroo is still inside of you, but you don’t want him to pull out. The two of you stand together like that. Relaxed, and steady. You blink tiredly at Tetsuro, and he smiles back.

“You can’t fall asleep like this,” He muses. You frown, yawning.

“I’m not falling asleep,” You insist.

“You’ll break out from having your makeup on,”

“Hasn’t happened yet,”

“Do you sleep with your makeup on?”

“I try not to, but sometimes I nap with it on, you know?”

He snorts.

“C’mon. Up and up.”

“Sir, yes sir,”

He chuckles.

Kuroo hovers around you as you take your makeup off. He watches as you rub it away with soaps and oils that he had around his house. Promising that next time you’re here, he’d have everything you need.

You peed over the toilet like you wanted to earlier, and Kuroo sat with you. You were expecting the transition to intimacy to be much harder. Maybe it’s because you’ve already seen the worst of it that it hadn’t been bad at all.

Kuroo lends you old clothes. The pants don’t fit but the boxers do, so you take them.

And after changing the sheets together, you let yourself sleep in Kuroo’s bed. You watch as he turns the lights off and then comes with you under the sheets.

You stare at him as he finally comes into your view. Your expression contented, you reach out to him. He lets you touch him, fingers on his jaw before he scoots it.

He kisses the tip of your nose, so softly it startles you.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” He says with transparency. You laugh.

“I’ve gotten good at that,”

He chuckles.

“You should put it on your resume,” He says thoughtfully.

“Mm, good idea. Number One Tetsuro Tamer,”

And then you both giggle. Stupidly, maddeningly content with each other. Comfortable.

“Sleep soon,”

“Mm, okay,”

When you close your eyes you know he’s still grinning.

“Okay,”

#kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #writing tag #formal #wub wub wub #betterthanfictioncollab #I KNEW I FORGOTT A TAG

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writing-on-the-wahl · 3 years

Text

What Are The Odds Part 5

(Finally)

So fun story I wrote a continuation MONTHS ago but then realized I needed more to happen before that scene…. So i wrote this… PART 5 🤗

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

—————

The knock sounded at the door several hours after Hero had shut herself in the guest bedroom. She’d tried to fall back asleep, but their conversation and her childish flight from the room had kept her from slipping into a peaceful rest.

“What?” The word was harsh and sharp. Apparently it hadn’t been long enough to let her anger dissipate.

“Make a list of things you want my sidekick to pick up from your apartment.”

Hero’s heart sank at the unspoken message: you’re going to be here for a while.

Her back slid down the door as she sank to the ground, running the odds of surviving a jump out the penthouse window.

Shocker.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she pressed her hands against them, hard.

If only she hadn’t asked Villain to kidnap her.

If only she hadn’t gone to the gala.

If only she hadn’t stumbled across those files.

If only, if only....

But the only odds she could see were in the future. There was no point looking back.

She ran the odds of Villain killing her today.

Not bad.

She ran the odds of him catching her if she tried to escape today.

96%

Not great.

Hero sighed and pushed off the floor to find a pen and paper.

She had a list to make.

—————

Hero shifted from foot to foot in the entry of the Villain’s penthouse apartment as Sidekick gave Villain all the updates on the campaign and how many points Politician had lost in the polls thus far due to his association with and donations from Billionaire. Villain was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, a satisfied smirk growing with each bit of news. She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes kept flitting to her.

She’d avoided speaking to Villain all day, hiding in her room and ignoring his frequent attempts to lure her out with the promise of food and company.

Unnerved by the attention, Hero focused on the bag still clutched in Sidekick’s hand. Her own hands were uncomfortably empty as she stood there, unsure if she was supposed to be overhearing the conversation.

As Sidekick switched to discussing the declining quality of Politician’s speeches, Hero checked the odds of Politician winning, then couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Serve him right.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she ran the odds a certain golden-eyed villain was looking at her.

Yep.

Her heart fluttered for the briefest moment before she remembered why she was here. The smile fell from her face.

Hero shifted backwards, wondering if she should just return to her room and come back for the bag later.

Villain caught the movement and lifted a hand to cut off Sidekick’s breathless spiel. “Thank you, Sidekick. We can continue this in the morning.”

She nodded in understanding as she looked between Villain and Hero before extending the strap of the bag towards Hero. Hero slid the strap of the duffle onto her shoulder, shifting under its weight while Sidekick assured Villain that no one had seen her sneak into the apartment. Hero wasn’t sure how anyone could not see her in her six-inch stilettos and bright pink pencil skirt, but she kept that to herself.

Thanking Sidekick, she began to turn back down the hall that led to her room.

“Why the shampoo?”

Hero froze, the blood draining from her face at Sidekick’s query. She’d made sure to specify on her list that Sidekick bring her drugstore brand shampoo and conditioner.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Villain looking on with raised eyebrows as she mumbled something about liking the way it smelled. Heart racing, she excused herself to take a shower.

She placed her bag on the bathroom counter and pulled out her vanilla-scented shampoo, pretending not to notice expensive salon-brand shampoo in the guest bathroom.

Sometime later, she cracked open the bedroom door, her rumbling stomach relieved to find it unlocked. She slipped down the dark hall in socked feet, passing the the living room, where the half open door spilled the colorful lights from the TV into the hallway.

She kept her eye on the living room as she turned into the doorway of the kitchen.

Where she promptly collided with Villain.

Hero stumbled back against the doorframe, grasping the edge of the wood as her heart raced.

“Running away?”

The low voice sent a shiver down her spine, and her eyes shot up to where Villain’s face hovered mere inches from hers. One hand rested on the doorframe above her, trapping her in.

“No! I was just going to the kitchen.” She glanced beyond him towards the granite countertops, mahogany table, and her least favorite chair.

Villain was looking down at her with an inscrutable expression on his face.

Hero dropped her head, cheeks burning with shame as she remembered all the times Villain had knocked on her door today, offering food, sending Sidekick for her clothes…

He was unexpectedly considerate.

And she’d given him the cold shoulder all day.

She wasn’t angry anymore. She just felt hollow.

In truth, she hadn’t really been angry; she’d been afraid. Politician had made it very clear what would happen if she revealed what she’d stumbled upon. But it was easier to be angry than afraid.

“I’m sorry I was so angry,” she whispered, studying her fuzzy blue socks. It was the best she could do.

“It’s okay.” Warm fingers softly tilted her chin up. “I promised not to press you for answers and then I did. I’m sorry.”

His face was sincere, his voice regretful. Warmth spread through her.

There were questions she wanted to ask, odds she knew she should run. But all she could think about was the way his hand slipped from her chin to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Vanilla.”

“I- what??” Hero’s brain struggled to make sense of Villain’s quiet comment because somehow he was standing even closer than before.

“Your shampoo.” He fingered a strand of her long hair. “It’s nice.”

Her stomach was a menagerie of butterflies as he continued to twirl her hair between his fingertips.

She drew in a sharp breath as his smoldering eyes met hers.

His handsome features softened. “Hero…” the quiet murmur faded as his gaze moved down to her lips. His other hand slid up her shoulders and into her hair, gently cradling her head as he slanted his mouth down towards hers.

Hero leaned forward, and her eyes fluttered closed as the distance between them shrank.

A cold rush of air greeted her as Villain abruptly shifted away, his hands falling to his sides.

His voice was flat as he gestured to the kitchen. “Dinner is on a plate in the fridge.”

Then he strode past her, his bedroom door shutting with a deafening click in the silence he left behind.

It was a long time before Hero was able to drag herself to the fridge and collect the perfectly arranged plate of food.

Taglist:

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000 @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess

✨ Special thanks to @im-a-wonderling and @shieldmaiden-of-gondor for reading/editing ✨

#what are the odds #guys just wait #it’s gonna get so good #why did he run??#what’s she hiding??#eeeeeee #hero x villain #hero #heroes and villains #heroes x villains #snippet #my writing #write #writeblr

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how-masterful · 3 years

Text

Undercover

Delgado!master x reader

Summary: Finally, the Master had let you join in on field work for earth missions. His newest plan, the Keller machine, is going off without a hitch. The Doctor, however, is starting to suspect he’s seen the mysterious Professor Emil Keller’s assistant before- but more important matters are at play beyond the suspicions of a Time Lord: You’ve followed your Master’s orders perfectly, and a reward is seemingly in order...

Warnings: Lemon, EC for definite below the read more.

Notes: A return to writing for masterful! thankyou for being so patient with me, classes are finally beginning to end and so expect more fic’s to be released soon (perhaps that elusive new remaster will finally come out, despite my endless promises!) This half remaster is, as usual, dedicated to my absolutely beloved @plethora-of-imagines- you might recognise this fic from a while ago, but with a few little refreshes and changes here and there. A remaster of a half remaster, if you will. I hope you enjoy this trip down memory lane, queen!

The doors to the base opened with a mechanical grind and heave, the escorting guards that flanked your side guiding you towards the entrance of the UNIT embassy in London. You turned over your shoulder, heels stood upon the precipice of the entryway, leather gloved hand pulling your circular sunglasses down your nose. You met the gaze of the Brigadier, Doctor and Jo- your eyes lined with a dark kohl and red lips quirking up into a smirk.

"Will we be seeing you again, officer?" Jo asked, her voice sweet as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her blazer. You nodded with a fond smile, turning on your heels to face them as you pushed your glasses back up your nose, brushing the blonde hairs of your wig behind your ear.

"Perhaps, Miss Grant. However it depends on how the operators here at UNIT manage to handle the situation."

The Brigadier gave his typical expression. It was a raised lip corner, signalled mostly by the movement of his moustache. The various officers at UNIT, most recently Sergeant Benton, referred to it as the Brigadiers ‘not-smile smile’: he was a professional, after all. Hiding his displeasure at his authority being questioned behind a display of decorum.

"Believe me, officer, my men are working to the highest level of capacity. This peace conference shall go off without a hitch."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. You do your Job, Brigadier, and the professor and I shall do ours."

You smiled at the Brigadier, who returned with the legendary expression once more, before turning to face the Doctor. His eyes were narrowed as he inspected your face, head slightly tilted as the ends of his wild white hair and long cape coat were beginning to be caught in the invading draft. You brushed down the front of your black blazer dress, buttons shining as you adjusted your hat with a gentle push.

"Until then, Doctor."

The Time Lord hummed, hardly an answer, watching as you swiftly turned on the heel of your stilettos and headed out of the door. The Brigadier gave a sigh as the eyes of his soldiers followed you out, letting out an abrupt cough that broke the men's gazes from the length of your dress.

“I’m guessing I should consider making that uniform mandatory for you too, since you’re so interested in its design.”

The men quickly resumed whatever work they’d been momentarily distracted from. The Brigadier turned towards his scientific officer with a further movement of his facial hair.

"Honestly, it's as if they've never seen a lady in uniform before."

Jo frowned, shaking her head before turning to the Doctor. He was still following after you, eyes narrow as you clutched your briefcase and elegantly slid into the waiting military vehicle down the steps. Jo sighed loudly as you went.

"Oh Doctor, not you too!"

"That woman seemed familiar. Far too familiar for a stranger, Far too familiar for a supposed visitor from Switzerland, anyway."

Jo rolled her eyes and smiled fondly up at the larger man.

"Doctor, I'm sure you've met many soldiers in your lifetime. Maybe you’re just misremembering?"

"Quite the contrary, Jo. I never forget a face. And my gut is telling me that face will be nothing but trouble."

The Brigadier shook his head, giving a light chuckle as he patted the Doctor on the back.

"Come along now, Doctor. She seemed like a professional young girl. You're more than likely worrying over nothing. That apprehension in your stomach can't be anything more than the result of you skipping breakfast."

The Doctor sighed, Jo taking it as a triumphant sign of his relenting.

"Speaking of food, I'm positively famished. Mike said he’d order some sandwiches from that nice little café around the corner earlier. Coming, Brigadier?"

The Brigadier rolled his eyes.

“I suppose it would be delectable of me to keep captain Yates from his obviously rigid lunch schedule.”

The humans parted, discussing such trivial things as food. But the Doctor knew something was definitely wrong. He'd seen your face before, the memory scratching at his brain. All these pieces were beginning to look like disjointed parts of a puzzle: this Keller machine, the peace conference, and now his strange sense of familiarity. He just needed to find out what was going on, and quickly- before his suspicion came far too late to prevent.

You met his eyes one last time as the vehicle door slammed shut, his curious expression suddenly being hidden by a veil of window tint as the engine revved and began to pull out onto the busy road.

By the time the military car had reached its drop off point, late afternoon clouds had begun to fall over london. You thanked the driver, standing under the early light of the street lamp as you watched the vehicle escape down the road and turn the corner back towards UNIT headquarters. You smirked, turning on your heels once more before heading down the street in the ever growing black of the soon to be evening.

A small skip entered your step as you made your way past the row of houses, a giggle escaping your lips. How your Master's plan was coming together wonderfully, your heart practically racing at the thought of his next attempt at world domination. You could see it now, yourself and the Master stood side by side, watching the destruction of earth as he whispered in your ear how good of a girl you were. It was simply dreamy to imagine: and now professor Emil Keller was about to make it happen.

You reached the end of the street, excitement brimming in your stomach as you caught sight of the large, sleek black car and the glassy eyed driver in the front seat. The man nodded at your presence, turning over his shoulder and speaking to the passenger in the back seat. The tinted window to the rear passenger side door cracked open slightly, cigar smoke billowing out into the night. He hopped out of the driving seat and pulled open the door swiftly as you arrived at the side of the car, the cigar quickly discarded out the window as a familiar voice sent comforting shivers down your spine.

"Come inside, my dear- it's frightfully chilly out there at this hour."

You giggled happily at the Master, sliding into the leather interior of the car and placing yourself firmly into his side. He grasped your chin softly, guiding your face to meet his as you dissolved into a tender, welcoming kiss. You pulled your glasses from your face, discarding them to the side as you buried yourself in the waiting arms of the Master. His coat was warm, smelling just like his cologne and lined with luscious fur, something he’d picked out for himself on a planet during one of your various trips.

The timelord knocked on the roof of the car with his knuckles, the hypnotised driver pushing on the ignition as the windows to the vehicle rolled all the way up.

"Master, I missed you." you admitted into the fur of his jacket, a smile appearing on the Master's lips as you made yourself comfortable. He stole another kiss from you, this time a sweeter, more chaste peck.

"As did I, my dear girl. As did I."

Your blush was positively adorable. The Master looked you up and down, a smile settling to a playful smirk at your rather exciting disguise. You noticed his gaze, lifting his chin with your fingers to meet your eyes.

"What do you think of the disguise?"

The Master grinned, watching you unabashedly attempt to seek his approval.

"You're positively radiant, my love. Even a fabulous disguise such as this can't hide your beauty."

You smiled, pleased with the praise you’d received. You sank back into his embrace, watching the road pass through the front windscreen as your head rested upon his shoulder.

"I never thought I'd sink low enough to be a UNIT officer."

"No doubt you were the most beautiful officer there."

You giggled once more, scratching the underside of the Master's beard. He hummed in delight, pulling you closer to his side. He enjoyed this little game of yours that you were currently playing.

"And no doubt it wasn't my face they were busy looking at."

The Master's face dared to sour at the notion, but you pressed a sweet kiss to his hand, pecking the leather just above where his wedding band lay on his finger. He sighed, relenting to your pledging kiss. At least you knew who you belonged to, even if those perverted, prying officers back at UNIT didn't. He'd enjoy pulling out every eyeball from every officer that dared to objectify you, but he currently enjoyed the thought of your company more. Besides, there were bigger plans in motion than petty, small-scale revenge.

"I trust you were not only stealing hearts, but were successful in your little task I set you, hmm?"

You beamed up at the timelord with a gasp, nodding with vigour and patting the briefcase at your side. The Master had finally let you out into the field on earth- he relied on you greatly during his plans in distant galaxies, letting you play pretend and dress up to cause as much mischief as you desired. But there was something about earth, about the idea of a human opponent, that made him keep you close to his side. This was an exciting change of pace.

"Yes Master. Documents, files, plans, anything and everything that I could get my hands on. There's nothing more thrilling than seeing 'top secret, keep out.' In big red letters on a dossier. How can a girl resist?"

The Master smiled widely, obviously thrilled, pulling you into his lap and rewarding you with a kiss to your forehead. You squealed happily, head resting on his shoulder as his hands came to rest on your lower back and thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh sat taught against the tight fitting material.

"Good girl, my darling- What a good girl you are. You've made your Master very happy indeed, my dear. How proud he is of his best, most obedient girl."

Your whole body curled up tighter in his arms, pure happiness coursing through your veins. Master was proud, Master was happy. He was drowning you in buckets of praise and telling you everything you wished to hear. It was all you could hope for.

You kissed the underside of his jaw, trembling slightly as his cold, leather clad fingers began to wander up and down your thigh. You allowed your own fingers to trail along his jawline, leather gloves against his skin in return making him almost purr with Joy.

"Your Master couldn't ask for a better, more beautiful girl to obey his every command with no hesitation. How perfect you are. Nobody could ever compare."

You moaned softly. You gathered your strength, pulling yourself from his lap to straddle his waist, hands gripping the fur of his collar as you pressed your foreheads together. Your noses brushed together in collision as his lips teased yours, tension building in your core as you felt his hands move to support your behind as you adjusted your position.

"Please, please Master... Say it. Say it for your good girl."

You bit your lip, stifling a moan as an arm curled around your lower back and a hand came to grasp your chin, thumb pulling your lip from your teeth and brushing over the red stained skin.

"Own me, command me. Tell me I'm yours."

The Master chuckled, voice low as you began to grind against his suit pants. He treasured how much you desired to be under his command, the power his words had over your mind.

"My darling girl, your mind and body belong to me: obey me, obey your Masters every command."

You moaned louder than before, grinding harder against his lap- you could feel his growing hard beneath you, a drawn out 'yes' escaping your lips. The Master purred darkly, snapping his teeth together as you grasped hold of his face in your hands.

"My precious girl, irreplaceable and invaluable. Obey me, pledge yourself to me"

You groaned even louder, eyes fluttering shut as your noses brushed together, your tongue slowly teasing his top lip as he gazed up at you with hungry, heavy eyes. His words were sending chills up your spine, more than the cold outside ever could.

"Master... I’m yours. Every part of me belongs to you, every part of me desperate to serve you. To please you. To be owned. Please, show me I exist only to please you."

Your words were obviously getting him hot and bothered. You pushed off his coat, allowing it to fall against the leather seat, rapidly pulling your hands to your dress as you undid the buttons that lead from your neck to just below your bust. You pushed open the material, exposing your bare chest against his as you pushed your ass further back into his groping hands, his fingers trailing to tug at the hems of your stockings and the lacy material of your panties- which were already painfully damp.

The Master snarled, lips moving to nip and bite at your now exposed neck. His tongue licked at the sensitive skin as he allowed his lips to trail over your breasts. A filthy groan dripped from your tongue as you fought to undo the zipper on his pants, your breath caught in your throat as he suddenly growled at the sensation of your wandering fingers.

He grasped hold on your hands, causing you to whine, pulling them up to his mouth with a sneer and biting at the leather material. Each glove was yanked from your hand by his teeth, his lips racing to kiss your wedding ring which shone upon your finger. You purred, a noise that seemingly pleased him, as a leather gloved hand grasped hold of your throat while another moved to grasp tight purchase of your ass.

Your fingers nimbly fought to undo the zipper and the remaining button on his pants, freeing his cock from his boxers and beginning to stroke it with well practiced precision. With a sharp tug your panties were pulled from under your dress, the lace slipping down your thighs and being hastily pulled off your ankles and dropped to the floor. Anticipation was crippling you, your head thrown back as the Master guided your hips to slide you carefully onto his ready and waiting cock.

The back of the car was filled with your excruciating gasp, the fierce moan rippling from your throat as both of his arms wrapped around your back to support you. Your hands once again found his neck, your arms wrapping around it as you fisted into his salt and pepper hair. Instantly the pair of you dived against each other's lips, your moans muffled within each other's mouths as you began to ride him on the backseat of the car. His tongue was precise, warm and tender inside your mouth as his fingertips dragged down your back, beginning an ecstasy fuelled sensory overload.

You whined, desperate for the connection, whimpering his name into his mouth.

"Take it off... Master, please."

He seemed to understand perfectly- and to share the sentiment, his gloved fingers furiously fighting to unbutton the rest of your dress and push the black garment to the car floor. You gasped at the rush of chill on your back, pushing yourself deep onto his cock as you swivelled your hips and allowed yourself to bounce on his lap- his fingertips stroking up your spine, grasping hold of the black cap and blonde wig that hid underneath it. He pulled off what was left of your disguise, letting your hair fall free as you skilfully rode him in nothing but your heels, stockings and bra. The sight was sinful to the highest degree. Thank god your driver was hypnotised, or the noises you were making would cause him a dangerous distraction.

Moans and whimpers fell from your lips, your whines combined with the Master's harsh grunts creating a symphony of pleasure in the backseat of the car. You were practically falling apart in his lap, putty in his hands, desperately rocking your hips and grinding down as he supported you from beneath. You allowed your head to throw back, tears almost streaming down your cheeks at the waves of pleasure ravishing over your entire body. The Master was deliberate, thrusting hard and in time with your grinding as you both rode towards satisfaction as the car sped down the road.

It was positively thrilling, your movements melting together as you felt him handle you like his most precious treasure. It was an utter delight to your system, the feeling of the Master roughly yet carefully thrusting his cock inside of you, seeking to make you utterly boneless in his arms. You could feel your climax was suddenly close, the thin veil of sweat building on your brow a symbol of your devoted effort. The Master was also close to his satisfaction, the sensation building in his core as he came closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy.

"Master, I'm close, I'm so close."

"Hold on, my darling. Good girl, such a good girl"

His rough voice was enough to make you cum there and then. It was the unspoken rule- you came only when he did. You both believed it was the polite thing to do in any situation.

You gave a final series of grinds before the Master eventually came with a low grunt, the sensation of release making your previous ever growing moans seem miniscule in comparison. You cried out desperately as you also came, the Master's arms wrapping around you as you tiredly slumped forward onto his chest. Both of you gasped for air, the Master carefully removing his handkerchief from his pocket and lightly dabbing at your forehead. Your chest rose and fell quickly, his own hearts racing in tandem in his chest.

You hummed, nestling into his chest and placing a trail of kisses to his neck as he mopped your exhausted brow. You smiled, curling up within his embrace, the chill of sweat causing you to shiver under his touch..

"My love, you never fail to bring me to the utmost parts of ecstasy" he murmured softly, removing the smudged eyeliner from the corner of your eye. You sniffled, sighing at the scent of his cologne on his collar, relishing in his post sex praise.

"Love you, Master. So much..." You murmured, voice small against his jacket. If it weren't for his timelord hearing, you were sure he'd struggle to understand. But he did, softly tucking your hair behind your ear and kissing your lips tenderly. You adored his after sex kisses.

"And I love you, my dear girl. Here, let me wrap you up warm. You'll catch your death, and people will stare."

You smiled tiredly, nodding as he carefully pulled his fur coat onto your exhausted body.

"We wouldn't want that, would we? I’m yours." you proclaimed, a stance that caused the Master to chuckle adoringly.

"That's right, you belong to your Master and your Master alone. And when we get home he'll wrap you up in the softest sheets, allowing you to feast on the finest delicacy in the safety of his arms. Because that's where you belong, my dear girl, after such a delightful performance."

The thought was drool worthy. You weren't sure you didn't already start. When the car arrived at the residency the Master guided you from the car, supporting your arm as you let your head rest upon his shoulder. With an instructing snap the driver grasped hold of your clothes, another guard positioned outside the house grasping hold on your briefcases. You placed a kiss to the timelord's cheek, a gesture he returned with a small boop of your nose. You blushed even harder, feeling so safe wrapped up in the warmth of his coat, leaning against his side.

"Master?" You asked softly, voice tired as you made your way up the steps.

"Yes, my beloved?" He replied, a nickname that made your whole body shiver with adoration.

“I don't think the Doctor trusts me… I think he suspects me.”

The Master tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as you whined into his collar. How adorable, you still cared for the plan even in the after sex haze. He shushed you softly as you continued to mumble against his suit jacket.

“I think he recognized-”

The Master shook his head, causing you to stop in your trail of thought.

“Later, my dear. We can discuss business in the morning. You’ve done so well.”

“But-”

The Master shushed you once more, pausing at the top of the steps of the townhouse. He held you to his chest, guiding you chin up to meet his eyes once more. You pouted softly, his thumb pulling on your bottom lip.

“A familiar face will be the least of his problems, my dear. I’ll send Chin Lee on a little mission tomorrow, a small distraction will be enough for us to continue working on the machine back at Stangmore. Trust me, my darling.”

The Master finally let go of your lip, causing you to moan softly as he pushed a stray hair from your face.

“Let's get you inside, you look positively exhausted.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.”

The Master gave a warning chuckle as you entered into the grand foyer of the townhouse, his eyes widening in a harsh refusal as the hypnotised doorman moved to take your coat. You blushed, this time from embarrassment, the Master ushering you further into the house as you pulled the coat further across your chest.

“I suppose I should take a bath. You can't take over the world while filthy.”

The Master grinned, happy his enjoyment of the finer things in life and his presentational standards had passed on to you. He held your face softly, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek.

“You rest now, my darling. I’ll have some dinner prepared.”

“Nothing fancy, Master. Consider my appetite firmly satiated.”

You wiggled your eyebrows as the Master shook his head, a small giggle escaping from your lips as you began to head upstairs. You considered yourself lucky you could get away with such cheek.

“If you insist, my dear. I’ll send one of the men out to get something quote unquote ‘’not fancy’. I heard there's a lovely quaint little bistro just around the corner”

The Master raised a confused eyebrow as your laughter echoed from the top of the stairs.

#Delgado!Master #roger delgado #delgado!master x reader #master x reader #the master x reader #doctor who #bbc #bbc doctor who #The Master #master #fanfiction #classic who #third doctor #the mind of evil #jo grant #brigadier #x reader #reader insert

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damonsvftie · 4 years

Text

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬*

MASTERLIST

Summary: Since your return, you land yourself into a gig to go and perform at the Masquerade Ball the Malfoy’s are hosting. Things take a turn when you by accidentally turn on their son.

Warning: THE MOST UNHOLY THING IVE WRITTEN. SO MUCH SMUT. SWEARING INVOLVED AS WELL

Note: 2.2k words

Tonight’s gig was going to be particularly special since the song I was going to perform was a way for me to vent and release all the emotions that were building up inside me. Over the course of the past few months, I had completely lost motivation in writing and singing songs. I quit performing at shows. I disappeared completely. I was becoming tired due to always being fully booked for a gig and it was almost taking over my life. But tonight was my comeback.

When everyone had learnt I was finally returning back to business, a flood of requests for me to perform had come in and stakes in price were way above and beyond the type of money I’d ever had imagined. I mean.. how could a few performances hurt right? I mean if I were receiving 150 galleons per show then what was the harm?

However today I had to look representable. I had to look like I had a passion for music and prove to everyone that I was serious about it. Since the Malfoy’s were coming, I could easily earn way more money if they spread my name around and obviously anything they said would rapidly spread around like wild fire.

But I had one concern. Me and Draco Malfoy use to go to Hogwarts together and he completely had a distaste for me. Not that I cared about his opinion on me but if he loathed me then, then he probably still hated me now. His view on me could either break or make my career, but knowing him he probably would be very judgmental towards me.

“Psst.. y/n! The Malfoy’s are here,” gasped the bartender under her breathe. “Your performance will start in five,” a look of fear smearing over her face.

Draco Malfoy entered the substantial doors of the Leaky Cauldron as he followed behind his mother and father. He was dressed purely in a black tuxedo and his family ring wrapped around his finger as an extra touch. His hair wavy just like on the day of the Great War, when we all parted our separate ways.

I could feel the sweat starting to form from under my outfit and my face flushed as my eyes trailed his figure. Noticing that I was staring at him, he looked back at me coldly before turning back to face the owner of the place as he shook their hand, greeting them.

Everyone took their place at a table and looked up at the stage. The room was crowded with witches and wizards chattering until the lights went out.

I sucked in a sharp breathe before placing my hand on the stand. The back up drummers and pianists began the intro of the song as I shut my eyes closing tightly before the podium lights turned back on.

The spotlight was on me and I could feel a hundred pair of eyes gazing up at me as I started to sing. I couldn’t help but stare at Draco’s alluring face as my voice did runs and other imaginable things. My fingertips gliding across the stand as I moved my body to the rhythm. His eyes were on me as he gripped onto a glass full of wine, taking a swig of it as he leaned back into his chair.

The last part of the song that I was originally going to leave out was added in last minute. Closing the end of my performance at once, I risked hitting a whistle tone while my hands hovered against the microphone, earning cheers from the crowd as I bopped my head on the last note.

The crowd erupted into whistles and clapped for me, including the Malfoy’s, who surprisingly stood up and showed their appreciation. Draco on the other hand, still sat in his seat before getting up and pulling his father to the side.

He whispered something in his ear, my gaze darting to the two of them as I could feel my eyes becoming glossy. I just knew it. I just knew Malfoy would blow this one shot I had at proving myself.

When everyone exited the building, the Malfoy’s stayed behind as me and the band were packing our stuff up. “Y/l/n.. the Malfoy’s want to talk to you,” informed the bartender as she patted my arm before heading back to clean up the counters.

Slipping on my cloak, I walked my way to the three of them, my head hung in disappointment because I knew I had failed them. “Miss.y/l/n .. we’re hosting a masquerade ball... and we were wondering if you were willing to perform,” his mother explained as I looked up with astonishment. “Wait- really?” I exclaimed, my voice slightly high pitched at the amazing news. “We’ll take that as a yes, we’re looking forward to seeing you,” she nodded her head, before the three of them headed for the door. Draco stopped for a second turning his face around with a smirk plastered across his lips before leaving.

—

The night of the masquerade ball, I put on a black dress with a slit at the bottom, exposing my naked leg. I paired it with some black stilettos and styled my hair like Audrey Hepburn’s. To top it all of, I covered my head with a black netted veil, embedded with rhinestone.

I grabbed my black eye mask that had pearls underneath the slit for the eyes and it had a long black feather attached to its side. Putting it onto my face, I took a deep breathe before opening the red curtains to the stage.

Everyone was starting to make their way to the dance floor as I started to sing a more sensual song since the one I had sung at the Leaky cauldron didn’t really fit the theme. Lucius And Narcissa Malfoy, swayed to the song I was performing as they slow danced around the ball, her head placed into the crook of her husband’s neck. To my surprise, Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall eyeing me as each single word came out of my mouth. I thought he probably would have brought a date with him but he didn’t.

Something about the song I was singing made me get into my feels. I bent down and ran my fingers up my exposed leg causing Draco to straighten up at the sudden action. Noticing the affect I had on him, I bit down onto my lower lip as my body swayed slowly to the beat. Deciding to be a tease, I trailed my hovering hand down my body as I threw my head back, getting into my feels.

Unfortunately for Draco, my uncalled for action, caused him to spill his wine all over the top of his tuxedo making him leave and clean up the stain.

I had just now finished the song and the tiny voice in my head told me to go and find Draco. I walked through the twisting and turning corridors until I saw a certain door slightly open. Peeking through the crack, i could see Malfoy tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head.

What if someone saw me? I shouldn’t even be here. I took a step back when the floor underneath my heel creaked. “Who’s there?” He questioned as he walked up to the door. I covered my mouth and froze on the spot, my feet glued to the floor.

Swinging the door open, he glanced at me before putting up his cold demeanour once again. “You?” He sneered. Whatever he had said came through one of my ears and out the other as my eyes wandered down his body, lingering onto his abs.

Noticing that I was staring at him he fake coughed causing me to snap out of my filthy thoughts.”why are you here?” He mumbled frustratedly. Not knowing what to say I pursed my lips Into a line.

It suddenly hit me, Draco was the one who had told his father about me performing tonight so I decided to use that as an excuse. “I came here to ask why you wanted me to perform at the ball tonight? I mean .. why- why are you helping me?” I lied.

Of course I wasn’t here because of that but it was the only thing that could help me from getting myself out of a situation like this. “I.. uh- you got better at singing and I guess your voice is somewhat good,” he gulped, the silence between the two of us causing tingles to run down my spine.

“Are you sure that’s the only thing you liked?” I blurted randomly, causing my eyes to grow wide when I had realised what I meant.

Suddenly,I pulled him in, my lips on his as I deepened the kiss by pulling on the roots of his hair as his hand shut and locked the door behind me. Getting closer to his bed, he tugged at the zip on the back of my dress, making it looser and looser.

I wriggled out of it as the dress slipped down to my feet. His hand made its way into my hair, slowly undoing my loose bun, letting my locks fall down. Lightly pushing me onto the mattress , I laid bare as I propped myself up with my hands. I went down to take my stiletto’s off when he stopped me from doing so. “Leave them on,” he demanded as he crawled on top of me, dipping low to kiss me once again.

His hand trailed the side of thigh making me flinch. He wasted no time in attacking my neck with kisses, making me giggle since I was ticklish. His mouth glided down the valley of my breasts to the place where I needed him the most.

His head buried between my thighs as I could feel the cold sensation of his tongue running down my slit causing me to throw my head back in euphoria. The way his tongue skilfully teased my clit, drawing figure 8’s onto it, sending me over the edge until I came trickling down made me want to scream at the top of my lungs. He didn’t hesitate in pushing in two figures into my core as he finger fucked me, causing my eyes to roll at the back of my head.

He switched between slow and sensual to fast and rough, his fingers gliding in and out of my pussy while his tongue worked magic on my clit causing me to slip the loudest moan out of my mouth. He stopped. “Why- why- did you stop?” I huffed.”that’s what you get for being too loud,” he answered, his lips curving into a smirk.

He wasted no time in removing his trousers as the head of his cock hit his stomach. He looped my thighs with his hand, and bought me closer to the edge of the bed. Lining up with my entrance, his dick easily slid into my soaking wet core. His thrusts began of slow as my fingers trailed down to toy with my clit in the process. He started speeding up, his thrusts becoming more rapid as my vision went blurry. Gripping onto his satin bedsheets, he pushed into me one last time before stopping, his cock still buried deep into my core as I grinded a little. “Draco- please don’t stop now,” I whimpered under him. “Why? You think it’s okay to tease me out there when your performing? You think it’s okay to turn me on like that?” The words coming out through his gritted teeth as he tried to resist the desire of pounding into me. “Fuck it,” he cursed under his breathe before pounding into me, fucking my brains out senseless as sweat trickled down the side of his head. “I’m close!” I screamed as I shut my eyes tighter than ever. “LOOK AT ME!” He demanded, almost forcing me to keep the sexual eye contact. One last thrust into my pulsing pussy, caused my back to arch until he loaded himself inside of me.

Slowly withdrawing himself out of me, he knelt back down, his eyes levelled with my core as he watched me ooze out. He went back in one last time cleaning me up with his tongue, giving me overstimulation as my legs quivered. “Malfoy- I cant-,” the feeling almost turning into pain. Giggling to himself, he helped me up as he threw me my clothes.” Get dressed,” he insisted as he himself got dressed too.

Just before leaving his bedroom to go back downstairs, he turned to me once more. “We’ll discuss your next gig soon,” his lips curving into a smirk as he vanished out of the door.

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arysafics · 3 years

Note

if you're taking smut prompts rn please write one where bellamy gets spanked (by clarke obviously)

i mostly just wrote this to prove that i still can write something short and simple in under a day. so thanks for the prompt!

i'll be good (rated e, ~2k words)

He’s standing there in Clarke Griffin’s unnecessarily huge office, his pulse racing, beads of sweat forming on his brow. The huge window behind her offers him a view of the sparkling city lights, and the only illumination inside the room comes from her desk lamp. It’s well after knock off time, the rest of the staff went home hours ago.

Bellamy, however, had been forced to stay behind to finish his article for tomorrow’s issue of the magazine. Never mind that it’s Clarke’s fault he didn’t get it done on time. If she just let him do his work, instead of calling him into her office every hour, bossing him around like he’s her assistant and not one of the senior writers at the company.

He’s the one who should be sitting in that editor’s chair, not her.

And yet he still does her bidding, still has nerves churning in his belly as she reads over the final draft of his article, desperate for her approval. Perhaps she is more suited for the editor position after all.

“It’s good,” she says, looking up. “Well done.”

Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief, and he tries not to preen too much at her praise. All she said was well done for fuck’s sake. Not exactly the most glowing review.

“Thank you, ma’am” he says.

“However,” Clarke continues, and Bellamy tenses. “It was late.”

He nods, swallowing thickly. The thundering of his heart starts up again. “Yes, ma’am.”

He’s only like this with her. Agreeable. Meek. Submissive. It would embarrass him, if his co-workers knew what he was really like, when it’s just him and the boss.

With them he’s confident, brash, arrogant. He tells snide jokes about her, tells them how he was robbed of the promotion, what he’d do to her if she ever let him fuck her. He repeats it all to her later, apologetic, grovelling, and she laughs before she punishes him for it.

“You know what that means, don’t you, Bellamy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he croaks. “You have to punish me, ma’am. I deserve a spanking.”

The thing is, he likes being punished almost as much as he likes being praised. He can already feel his cock hardening just from the implication of it.

“Come here,” she says, crooking her finger, her voice raspy but even. She quit smoking three years ago, but it left her with the sexiest fucking voice he’s ever heard.

She stands as he walks over to her, and he lets his eyes rake over her. She dresses in what he likes to call “professional sexy” for work. Tight blouse tucked into a tight skirt. Stilettos and red lipstick. She uses her femininity as a weapon, and he’s not the only one it works on. She’s a force to be reckoned with.

He stops in front of her, heart pounding, waiting for her next instruction. They’re almost eye to eye when she’s wearing heels, only the tiniest bit shorter than him.

“Take your shirt off,” she commands him, and he obeys with shaky hands. It’s not necessary really, for the punishment. But the more naked he is, the more humiliating it is, no matter how good he looks naked. Plus, he thinks she just likes looking at his chest.

She reaches for his belt, and he flushes as she unbuckles it, not breaking eye contact.

“Turn around,” she whispers. “Hands on the desk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He can feel Clarke behind him, and his skin prickles with anticipation. She trails a finger down his spine, and he forced himself to hold still. His cock is fully hard now, straining at his fly.

She reaches around and deftly undoes his pants, then pushes them down to his knees. He can feel her soft breasts press against his bare back as she reaches around him again, her hand coming to rest on his crotch. The scent of her floral perfume fills his nostrils.

“Hard already?” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice that simultaneously turns him on and humiliates him. “Naughty boy. Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy these punishments a little too much.”

He does, he absolutely does. He doesn’t know what he’d do if she stopped. If she decided he wasn’t worth her attention anymore.

She peels his boxers away then, dragging them down to join his pants at his knees, so his bare ass is on display for her. He shivers as she runs her hand over his cheeks, and his cock throbs.

“How many spanks for a late submission?” Clarke wonders aloud. “It is your first offence. But I don’t want to let you off too lightly. Shall we say fifteen?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t forget to count them for me, baby. And no complaining or I’ll have to start over,” Clarke warns him. He nods, brain still latched onto the way she called him baby.

The first slap is quick and sharp, and he gasps at the impact. She lands a second blow as soon as he’s counted out the word one, and then a third and fourth follow in quick succession, right in the same place.

She doesn’t hit hard exactly, but tears prick in his eyes by the fifth smack, and he’s sure he must have a bright red mark on his brown skin.

“Five,” he whimpers. His ass stings, and yet it feels so good. She switches to his other ass cheek, and repeats the process, spanking his toned ass in five short, biting blows.

He doesn’t complain, just counts each slap a little breathlessly, feeling emasculated as he whimpers and whines, tears in eyes as his boss spanks his bare bottom like he’s a naughty child.

His cock is absolutely aching, his balls ready to burst. He wants her to allow him release, to touch his cock, rub him or suck him or ride him. Anything to release the tension, the tightness in his gut. But he still has five smacks left in his spanking.

The last five she delivers at random, so he doesn’t know which cheek she’s about to hit, and it makes each one more painful and more delicious.

“Thirteen,” he moans, his ass cheeks on fire. “Fourteen. Fifteen,” he gasps out, as Clarke gives him his last spank.

He’s breathing heavy, his face hot. He’s almost crying, feeling embarrassed and chastened and unbearably horny.

“There,” she says. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And what is that?”

“Get my articles in on time.”

“Good,” she says. She opens her desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of lotion, squirting some onto her hand. “Good boy,” she says soothingly, and his cheeks grow even hotter, his stomach swirling, his cock jumping. “You did such a good job,” she coos, rubbing the lotion over his ass, gently cooling the stinging hand prints.

He’s not sure which he likes more, the punishment itself, or the part when she rubs his bottom and tells him what a good boy he is. If he had a tail, he’d probably be wagging it right now.

She finishes rubbing the lotion into his skin, and then he feels her dainty little fingers slip into his ass crack, teasing his hole for a moment before pushing into him. His breath catches, and he lets out a moan of pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you, baby?” Clarke murmurs, pressing her lips against his shoulder as she fingers his asshole. “Love it when I play with your asshole.”

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yes ma’am. It feels so good.”

He grips the table, and it’s all he can do not to wrap a fist around his cock and start jerking like his life depends on it.

“Please,” he whines pitifully.

“Please what?”

“Please, I need to come,” he chokes out. “My cock, please touch my cock.”

“Is your cock feeling neglected, baby?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whimpers.

“Show me.” He turns around and Clarke’s eyes fall to his massive erection. “Goodness,” she says, teasing. “Look at that big, hard cock. You need to come so bad, don’t you? Got all worked up from your spanking.”

Bellamy nods, hoping she’ll take pity on him. “Please.”

“I’m not sure I should let you come,” Clarke muses, and Bellamy wants to cry. If she pulls his pants back up and makes him walk out of here with this raging erection, he’s not sure how he’ll survive. She doesn’t let him masturbate. Only she’s allowed to make him come.

“I’ll be good,” Bellamy promises. “Please, I promise I’ll be a good boy. I’ll do everything you say.”

“You’ll do everything I say regardless of if I let you come or not,” Clarke points out. Bellamy whines, and he hates himself for how pathetic he sounds, but he can’t help it. “Okay,” Clarke relents. Bellamy’s stomach lurches, and he forgets how to breathe for a moment as Clarke lowers herself to her knees.

The first brush of her tongue over the head of his cock makes him jerk his hips forward, and she pulls back, looking up at him, disapproving.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I’ll be good, I swear.”

She nods, then drops her focus back to his cock. He forced himself to stay still as she licks him all over, down the length of his cock, over his balls. She takes him into her mouth, just halfway at first, sucking him, then taking him all the way into the back of her throat, so her nose is touching his pelvis. He has to throw his head back so he doesn’t come from the mere visual of it. If he comes before she says so, she may not let him come for days. Weeks even, if she’s feeling particularly cruel.

She backs off a little, worshipping the top third of his cock with her mouth, her hand wrapped around the base. She’s on her knees, her mouth full of his cock, but she’s still the one in control, still the one with all the power. He’s helpless, weak, completely at her mercy. Which is how he prefers to be.

She lavishes his cock until he’s at breaking point, desperately trying to hold off his orgasm, and then she gives his thigh a tap, the signal that he’s allowed to come. Then she moves the same hand to his ass, pushing him over the edge with just the tip of her finger in his asshole.

He moans as he comes down her throat, hips thrusting forward against her face, pleasure shuddering though him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

She pops off his cock smacking her lips and wiping her mouth. He collapses against the desk, his bottom still aching from his spanking.

“Thank you,” he pants.

Clarke gets to her feet, and presses a kiss to his lips. “Get dressed, baby, you need to get home and shower if we want to make the dinner reservation on time.”

Bellamy nods, but his head is still a little foggy, and he lets Clarke dress him instead.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he breathes. It’s not even the best orgasm she’s ever given him, yet it still takes him a while to come back down to earth. It’s her, he thinks. It’s just what she does to him. “My ass hurts,” he admits. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit.”

Clarke gives him sympathetic eyes. “I won’t make you sit the whole time,” she promises. “At some point I’ll need you to get under the table and lick my pussy, because spanking you and sucking you off has made me very wet and very horny.”

Bellamy gives her a lopsided grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you’re good at dinner, I may even let you come home with me, would you like that?”

“Yes.”

She gives him another kiss. “Good boy,” she murmurs. And he really does feel good.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #mine

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crimsonwolfie · 4 years

Text

Best Mistake — Hamish Duke x Reader (x Knights)

Requested by @mysticalcrownbear

Prompt: The Knights accidently summon you, (the reader) a succubus when trying to summon Zecchia. You have a strong liking towards Hamish Duke, and he’s very much into you too.

Word count: 2,095

Hope you guys like this!! Sorry if it’s crap - requests are open!!

Masterlist

Best Mistake Part 2

“It’s not that they have all our stuff...they stole it. So - let’s steal it all back” Jack whispers as he leans forward, straightening his posture in seriousness.

“Are you suggesting a magic heist?!” Randall says, stalking towards Jack

“Yes. A magic heist” Jack replies as he steps up from the couch. Both boys shine a ray of mischief in their eyes and madness in their energy

“MAGIC HEIST! MAGIC HEIST!” They both chant, as Hamish and Lilith begin joining in synchronisation

“MAGIC HEIST MAGIC HEIST MAGIC HEIST!” The Knights chant like toddlers demanding candy.

—

“Well you didn’t think to warn us about that?!” Lilith hissed, eyes dark with fear and damage after the images she’d experienced. Hamish, Jack and Randall all sat with Lilith in the Blade and Chalice collectively recovering from their fear corners. Lilith rocked slightly from side to side whilst Jack was holding a pack of ice on the side of his head. They were tired, scared, drained...but desperate. They couldn’t get into the vault without being stuck in the “fear corridor”. Hamish chugged a swig of his whiskey, slamming the glass down onto the table with force, trying his best to forget what he went through -

“Stupid Ricky Simarco and his stupid fifth birthday party” he groaned, eyes fixed into a trance like state

“What did you see?” Randall asked Lilith, who replies with a simple “nothing”.

“Nothing?” He asks again, confused to why she didn’t see anything

“Nothing.” She confirms, although her shaken state says otherwise.

“Okay, since we can’t get through to the vault, i found the perfect solution” Jack enthusiastically gushes. “We summon a demon! There’s loads of different types to summon and i think i found the perfect one!”

The fellow knights all look around at each other in suspicion...could this actually work? Or is Jack literally insane?

“It’s name is a Zecchia” Jack points towards a yellow dusted page in an old, crippled book “it’s a baron demon, meaning it steals anything that the summoner desires it to”

“Won’t we have to do something for it? You know, a catch?” Lilith questions, her big brown eyes looking up to Jack

“No! You see that’s the beauty of it. We call it, they show up, we pay the toll and they’ll do our bidding!” He replies almost as if it was complete rocket science. “You just gotta follow the protocol perfectly”

“I’m in-“

“-Me too!” Hamish and Lilith both declare with their whole chests, meanwhile Randall starts struggling with the decision...

“Nope.” He announces. “No thanks. No way. Nope. Not a demon. Not ever.” Adamant as ever, he puts his hand on the table as a way to stand against the debate. He gets up and walks away before the others can stop him.

“We’re still doing this.”

“Yeah totally”

“He’ll get over it”

Hamish, Lilith and Jack all stand around the summoning circle, ready to summon Zecchia, the thief demon.

“Zecchia, appear before us so that we may negotiate the fee for your service to empty the vault of the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose and remand those goods into the possession of the Knights of Saint Christopher” they all chant in synchronisation. Below their feet is a demon trap, purposed to trap the summoned demon in order to negotiate wisely. As soon as they finish the chant, a sound of wind brushes past them...but shorty followed by silence.

“Zecchiaaa?” Jack quietly echos into the distance of the house, uncertain if the summoning ritual worked or not. The 3/4 knights walk around the hallway wondering where they went wrong.

“Maybe we messed up the incantation?” says Lilith

“We did everything right?” Hamish replies

Suddenly, the door bursts open as Randall rushes in, slightly out of breath

“- guys STOP don’t do this-” He shouts as he blows out the candles nearest to him on the floor “-Alyssa and i were discussing demon summonings and-“

“-and you suck at it” you pipe up.

Emerging from the shadows of the staircase, you quietly and elegantly walk down, eyes never leaving the people below you...but one in specific - the man dressed in the waistcoat. You’re wearing a red, laced spaghetti strap bodysuit that’s tucked under a pair of tight fitted sheer black leggings (clearly i’m not going to have you wear only underwear and a bra like every other succubus - *que that not on MY WATCH vine* we are more PG here y’all - also may i add, your body size does not matter here. All body types are beautiful and you should love your body, don’t fall for these skinny stereotypes! Curvy girls are breathtaking too!!! <3 okay back to the story lmao). With midnight black wings as beautiful as can be and horns impeccable in sight, you stare with your big Y/E/C eyes as your long Y/H/C, silky locks fall past your shoulders. The sound of your black stiletto heels click and clack on the wooden floorboards, as further silence echos in the walls. The Knights are struck by your beauty, chocked for words at what they’re seeing in front of them. You swiftly bring your wings to your side, stroking your arms as you approach the people below you.

“You’re not what...we...expected” Randall slurs- i mean drools ;)

“That’s because i’m not” you sigh, bringing your arms across your body. “You summoned me, a succubus. Not Zecchia. But hey, you’re not the first...you’re meant to use alcohol as a summoning ingredient. She’s a sucker for it...senses it from many realms away” you continue, shaking your head and rolling your eyes playfully. Looking around the room, you can’t help but keep looking back to the tall man who has a perfect complexion and long, dirty blonde hair with blue crystal eyes. With lips so succulent...you want to kiss all over them and run your hands through his locks, as he uses his large, soft hands to roam around your body-

“So who did we summon?” Your thoughts are interrupted by the small, gorgeous lady to your right. She has blue streaks in her black hair, and a cute little button nose that you want to just *boop*!

“I’m Y/N, a succubus” you smile delicately at the woman in front of you, glancing back to the man who caught your eye before.

“And you are?” You question, turning your attention to the male on your right

“I’m Lili-“

“Not you! This handsome gentleman in front of me” you point with your long, ‘black as night’ painted fingertip towards the tallest man.

“I-i’m Hamish. Hamish Duke” he replies, cheeks blushing a gentle shade of crimson.

“You’re really hot” you tease, biting your lower lip in hot anticipation at your dirty thoughts. Hamish’s eyes widen at this, bringing his hands towards his front slightly.

“I could say the same for you, love” He gulps. He doesn’t know this, but you can actually read his thoughts; images of him pushing you up against the wall, his hands on your ass as your legs wrap around his middle, lips working sweet magic as you’re caressing his face and hair...leaving small, wet pecks on his neck as he moans your name out loud, thrusti-

“Hey, i’m Randall” the tall, pretty brunette calls out, stepping towards you. He brings his hand out to shake, to which you accept. A huge grin is painted across his face as his hand touches your dainty one, Lilith just rolls her eyes and huffs.

“Okay okay let’s wrap this up here” she remarks, pulling Randall away from you. You turn to see a shorter male, who sports platinum blonde hair that falls to the side of his face. His eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted and eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you alright, pretty boy?” You ask, genuine concern across your face. Randall giggles like a school boy at your words, repeating (and i quote) “hehe pretty boy heheee” quietly in the sidelines whilst pointing at Jack.

“I....uh....hi” Jack replies, fixing his hair after noticing you were looking at him

You lightly laugh “hi, cutie”

You look back over to Hamish, as his filthy visions are still happening

“I can read your thoughts, you know” you laugh as he blushes bright red and covers his front completely now

“It’s okay, i liked them” you continue in a husky tone, stepping closer towards him with your hands in front of you, gasping to be touching him.

He reaches his hand out towards your stretched hand, gently touching your fingers and delicately wrapping his large ones round them. You both intertwine fingers, as gazes are locked onto you both. He pulls you towards him, his head tilting slightly in awe at your appearance.

“Uhhh...okayyyy?” Lilith gawked as the rest of the Knights share glances of pure confusion and slight panic.

You chuckle lightly at Hamish’s actions, as

he wraps his arms around your lower back, swaying from side to side.

“You’re beautiful” he whispers into your ear which sends excited chills down your spine. He smiles looking down at you.

“What is happening right now?” Jack asks the others, who shrug their shoulders watching like hawks. Lightly, you plant a small kiss on his lips...which Hamish returns, only with more passion and lust. The kiss deepens as his hands grip tighter and your thrusting into him for more becomes intolerable, until you both need to release for air.

“Uhh Hamish? Y/N? Hello?” Randall waves his hands in the air trying to signal Hamish, but proves useless. As you’re heavily gasping in air, you notice Hamish’s mouth - your red lipstick has smudged all over his mouth

“BRO you look like a clown!!” Randall cracks up, laughing hysterically. Jack and Lilith snort upon seeing Hamish’s state, but he doesn’t care. He quickly and forcefully grabs you again and drops you bridal-style whilst passionately making out with you once again. Jack, Lilith and Randall all look back up from their laughter fits to see you two basically eating each other’s faces. Suddenly, it’s not that funny anymore - just disturbing.

“Okay that’s enough, Ham-burger” Randall shouts. Nothing.

“Yo Hamish dude stop” Jack sings, which again does nothing to Hamish and you.

“Yeah this is now how i thought my Tuesday was going to go” Lilith says as she gestures towards you two. “Is he enchanted or something?!”

“I uh...maybe?” Jack mutters

“Maybe i am too” Randall eyeballs you and Hamish “wait...i said that out loud didn’t i?” he quickly looks down and plants his face with his hands. Yeah...he was totally thinking of a threesome at that time.

Begrudgingly you break the contact between yours and Hamish’s soft lips and lift yourself up from his arms, yet he continues leaving sweet, soft kisses on your neck.

“I know what you’re thinking, cutie” you look up to Randall, who squeals in embarrassment and mouths ‘don’t tell them’ towards you, making you laugh.

“What were you thinking about?” Jack asks

“Basically he was thinkin-“ you begin

“NO no NO DON’T say anything” Randall barks out, breaking Hamish from his trail of leaving kisses down your neck

“You know what nevermind” Jack grunts as he scrunches his eyebrows up in discomfort.

“Okay this is getting too weird now. Hey, Y/N can we get Zecchia please” Lilith asks, seemingly annoyed

You sigh loudly, clearly annoyed that your fun was about to be wrapped up “fine. But i want to see you again” you say, stroking Hamish’s hair out of his face.

“Why does she have to go? Can’t she stay for a little longer?” Hamish pleads, but is shut down by Lilith giving him a death stare whilst growing towards him.

“It’s okay, she’s right. Okay well this was amazing. Call me again” you say as you wink towards Hamish, who’s knees buckle slightly. You walk towards the middle of the room and straighten yourself up, lifting the strap of your top back onto your shoulder.

“Nice to see you, lovelies” you give a little wave with your hand, then click your fingers and disappear. The Knights all glare round to Hamish, who straightens himself up and buttons his waistcoat back up.

“Have fun there buddie?” Randall quips, smirking slightly at his friend

Hamish doesn’t say anything, he just looks down in embarrassment

“Oh, and you might wanna-“ Randall gestures for him to wipe his lips, as Jack and Lilith silently chuckle from the other side of the room.

It’s safe to say, you left your imprint on Hamish Duke...and he won’t be forgetting that any time soon.

Let me know what you guys thought, and of you want any more fanfic :)

#hamish duke imagine #hamish duke #hamish duke x reader #the order season 2 #the order imagine #the order #the order netflix #randall carpio #randall carpio x reader #the knights of saint christopher #lilith bathory #jack morton #alyssa drake #lilith bathory x reader #jack morton x reader

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nikki-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

Chaser - Part One

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader, Gang Leader!Din Djarin x Bartender!Reader

Summary: No one knows his name, and no one knows his face, but the man who leads one of the most powerful gangs in New York from behind an infamous mask is still feared throughout the city. You, on the other hand, are just a waitress at the club he owns, someone who’s only just barely dipped her toe into the treacherous water of New York’s underworld. But that doesn’t stop your boss from taking a liking to you, and if you weren’t so terrified of all that his attentions could mean for you, maybe you would notice that fear isn’t the only emotion your employer stirs up within you.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope y’all enjoy this - the very first part to the very first fic I’ve ever written about The Mandalorian! Any and all feedback is appreciated - this is my first time writing for Din Djarinn, and even though my love for him is as deep and powerful as the Mississippi, I had some trouble finding his vibe while I was writing this. Let me know if I’m on the right track! (Also, if your name happens to be Rachelle, I apologize in advance. Please just...skip over a certain couple of lines in this story. You’ll know what I’m talking about towards the end.)

You could feel the throbbing of a quick, staccato bassline in your chest; you always could while you were working. The Boss liked the keep the music loud, and for good reason. It was the same reason why smoking was not only permitted but actively encouraged – the thick smoke and thumping music made it all the more difficult to hear and to see what happened in the dark corners of Club Razor Crest. Here, there were only two rules – don’t start shit, and keep your mask on. As long as they followed those two basic principles, the Boss’s patrons were welcome to conduct whatever business they saw fit in the crushed velvet booths and intentionally shadowed halls of his underworld playground.

With the tips of your red, glossy fingernails, you adjusted your mask now, pulling the plastic away from your heated skin by just a centimeter or two. You could have groaned from how good it felt to have cool, fresh air rush in to caress your sweaty forehead; after a week of working at the club, you’d definitely learned why anonymity was so important in a place like this, but you still dreaded putting the blasted thing on in the evenings before your shift.

Greta, one of the other girls who worked there, strutted past you, looking light as a feather as she waltzed around in her eight-inch heels with a tray of drinks balanced above her head. You, by contrast, knew that you had to look as clumsy as a newborn deer in your own stilettos; just like the mask, they were a mandatory part of your uniform that you still hadn’t gotten used to, and though Greta and the other girls had promised you that the constant pain in your feet would soon start to fade, your soles still ached painfully with every shift of your weight.

“Mask on,” your coworker whispered to you in passing. “Boss is here.”

You’d been just about to explain that you weren’t taking it off, that you’d just needed some air, but the words died on your lips when you heard the last part of her warning. Your spine straightened of its own accord, and the hand on your mask promptly fell down to hang by your waist. Scanning the space, you tried to make out the infamous man you’d heard so much about through the dim lighting and hazy air.

“Where?” you asked, but either she ignored you or just didn’t hear, because she kept on walking to her table without sparing you so much as another glance.

You gulped before stiffly making your way to the bar, slipping past the ‘Employees Only’ gate before gathering together the four glasses you’d need for your table’s order. You let your hands and body go on autopilot as you set about assembling their drinks; typically, the waitresses would just drop off their order slips to one of the bartenders and wait for them to make it, but you’d mentioned at your job interview that you had some bartending experience and didn’t mind helping out with the cocktail mixing.

From there, the head bartender, Quill, had sat at the bar and watched you make him an old fashioned right in the middle of your interview. With trembling hands, you’d done so, feeling the older man’s eyes on you all the while as he stroked his bushy white mustache. After one sip of it, he’d nodded his head, and you’d felt relief wash through you as he threw back the rest of the drink.

“You start on Monday,” was all he’d said.

Now, as you grabbed some triple sec from the top shelf, you caught a glimpse of him watching you out of the corner of your eye, and you turned to give him a smile. Quill had been working at Club Razor Crest for as long as anyone could remember, and he was the only person inside the building who didn’t wear a mask; evidently, him and the owner went way back. He was quiet – gruff, even – but for some reason you liked the grumpy older man. And, if you were correctly reading the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you from behind his thick, bushy white eyebrows, you thought that he’d taken a liking to you, too. Or, at least, to your old-fashioneds.

“How’s it going, Quill?” you asked, focusing once again on the long island iced tea you were making. “Busy night?”

You were expecting nothing more than a grunt in response; that was all most people got from him, and ever since he’d hired you, you hadn’t heard anything else, either. But instead, he opened his mouth to speak, only talking loud enough for you to just barely be able to hear him over the music.

“After you finish those drinks, leave ‘em here,” he instructed. “Boss just arrived with some of his friends, and he requested you to serve ‘em.”

You nearly dropped the bottle of rum in your hands, one that was worth more than an entire week’s worth of pay, and your hands scrambled to get a firmer grip on it. Shakily setting it down on the counter, you turned to Quill with wide eyes, your lips parted in shock.

“The Boss requested me to serve them?” Your voice was so high-pitched that it cracked as you said ‘me’, and you cleared your throat before trying once again. “Why does he want me? I’ve never even met him before.”

At that, Quill let out a sigh and turned to you, pursing his lips together until they almost disappeared under his large, unkempt mustache.

“…He likes old-fashioneds,” he shrugged, the corner of his lips jumping up so quickly that you almost missed the half-smile he’d given you. That would have been enough to perturb you for the rest of the evening; you hadn’t seen him smile at anyone after an entire week of working there – not even customers. But, as it was, nothing could cool the anxiety welling up in you as you finished making the rest of your drinks.

“I wonder where he heard about them,” you remarked, and you thought you caught Quill glance at you sheepishly in your peripheral vision.

Your eyes flitted over the room, looking for his booth; someone had said something to you on your first day about the table he kept reserved for himself and his ‘guests’, but you’d forgotten its location completely after the whirlwind of your first day at this new, bizarre job.

After finishing the four drinks and setting them on a tray, you turned towards Quill to ask where the Boss would be sitting. But, an idea stirred in your mind, and on impulse you grabbed a small glass before scanning the selection of bourbons and whiskeys the bar had to offer. Biting your lip, you felt eyes on the back of your head as you perused the different brands, but after settling on a good blend of the two, you turned around to find no one looking at you. Quill was busy taking some drunk guy’s order, and the other patrons at the bar were too busy with their own drinks or conversations to pay you any mind.

With a sigh, you shook off the strange feeling and assembled the rest of what you’d need for an old fashioned, hands moving on autopilot as you heard your dad’s voice in your ear. Make sure you only use enough bitters to saturate the sugar, you recalled him teaching you. Between four and six dashes should do the trick unless someone requests something different. Mix it with the sugar until it forms a slurry, and always add the ice in large chunks so it doesn’t get too watered down. Never overmix it once you add the spirits, just a few stirs before putting in a strip of lemon and orange peel.

Your fingers felt sticky as you snapped the citrus peels in half, spraying just a hint of their sweet oils overtop of the cocktail before rubbing them over the glass’s rim. After dropping them into the drink and mixing it one more time, you turned to see Quill watching you with one eyebrow raised.

“What? You said he likes old-fashioneds,” you shrugged. “Um… could you point me in the direction of his booth?”

Once more, he pursed his lips before pointing towards the far right corner of the room.

“It’s the only circular booth we have,” you heard him mutter as you walked away. “Can’t miss it.”

Making sure to thank him over your shoulder, you straightened your back and made your way through the main room of the club. There wasn’t any dancefloor, nor was there a DJ, but in the center of the space, there was a large, ornate fountain. Water no longer ran through it, but fairy lights had been wrapped around its tall structure, throwing shadows and low, scattered light around the entire room. Tables were centered around it, but typically only the low-ranking or occasional civilian patrons sat at them; the booths were almost always occupied by those who had a deal to make, those who had private (which almost always meant dangerous) matters to discuss, or those who were doing something that was, nine times out of ten, incredibly illegal. You’d walked by tables covered in lines of white powder before, their occupants knowing better than to worry about someone seeing and stopping them.

So long as no fights broke out and everyone stayed anonymous, everyone kept to their own business, and the paycheck was too good for you to worry about the moral connotations of working in such a place. No one had so much as laid a finger on you, and no one would, not while you were under the employment of the infamous leader of the Mandalorians.

After rounding the other side of the fountain, you finally saw the booth Quill had been talking about. It was raised up on a small platform, just high enough to be able to see the rest of the club clearly. Its table was, indeed, in the shape of a circle, and a large booth wrapped around three quarters of its diameter. Seated at it were four men and one woman; three of the men and she were wearing masks similar to your own, but while yours only covered your forehead and the upper half of your nose, theirs descended down their cheeks to their jawline, covering the entirety of their face except for their mouths and chins.

As it was, you would have found them extremely intimidating, but now, you didn’t even spare them a second glance. Because your eyes were fixed firmly on the Boss, and you were certain that you could feel his fixed onto you.

No one had told you that his mask covered his entire head, and as you stood there, in shock, you wondered why the fuck no one had thought to warn you about it before. It looked as if it were made out of thin but quality plastic, and various scratches and scrapes covered its grey surface. A voice in the back of your mind whispered that it looked like the goth version of Jim Carrey from The Mask, and you had to fight down a manic giggle as your eyes followed the bottom edge of it, which ran along his jawline, below his ears, and then, presumably, around the back of his head right below his hairline.

The front of the mask was what threw you off the most, though. Instead of having any features carved into it to simulate where a mouth or nose should be, there was only a T-shaped panel of what looked to be black glass. Or was it tinted clear plastic? You felt yourself lean forward, unconsciously squinting to see if you could make out any features beneath it.

You heard someone close by clear their throat, and heat flooded your cheeks as you suddenly realized that you’d been standing there for God-knows how long, just staring at one of the most powerful men in the city. No, staring at his mask.

“I-I,” you stammered, looking down at the floor in horror. It was then that you saw the glass that you were still holding, and you sucked in a breath before looking up again.

“Sorry about that, sir,” you apologized, clearing your throat. You leaned forward, setting the drink down in the center of the table. “Quill mentioned that you liked old-fashioneds, so I took the liberty of-“

You cut yourself off, eyes widening as you realized your second mistake. You looked down at the drink and then up to the Boss’s mask, right at where his mouth would be if he weren’t wearing something that covered it completely. Therefore making it impossible to drink what you’d just offered him.

The horror from just a moment ago paled in comparison to what you felt now as you watched him slowly reach forward, the leather of his black gloves squeaking as he picked up the drink you’d brought for him. His head tilted to the side as he examined it, twisting the glass around between his fingers before setting it down again.

“Lemon and orange, huh?”

You jumped when you heard the voice that came from inside the mask; it was clearer than you’d expected it to sound, but it also had a filtered edge to it. Your guess what that there was some sort of microphone-like device inside of it that projected his voice so it wouldn’t be muffled while he spoke.

“U-um, yes sir,” you nodded, lacing your fingers together and resisting the nervous urge to wring your hands. “That’s how my father taught me how to make them. It adds more of a refreshing aftertaste. Or so I’ve found.”

He let out a short hum, pushing the glass towards the woman seated beside him.

“Was her father right?”

You saw her eyebrows jump up under her mask, but without hesitation she did as instructed, taking a sip of the amber cocktail. Without realizing it, you held your breath as she swallowed, running her tongue along the front of her teeth for a moment as she studied the aftertaste.

“It’s good,” she decided after a moment. “Actually, hold on. That’s really good. Damn. Don’t tell Quill, but I like yours even better than his.”

Relief surged through you, and a smile came to your lips as you let the air rush out of your lungs.

“I promise not to tell him; thank you very much, ma’am,” you nodded, jolting when she let out a loud bark of laughter.

“Ma’am? Pfft.” She turned to the Boss, nudging her shoulder against his as she drained the rest of her drink in one gulp. “Hear that, Mando? She called me ma’am.”

“A decision I’m sure she won’t make again,” he remarked dryly, not even turning towards her as she placed the empty glass at the edge of the table.

“Well. Either way, if you can do that with a drink I don’t even usually like, I’d love to see what you can do with a long island,” the woman grinned. “Think you can do that for me?”

“I actually just made one a few minutes ago,” you informed her; under normal circumstances, you would have felt offended by her question, but something in her smile told you that she didn’t mean it seriously. “What can I get for the rest of you guys?”

From there, you tried your best to recover gracefully from your little bout of foot-in-mouth syndrome. Pulling your small notebook out of the hidden pocket in your dress, you wrote down the rest of their drink orders, noticing that two of the men asked for old-fashioneds. From there, the last of the Boss’s party ordered a whiskey sour, and when you’d turned to ask if he’d like anything as well, he’d simply shaken his head no.

After letting them know you’d be back in just a few minutes, you turned and all but fled to the bar, hands balled up into fists as you approached Quill from behind.

“Why would you tell me,” you demanded, “that he requested me because he wanted to try one of my old-fashioneds if he can’t even drink with that mask on?! Why did you just let me bring that drink over, like an enormous buffoon-“

The older bartender turned around to face you, and you took a step backwards when you saw the wide grin stretched across his face. His shoulders were shaking with barely-controlled laughter, and you watched, stunned, as he fought to gain control over his expression again.

“You were the one who assumed that he wanted to try your drink,” he corrected you, busying himself with salting the rim of a margherita glass. “I never said anything like that, just that he enjoyed them.”

You sputtered in disbelief, throwing your hands up in exasperation before starting on your drink orders.

“So it was just some kind of hazing thing, then, was it?” you asked, not able to deny that you felt a twinge of fondness stir in you after seeing his typical stoic demeanor slip.

Quill snorted, cutting his eyes over to you as you worked side by side with him.

“You think I’d bother with that sorta thing?” You turned to see him watching you with amusement still glittering in his eyes. “Just needed some entertainment to get through the rest of this shift.”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you shook your head with a chuckle before returning to the whiskey sour starting to take shape in front of you.

“Well, laugh it up, cuz I’ll have you know I looked like a complete idiot in front of him.”

“I promise you he’s used to that, kid. Don’t worry about it; as long as you get your work done, he won’t pay you a second glance.”

Feeling mildly comforted by his words, you started on the woman’s drink, eyes darting up towards his table. Now that you knew where it was, you could just barely make out the flash of his shiny helmet through the smoke that had settled around the room. Goosebumps ran up and down your arms as, once again, you felt as if you were being watched, and you hastily turned your attention back to drink making.

When all four of them were assembled, you placed them on a tray before stepping out onto the floor once more. You were hyper-aware of the drinks as you balanced them while you walked, and you kept your eyes fixed on only your tray and the ground in front of you. You were not going to spill any of them; you’d already made enough of a fool of yourself, and you were determined not to add a third strike to your record with the Boss.

And, so, you didn’t catch the way his mask had followed your every movement as you crossed towards his table, nor did you notice the knowing smirk the woman beside him was wearing as she glanced between the two of you. You were blissfully unaware of any undue attention to yourself as you passed out each of the drinks respectively before tucking your tray under your arm and turning to the table with a smile.

“Can I get anything else for you guys?” You kept your tone light and friendly, even though you were mentally begging them to not need anything else.

“Just send Quill over; tell him I need to speak with him,” the Boss said. “Cover the bar for him until he gets back.”

“Yes, sir,” you hurriedly assured him.

Biting your lip, you hurried back to the bar and relayed the message to Quill, who just rolled his eyes and set down the glass he’d been polishing.

“Why he can’t walk over on his own two legs is beyond me,” you heard him grumble under his breath.

From there, the rest of your shift went by pretty normally; you made drinks and polished glasses until Quill came back to the bar a few minutes later, once more only answering you with grunts and noncommittal shrugs. He’d waved you off after you’d asked what he wanted, telling you to return to your section but to keep your eyes on the Boss’s table in case they needed anything.

Which they hadn’t. After returning to take their glasses, they’d declined your offer to get them any refills, and when you went to check on them ten minutes after that, they were gone. From there, you only had an hour left until your shift ended at its usual time – 3:30 am. You could have hugged the girl from the morning shift who came to relieve you – as it was, you’d thanked her so profusely for taking over your section that she’d looked worried for you.

“Um… Have a rough night?” she’d asked, eyebrows pinching together under her mask.

“You have no idea,” you sighed, heading towards the back room. “See you around!”

But your walk to the back came to an abrupt halt when Quill called you over, having to shout your name twice before you heard him over the music. Frowning, you walked over to him, leaning against the bar.

“What’s up?”

“Boss wants you to bring an old fashioned to his office,” he grunted, wiping his hands off on a towel. “Something about not getting to try the last one you made.”

You felt the color drain from your face, and you gulped, nodding quickly before making your way around to the other side of the bar.

“Um… Well, I was just about to go home; it was the end of my shift five minutes ago. Could I ask someone else to bring it to him?”

“Boss asked for you specifically,” he shrugged. “It’s on you if you wanna go against his request.”

Well. Shit. You’d made mistakes in your time, but you couldn’t see yourself ever being dumb enough to deny the kingpin of, arguably, the most powerful gang in Brooklyn.

“I…see. Um. Where exactly is his office?”

“Smart choice.”

After making your thousandth old fashioned of the evening, Quill gave you instructions to the office, and though you were still a bit lost on what to do at the end of the third hallway he mentioned, you had a pretty good idea as to where it was located. And so you set out, holding the drink in a white-knuckled fist as you made your way through the twists and turns of the old building.

A few minutes of wandering later found you standing in front of a door made out of solid, dark wood, and a bronze plaque on its surface read Management – Please knock.

“Well,” you whispered under your breath, “here goes nothing.”

You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles against the door, trying to stamp down the butterflies in your gut as you waited for a response. Several seconds passed by, and you bit your lip as you looked around the hallway you were in; the door to the Boss’s office was the only one on this short hallway, but someone had taken the time to put a potted plant next to the door. You smiled, reaching out with one of your fingers to brush against one of its leaves, and it was in that moment that the door rushed open.

You snatched your hand back, as if the plant had burned you, and looked up to see the Boss standing on its other side. After swallowing thickly, you plastered a smile on your face and straightened your posture.

“Hello, sir,” you greeted, holding out his drink. “I brought that old fashioned for you.”

Without a word, the masked man turned on his heel and walked back into the room, gesturing for you to follow him inside.

“Close the door on the way in.”

You paused, heart pounding as you took a step into his office; the two of you were the only ones there. Glancing behind you to the door, your eyes lingered for a second on its handle, wondering what the smartest thing to do here was. If you said no, then he could do so much worse than just fire you. But if you did as he said, well… Anything could happen to you behind that closed door, and how likely was it that the loud club outside would be able to hear you scream?

“Jesus Christ, I’m not gonna shoot you.”

You jumped so hard that you almost spilled his drink, but hearing his voice spurred you to quickly grab the handle and shut the door without another moment’s thought. You turned back to face him the same moment it slammed shut with a bang, and you winced at how loud of a sound it made.

Smooth.

“S-sorry, sir,” you stuttered, hesitantly walking towards him. You held out the glass, looking up at where you hoped his eyes were beneath his helmet. “I hope it lives up to the hype. The drink, that is.”

His shoulders twitched upwards with a short huff of laughter before taking the glass from your hand, the tips of his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You felt heat rise in your cheeks as your eyes fell from his mask, taking in for the first time what he was wearing.

In the low light of the club, you’d thought his suit was black, but now you could see that it was actually a dark forest green instead. The button-down shirt beneath it was white, and the top two buttons of it were undone, showing off a patch of tan skin just below his collarbone. For some second, your eyes lingered on it, inexplicably fascinated by the only bit of skin visible on the man in front of you.

Directly behind the Boss was a large desk cluttered with notebooks, folders, and stacks of various papers and envelopes, and you watched as your employer cleared off a small space to set his glass down on. You were finally able to break out of your bizarre thoughts about his clavicle once he turned back to face you, and you silently hoped that he hadn’t caught you staring at him again.

“Turn around.”

You blinked once, and then twice, before speaking.

“I, um… I don’t understand, sir-“

“Turn around,” he repeated, twirling his finger in the air. “Face the other way.”

Not fully understanding the purpose of such an order, you bit your lip, reminding yourself that he’d told you earlier that he wasn’t going to shoot you. Slowly, you obeyed him, lacing your fingers together and squeezing them tightly. You were now looking right at the door you’d walked in from, the one you were so tempted to walk through right now.

For a moment, the room was quiet save for the sound of your breathing, and you nearly shrieked when you heard his voice from what had to be just inches behind you.

“Don’t look back,” he commanded. “If you know what’s good for you.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded, noticing a trembling strand of hair out of the corner of your eyes. In fact, your entire body was trembling ever so slightly, and you took a deep breath to try and calm the frantic beating of your heart.

Needing to ground yourself, you looked around at your surroundings, focusing on them instead of what your boss could possibly have in store for you. The walls and floors were a sandy concrete, just like the rest of the club, but there were various personal touches dotted around the space that your eyes lingered on. On either side of the door, there were huge bookcases filled with, yes, books, but also binders and folders and trinkets you wouldn’t have thought a mobster would keep in his office. Things like the small, carved figurine of a horse he had resting next to a copy of Webster’s Dictionary, or the small vase of roses he had balanced on top of a pile of magazines.

After looking over the bookshelves, your eyes scanned the furniture dotted around the room. To your left, there was a black leather couch on top of what had to be a genuine Persian rug. To your right, facing the couch, a loveseat was shoved up against the wall, and hanging above it was a huge mirror in a gilded, ornate frame. As you turned to look at yourself in it, you realized that you could catch a bit of his reflection as well, and you startled when you saw that his hands were on the back of his mask, unsnapping a clasp that held it in place. With a silent gasp, you turned to face forward again, eyes wide.

You held your breath when you heard him pick the glass up again, and it suddenly made sense why he’d asked you to turn around – he just wanted to try the drink without you seeing his face. Your shoulders slumped with relief; you didn’t care if he hated how it tasted. You were just thrilled that he hadn’t brought you back to punish you for staring at him earlier.

There was a long pause as he drank it, and you had to stop yourself from shifting your weight or appearing too restless as you waited for his verdict.

“…Cara was right,” you finally heard, and you gasped at the sound of his pure, unfiltered voice. “Your old-fashioneds are better than Quill’s.”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathed, still recovering from the shock at how rich, how deep, his voice was. “I promise not to tell him.”

“Oh, he already knows,” he assured you. “He told me himself after you got hired.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and you couldn’t fight back a quiet chuckle.

“Quill’s just full of surprises tonight,” you mused.

“Hm. I saw him laughing at you earlier at the bar,” your boss went on, and you heard him pause before something shifted and clicked behind you. “You can turn around again.”

His voice was, once again, the same processed, slightly staticky one you’d heard before, and as you turned around, there was a pang of disappointment in your chest when you saw the mask staring back at you once again.

“People usually have to work here for at least a year before they see him so much as smile,” he went on, turning the glass between his hands as the ice inside clinked together. “And here you are, not even a week in.”

“Well… it’s probably just because I’ve been helping him out behind the bar,” you explained. “I don’t think any of the other girls mix their own-“

“No, it’s not that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “He has other bartenders to help him with that, and he hates them just as much as he hates the rest of the workers here. But not you.”

You didn’t know what to say, and so you said nothing, wracking your brain for anything – a thank you, an apology, a party trick – anything that could make the air feel less awkward than it had suddenly become. But, eventually, your boss broke the silence, though you never would have guessed what he’d been about to say.

“You’re not a server anymore,” he declared. “I want you behind the bar full-time now. You can replace, uh…” He tapped his fingers against the lip of the glass, and you saw his head tilt upwards as he thought. “…Rayanne? Rachel?”

“Rachelle?” you supplied weakly.

“I was close enough. You can replace her,” he continued. “She can be demoted to a server to take your place, and you’re promoted to bartender to take hers.”

“B-but, sir, I,” you stammered, adjusting your mask as you took a step towards him, “I can’t just steal Rachelle’s job; she’s been working here for three years-“

“And Cara still hates her long islands,” he once again cut you off. “I’ll have Quill email you a new schedule.”

Your mouth was open, but no words came out as you stared at the blank slate where his face should be; this wasn’t really such a bad thing, right? You’d gotten the position honestly, and Rachelle had never been particularly nice to you, anyways.

“…Thank you, sir,” you finally said. “I… I appreciate this opportunity.”

“Mm. How much do you wanna make?”

You pressed your lips together, your nose scrunching up as you mentally did the math.

“Um… Does $13 an hour work?”

Your employer snorted, shaking his head before taking a step towards you. You froze as he reached for your wrist, being surprisingly gentle as he brought your hand up between the two of you, and as you looked up, you knew that his eyes were boring into yours, even if you couldn’t see them. You found that you couldn’t look away as he pressed his empty glass into your hands, making sure your fingers were wrapped securely around it before pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Remind me,” he exhorted, “to never let you negotiate a deal for me.”

You blinked rapidly as he backed away, brain still fizzling a bit from how close he’d just been to you. The spicy scent of his cologne still lingered in your nostrils as he turned back to his desk, and it was only when he leaned against it and inclined his head towards you that your mind caught up with what he’d just said. What had been wrong with $13 an hour? Was it too low or too high? Had you just screwed yourself?

“Um…”

You watched his chest rise and fall with a sigh, but you could have sworn you heard a smile in his voice as he spoke next.

“Report to Quill tomorrow at the beginning of your shift,” he instructed. “You’re getting $15 an hour; he can tell you more about your benefits.”

Too low, then. You paused, not knowing what to say, and, he tiled his head towards the side as he waited for your response.

“…Did you just say benefits?”

This time, it was a full-blown laugh that you managed to coax out of him, and a tentative, hopeful grin spread over your lips as you watched him nod his head.

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed. “Now go home; get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, sir…”

With that, you turned around, opened the door, and floated down the hall to the break room. In fact, after grabbing your things and getting in your car, you floated the entire way home. It was only when you reached for your steering wheel that you realized you were still clutching his glass in your left hand, but you didn’t bother bringing it back; what was one missing glass out of the hundreds, if not thousands, the club already owned?

_____________________

Din sat at his desk for a while after that, half-heartedly doing the least glamorous part of his job – paperwork. Over the years, he’d done a number of horrible things to even worse people, but he still hadn’t hated any of it – the arson, the beatings, the murder – nearly as much as he hated paperwork. But tonight, he was grateful for the easy, mindless task; he wouldn’t be able to focus on much else, not with you on his mind.

The door to his office suddenly opened, but he didn’t bother glancing up to see who it was; Cara had already gone home with some pretty young thing she’d picked up at the bar, and there was only one other person who would dare come in without knocking.

“I gave her a promotion,” he said, not looking up from the check he was writing. “You’ve got yourself a new bartender. Thought you’d like not having to deal with Rachel showing up late anymore.”

“…I’ve been telling you to replace Rachelle for three years,” was his only answer.

Din looked up, watching as his old friend slowly lowered himself into his favorite armchair, groaning with the strain it put on his knees; he’d always had trouble with his joints.

“…Really,” he finally hummed, turning back to the check and scrawling his signature (which was just a wiggly line that resembled more of a curly fry than it did an actual name, but that only helped him in his efforts to remain nameless) across the bottom right corner of it. “Didn’t realize it’d been that long.”

“Because you blew me off and told me to quit complaining anytime I mentioned it,” he fired back. “Why now, all of a sudden? Why her?”

“Look, do you want me to keep Rachel?”

Quill opened his mouth to speak, but he cut him off before he could, already knowing what he would say.

“Rachelle – whatever her fucking name is,” he grumbled. “You get my point.”

“It still doesn’t answer my question.”

Something in the older man’s tone made Din pause, slowly setting his pen down before turning to Quill once again.

“What’s it to you?” he countered. “You got something against working with the new girl?”

“No,” the bartender sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you know it. Just…remember what happened the last time you took a special interest-“

“Out.”

His friend sighed, standing up with a grunt and taking a step towards him.

“Now, Din, don’t get me wrong-“

“I said…”

He stood from his desk, pressing his palms flat against its surface and leaning towards the older man.

“Out.”

Quill bowed his head, the wrinkles on his face deepening as he frowned, but he didn’t feel anything but contempt as he nodded and turned towards the door. Slowly, Din lowered himself down into his chair once more, but his muscles tensed when he saw his old friend pause on the way out.

“I’m just as much worried for you as I am for her, you know,” he murmured. “It would kill me to see you go through…that again.”

The old man shook his head, looking back at him over his shoulder.

“It would kill me,” he whispered.

With that, he stepped out and shut the door behind him, leaving Din with nothing but bad memories and the taste of bourbon and lemon peel lingering on his tongue.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

When the Night is Still Young

Pairing: Brute x Princess

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

notes: Did I write this because @sxnalien art and couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was? absolutely Plus this ship needs more love and I shall serve. Enjoy :)

tag list: @shellielyzabeth @over-under-through1 (if you want to be on my tag list I have a post about that.)

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The wind was light and fair as it rolled through Townsville. It was one of those nights that nothing happened. No monster attacks or a bank being robbed. Rare but peaceful. Unless you were a part of the Morebucks household. No every night was pure bliss as the richest girl in the city and probably the entire country, waltzed towards her room ready to turn in for the night.

Her glass of milk was set on her nightstand that was embezzled with pure gold and hefty sapphires as the handles. She was one of high class and taste so anything under $500 would not cut it. Even the mountain of pillows that laid on her king size bed had more worth than most of the salaries of the kids on the far side of town. Big, flashy, rich. Her taste couldn’t be matched.

She grabbed her novel and slipped into bed where the finest silk sheets of a deep purple hue laid. Even at age 24, she was just as many remembered. Spoiled, chunning, spoiled, rude, spoiled, hot, spoiled, manipulative and of course spoiled rotten.

But when Daddy Morebucks had more money than most, what else were you to expect? In fact her taste proved in every aspect of her life.The food she ate was organic and came from the best chefs around. The clothes were designer and handbags imported from overseas. Her jewels had rare value and she loved nothing more than to show off her money. Even the people she dated were a part of her social level.

She flipped the page of her book as her lamp, that came from Paris and was crafted from stained glass, gave a soft glow. It was quiet and the estate had turned in for the night. The only thing she heard was the soft tapping of the wind.

And then the shuffle of the balcony door lock.

“You’re late.” Princess said as another page was turned. A grumbled came from the window as it closed.

“You’re lucky I'm even here.”

The book was taken out of her hands and she looked up to see the pair of greens eyes. Black eyeliner was caked around them, bringing out the rich color that glowed under the soft light of the lamp.

“Still dressing like a street rat I suppose.” Princess smirked and a dark chuckle came from the other girl.

“You act like you don’t like the chains and spikes. Sugar Plum.” Brute winked as she flashed a grin that showcased her slightly sharpened canines.

Princess pressed her lips together as her cheeks puffed out into a pout knowing she was right. But nonetheless her eyes traveled down. For someone who only wore Louis Vuitton and Gucci, she found out that her soft spot was black crop tops, leather jackets and a spiked collar that made her shiver every time it was worn around Brute's neck.

“Maybe I do. Get over it.” Princess spat as Brute leaned until her nose bumped hers.

“You’re such a little brat ya know?” She said as she took her lips into a bruising kiss.

If you would have told Princess that she would one day end up underneath the notorious green powerpunk. She would have laughed and thrown a gold bar at your face. She had only dated men whose wallets were almost as big as hers and just as snotty. Yet not once did she ever feel something more than physical attraction, even then it was slim.

She wanted high class and someone who could stand their own next to her. No one had ever come close to it. The relationships would turn to dust in a matter of months and deep down she wanted to have someone there who appreciated her for more than money, she was human after all.

And that's when she met Brute. One of the galas she had attended was coming to the end and she had decided that the world had seen enough of her for the night. Since it was one of the smaller events, Princess took her own car. Sometimes the limos were too stuffy and she preferred to drive the night with the windows down and her own tune humming.

“Damn these heels.” She groaned as the elevator to the parking garage was now out of order. She pushed open the stairwell and wished she had her jetpack to soar her through the sky. The click of her black stilettos echoed as she climbed the stairs.

The top of the parking garage came into view as she opened the last door and clicked her phone to make sure that whoever didn’t fix that damn elevator would be fired or seriously hurt. The luxury convertible with her signature license plate was on the other side and sometimes she wondered why she did this to herself.

Huffing, she continued in her tall heels not noticing the door behind her opening. In those mere seconds of her pulling out her eyes, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. She let out a yelp before throwing her elbow back and twisting the arm not caring about the snap that came with it. She turned before sending her foot in between the legs of the man who dared to touch her.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She growled before shoving the tip of her heel down next to his face, missing him by a hair.

Her eyes glared down at the man now weeping on the ground. His hands were raised in a shudder as he tried to regain his breath from being thrown to the ground and kicked in the balls. Quickly she leaned down and took a picture of his id before tossing it at his face and spraying him with pepper spray for good measure.

She ignored his scream as she walked away and texted the picture to her personal body guards. “Fucking scum bags.”

Her head was now sprouting a headache and all she wanted to do was get home and be surrounded by her riches. Princess narrowed her eyes as she came closer to her car and noticed a figure leaning against it. Smoke blowing from their lips as the cigarette sat between their fingers.

“Unless you are going to pay for those scratches, beat it!” She spat and pointed her finger.

The cigarette was dropped to the ground with an immature flip and black combat boots came down on it like a bug. The light gave out as she looked up with a dark chuckle, the last of the smoke dissipating into the air and Princess felt the shiver in her spine as she noticed the sinister grin coming from the other woman.

“This little thing?” The woman, she assumed was around her age, trailed her finger along the hood. “I’ve seen better.”

The red head rolled her eyes and looked her up and down. “What do you want Brute?”

Brute tilted her head like a dog getting offered a walk. “Ahh so the queen knows who i am.” She pushed off the car and threw a hand in her pocket. “I’m flattered.”

“It’s not like you keep a low profile. Everyone knows who the Punks are.” She spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to leave.” She tried to take a step but Brute blocked her path.

“The night is still young Sugar Plum.” Brute raised her eyebrow and Princess suddenly felt so small against those green eyes.

“Why would I want to spend my valuable time with you?” She asked.

Brute chuckled and shrugged. “Not too sure babe. But I did just watch you kick and spray that poor sucker over there and now I'm intrigued.”

Maybe Princess didn’t notice the blush creeping up on her cheeks but she pushed all thoughts away and scoffed. “He’s a creep and I don’t have time for nonsense. Goodnight.” She pushed past and clicked her car door open.

“Yay know. I wish I were in town to see the old Princess.” Brute said and she paused.

“Old Princess?”

“Yep.” Brute popped the P. “The infamous Princess Morebucks. Doesn’t take shit from anyone and does what she wants. So sad that we are so young and yet you parade around like daddys little golden medal, making sure to please everyone with an image you don’t want to keep.”

“It’s called running a business.” Princess said quickly yet she hated that the other woman was right.

“No need to get defensive, I’m just saying that I thought you were much more wild. Afterall you were a super villain but maybe you’ve been humbled down to a spoiled brat whose only reckless behavior is staying up till one.” Brute smirked before turning on her heel. “See ya later Sugar Plum.”

Brute began to walk. The metal chain belt made a slight rattling as she inched closer and closer towards the stairwell. Princess stood as she looked at her steering wheel then back at the punk. Something inside of her wanted to just drive away, feel the freedom that she used to as a teenager.

She got into the car, seatbelt clashing loudly as if all sound had been turned off around her. Her hands gripped the wheel and her eyes glanced towards the sky where the moon was hardly up.

The engine roared to life and she pulled out of the parking space making her way towards the exit.

“Get in.” She said and the punk turned around with a devious grin. A shutter went through her spine as the door opened and the seat filled in with Brute.

“Alright Sugar Plum, lets see that wild side.” And soon the parking lot was filled with dust as rubber burned through the city's streets.

You could hear the music blasting from the street as the pair walked up to the door.

“A club?” Brute asked yet she was impressed with the location.

It was located on the far side of town. The crime rate here had skyrocketed over the years and if you wanted to find a drug paradise, check between the cracks of the sidewalks.

Princess led her to the door. Her ID didn’t need to be checked as they passed the long line and were ushered in quickly. The dim lights only held a sea of bodies grinding against one another while cheap booze flowed in their veins.

The music was terrible and the smell might have been worse but she grabbed the punk's hand and led her to the dance floor without a care in the world. Their hips swayed and soon they had a drink in their hands.

The red head let the alcohol flood her system and soon the music wasn’t as bad as before. She kept her eyes focused on those dazzling greens. She hated the color beforehand. Thought that it was trashy unless it was a crisp hundred bill. But now even with the blazing light, she could see the flecks of the hue taking shape in her iris and wanted to explore it further.

“I never would have pegged you as a club person.” Brute said in her ear as the Princess pressed her back to her chest.

“It's the only place no one cares who you are.” She said as her hand made its way to Brutes cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

Maybe she let the world of her father's business consume her before her life had even started. Maybe Brute was right. She was Princess Motherfucking Morebucks. The same girl who used to build rockets and lasers just to destoy the puffs and now she was wasting what should be her reckless party years, doing things she would be doing for the rest of her life.

Brute's hands traveled down until she spun the red head around and kissed her again. Princess’s hands wandered to her neck as she tugged slightly at the spiked collar with a large metal loop.

“There's that wild side.” Brute said against her lips as she pulled her impossible closer while the music played. “I like it.”

Princess couldn’t tell what was driving her insane. The third shot of vodka or the way her lips felt like molten lava, a tingling sensation she had never had before but she was craving it like no other. All her past relationships came into her mind.

Man after man, not one could even bring Princess the satsiaction to even smile. They had all been the one thing she hated most, boring. Fake smiles, only there for her last name and to climb the ranks, that all she was. She was a bank vault that many wanted to access and she had begun to just give up the code, but not anymore. She didn’t want boring and she certainly wouldn’t be that.

Brute was far from it. Piercings and tattoos covered her arm, something her father would disaprove of greatly, and yet she didn’t have a care in the world as she just let the music play on.

Princess kissed her back, enjoying the way the metal lip pieces felt against her lips. It was electrifying and freeing as Brute kissed her neck. She had been captivated by the punk. The way she doted on her like no man had before. She originally thought she was only here for the money, a big fear she kept to herself but although Brute loved cash, she enjoyed the presence of the spoiled girl more.

“I got you something.” Brute whispered in her ear. A shock wave of pleasure jolted through Princess' heart as Brute reached into her pocket and pulled out a velvet box. “I know how much you love chain babes.”

Princess took the box and opened it. It was a silver chain necklace with a small crown charm.

“But I also know that it's not your thing, so I thought something that would remind you of your royal status would do.” She joked but Princess stared at the small necklace with wide eyes.

It was simple and small, yet she felt tears threaten to spill. Her entire life she had been showered with elegant gifts and priceless treasures. She was accustomed to receiving fine things, because it was expected. Sometimes it was underwhelming to constantly get things that never had an emotional value.

She took the necklace out of the wrapping and put it on. The cool metal graced her skin and she felt her cheeks heat up at the sweet gift. She looked up at Brute who had a soft expression, something she wore rarely.

Princess set the box aside and placed her hand against Brute’s cheek.

“It's not diamonds but it will do.” She playfully teased before kissing Brute.

She felt Brute groan against her lips and soon she was laying on top of her.

“You’re still spoiled as ever.” Brute glared as she ran her fingers through the curly ginger locks. “But I still like it.” She winked “Reminds me of when I first saw you beat up that dude.”

“That was two years ago.” Princess blew on her bangs.

Brutes hand lightly slapped her ass making the redhead bury her face in her neck. “Yeah but it was hot.”

Princess hummed. “Whatever. Thank you by the way.” She said the last part quickly.

“Ooooo did I just hear the queen thank me?” Brute laughed and her hands were then held above her head pressing into the sheets. She looked through hooded eyes up at the redhead pinning her from above.

“I’m not repeating myself.” Princess batted her eyelashes. “Now, let's go for a ride.”

“Really? At two a.m?” Brute smirked.

Princess practically jumped off her bed before walking to her closet and changing quickly. She reappeared wearing a short black dress and her own pair of combat boots.

Brute sat up with a smirk and gave a low whistle.

“The nights still young babe.” She said before grabbing Brutes hands and leading out the door to her private garage. Soon her car roared to life and the windows were rolled down as the drove off into the night.

I hope you enjoyed :)

shout out to my lovely betas: Lisa, Aves and Cilla :)

#princess x brute #brute x princess #ppg #princess ppg #brute ppg #thepowerpunkgirls #ppg fic

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meli-productions · 4 years

Text

Biblically Known

Despite the name, there is no smut...though things do get heated. Day Four of #ineffablehusbandsauweek for @ineffablehusbandsweek

As always, it can be read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620054

The soft clicking of heels from behind brought Aziraphale’s attention away from the exhibit and towards the intruder. At the sight of the approaching woman, a smile split his face.

“Antoniette! How lovely to see you again,” he said, meeting her in the middle of the room. “What brings you around this time? Biblical or modern?”

The woman, tall and looming over him with her stilettos, smiled and pulled off her glasses, “Um, I think that this time it’s Biblical - something about a garden?”

Aziraphale hesitated, taking a moment to study the woman’s gold eyes that shifted under his scrutiny, then his faltered smile returned to full power, “Of course, darling. Was it the Garden of Eden or the Hanging Gardens?”

She snapped, “That’s the one. Hanging Gardens, sounds like fun - I have a garden too so it seemed like a good report to do.”

“Then come along,” said Aziraphale, holding out his arm for her to take. “I have just the resources you need.”

The two spoke amicably as they wandered the halls of the museum - a sight to behold: the plump curator that dressed like a character off The Mummy movies and the femme fatale of a Bond film. They had met one evening when Antoniette Crowley had arrived at the museum with a notebook in hand and bumped into the curator - Aziraphale Fell - in a very literal sense.

Aziraphale had fussed over the woman, making sure she was okay before asking if there was anything she needed - that he would love to help her as the new curator of the museum. And for her part, Antoniette had blinked up at him for a few minutes, blushed, and asked if he knew anything about the Dead Sea Scrolls.

When Aziraphale beamed and dragged her down the halls, a new friendship was struck - and a promise of continuing friendship stemmed from their conversation and jaunt through history. So when he sees Antoniette in the museum, Aziraphale knows that he’s in for a good time and a wonderful conversation about history.

“So these Hanging Gardens - they were destroyed, too, huh?” asked Antoniette, looking at the mock up that had been prepared in its little corner of the museum. “Just like the tower, just like Eden itself.”

“Unfortunately,” Aziraphale responded with a sigh. “Pity. One of the wonders they said. It’s a shame to lose something so vivid. Was there anything specific you needed to know about it?”

Antoniette perched her elbow on Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Anything you’ve got for me, angel. I’ll pick and choose the information.”

With the go-ahead of a full professorial lecture, Aziraphale launched into a story head tilted up towards the honey-gold eyes that were watching him with rapt attention.

“How’d the lie go today?”

Antoniette looked down and met the smirk of her partner, Beatrice, with a sharp smile of her own.

“It went perfectly fine, thanks for asking. He doesn’t suspect a thing and I got to hear him mourn the Hanging Gardens of Babylon for almost an hour…we had lunch afterwards.”

Beatrice snickered, “Then got off on those little sounds of his?”

“Shut it, Bea.”

But they continued, “He’s gonna find out one of these days - gonna slip or he’s gonna say something historically inaccurate and you won’t be able to help yourself. One way or another, Toni, your anthropologist smartass will show.”

She just shook her head, curls flying wild, “Absolutely not. He’s too smart to say something wrong. Besides, I’m not hurting anyone. I just - I just want to get to know him and if he knew who I really was - ”

“He’d fall harder for you?” asked Bea, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“No, he’d get weird - weird academic boner like that hothead Lucius,” said Antoniette. “I don’t want this to end. And I’ll tell him the truth.”

Bea laughed again, “After you two get married? Or when the director finally spots you and calls your bluff - that you’ve been acting like an ignoramus around your own fucking exhibit.”

Antoniette’s face turned as red as her hair, “We have very insightful conversations, Bea. I don’t act like I’m stupid - just not like Professor Crowley, that’s for sure.”

A roll of bright blue eyes met her own, “Whatever, Toni. But if you don’t tell him soon, it’s gonna come out somehow. You’ll see.”

She sighed, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

A steaming mug of tea thumped down at Aziraphale’s side bringing his head up towards the hand attached to the handle.

“Ana,” he said, slipping off the glasses hanging on the edge of his nose. “Thank you, dear. It’s just what I needed.”

“What you needed was a break from that book. I know your job is to appraise and reconstruct, but you’ve been on that for three hours.”

“Has it really been that long?”

Ana - Anathema - huffed, “Yes, you workaholic. Honestly, when Toni swings by those are the best days because it gets you away from those damned books.”

He tisked, “There’s no need to offend them - they’ve done nothing wrong. And yes, I do agree - it is a delight when Antoniette is around.”

Aziraphale took a sip and noticed the red-lipped smirk that his youngest coworker wore from over the rim of the mug. He raised an eyebrow in question which set her off in giggles.

“Are you ever gonna tell her that you know she’s acting dumb?”

Another tisk, “She’s not acting dumb, Anathema. Her conversations are very insightful, it’s just that she’s not sharing just how smart she is with me. And no. That’s for her to tell me when the time is right. After all, there must be a reason.”

Anathema scoffed, “Yeah, the reason is that she likes you and thinks that if you can’t help her you won’t be interested in being around her. You know what would encourage her to tell the truth,” she paused for him to question her, “ask her out on a date. An actual date, not those ‘well, since we’re at it we might as well have lunch’ dates. Ask her to dinner, buy her expensive wine, take her home and - ”

“Anathema,” said Aziraphale, blush dusting his cheeks. “Antoniette is a lady, I will not do anything untoward.”

She smirked, “Never said to do anything untoward. And besides, if anyone’s gonna make a move like that it’s gonna be her - not you. She is sin incarnate, isn’t she?”

He sighed, and rubbed his temples when she started laughing, “I regret ever telling you that. Now, are you going to join me for tea or just laugh at my misfortune? Come, tell me about your latest project.”

Wednesday night was always a quiet one at the museum - just a few stragglers that would lazily wander up and down the exhibits and when Aziraphale found himself more often than not alone in the ancient artifacts room.

And usually that’s where Antoniette would find him.

This time, though, she was not in her tight pencil skirt and stilettos, but in baggy sweats that disguised her - even her sunglasses were a cheaper pair she’d picked up from a tourist booth on the way in and yet he still recognised her.

“My dearest, are you alright?” he asked, reaching out for her then stopping a breath away from her elbow. “Is there anything you need?”

She was quiet for a moment, and he wished she would fee; comfortable taking off her glasses, but they remained on, “Just - a distraction, angel. Anything you’ve got.”

Aziraphale frowned at the deadened tone, but he gave her a little smile nonetheless, “I think I’ve got just the thing,” he held his arm out, “It’s okay if you don’t want to - ”

Antoniette grabbed onto it like it was a lifeline, “Let’s see what you have, love.”

He kept a quiet drone about the latest visitors to the museum and the field trip of primary grade students that ran amok in the dinosaur exhibit and though she laughed at the right moment and agreed when she needed to, Aziraphale could tell that she was still distracted.

“Here we go, dearest,” he said and sat her at his desk. “My newest acquisition: the ‘Bugger Alle’ Bible.”

She gave a little gasp and reached out with long fingers before folding her fingers and glancing up at him, “Gloves?”

With a smile, he handed over his pair and though he knew they’d be too short, they would be enough for her to touch the book. Antoniette stroked the spine with a delicate touch and cracked it open with the care of a mother to her child, Aziraphale shivering at her gentleness.

“This is in top condition,” she said, breathless. “Did you do the restoration?”

“One of my specialties,” answered Aziraphale, leaning in close and using her fingers to follow the stitching. “Took a few hours - three if my coworker is to be believed - but it’s almost in perfect condition to be displayed.”

Antoniette looked up at him again, glasses slipped down enough for her gold eyes to be seen, “Amazing. This is - stunning work. Delicate - strong - I- ”

Aziraphale cupped her face in his hand, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I have a feeling that you haven’t eaten - I can order some takeout?”

She leaned into the heat now on her cheek, lips brushing his thumb, “Sounds like a plan - Thai?”

“Whatever you want, dear,” he answered, breathless.

A couple of hours later the two of them had made their way out of the chair and sat on the floor of Aziraphale’s office, leaning against his desk as they passed a bottle of wine between them.

“And ‘s not fair,” said Antoniette, pouting. “That just ‘cus he’s a man he gets my project - top n’m. ‘S like I d’nt even exist.”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale agreed, “Y’re smart and w’rkd hard f’r that - that project - wanker sh’dnt get an’thin.”

Antoniette shot him a wine-drowsy smile, “Y’re not a wanker though - y’re an - an angel. Pretty, s’ft, smart, gorgeous angel. B’t you d’nt want me - y’like books more.”

He huffed and wobbled closer, hand brushing her cheeks, “My books d’nt look like you, th’r not smart and beautif’l and sweet n’ let me talk th’r ear off. Not like you, Antoniette. My dear, m’ so glad you came into my life - best day ‘f m’ life.”

A whimper escaped wine-red lips as Antoniette turned to his hand, eyes closed, and whispered, “I really want to kiss you r’now.”

Aziraphale chuckled using his finger to sweep over her lips, “Me too, but now while we’re drunk.”

Another whimper from Antoniette as he continued his ministrations down to her chin and then to her throat, the warm press of his calloused thumb bringing goosebumps on her skin. Then he pulled away and she met his half-lidded eyes. They both felt a little more sober, a little more sharper.

“If you want - we can have dinner tomorrow - real dinner,” he said. “And we’ll see how it goes.”

She pouted once again, but nodded, “‘S a date.”

Anathema fussed over Aziraphale, fixing his bowtie and coat and running her fingers through his hair before he pulled her hands away and held them tight against his chest.

“Anathema, dear,” he said, eyes crinkled in mirth. “It’ll be fine. I’ve dressed like this every time we’ve been together - mess or not, she doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a date, Zira,” she said, almost bouncing with joy. “I’m so proud of you, viejito, you’ve got a date with a hot, smart woman and you did that all on your own. Get your woman, mi vida.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but the smile did not waver, “Thank you, Ana, I guess you can say I’m finally an adult.”

A voice clearing behind them made them turn around and were greeted by the sight of a gorgeous, black dress clad Antoniette, red curls pinned to the side. Her smile was tight as her eyes flickered from Anathema to Aziraphale.

“Antoniette, darling,” Aziraphale said, his smile spreading. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, “Of course.”

Anathema pulled out of his grip, “Nice to finally meet you, Antoniette. I’m Anathema, co-worker and babysitter of this old man here.”

The two women shook hands, Antoniette’s smile still tight against her cheeks, before Aziraphale held out his arm for her to take. They bid Anathema their goodbyes and headed out.

“She seems nice,” said Antoniette, fingers tapping against the scratchy fabric of his coat. “Young. Smart.”

“And annoying as nothing else,” Aziraphale said, soothing her fingers with his free hand. “Her Americanisms can be hard to deal with - and her boyfriend has his own hands full with her.”

Antoniette’s fingers stopped as his hand wrapped around them, “Oh. She’s - she’s- ”

“An archeologist, and occultist if you can believe,” he said. “And no one for you to worry about, trust me dearest, you outshine everyone I’ve ever met before.”

She blushed and squeezed his arm, “And you truly are an angel.”

He chuckled in return, “I certainly hope not for long.”

Dinner was a slow-moving affair, Aziraphale savoring every bite and Antoniette enjoying every sound he made, tugging the hem of her dress down her dress as she grew hotter. After dessert and coffee - tea for the curator - Aziraphale offered to move the night to his flat and Antoniette took the offer with an almost embarrassing quickness.

“It’s not much,” he said, opening the door to his flat and ushering her in.

Books were scattered around, stacked in every corner and packed into bookshelves. There was a cozy messiness about the room that was perfect for him and she smiled at him.

“It’s wonderful, perfect for you,” said Antoniette, curling into the couch. “And the books make so much sense.”

Aziraphale blushed and scratched his neck, “Would you like some wine? I have a nice Burgundy that I’ve been dying to share with the right person.”

“And would that mean me?”

“I think it is.”

“Then pop it open and come join me.”

When he returned with the bottle and glasses, he found Antoniette, glasses off and flipping through the pages of a book. She looked up at him with wide eyes as he handed her a glass and she refused it.

“What’s wrong?”

She closed the book and handed it over, “Interesting choice - have you - did you - ”

The book was a detailed introspection on the Garden of Eden, a book written by Antoniette Crowley, and his eyes crinkled with mirth, “I suspected. I was just honored that you think that I was worth talking to and - you were just as beautiful as you were smart.”

Tossing the book to a side, Antoniette lunged towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and licking her way into her mouth as he returned the kiss she laid on him. His hands came around her and hoisted her closer, and she moaned against him.

When they pulled apart for air, she laughed as she took in his lipstick covered mouth and he joined her soon after.

“Is it too soon to say that I love you?” she asked, gripping his hair as he began pressing kisses along her neck.

He hummed against her throat, “Only if it’s too soon for me to say that I love you as well.”

Antoniette gave a tug, “I think you brought that wine out too soon,” another moan, “I think I found something tastier.”

“The wine’s waited this long, it can wait longer. Let us indulge in this dessert before turning to the drink.”

She let herself be settled onto his lap as he took a seat, “Sounds tasty.”

#ineffablehusbandsauweek #ineffable husbands au week #Ineffable Husbands #aziraphale #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #female crowley #museum au #curator aziraphale #anthropologist crowley #crowley's name is antoniette #anathema device #beelzebub #human au #good omens #gomens #good omens fanfiction #gomens fanfiction

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pinksilvace · 10 months

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He is... as they say... gender fluid

#brought to you by the startling realization that I don't know anybody in this fandom well enough to go feral under their posts #so I'll do it on my own:#I may be asexual but I would let her RAVAGE me #I find the saturation of Belos romantic selfshippers super interesting actually because I do not want him to kiss me #I want him to throw me across the room and crack my spine under her stilettos and I would thank her #storyboard cursed form my beloved #the owl house #emperor belos #philip wittebane #my art #I'm gay #man I wish I turned into a monster when I entered girl mode. that'd be cool #lesbelosposting #fernart

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achtung-attitude · 3 years

Photo

CHAPTER 40: Smooth Criminal - Part 2

Over the thumping sound ringing in her ears, T’onga hears liquid splashing on the ground. She glances down with blurry eyes and sees a pool of blood forming around her feet. Standing out in the red puddle are two human teeth. Her teeth, she realizes, being the lower right 1st and 2nd molars.

Her thoughts are foggy and slow. It takes her another moment to realize the blood on the ground is also her own, pouring from her mouth and head. She takes a step forward, then another, then trips and falls unaided onto her side. On the ground, she realizes she can’t breathe and gasps sharply. Her fingers claw at the air around her broken ribs.

She fights to hold back the cloud of concussion that threatens to overtake her mind. She has to stay awake. She has to get moving. From the other side of the world, someone says to her, “Now you know what it’s like.”

Knowles glares down at her. Her eyes gleam with disdain. She stands with her feet far apart, keeping her balance on her roller skates. “Now you know what it’s like,” she repeats. When T’onga sucks wind in reply, she spins, and the engines on her skates drive her toe to strike T’onga’s chin, sending her to crash into the opposite wall.

“Now you know how it feels to be trapped,” Knowles goes on, stomping on her enemy’s belly, further abusing her broken ribs. She spits blood onto the roller skate.

“How it feels to be helpless.” She picks her enemy up by the neckline of her jumpsuit. Her bedazzled glove plants a roaring engine in the center of T’onga’s chest, which crashes her back into the wall. The force of the propulsion holds her there, scraping her back against the hard stone wall. A raspy moan escapes from the Korean woman’s throat, but it is drowned out by the roar of the engine.

“How it feels to know that, no matter you do, there’s no way to escape the death comin’ for you.” Knowles releases the engine from T’onga’s jumpsuit and allows her to drop. Before she can hit the ground, Knowles grabs and holds her up by her dark hair.

“That’s how you made so many people feel, when you murdered them with your Stand. That’s how you made Phantasma feel, it’s how you made anyone who crossed your piece a’ shit boss feel.” The dreadlocked woman leans in close and hisses in T’onga’s ear.

“You’ve always disgusted me. You’re a slimy bitch, lyin’ back and doing whatever that man told you to. For what? Money? Influence? Or is it just easier for you to be a pet, since you never imagined being anything else?!” She flings her victim away in disgust, wiping her gloved hand on her shirt.

“What… about, you…?” T’onga says, remembering at last how to speak.

It does her little good, as she receives another kick in the gut. This time, the kick knocks something loose from her jacket’s inside pocket: her shiny gold locket, swinging by a thin chain. Through her agony, she reaches for it, but Knowles snatches it away. Gasping, T’onga reaches for it, trying to grab it from her attacker’s hand, but collapses onto her side.

“Hmph…” Knowles grunts, wiping away the blood from her damaged nose, “I ain’t nothing like you. All you ever fought for was greed, but I’m different! You hear me?! Dust thinks he’s using me, but I’m the one using him! I’m only helping him to reach his Paradise so that I can strike him down once he reaches it!

“When that day comes, I’ll put right all the wrongs his kind have done to mine! True women will stand at the top of the pyramid, while men will sit at the bottom, where they belong! And directly beneath them will be their simpering traitor bitches, like you!”

Knowles spreads her arms out in a display of ultimate triumph. “Dust thinks he can control me, but NO-ONE controls me!! He made the mistake of giving me ultimate power! SMOOTH CRIMINAL is the power to give that which has none! To animate the inanimate, to drive them forward and run down anything that would stand in their way! The power to liberate all who suffer under oppression, and lead all of them to a better future! This is my destiny! The destiny of SMOOTH CRIMINAL!!”

In the shade of the alley way, Knowles holds her head up high, as if expecting a ray of divine light to cast down upon her.

“Give… it back…” T’onga says, spitting a glob of bloody saliva.

Seeming to shake from a daze, Knowles says “Huh? What you say?”

“Don’t… fuck around with me…” the older woman says, her words strained through sheer agony. “Destiny… Power… What a load… Give me back my locket…”

“... You mean this?” Knowles smirks. She begins spinning the locket by its chain around her finger. “You want it so bad, come get it.”

“Give it… back…” T’onga grunts, lifting herself onto trembling feet, her skull a weight she can barely hold up. Drying blood spills over her forehead and down her face, forming a ghoulish red mask around her bloodshot eyes. “You dumb hypocrite… So you have a little cause to fight for? Convictions… Whether you… kill for profit, or destiny, or nothing, the result is the same… Corpses. A pile. Of. Corpses…. Give me back my locket…! YOU’RE NO DIFFERENT FROM ME AT ALL!!”

Something catches in Knowles’ chest at the sight of this nearly broken woman. She buries the feeling however, and keeps her confident sneer. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. You’re nothing with a crawling, half-dead bug bitch. When I’m at the top of this world, you won’t even be worth remembering.”

T’onga chuckles through clenched teeth. “... All that... just to hurt Daddy, huh?”

Knowles’ smugness evaporates into blind rage. Veins pulsate in her forehead and fill her eyes with red.

“YOU FUCKING CUNT!!!!” she shrieks, activating the engines in her heels and bursting towards her victim with her fist raised.

Despite having a concussion, broken ribs and damaged arms, T’onga still reacts with frightening speed. She dodges Knowles’ punch, then grabs her arm and pulls, redirecting her face into the alley wall.

“AGHH!” the dreadlocked woman cries as her nose fractures yet again, whilst T’onga starts kicking her in the back, driving her stiletto heel into her spine.

Gritting her teeth, Knowles reaches back and slaps T’onga’s ankle with her gloved hand. An engine materializes and roars, pulling T’onga into the air, spinning out of control like a human pinwheel. SMOOTH CRIMINAL’s user sneers, watching for the moment when her enemy’s head would be dashed against the hard stone walls.

But T’onga curls into a ball mid-air and grips her ankle, taking control of her own momentum. She stops herself from spinning, then directs the engine to descend. By the time Knowles understands what she did, she is already descending upon her like a meteor.

“SMOOTH CRI--!!” she yells, but too late. Before she can cancel the engine’s power, T’onga’s leg collides with her ribcage. She hears her ribs crack as she flies, spinning out of the alley way.

The engine of T’onga’s ankle disappears, but her momentum still sends her rolling into a pile of trash. Forcing herself up, she inspects her ankle and notes grimly that it is dislocated. She breathes heavily and sets her foot steadily on the ground, gripping the damaged ankle with both hands.

With a firm push, she sets the ankle back in place. “AAARRGH!!” she yells, then stands after another second, panting. On the ground, she notices her locket, and she limps to collect it. She brushes the gold with her thumb, but does not look inside. She quickly secretes it back inside her jacket, then limps over to Knowles.

“We done now?… you fucking zealot bitch…?”she says, breathlessly.

Face down on the ground, Knowles hoarsely replies, “SMOOTH CRIMINAL…”

SMOOTH CRIMINAL reappears on her hands, and she sweeps the ground beneath before laying her palms flat in front of her. Chunks of pavement shoot up from the ground, Knowles still holding on to them, propelling her and a cloud of shrapnel into the air to pounce on T’onga.

Mid-air, she waves her hands, touching the smaller stones. Tiny engines form on them, and T'onga immediately figures their intent. She dives out of the way as the stones come raining down as a hail of bullets. They perforate the ground where she was standing as she dives out of the way.

Knowles activates her roller blades as she descends, forcing T'onga to bend backwards to avoid the high velocity kick. The Korean woman quickly jumps back to her feet, wincing as she lands on her bad ankle.

“I can’t do this…” T’onga thinks desperately, “This isn’t working… I won’t be able to stand on this foot for much longer… My head is killing me… She has the advantage in an open space… I’m done for unless I find somewhere better to fight… What do I do…?” T’onga looks around, and beyond the alleyway sees the windows of an office building. “Ah…” she thinks.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #t'onga kim #Knowles #smooth criminal #ch40

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thorsterstrudle · 4 years

Text

Welcome to the Moulin Rouge (3/4)

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve makes up for lost time with (Y/N), starting with an apology.

Warnings: SMUUUUUT, unprotected sex (wrap the willy before you get silly), lots of language.

As she stormed away from the super-soldier, who stood in the middle of the street, completely dumbfounded, (Y/N)’s stiletto heel caught in one of the cracks, snapping it off.

“Motherfucker!”

As she bent down to rip off her shoes, she heard the pounding of running feet. She stayed low as Steve came up upon her.

Kneeling down beside (Y/N), Steve kept his distance, but spoke slowly,

“The only reason I let myself fall in love with Peggy was because I thought you would never see me as anything more than a skinny little brother that you had to take care of,” the sadness in his voice caught (Y/N)’s attention, and she turned her head to look at him.

“Is this true?” She tried not to sound so hopeful.

“Always has been, always will be.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said, slowly standing, “for snapping at you. It’s been a long century or so.”

“Wanna talk about it somewhere where you don’t need shoes,” Steve suggested, giving (Y/N) a reason to finally smile. Steve stood up, a look of sincerity gracing those baby blues of his. He reached out an arm, and (Y/N) took it, keeping her broken heels in the other hand.

Together, the two walked through the wet streets of Paris, lending a special light to the darkness of night.

Soon enough, (Y/N)’s apartment came into view. She took her arm gently from Steve to unlock the red door, swinging it open. As she walked inside, she was suddenly aware of just how unready the apartment was for a visitor. She turned to explain to Steve that no one ever came in, but he was already making himself at home in one of the bean bag chairs (Y/N) had laying around.

“Interesting taste in furniture,” Steve commented, settling in awkwardly. A super-soldier in a bean bag chair is certainly not something you see every day.

“It’s from my seventies phase. You would have absolutely hated it; it was all weed and bell-bottoms and quite a few orgies,” (Y/N) said, settling into one of the other two bean bags. She untied her trench coat, throwing it back to land somewhere behind her.

“I don’t know,” Steve smiled slightly, tentatively, “it doesn’t sound all bad.”

(Y/N) chuckled, feeling the tension set in again now that they were in her apartment, just the two of them. She shifted, trying to pull up her top up, suddenly feeling a little too exposed.

“About what you said earlier, about me and you,” Steve started, turning in the bean bag—or trying to, “did you mean it?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Steve searched (Y/N) for a sign of something more, something that he could hold onto that wasn’t just words. Then, as she breathed, chest rising and falling, he saw the chain that fell into her top. Reaching forward, Steve stared at the chain.

He rose from the chair, only to kneel in front of (Y/N), who froze at his motions. Steve’s hand grazed her chest as he gently lifted the chain until the pendant rose from between her breasts.

“I gave this to you,” Steve’s voice was a whisper, sending goosebumps along (Y/N)’s skin, “before I enlisted. It was my mother’s. And you kept it.”

“Of course I kept it. I loved you. I love you.”

Steve’s hands moved from the chain, dropping the pendant between them. His fingertips traced her jawline as his form moved closer and closer to her. When their lips were just lips apart, Steve paused.

“After everything, I love you, too,” he whispered.

“Then show me, kid,” (Y/N) closed the distance, closing her eyes and locking lips with the man she thought she lost. Her hands tangled in his hair as he wrapped her in his arms, deepening the kiss.

Steve lifted (Y/N) as he stood, aiming to move this somewhere a little less bean-baggy. He lifted her by the thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“The bedroom,” she gasped between kisses, “to the right. Hurry, or I may ruin this nice button-up of yours.”

Steve followed orders, ever the good soldier, and walked them to the bedroom and the unmade bed within. He gently set (Y/N) down on the mattress, wasting no time.

(Y/N) pulled her tank over her head before turning her attention to the silky shorts at her waist. She left the thigh-highs on, just to keep the look complete. As she looked up from her lacy red bra and black underwear, (Y/N) couldn’t contain her glee.

In front of her, after all this time, was the broad, strong chest that she’d only wished she could devour. And so, she did. (Y/N) scrambled forward to the end of the bed, getting up on her knees so she was eye-level with Steve’s collar bone.

She reached around and traced her hand up his spine, mirroring the movements with her mouth on his front. Her tongue flicked from the waistband of his slacks up to his abdomen, where she placed open-mouthed, sloppy kisses up to his chest.

Steve groaned, barely able to keep his eyes open, could only imagine what the rest of the night would hold for him if this was just the beginning.

(Y/N)’s teeth nipped at the skin just under his right collar bone, continuing her ministrations upward until her teeth gently held Steve’s earlobe. He exhaled shakily as she breathed into his ear.

“C’mon, Stevie, you’re not just gonna stand there, are you? It has to have been too damn since you’ve gotten some. So come. Get. Some.” (Y/N) scooted back on the bed until she was fully in Steve’s line of vision. She sat against the wooden headboard, splaying her legs out.

Something within Steve shifted. The gentlemanly disposition he was used to showing was thrown out the window as he looked upon this woman, this gorgeous woman who wanted him, who loved him.

Yes, something within Steve shifted.

He lunged forward onto the bed, wrapping each muscled arm around each of (Y/N)’s muscular thighs. He pulled her towards him until her head rested on one of her pillows and he had a perfect view from her face to that perfect—

“Oh, now what did you have in mind for me, Steve? You gonna make me scream until the neighbors bang on the wall?”

Pupils blown wide, Steve didn’t answer; he only moved his head forward, gripping (Y/N)’s underwear in his teeth and pulling backwards with enough force to rip them off of her.

(Y/N) squealed, feeling the burn of fabric against skin—and the increasing warmth between her legs.

Steve spit out her ruined underwear, turning his attention back to the well-groomed pussy in front of him. A growl ripped from his chest, an animalist, so goddamn fucking sexy growl that (Y/N) moaned at it.

Steve hesitated for one second before diving into her fold, his tongue tasting all that he could.

“Fuck,” Steve said, “baby you taste so good.” He returned his attention to her bundle of nerves, testing it with a small flick of the tongue before sucking on it hard. Again, (Y/N) moaned, bucking her hips.

Steve splayed his hand over her stomach, pushing her hips down.

(Y/N)’s hands tangled in Steve’s hair, chanting his name like a prayer.

“Fuck, yes Steve, yes,” she panted, growing closer and closer to the edge.

Steve felt her tremble beneath him. He quickly slid a finger into her hole, finding exactly what she needed.

“Fuck,” she shouted, coming for the first time in too damn long. Her walls rippled around his finger and she shook.

Steve withdrew his finger and blew on (Y/N)’s clit, eliciting a small squeak from her.

“My god, Stevie,” (Y/N) said between breaths, “did you learn that in the ice or something? Jesus Christ.” She moved to help him with his belt, but Steve held up a finger.

“Oh, no, (Y/N), you lay back. Tonight is about repairing the damage I’ve done, the damage this world has done to you, and we are starting with this.” He dropped his pants and briefs, and (Y/N) gulped at the sight of his hard length, already leaking precum.

Steve moved onto the bed, tracing (Y/N)’s legs with each hand. She shuddered as Steve placed chaste kisses along her torso before looking up at her.

“You’re sure this is what you want?”

“More than anything,” (Y/N)’s eyes glinted in the low light, pleading with him.

“Good thing we’re on the same page,” Steve smiled before tearing her lacy bra away from her heaving breasts.

He moved from one nipple to the other, nipping gently before sucking it into his mouth. That mouth, hot and wet, moved up to (Y/N)’s neck, where it sucked on her pulse point.

Steve breathed into (Y/N)’s ear, his voice husky as he whispered,

“You ready for me, baby?”

All (Y/N) could do was moan.

With that Steve positioned himself at her dripping entrance and slowly moved his hips to meet hers. When he was fully sheathed, the two of them exhaled, their breath mingling as Steve rested his forehead on hers.

“So long,” he whispered, “so long, I have waited for this.”

“Don’t wait any longer, Stevie.”

He obeyed, capturing her lips in his as he withdrew his hips, snapping them back to meet hers.

(Y/N)’s world spun as she felt him, America’s Golden Boy, move inside her. Her life, every second of waiting, had led to this moment, to her dreams being fulfilled. There, then.

“More,” she gasped out, and Steve, tired of struggling to hold back, obeyed. He straightened, pulling one of her legs over her shoulder and began to pound into her, over and over.

The grunts and moans that filled the room were absolutely pornographic, and (Y/N) knew her neighbors would have no problem spreading the word about la jolie danseuse in apartment 12 who finally got laid.

But (Y/N) didn’t care about that now. All she cared about was the way Steve’s back felt under her fingers as she held on for dear life and the building pressure in her core as she moaned out his name.

Like a rubber band, (Y/N)’s core snapped and she came hard, her walls pulsing around Steve’s hard length. Her nails dug into his lower back, pulling his own release from him.

Steve nearly collapsed onto her, but caught himself just an inch above her lips. Still inside her, Steve kissed (Y/N)’s lips, making up for all of their lost time.

TAG LIST

@practicallybec

@aspiring-fangirls-world

#Smut #marvel smut #steve rodgers x reader smut #steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #Steve Rogers #captain america #moulin rouge

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lilibetts · 5 years

Photo

The E(X) Files

S1E01: Descent Into Eldervair

“Welcome to Eldervair Court, please enter your code now,” the pleasant, computerized female voice prompted. Betty groaned, because of course she had stopped the white Toyota Highlander too far away to reach the keypad. In her defense, this car was given to her by the Bureau as a part of her cover and she'd only been driving it since this afternoon. The thought of the mountains of paperwork she'd have to fill out if she so much as scratched its paint filled her with dread.

“Please enter your code now,” the recording prompted again. Was it her imagination or did the recording sound exasperated? Betty cracked the driver's side door open a fraction and leaned through the window to punch in the numbers she had memorized the night before.

“Please enter your co-- Welcome home, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that, do you, Snookums?” The sardonic male voice piped up from the passenger seat.

Betty breathed through her nose, silently counting down from ten before she turned to glare at her pretend husband for the next few weeks. Agent Forsythe Pendleton Jones (“the third, unless you have a daddy or necrophilia kink”), aka Jughead, was partially slouched in the seat. He no longer sported his ever-present crown beanie, though Betty wouldn't put it past him to have it stashed in a box somewhere. For someone who had his head covered most of the time, his hair looked criminally good.

And Betty had a right to complain- the humidity had made her hair wavy and frizzy. Inherit her mother's 'great hair' genes, she did not.

“Speak for yourself, Buttercup.”

Jughead wasn't Betty's usual partner, but Kevin was taking a well-deserved vacation. (His reaction, when he found out Jughead and Betty would be partners? “Oh dear god, there'll be no self-restraint there. None.”). Jughead didn't have a usual partner; he'd been heading up the X-Files division on his own in his tiny basement office.

She wasn't sure if she'd been partnered with Jughead because she was one of the few agents who didn't make fun of him, either behind his back or right to his face, or because her superiors were tired of her go-getter personality and quick close rate on cases. Or they had decided 'who better to pretend to be husband and wife than two agents who used to be married to one other?'

Barely sparing a glance at her ex-husband fidgeting in his seat, Betty moved the gearshift back into 'Drive' and steered the vehicle through the now open gates.

Eldervair Court was a massive, walled community in upstate New York— built into a partially cleared section of Fox Forest. As they began to make their way down the winding drive, the multitude of trees gave attractive cover, but nearly blocked out the sky entirely. Given that the weather that day was overcast with gray skies, Betty was immediately unsettled by how isolated she already felt from the world beyond the walls.

The trees faded away just enough to reveal rather enormous but attractive red-brick houses, each on top of a sloping grass hill, with stone steps and pathway leading to the front door. Georgian architecture, Betty thought. Maybe revival, maybe original. Just how old was this community? They hadn't been able to figure out when Eldervair Court was incepted.

The houses were all completely identical; the lawns perfectly manicured with attractive rows of rose bushes. Not a single speck of what might be termed 'character' could be found. They looked, for lack of a better word, perfect.

It gave Betty war flashbacks to her own childhood.

“These aren't houses,” Jughead muttered, right leg jiggling anxiously as he stared out the window. “These are mini-mansions.”

Betty frowned, the surrealism getting to her. “Yeah, I wouldn't say it's all very Stepford Wives, but...”

“More David Lynch's Blue Velvet meets Tim Burton?”

“Something like that.”

As she turned into the driveway, Betty spotted an expertly coiffed redhead in a black sleeveless blouse and red palazzo trousers standing up on the porch with a ruby-red grin on her face. Clearly she was the welcoming committee.

“Showtime,” Betty muttered as she plastered on the smile she'd learned from Alice Smith Cooper.

“It's almost like meeting your mother all over again,” Jughead groused under his breath, eyes trained on the woman on their new porch. Betty didn't even dignify that with a glare.

As they exited the SUV, the moving truck with two other agents backed up into the space next to them. The weather here was still warm for late September, so Betty had dressed semi-casually according to a popular Fall Fashion Pinterest board and Jughead wore a nice pair of new black trousers and a blue sweater that did fantastic things for his eyes.

(She'd given him that sweater several Christmases ago.)

The redhead sauntered up to them on towering red stilettos. “Bonsoir, Fletchers!” She trilled. Now that they were closer, Betty could make out the shape of the woman's broach— it was a spider.

"'Will you walk into my parlour?' said the Spider to the Fly.

She was met at the top of the driveway by a petite pink-haired woman, this one dressed in all black and floral platform ankle boots. Once she struck the perfect couples pose, the redhead addressed Betty and Jughead: “Welcome to Eldervair Court, we're the Topaz-Blossoms and yes, we're domesticated lesbians.”

“Cheryl,” the pink-haired woman scolded lightly, the soft smile on her face telling Betty she was used to her wife's dramatics.

“Sorry TT, I didn't mean to engage in bisexual erasure. 'Domesticated lesbians' just has a better ring to it. Forgive me, mon amour?” Their noses rubbed together in an Eskimo kiss before Cheryl remembered her new neighbors existed. “As you can see, EC is a progressive, open-minded community, as long as you keep your lawn up to regulations!”

Sensing that Jughead was about to make a sarcastic comment, Betty beat him to the punch. “That's wonderful! I'm Juliet and this is my husband, Holden,” she introduced them, patting a hand on Jughead's chest to warn him to watch his mouth.

And also sell that they were definitely a married couple, not a pair of divorced FBI Agents. Nothing to see here, let's move on.

“I'm Toni,” Pink Hair said with a small wave. “Cheryl and I live two doors down, next to the Andrews'.”

Cheryl clapped her hands. “Now that we've dispensed with the niceties, since you two took your sweet time arriving, we're going to have to hurry if you're going to make the six o'clock cutoff.”

“Cutoff?” Jughead frowned. Glancing down at her phone, Betty saw it was 4:51.

“The six o'clock cutoff? All move-ins must be completed by 6 PM. It's in the R&Rs.” Cheryl intoned, as if that ought to have been obvious.

Toni at least had the grace to look regretful. “Yeah, you're really going to need to brush up on the Rules & Regulations. They're the price we pay to keep this community successful.”

“We'll definitely read it through carefully,” Betty promised. “It's just been so busy lately, what with the move and all...”

Cheryl had already whipped out her phone and her thumbs flew over the screen. “I've conscripted some of your new neighbors into helping with the unload. With my superior delegating skills, we'll have you moved in in no time at all!” With a flip of her hair over one shoulder, she was off, barking out orders at the people crossing the street towards them; Toni made a beeline for the moving van.

Betty and Jughead shared a look before they made their way to the front door. In front of the columns on either side of the porch sat two statues, their grotesque features seeming to leer at her. Gargoyles. They were gargoyles. A shiver made its way down her spine. Keep it together, Betty, she told herself as she slid the key they'd been sent into the lock.

From the entryway, the view of the home was magnificent, there was no other word for it: high ceilings, paneled walling, and tall windows that let in plenty of light. There was a sweeping staircase and the hardwood floors looked to be dark maple and wide planked. Jughead curled a proprietary arm around her back, resting his hand on her hip.

“Now, Lambchop, what do you think? Is this the place for us or what?”

They'd lived in a tiny two-bedroom in Queens, a paradise before Jughead's undercover gang assignment destroyed them from afar.

“It's right out of a dream, Bugaboo.”

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Shaking off her sudden melancholy, Betty turned at the sound of heels on hardwood on to face Cheryl's approach. “This place is downright immaculate,” she pretended to gush. “I would love to send the previous owners a Thank You note.”

Cheryl made a disinterested noise. “Whatever suits your sensibilities, Juliet dear. You can give it to me and I'll send it on to them,” she said with eyes downcast, pretending to study a scuff mark on the floor.

No, you certainly won't, Betty thought with a vicious stab of satisfaction at catching someone in a clear lie. Because Dilton Doiley was dead and his wife, Ethel, had gone missing.

A steady stream of people with boxes started coming through the open door. In the distance, Betty could see their undercover movers unloading the first of their carefully selected furniture. Now, there was a job: join the FBI and use your interior design degree to stage undercover agents' homes to help sell their cover.

“So,” Cheryl carefully enunciated. “What is it that you do?”

“Oh, I'm the social media manager for an event planning company in the city and Hols here is working on his third novel.” Betty beamed with pride at her pretend husband's achievements. Thanks to Amazon and Kindle Unlimited, it was disturbingly easy to backstop Holden Fletcher's novelist career in such a way that it was believable that the couple could afford to live in Eldervair Court.

The Bureau hired out-of-work English Majors and MFA degree-holders to do things like this, too.

Cheryl made another noise, clearly not impressed by what it is that they do.

That's when it got a bit weird. A redheaded man, who had been introduced to them as 'Archiekins' by his immaculate wife in pearls and a dark plum sheath dress, shouted out the time.

“5:40!”

The stream of neighbors turned into frenzied rapids. Before they knew it, all the boxes were inside, as well as the furniture, if not in the exact room they belonged. By 5:58, everyone was exiting the house with words of welcome and half-formed plans to have dinner tomorrow night.

“We'll leave you to it. Toodles, Neighbors!” And with that, Cheryl closed the door with a flourish behind her.

“Dear god,” Betty groaned, shoulders slumping.

“Yeah, nothing weird going on here at all,” muttered Jughead before he turned away from the front door. “Hold on, you didn't let me carry you over the threshold—“

Betty simply rolled her eyes and made her way toward the kitchen. They'd brought two coolers full of food to last them until they could go grocery shopping tomorrow. The Bureau had only intended to give them one, but Betty had renegotiated the second, knowing what kind of appetite Jughead had. She wanted to get the perishables into the fridge before it was too late.

She stopped short when she caught sight of the two items on the granite countertop. “Ju-” she caught herself in time. “Sweetie, come see what our neighbors left us!” she called out.

In less than two seconds she felt the heat of him at her back. “Well, wasn't that nice of them?”

Next to the enormous, spiral-bound binder that proclaimed 'Eldervair Court: Rules and Regulations' on the cover, was an ivory box with two detailed black-and-white creatures stenciled onto it. Inside the ornate red frame, written in Gothic lettering were the words:

Gryphons & Gargoyles

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #avarosier writes #riverdaleevents #theme four fake dating

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kitanoko · 5 years

Text

I wrote this for @selephi‘s birthday! ENJOY AND HOPE U LIKE THIS FRIEND!

In which Yaoyorozu walk Todoroki home

"You know you should be really grateful that ME...THE GREAT MINETA has come to mentor you. It's my pleasure by the way to teach you how to solve the most enigmatic mysteries of all time with my intelligence and perfect skills built upon years of experience."

Todoroki stuffed a piece of fried chicken drenched with mayo into his mouth and gurgled it down with the lager he had just ordered. Well, correction, he was given the beverage for free. "On the house" a giggling waitress had said, staring at him for a few seconds too long.

Mineta murmured a few profanities under his breath and continued.

"Were you even listening to me?" The teeny dwarf with purple curled hair stated a bit louder than previous. The energetic blues in the back covered his voice just a little. Huh, strange, Todoroki started thinking, Mineta's hair looked so much like jumbo grapes. The ones he missed from home so much since landing here in Japan.

Well he did see some famous Japanese ones at the supermarket near his temporary apartment but they were a bit pricey.

"Sure." He absentmindedly answered while reaching for a napkin. Mineta scowled at him and crossed his legs, lips pursed.

Todoroki had come here for work purposes. Originally from San Francisco, Todoroki came from a line of famous detectives and secret agents. His agency needed his help over in Kyoto and sent him over straight away without even asking him twice. Midoriya and Iida told him he'd definitely have fun over at their satellite office.

When the duo haired man had arrived, hair and clothes dishevelled, he found out the office in Kyoto only had a handful of employees, half of which got on his nerves. Mineta, a detective (if you could even call him that) who started out only recently at their firm already held 5 offences above his head, and here he was, sitting with him, telling Todoroki how much 'honour' he's bestowing upon him.

Ugh. Can this night get any worse.

To his right was a stoic man named Shouji and a boisterous one named Kirishima. They were also employees of the firm and Todoroki held respect for them both, especially the well-known 'Octa-man'.

"Well I'm glad you're here," Kirishima started, body slumping on the cracked leather seats, "Meeting THE 'Todoroki Shouto' is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

The man mentioned clinked Kirishima's glass and muttered a cheers before giving him a slight grin. "I think you give me too much credit, Kirishima."

"Oh no," Shouji commented, his tall figure took up a big part of the couch, leaning forward to project his voice better, "It really is a rarity. I think us 3 are grateful for you being here, if Aizawa didn't end up in the hospital last week, we wouldn't be in this predicament."

Aizawa was one of the firm's most well-respected managing agent, after 20 years of fighting and solving crime, he took the duty of leading a starting team out in Asia, Kyoto being one of APAC's main operating offices. Apparently he was 'getting old' he said, slipped off a four story building while in a chase and lost the criminal. Got gifted with two broken ribs and a broken hip.

Kirishima sent Todoroki a wide smile that cut his face in half, scruffling his hair which was even more red than his own, with one hand and interjected.

"Teach me all your manly ways my bro! I'm ready to fight alongside you whenever that son of a bitch shows up!"

Todoroki nodded in agreement. The sooner he catches the criminal that Aizawa had let slip out of his grasp the sooner he'd be able to fly back home.

Although, hanging out with these guys weren't so bad. Except for Mineta, who was now oogling some girl at the far corner of the bar. It disgusted him how disrespectful he was acting, let alone being an agent who worked under the same roof as him.

Todoroki finished his fifth swig of beer and casually swiped the vodka under Kirishima. He emptied it in one go and with a swipe of his right hand, dried the lingering bit of alcohol on his chapped lips.

"Think I'll go," the fire and ice user spoke, using Shouji's shoulder as a support. He stood up, and grumbled, a faint dizzy spell had him sway a bit. What was in that vodka?

His friends to his left looked worried with Kirishima knitting his brows in concern.

"You want me to come with you man?"

Todoroki shook his head vehemently. Loosening his tie in a quick left and right motion, he flung a hand out as if to tell Kirishima he was fine. Shouji wasn't at all convinced but let him get out anyway.

At this point, Todoroki had noticed that Mineta was gone, off somewhere to 'pick up chicks' as he would call it. His vision was getting a little blurry and his temples were pounding. He better get home and rest before tomorrow's 7am conference call.

"Hey come on pretty lady," Mineta's voice rang like annoying cicadas on a boiling hot day. Todoroki instinctively eyed where the little grape man was standing, conveniently near the exit that he was going to take and noticed the dark-haired girl he was trying to flirt with or whatever. She had a very uncomfortable yet polite smile etched on her face.

"No, please sir, let go of my arm," the lady insisted. Her eyes were bright, cheeks plump and dusted pink, and Todoroki had to say, her volumed hair framed her pretty heart shaped face perfectly.

She stood tall on her black stilettos and nervously grabbed the hem of her short black skirt as her leg slowly moved backwards. Still, Mineta urged on with a face like a wild animal.

Todoroki has had enough.

With a quick three-step stride, Todoroki was standing right beside the lady. He sent Mineta a viscious glare that made the grape boy startle in fear.

"Leave her alone," The duo haired man could hear himself talking a bit louder than usual. What was he doing? He should be going home and having a nice steamy shower. But seeing the girl beside him being harassed by Mineta like that was something he couldn't get out of his system. He tightly gripped Mineta's tiny arm and ripped it off her like he was acting on a vendetta.

It was probably the alcohol.

By now the crowd had dispersed a bit, music still blaring from the speakers high up on the ceiling and a small semi circle had formed to watch what was happening.

Crap. Todoroki thought, he hated getting attention.

"I'm..I'm sorry," Mineta finally managed to answer, his eyes were watering and his legs wobbled under Todoroki's intense stare. It didn't help that his heterochromia made him look that much more angry.

After two more seconds of seeing Todoroki's taciturn expression, Mineta knew he had to escape and scurried back to find Shouji who was shaking his head with Kirishima in disapproval.

The lady finally sighed in relief, noticing the crowd going back to form their own cliques and held a hand to her chest.

"Thank you so much," she began, turning to look into his eyes, "I didn't want to hurt him...if you hadn't come I think I might have had to call security or something."

"It's nothing, just didn't want us to have to deal with a lawsuit tomorrow."

Todoroki's legs motioned over to the door and the lady extended a hand to him before he could leave.

"I'm Yaoyorozu Momo. Nice to meet you and thank you, again."

Todoroki grabbed her soft hands and mumbled something before she could ask another question.

Pushing out the door, the slight autumn breeze ruffled his hair and Todoroki found himself stumbling along the sidewalk towards what he hoped was West of the city.

He had a faint recollection of his apartment being somewhere near the intersection with the bright orange Yoshinoya but with his headache he figured he shouldn't even think much anymore.

With an unsteady step, he took a quick rest after crossing the street. He leaned against the concrete wall of what looked like the outer area of a highschool and rolled up his sleeves. Usually he'd be able to regulate his body temperature but everytime after he drank, he just can't seem to do it as well. Right now, he felt sweat beading against his skin, the only thing cooling him down was the gust of strong wind that seemed to blow away even the seeds of wild dandelions.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure closing in on him. The slim shadow got nearer and finally he realized it was the girl, Yaoyorozu, that was jaywalking across to where he was. What's she doing here?

"Mister!" He heard her call out, "Are you alright?"

Todoroki nodded before watching her hold a handkerchief to his forehead.

"You don't look so good, sorry I didn't mean to follow you!" Yaoyorozu apologized immediately in case there was some misunderstanding going on. "I..I..."

The man grabbed her hand that was still on his forehead and held it there.

"Your hands are cold." He mumbled casually and she felt a warmth that tickled from her spine to her extremities. Yaoyorozu widened her eyes and quickly took her hand to her side.

Todoroki had no idea why she seemed so nervous but thought the ruddiness of her cheeks must have been due to whatever beverage she just had. A sweet smell wafted over him when she stood closer and he realized she had on a light fruity perfume. Without a second thought, Yaoyorozu held her arm around his shoulder as if to support him.

"I'll take you home," she offered graciously, "I think you had one too many drinks sir."

Sir. She just called him 'sir'. Todoroki thought, she was a humourous one.

"Call me Todoroki." He answered, and without confirming whether he wanted the help or not, the steps he started to take implied he wouldn't mind her accompanying him for the short walk.

Yaoyorozu tucked a loose hair over her ear and smiled, Todoroki noticing the lines on the corner of her eyes that had formed when she did.

"I live a block away from here."

"Is it near Yoshinoya?"

Todoroki cocked a brow.

"Yes, how'd you know?"

"Oh nothing," she said, "it's just that I used to live near here too when I was still a university student."

They pass Emmachi station quite soon after, them filling all the awkward silences with small talk and both of them come to enjoy each other's company. Yaoyorozu didn't lose her grip on Todoroki the whole way, either politely positioning her hand on his shoulder or gripping his arm.

By the time they get to the entrance of Todoroki's apartment, he had already loosened up the buttons near his neck to let the heat out. Yaoyorozu blushed at him and bowed slightly.

"Have a safe trip up the stairs!" She beamed and Todoroki let out a relaxed chuckle.

"Ya, hope I don't fall and break my nose."

She didn't seem to take that joke lightly.

"Let me help you up then!"

Todoroki wanted to laugh. What is this naivety? Wasn't she scared to get kidnapped or something?

"For all you know, I could be a murderer or a kidnapper." His voice sounded quite serious actually.

"No, Todoroki-san I could tell you're a good person! You...you helped me back there, and I swear that purple guy would have gotten badly hurt if I had to use my judo on him!" Yaoyorozu commented matter-of-factly.

So she knew martial arts huh. Guess you really can't judge a book by it's cover.

The man turned to unlock the gate and once again felt her slender fingers around his wrist.

He sighed. "Okay if you insist. It's 3 floors so its not going to be a breezy trek."

It took them 5 minutes to get up there and with Todoroki's feet feeling like tofu, he was just glad he finally made it home. Just a metre left before he could sprawl over his futon. Yaoyorozu didn't stop chatting away the whole time, he learnt that she was a biochemist doing her Masters and he also learnt that she seemed to really like her friends. She enjoyed arranging flowers and knows a lot about tea.

The last few steps to his door, Todoroki fished out his keys and stabbed it in before giving it a twist. Yaoyorozu waved.

"Thanks by the way," Todoroki said, he placed a hand over his head to massage his temples, "Really, I was never that great with alcohol, lightweight they'd all call me."

The lady giggled slightly, fixing the strap of her purse on her shoulder before taking his hands in her own in a polite handshake.

She was standing so close to him. Her orbs lively and bright.

Yaoyorozu blushed when Todoroki took a step closer and drew her face with a light tap under her chin and gave her a light peck on her cheek.

What the hell. Did he just kiss her?

"Um..Todo..Todo..." She couldn't even pronounce his name at this point. Thoughts were running wildly in her mind. Yaoyorozu was a fan of shoujo manga but this was...this was real life! It didn't help that his handsome face was right in front of her; should she kiss him back too? Oh my, she had just met him for a good half an hour and now her heart's pounding in her ears.

Ugh, what would Seo do if Wakamatsu had kissed her?

Todoroki cleared his throat, successfully breaking the black-haired girl from her thoughts.

He seemed slightly awkward following what just happened, his hand still holding the door open. He had no idea why he had done what he had done, but seeing her cute face redden up gave his heart a tug.

"Goodnight...." He held out his phone. How he managed to still balance his phone and swipe it steadily he didn't know. "Um, whats your number?"

Yaoyorozu gulped. "7788644656" she blurted that out in a hurry. She felt a vibration of her phone in her pocket within seconds and Todoroki stuffed his back to its original spot.

"Alright, give me a text when you're back home. Just called you so you'll have my number too. Bye."

The lady only managed to nod, watching as he gave her a wave of his hand before disppearing behind the wooden door painted white.

Was that going to be their last meeting? She thought as her heart practically leapt out of her ribcage. Yaoyorozu found a slight dance in her steps as she hopped back down the apartment.

She couldn't wait till she got home to send Todoroki a text. And of course, she had to tell her bff Jirou about this.

#todomomo #todoroki x yaoyorozu #bnha #boku no hero academia #my fanfic

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