#velvet-block-heels

[mysanamm]

Sanamm Velvet Block Heels Sandal

Sanamm

[flowersforbucky]

acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper reader x undercover bodyguard bucky)

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

word count: 3.3k

author's note: wow okay this kind of got away from me. this is probably the filthiest thing i've ever written. felt my heartbeat in my pussy while writing this. hope you enjoy!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scout back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist!!!

[macfrog]

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

----------

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[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER SIX: she’s my collar

masterlist

i made a playlist for this specific chapter! check it out

cw - very suggestive, mentions of alcohol/club scene, mature themes !

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Nobara muttered as she emerged from the sleek black Mercedes, the sharp click of her heels echoing on the pavement. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, a futile attempt to fend off the biting chill that cut through the night air.

You pulled your faux cheetah-print coat tightly around herself, desperately seeking any warmth to stave off the biting cold. The regret of wearing a mini skirt settled heavily in your chest as the chill seeped through the fabric.

A biting breeze swept through the group as they piled out of the car, their breath visible in the crisp air. They made their way toward the building illuminated in vibrant LED lights, the name "Aphrodite" glowing in an elegant script above the entrance.

Your gaze fell on the line, a serpentine stretch of eager faces winding around the block and bending around a corner. “The line is so fucking long, bro,” you groaned, frustration lacing your voice.

“Don’t worry,” Panda replied absently, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone, fingers tapping away with a rapid rhythm.

Maki arched an eyebrow, her attention shifting to Panda. “Yuta is here too,” she said, a teasing note in her tone.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if that meant anything significant, but your question was abruptly cut off by a loud, boisterous shout.

“BRO!” a familiar voice rang out, echoing through the night. A white-haired boy emerged from the shadows, his vibrant presence lighting up the crowd.

He approached Panda, effortlessly slipping into a familiar handshake that you had witnessed countless times before. Next, he turned to Maki and Nobara, greeting them with warm, polite hugs, each one filled with camaraderie.

Then, his gaze settled on you, his eyes assessing you from head to toe. He stepped closer, wrapping you in a longer embrace, leaning in to whisper, “You look good.” The words lingered in the air as he pulled away, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

Turning back to the bouncer, he declared confidently, “They’re with me.” With a gentle tug, he took your hand, guiding you and the group inside, where the warmth and energy of the club settled, wavered to meet them.

As they stepped inside, a wave of warmth and pulsating music flooded over them, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. Your gaze was immediately drawn to a figure dressed entirely in black, standing near the entrance, seemingly lost in concentration as he studied something written on a piece of paper.

You noticed two beauty spots nestled just above his eyebrows, creating an intriguing contrast against his sharp features. “Huh,” you thought to yourself, curiosity piqued.

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. A subtle smile curved his lips as he offered them a nod, granting approval for them to venture further into the vibrant atmosphere of the venue.

“Yuji’s been so excited to see you again, Yn,” Toge slurred, his words slightly fuzzy, hinting at the drinks he had already indulged in.

They navigated through the bustling crowd to the VIP booth, where three silhouettes lounged comfortably in deep, luxurious velvet seats, their relaxed postures radiating a carefree vibe.

“Yn!” the pink-haired figure shouted, bounding over with infectious energy. He enveloped you in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne mingling with the rich aroma of the venue. Behind you, the others dispersed, finding their place among the group with casual ease.

“God, it’s been so long! You look incredible!” he exclaimed, stepping back to admire her. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at the compliment. But as you turned to respond, your gaze inadvertently drifted over his shoulder. There, a familiar figure leaned casually against the wall, his eyes fixated on you. He drank you in, the intensity of his stare making her heart race, even as he casually swigged from his beer, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.

“Come on, we need to take our traditional six shots!” Yuji said with infectious enthusiasm, grasping your hand and leading you through the thrumming crowd toward the bar. He slid onto a barstool, gesturing for you to join him with an inviting smile.

As he chatted cheerfully with the bartender, his energy radiated around you. He ordered the customary six shots for both of you, but your thoughts drifted back to Megumi and the way he had been staring earlier. Was it just the atmosphere, or did he really look that good? Hold on—were you actually finding him attractive? The guy who seemed like he spent too much time watching stepcest?

“...up.” You snapped back to reality at Yuji’s voice. Looking up, you were met with his bright, doe-like light brown eyes, sparkling with excitement. In front of you stood an array of colorful shots—twelve, to be exact each one a different hue, glinting invitingly in the bar’s dim light.

“BOTTOMS UP!” he shouted, already downing his first shot. A playful smirk spread across your face; there was no way you were going to let him finish first. You swiftly tossed back the first shot, the bitter liquid searing the back of your throat, but it was a thrill that sent warmth coursing through you. This was light work.

With each shot, the world around you faded into a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. You quickly moved through the shots, feeling the exhilarating buzz rise within you. Soon, you found yourself on your last one, placing the empty glass down and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You glanced at Yuji, who was just finishing his own final shot.

“Still can’t outdo you yet, huh?” he said, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of admiration and playful challenge.

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, a hand pressed firmly against your back, sending a jolt of surprise through you. The warmth of the touch felt intimate, and you turned slightly to find a figure looming behind you. A husky voice cut through the air, rich and smooth, as it said, “Can I borrow her for a second?” The tone was both commanding and playful, drawing your attention away from Yuji and into the mystery of the newcomer.

The air around you was instantly infused with the intoxicating scent of the mystery man’s cologne—a deep, sophisticated aroma that reminded you of Maison Margiela. You turned to get a better look, your heart racing as you were met with his piercing green eyes, which seemed to draw you in.

Meanwhile, Yuji sat there, momentarily confused as he processed the situation, glancing between you and the newcomer. But with a shrug and a grin, he waved goodbye, calling out, “Find me later!” before making his way to the dance floor, his energy lighting up the room.

As Yuji disappeared into the crowd, Megumi smoothly slid into the spot where he had just been sitting. You rested your chin on your hand, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and challenge.

“I hope you’re here to apologise,” you said playfully, flicking away an invisible speck from the counter. He met your gaze with a smirk that seemed to reveal a mix of amusement and confidence. Was that his go-to expression? Because right now, it was definitely starting to look punchable.

“Apologise for what? The truth?” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence as he raised his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, eager for a shot.

“Slut-shaming isn’t a good look for your reputation,” you countered, letting out a frustrated sigh. He was undeniably attractive, but the way he spoke was quickly drying up your pussy and killing your mood.

“Intrigue me, Yn,” he said, his sultry tone wrapping around you like a warm breeze. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“If I fuck you tonight, what number will that make me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you silently pray he doesn’t notice. Just then, the bartender sets the shot down between you, and you seize the opportunity to reclaim the upper hand.

You grip his jaw, guiding his face closer until your lips are mere centimeters apart. You glance between his lips and his eyes, feeling the tension crackle in the air.

“Oh, baby, don’t you know? I don’t fuck virgins,” you whisper, releasing your grip on his face as you down his shot and head toward the dance floor.

You weave your way toward the dance floor, each step a little unsteady as the pulsating music and vibrant lights overwhelm your senses. The crowd swells around you, a sea of bodies moving in sync, but the energy feels like too much to handle. Frustration and anger churn inside you. Fuck that was your seventh shot. You were no longer thinking with your head but with your vagina instead.

You weave through the pulsating crowd, your gaze searching for the perfect target. When did you become so needy? Finally, you spot the familiar salmon-haired boy from earlier, and a smile flickers across your lips. “At least it’s not a stranger this time,” you think, navigating through the bodies that sway and jostle around you.

As you approach, an unexpected wave of self-doubt washes over you. Was he always this tall? His shoulders seem broader, more defined, and the tattoos that snake down his arms catch your eye—when did he get those? You dismiss the thoughts, blaming the alcohol for your hazy perception.

Raising yourself onto your toes, you gently tap him on the shoulder, but the moment he turns around, a rush of regret floods in. His imposing figure towers over you, and a sense of horror grips your chest as you realise this is definitely not Yuji.

“Doll?” his deep voice resonates, cutting through the din of the club, leaving you momentarily speechless as you look up, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. You freeze. You can’t move. Why can’t you move?

The all-too-familiar pet name washes over you, and a torrent of memories floods your mind, each one more vivid than the last. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. Suddenly, you feel hands grip your shoulders, pulling you away from the man, away from the chaotic atmosphere of the club, and guiding you outside into the cool night air.

As you slip into the car, the reality hits you: Nobara, Maki, and Panda are all there, their concerned faces surrounding you. In an instant, the dam breaks, and you begin to bawl, the emotions you’ve kept buried for so long surging to the surface like a tidal wave. You lean your head into Maki’s lap, feeling the comforting weight of her presence as she gently brushes your hair back from your face.

Nobara’s soothing touch caresses your skin, her fingers rubbing your back in gentle circles. “Shhh, let it out,” she murmurs softly. “You’re safe with us now.” Their unwavering support wrapping around you like a warm blanket, allowing you to release the pent-up feelings that had been longing for freedom. And then, just like that, darkness fills your vision.

extras!

• the aphrodite nightclub was a reeference dedicated to my beloved ree and her hq series ‘poker face’ you should definitely check it out here! @aozui thank u once again <3

• omi sneak in there if you squint

• i imagine aphrodite having the same vibe as the percy jackson casino scene highkey

• hm what does spotify have planned out with tridant i wonder…

• madagascar 3 is my shit guys i would watch it RELIGIOUSLY (maybe i am yn guys idk)

• why does the whole band want us idk we’re just hot like that

• it’s all platonic though guys trust LMFAO

• solstice is a reference to my upcoming spiderman kuroo au btw shhhh #shamlesspromoter

• i threw in the toge and panda texts just for fun LMFAO

• a lot of tridant’s gc texts were actually me and abi’s twitter texts LMFAO (ily abi)

• toge is never crowd surfing again after tonight.

• their set was a total of 1 hour and 49 minutes long (yn secretly enjoyed it and was lowkey fangirling)

• guys i had a field day with the written portion SPECIFICALLY THAT ONE QUOYE

• i hope u all listened to the playlist <3 (pls it’s important)

• yn’s ex is…. SUKUNA?

• to beepboplorpz’s ask that’s still in my inbox currently abt when sukuna would debut HERE HE IS😭

• sukuna’s backstory will be mentioned in the next following chapters..

• panda saw yn going to sukuna and INSTANTLY went to intervene #truefriendeventhohesfat

• yn blacked out in the car if it wasn’t obvious

• megumi was lowkey searching for her on the floor because he thought he was too harsh on her (he cared)

a/n: sorry the chapter is a bit behind schedule but it’s so worth it😭 this was fan service for the thirsty megumi asks so i hope you all eat this up because it took me so long to perfect !! anyways it’s still sunday so it does count… see yall next weekend!! <3 (apologies to my beta readers i was in a rush and wanted this one out but trust im returning back to schedule next week!!)

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @anqelfries @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yomamablazeit @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @pastriepuppy @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho

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[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I WANT TO SEE ONE OF THOSE QUIRKS OF AGE GAP!READER!! I BEG YOU

She’s so amazing!!

Bruce shouldered the door open and smiled a little, being bankable had it's perks.

You hadn't even finished the script yet and you had notes. And judging from the way you were scowling as you scribbled them down, this would not be a project you'd be willing to take. Not unless they agreed to pay you an absurd sum of money and a ridiculous list of demands.

Not that he could blame you. You'd been working since you were hardly potty trained. "Home schooled" to make more time for singing, dancing, and acting lessons. Cries on Cue used to be in bold on your resume... You'd been around the block a few times.

"Not a winner?" he hummed kissing the top of your head.

"If I get sent one more script about a poor tragic little waif with daddy issues who just needs to be loved, I quit," you groan.

"But you look so cute dressed like a bad girl in a leather jacket," he snorted.

"Brucie," you purr, letting him tug you onto the arm of his chair and tossing the offending script aside, "if you want me to dress up for you all you have to do is ask."

He stroked your back and just let himself breathe for a second. To soak up the early evening sun and coming home to his wife. "I'd rather have you dressed down," he murmured. "Nothing but jewelry and-"

"I'm going to run out of room in my jewelry box," you tease. "If you keep buying me new jewelry instead of lingerie."

"True," he hummed, kissing you hello properly. "But it just looks so good on you."

You shake your head and lay your head on his shoulder. The first time you'd just worn diamonds for him it had been... well frankly you'd not planned to sleep with him that night. And the bra and panties you'd picked just HAD NOT fit the mood. But it turned out, stepping back out to the deck of his yacht wearing only your jewelry and heels had... done the trick. Ever since then, the man had been obsessed. No pricey lace, silk, or velvet ever made him quite as... malleable. It was cute. "There might be something to the leather jacket," you muse.

"You could wear burlap and be gorgeous," he assured you, stroking your thigh. "But god, you just- the way you look when you do that for me."

His fingers dug into your thigh and you snuggle closer, absently kissing his neck. "I'm just responding to you-"

He chuckled, resting his head on top of yours. He liked when you clung to him a little. The way you wanted to feel safe- the way he made you feel safe. "You're such a sweet girl," he purred. "You love me so much."

"And you love me?" you ask him, raising your head and stroking his jaw, savoring the rasp of the stubble.

"I do," he answered, kissing your nose. "So much."

And your slow, spreading smile had the same effect now that it did the first time he'd seen it. When he'd told you that you really should do more serious projects. All you ever wanted from him was him. And the rightness of it made him grateful that he finally found you.

[lustspren]

STARBOY EP 3. Earned It ft Kazuha.

length: 13.3k words.✦

Nakamura Kazuha & Male Reader. 

genres: slutty brat¡ kazuha, bdsm, daddy kink, angry sex, public sex, dirty talk, hard sex, face fuck, creampie, blowjob, oral ✧ 

✦✧✦✧✦✧

It was a pretty typical stereotype that men hate going shopping with a woman, and you certainly couldn't deny it, most of your friends in the past hated it, but for some reason you enjoyed it. And of course you more than anyone knew the reason.

Having Heejin as a shopping partner was undoubtedly an experience that was anything but boring, wherever you followed her she would attract you with a bright and fun aura that you couldn't even get tired of, no matter what she did. You didn't want to jump to conclusions too quickly, but maybe you were somewhat, just a little, in love with her. Of course this wasn't even a hidden feeling in you, the connection you had with that girl was more than special, she was like your other half, and your safe place, not to mention that without her you were literally living on the street right now. You owed a lot to her, and this was the least you could do to repay her for everything she has done for you.

That day you had gone out exclusively to buy clothes to remodel almost your entire closet. You needed it more than she did, but still most of the stops you were having were because of her. Right now you were at a Fendi store, which was in the mall a few blocks from your building. Your job was simple, you had to answer yes or no every time she came out of the fitting room with a new item of clothing to find out if she bought it or not. You were already full of bags, in which you could be easily buried, but even so, it didn't seem enough to her. At least it was a nice enough place to wait, otherwise you would have been overwhelmed with so many things to keep an eye on. 

Miss Lee had been giving you fashion advice for a few days, in your last session she forced you to try on multiple different outfits, each one with clothes from brands that until weeks ago you could only see on instagram or pinterest. She let you keep all the clothes that you liked, but still she ordered you to update your closet as fast as you could, and so you did. This day you were wearing a blue Ralph Lauren sweater tucked into champagne Zara pants, vanilla Balenciaga Triple S shoes and a blue Patek watch, you were completely unaware of the exact model, surely Sunmi would know, but you were new to all of that.  Most importantly, you'd killed two birds with one stone, you pleased your boss, and finally shaken off the judgmental stares of everyone around you while still feeling comfortable with yourself.

While you were sitting on a sofa looking at twitter on your phone Heejin came out of the changing room and looked your way, she was wearing a whole complete outfit: a strappy champagne corset, brown wide leg pants with pink striped plaid pattern, and white pointed heels, all complemented by rectangular sunglasses and a brown velvet handbag with the Fendi buckle in the middle. 

The first thing you thought was that she looked incredibly hot with that corset that highlighted her breasts and prominent shoulders, but when you thought a little more you couldn't help noticing something very important.

"Wait wait wait wait, you know how much is that handbag, right?" you said, pointing at it with your finger still glued to the phone.

"Uhm… how much?" she asked innocently.

"1.400 bucks. I saw it just now."

"Oh..." she looked at the bag for a few seconds, in all directions, and then saw it hanging on her arm, "but can we take it or not?" she said finally, with a smirk and a tilt of her head.

You brought your fingers to your septum and closed your eyes to let out a long breath, knowing you had no choice.

"Sure, take it," you finally said, looking up at her again.

"Yaaay!" she clapped excitedly for a moment, "and how about the outfit? Yes or no?"

"It's definitely a yes," you held up your thumb.

"I knew it!" she jumped towards you and cupped your face to steal a kiss from you. She then turned back to the dressing room, leaving you alone again.

As soon as Heejin entered the dressing room, your phone's screen turned on showing the message that just arrived. You unlocked your phone, and sighed as you read the entire message.

Japan Justice Minister, you went over it several times in your head. You didn't know why, but you had the feeling that everything was escalating way too fast, you went from fucking a CEO, then a shareholder, and now the daughter of a Japanese politician. And you, well, you were just a lucky guy. As usual, the intrusive thoughts and your anxiety took over again for a few minutes. This time the pressure was twice as strong as when Sunmi or Tiffany, on top of that, you were going to face a girl who was going to potentially drive you out of your mind in a bad way, and your tolerance was something, you would say quite limited. You didn't know how spoiled she was, but your protocol (which you just made up just now) for girls like that was very simple: don't give them what they want.

You waited a few minutes for Heejin, and when she came out, she was dressed in the same clothes she had worn to come to the mall in the first place.

"That's it! Let's pay," Heejin said, checking that she had all the clothes she had tried on, "Uhm, is something wrong?" she asked, noticing that you were chewing on your thumbnail with a blank stare.

"I have to go, Miss Lee wants to see me so I can meet my next client," you said, still staring at nothing.

"And what is the problem?" she stood in front of you.

"The girl in question is the daughter of a minister of justice," when you said it you couldn't help but let out a small incredulous laugh.

"Oof. Big fish..."

"Aha, it still seems fucking surreal to me, to be honest, but I guess that's the way it is now," you sighed, then looked at her, "I'll have to get used to it. Let's go," you nodded to the cashier and you got up.

When you paid for the clothes, the first thing you did was count everything you were carrying, to make sure nothing was missing, and it wasn't until then that you realized that you were carrying a somewhat exaggerated number of bags, so exaggerated that you even doubted that they were even going to fit in the elevator with you. You put your mind to plot for a moment to try to calculate how much you had spent on all that, but if you started counting everything you were probably going to arrive late for your meeting with Sunmi, and that wasn’t an option, so you just took out your phone to call the taxi and then take as many bags as you could in your two hands, just like Heejin.

"What could be the daughter of a Japanese politician here in Korea?" Heejin asked as you walked towards the exit.

"I don't know," you shrugged, "but Miss Lee told me they were in a photo shoot, maybe it has something to do."

"Maybe she is a photographer?"

"Nah," you shake your head denying, "based on how little I know about her, I don't think photography is her thing."

"Hmm…" she thought about it for a few seconds, "Model, then, I can't think of anything else."

"Probably, we'll see."

When you arrived at the exit and left the mall, you stayed waiting for the taxi for just under 5 minutes until it finally arrived. You barely put all the bags in the trunk of the car, forced to stack them on top of each other and crush them so that they could fit all there.

"We need a car, fuck," Heejin sighed, "a SUV, if possible."

"Maybe if we stopped buying 1.400 dollars handbags we could save and buy one," you looked at her without even blinking.

"Oh come on! It was Fendi!" she excused herself, before you ignored her and sat at the backseat, "you bought an almost 1.000 clock and I'm not upset about it. In fact, you're wearing it!"

"It's different," you said, watching out the window as she sat next to you and closed the car door.

"In what?" she crossed her arms as she saw you.

"It cost almost 500 bucks less," you chuckled, waiting for the blow to your arm.

"Ah fuck you!" she complained, hitting you on your arm, in the same exact area where she always did. You didn't even immute you, you had developed a kind of mental immunity to the pain of her punches.

Being your building so few blocks away the trip was just under 3 minutes, in fact, you could easily have walked there, but the amount of laziness that gave you loading with all the bags beat you. When you arrived you paid the driver and got off the car, to download all the bags and enter the building. Entering the elevator with all the bags was less difficult than you expected, in fact, you didn’t even have to make two trips up and down as you imagined from the beginning, however, if someone else wanted to enter the elevator at that time, it was going to be necessary to wait.

When you got to your floor you were the first to go ahead since you had the keys, you opened the door, and went straight to the living room to put all the bags on the sofa, while Heejin left them on the floor between the coffee table and the sofa. .

"You know, I think we should adopt a cat," she said out of nowhere.

"What? Why?" you frowned in confusion as you walked towards the door again.

"I don't know, I feel a little lonely every time you leave..." Heejin bited on her bottom lip, arms folded and looking sad, "this whole place is so big, and well… you know ."

"Oh Hekkie..." you breathed out, to walk towards her and hold her by the waist, "I'm so sorry, okay?"

"No, not at all, it's not your fault, silly," she laughed a little discouraged, "it's your job now, do your best for me," she gave you a little pat on the chest, and then she gave you a little kiss on the lips, "I just need some company while you're gone, that's all."

"We're going to an adoption center tomorrow, okay?" you cupped her face with your hands, "take care of finding out places."

"Okay," she nodded, like the spoiled child she sometimes was, "be careful, okay?"

"Always," you gave her a kiss on the forehead, and then another on her lips, before turning around and walking out of the apartment.

You didn't know how late you were going to arrive at the place Sunmi had ordered you to go to, which worried you. You ordered the taxi as fast as you could while you walked to the elevator, and you checked that you had everything you needed on you. When you got to the street you couldn't help but think that Heejin was right, you needed a car urgently.

Luckily for you the taxis in that place were anything but late, they arrived much faster than the average taxi did, but you came to the conclusion that it must simply be the same old problem, classism in its purest form.

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

The taxi dropped you right in front of the executive building to which they had sent you, just as you imagined it was a production company and a photo studio, from the outside you couldn't see much of it, but when you entered you were amazed at the tremendous relevance of the place. The lobby was littered with photos, all of them with captions indicating the brand that had done their shoots right there; Adidas, Under Armour, Puma, Calvin Klein...

"Good afternoon, miss," you approached the receptionist, a pretty girl under 25 years  by your reckoning. << Seo Soojin >>, said the little card attached to her shirt. She wore glasses, her hair tied up in a bun, and a rather intense crimson lipstick that highlighted her thick lips. The moles she had under her eye and next to her nose also caught your attention.

"Good afternoon sir, how can I help you?" she said, looking at you over the top of her glasses.

"I'm headed to the studio, huh…" you checked your phone again, "6."

"Are you a model? Staff member? Photographer?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh no, nothing like that," you denied, "I'm close friends with Miss Lee and Miss Nakamura."

"I see," she nodded and looked down at her landline, "one minute please," she said as she took the phone, you kept quiet as you looked at her, assuming she was calling someone, "Hello? Yes, excuse me, there's a guy at the reception who claims to be close friends with Miss Lee and Miss Nakamura... Ok... Ok got it, you're welcome."

"Well?"

"Here," she opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a necklace with a laminated card that read <<guest>>, "fourth floor to the right, easy enough to find," she said, handing you the card.

"Thanks, Soojin," you nodded your head in appreciation and took the card to go straight to the elevator.

You followed the receptionist's instructions until you arrived at the aforementioned studio 6, the door was made of opaque glass that allowed you to see almost nothing other than the flash of the cameras going off and the light from the spotlights. The door wasn't locked, so you just walked in freely. The studio was quite spacious and cozy, with black curtains that completely covered all the windows and air conditioning at the perfect temperature. There were fewer people than you thought there would be, only 5 staff members and a sturdy man in a suit sitting on a sofa at the back of the room, they all stared at you when you closed the door behind you, but seeing the card hanging from your neck they continued with their thing.

"Hi… hi… hi," you said aloud, bowing to each person as you walked to where the flashes were coming from.

As you crossed the division between the two studio areas, you found yourself blinded for a moment by the light from one of the spotlights, so much so that at first glance you couldn't notice everything; when your eyes cleared up you were finally able to take a look at the minimalist set they had assembled. There was a large furry sofa placed right in the middle of the white screen that covered both the wall and the floor for a few feet, with a couple of cushions in the middle and a jean jacket that belonged to the incredibly hot and stunning woman who was sitting and posing on the sofa. In black Calvin Klein underwear and white socks.

"Oh, you're finally here," Lee Sunmi said, noticing your presence and motioning for the photographer to stop for a moment.

"Yes, sorry if I'm late, Miss Lee," you bowed to her, after nearly choking on how she'd seen you and how she was (or was not) dressed.

"Not at all, you're actually just on time," she stood up and slowly walked over to stand in front of you, one of her hands resting on your chest and the other on your left arm, moving both from up and down while analyzing your outfit, "now you dress appropriately, nice outfit, boy."

"I'm glad you like it," you giggled nervously at how close she was, maybe you weren't quite used to how imposing she was yet, "nice underwear, by the way, you look amazing."

"Thanks, but you don't have to pretend you weren't looking at my tits while I was walking towards you," you didn't answer, you didn't even realize you had until she told you, "anyway, there's someone you have to meet, remember?" she asked tilting her head to the other side of the room, "Hey, Zuha! Our partner is here."

From behind one of the spotlights a girl just inches taller than Sunmi came out, much more covered than you expected; she was wearing a slightly short jean skirt, a white crop top shirt with the Calvin Klein logo, and black sneakers and white socks with the same logo. You couldn't help but fix your attention on the girl’s unreally gorgeous face and on how perfect her dark shiny hair looked, after that you did focus on the slender figure she had, giving special attention to her incredibly hot abs that managed to hypnotize you in the moment.

"Damn, you really are as handsome as she told me," was the first thing Kazuha said as she stood next to Sunmi and looked you up and down, "Nakamura Kazuha," she held out her hand for you to shake, "And you're... Starboy, huh?"

"My pleasure, yes," you said, shaking her hand and meeting her eyes with a small smile.

"I can call you whatever I want, right?" her look denoted her intentions from the first instance, and you were sure that yours did too.

"I think that depends," you noticed in Kazuha a certain different energy from Sunmi and Tiffany's, a more playful, fun and spicy one, so you decided to take certain liberties, "what do you want to call me, baby?"

Kazuha raised both eyebrows for a second and smiled while biting her lower lip. Something about that she had liked, and you suspected that it was that you called her baby.

"Miss Lee?" Kazuha said without looking at her.

"Yeah?" Sunmi replied.

"I wanna taste him, here and now," that took you by surprise, so you looked at Sunmi somewhat stunned.

"Kazuha, you know that we are in a photo studio, right? There are people here. You’re not even gonna talk with him?" Sunmi asked.

"I don't care! I want to suck his cock before I take him with me all night, we will have a lot of time to talk" she stepped back and cupped both hands to either side of her mouth, "Everyone get out of here right now! We need a moment alone and no one is allowed to enter until I say so!" Kazuha said very loudly, for everyone inside the room to hear.

As soon as Kazuha gave the order, you could see how everyone quickly left the room, including the man you saw sitting a moment ago, who looked at you for a second before leaving. You didn't know what the hell was going on, your mind couldn't assimilate the fact that until less than five minutes ago you had just had your first contact with her and she already wanted to give you head, but maybe you should have expected it.

"God, this girl," Sunmi murmured as she sighed, and then she went to sit cross-legged on the sofa.

"You don't mind, do you?" Kazuha grabbed the collar of your sweater with one finger and moved a dangerous distance to your face, "It'll just be a little… quality test."

"Nah, just choke on that cock if you want," you replied, looking at her lips and then her eyes.

"Yes..." she paused to get a little closer, until almost touching her lips with yours, "Daddy," listening that she called you that way, from so close, and with her deep voice woven in a low sensual murmur, made all your senses activate at the same time and make you completely crazy. There was something in that girl that you couldn't identify, but you had the slight feeling that you were going to become addicted to her.

When Kazuha put her hand on your chest and went down to your pants she found that you already had a hard bulge on it, that among all the sexual tension of the situation you didn’t realize was there, you just had been paying attention to the girl’s cute playful eyes.

"Oh! You're hard already daddy," Kazuha teased you with a false surprise, "I bet you've been horny since you saw Miss Sunmi's tits."

Kazuha squeezed your cock slightly over your pants and began to remove her shirt and skirt, leaving herself in a set of underwear exactly like Sunmi's. Her body was almost as perfect as a Renaissance sculpture, and you took special time to admire her marked and delicious abs, her attractive shoulders and arms, and her long creamy legs.

You would have put your hands on her right then and there, if it weren't for her kneeling in front of you as soon as she knew you had already taken a look at her body in all its fullness. She looked into your eyes with a little mischievous smile, as she began to massage your cock over your pants again, while her other hand was attached to your right thigh.

"Tell me, Miss Lee, how do he like blowjobs?" asked Kazuha without seeing Sunmi, instead concentrating on unbuttoning your pants and lowering your zipper.

"Just suck his cock, brat, no matter how you do it," Sunmi said, without paying too much attention since she was looking at her nails, "he's already crazy about you, anyway he's going to like it."

"Ah yes?" Kazuha teased you, "is daddy so crazy about me that fast? I haven't even done anything..." the girl grabbed her fingers to the curbs of your pants and boxers and lowered them to your knees, thus releasing your hard cock that was now resting on her face, "Yet."  

Kazuha took your cock between her fingers and took a moment to analyze every inch of it, she planted a kiss, then two, and then began to plant her lips from your tip to your balls, being down there she stuck out her tongue and put it flat against your balls, to go slowly along your entire length back to your tip. She and you shared stares throughout that moment, even when your cock was locked by her mouth just a few inches after the tip.

You couldn't help but let out the faint sigh that came out of your mouth as Kazuha began to suck a few inches from you, her fingers were wrapped around the base of your cock, and her back was slightly arched so you could see her prominent, firm ass as she sucked more and more inches from your cock until she reached the middle.

"Mmm, Daddy's cock is very, very delicious," she said, licking her lips and masturbating you slowly, then dipping  your cock straight back into her wet warm mouth.

This time Kazuha's lips moved a few inches past the middle of your shaft, and with most of your cock now inside her mouth she began to give you a slow, wet, sensual blowjob. She wasn't looking you in the eye anymore, her head movements and body language made it obvious that she was enjoying sucking your cock almost as much as you did.

Her moans of pleasure soon appeared, making your cock vibrate every time she made a sound, you moaned a couple of times out loud, which made Kazuha see you once again in the eyes.

"You're supposed to be her daddy now, fool, act like one," you heard Sunmi speak to your left, you saw her out of the corner of her eye, remembering that she had been watching everything from the beginning.

It was easy for her to say, you had been a simple sub for several days, the word daddy had practically disappeared from your vocabulary at this point. You hadn't acted as the dominant one for a long time, but Kazuha was worth the effort.

"That's a good fucking girl," you gasped as she looked you in the eye, causing her to start pumping her head faster, "do you like daddy's cock, baby?"

"Yes daddy, your cock is so juicy..." she said, pulling you out of her mouth for a moment, "And big... and hard, and tasty."

After she adored your cock between wet kisses and licks, Kazuha put extra effort into her blowjob to make sure you enjoyed it, and not just that you enjoyed it, that it was the best blowjob you had ever been given in your life, which was difficult to achieve considering that her competition was Jeon Heejin herself, but what you did know was that if she kept going that way, moving her head that good and sucking almost all your cock between moans, you were going to cum faster than you wanted.

You were forced to close your eyes and drop your head back, which was also not very useful since Kazuha was no longer holding your cock with her fingers, she was now clinging to your hips, daring to take those last inches of your shaft and start hitting her own throat with each pump. The gag sounds of Kazuha's throat tempted you to open your eyes and watch the lewd scene in front of you, but you wanted to hold on more, just a little longer so you wouldn't look like a weak fool. Unfortunately for you, many times you couldn't take control of your brain, and you involuntarily opened your eyes, encountering the incredibly sexy image of Kazuha choking in your cock and making a mess of saliva on the ground, and that was the bane for you.

Without even telling her or anything you suddenly burst into Kazuha's mouth, she noticed it right away, and pushed her head even further toward the base of your cock, resting her nose on your pubis as you shot all your thick load into her throat. She held you there throughout your orgasm, swallowing as much as she could until she finally pulled you out of her mouth very slowly. When your cock was freed from her lips, she stared into your eyes with eyes full of sensuality and opened her mouth, to show you the thick pool of cum that rested on her tongue. You couldn't say anything because of how amazed you were, and she just closed her mouth, swallowed it, opened it again, and magically your cum was no longer there.

"And tell me daddy... I'm a good girl?" she said, as she wiped your cock with soft, delicate licks.

You were completely stunned and enraptured by such a sensual and charming aura, so much so that it took you a moment to find your words.

"Yes you are, baby, but you must keep showing it," you hesitated for a second, but ended up caressing her cheek with the back of your hand.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about it, daddy, I'll be a good girl all night... Maybe," she chuckled, kissing the tip of your cock and then standing up.

"Are you satisfied, little whore?" asked Sunmi, clearly wanting to get rid of her.

"Oh yes I am, Miss Lee, you have very good tastes," replied Kazuha as she picked up her clothes, you for your part just pulled up your boxer and pants, and stood there not quite knowing what to do after being drained so well.

"Of course I have good tastes, for some reason I am where I am," Sunmi stood up and walked to stand next to you, "you left the ground in a mess, how do you plan to explain it?"

"I don't know and it's not my problem, I want to leave with daddy right now," Kazuha said as she put on her shirt and skirt.

"Huh? Leave?!" Sunmi looked genuinely surprised, and perhaps somewhat annoyed, "God, you're lucky enough pictures of you have already been taken," she sighed, "just get out, and take good care of him."

"Perfect, thank you mommy!" said Kazuha with a radiant smile and a small ankle lift.

Sunmi didn't answer anything, in fact, you could notice that her face turned a little red because of how Kazuha had called her, apparently it wasn't something she was supposed to say in front of you.

"Get the fuck out of here," was all Miss Lee said, earning a laugh from Kazuha, who intertwined her arm with yours and carried you with her to the exit.

"What was that?" you asked, referring to what she had called Sunmi, as the two of you rounded a corner on the way to the elevator.

"Well, let's just say you're not the only one who has something like a... different relationship with Miss Lee," Kazuha held you by the arm tightly, as if she didn't want to let you go, and the happy smile on her face denoted a certain victorious feeling in her.

"You two have...?" you started, before entering the elevator and pressing the button on the ground floor.

"Yes, I've eaten her pussy on more than one occasion, why?" she replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, sure," you nodded, "nothing, I was just curious about it."

When you arrived on the ground floor of the building you noticed, thanks to the glass doors, that the man in a suit from a few minutes ago was already waiting for you on the sidewalk in front of the entrance. 

You passed by the front of Seo Soojin's desk, with whom you stared at each other until you left the building.

"May I ask who he is?" you whispered in Kazuha's ear, seeing the man.

"Oh, Keitaro?" she said loudly, drawing the sturdy man's attention to the two of you, arousing your nerves, "He's my bodyguard, don't worry, his only job is to prevent something bad from happening to me, he's not going to interfere."

"Then he's not going to gouge out my eyes with his thumbs?"

"If my life is in danger because of you, it's the lightest thing he's going to do," she patted you on the chest and made you walk with her to the back doors of the car. A black chrome Toyota Highlander.

Keitaro opened the rear left door for you, and Kazuha let go of your arm to get one foot in the car and get inside, you followed her, and you settled aside while the bodyguard closed the door and then took his place in the driver's seat.

"Keitaro-san, take us to the hotel, alright? I need to get ready for tonight," Kazuha ordered the man, who only nodded before starting the car and setting off through the streets of Seoul.

"I don't know if it's rude to ask, but what are you doing here in Korea?" you asked, and then you took the slight audacity to put your hand on her thigh.

"I'm sick of my father," Kazuha's gaze was set on the shiny advertisements and modern buildings, illuminating her face, "he thinks he can control me like a doll with no mind of my own."

"Did you run away? Don't you think you're getting into big trouble?" she turned to see you.

"Probably, but I don't plan to go back there in a while," she shrugged indifferently.

"And you plan to stay in a hotel all the time?"

"I just arrived, it's temporary," she made a quick move, in which she climbed on your lap and adjusted her thighs to each side of you, "Miss Lee is already helping me get an apartment."

"We'll be closer than I thought, all the time, then," you put both hands on her waist, brushing her soft skin with your fingertips slowly, while Kazuha placed her hands on each side of your neck.

"I hope that's not a bad thing for you, daddy," she joked, a malicious smile slowly forming on her face.

"Not at all," you shook your head, "that will be interesting."

Kazuha did not respond again, instead, she closed the distance between the two of you and found your lips, initiating a slow and passionate kiss which extended all the way to the hotel. Once again you felt that it was different, you had a certain special chemistry with her that you never had with any of your other clients, you didn’t know exactly what it was, but what you could confirm is that with her you felt freer, and less pressured even considering who she was. Maybe it was her energy, or her vibes, or the way she treated you and saw you, Kazuha was different.

You arrived at the hotel faster than you thought, you didn’t know if it was because you had lost track of time inside the kiss or if the road had been short, but the truth was that Keitaro was already looking for a place to park near what seemed to be one of the few 5-star hotels you knew in Seoul:  The Shilla.

"My God, how much does a night there cost?" you asked, seeing the bright name of the hotel at the top of the building.

"Not as much as you think, it's cheaper than paying for a night with you, actually," she chuckled.

"Heck, that's how expensive I am?"

"Miss Lee says you're worth every penny, and I believe her," she replied, playing with the collar of your sweater.

"Look on the bright side, maybe after tonight I'll consider no longer charging you for my services," you tried to persuade her, seeking her gaze.

"Ah yes? Interesting..." she nodded slowly, to look into your eyes, "then I'll make sure I'm a good cum dump for daddy," she whispered over your lips.

The only thing you wanted at that precise moment was to take off her clothes and fuck her hard on the thin leather of the seats, but the car stopped.

"You're provoking me more than you should, and it's gonna be a long night for you, brat," you whispered back, before Keitaro turned off the engine and got out of the car.

"Mmm, maybe, but I honestly don't care," she gently bit your lip, and then got off your lap to open the door and get out of the car.

You followed her, and locked the car door for Keitaro to lock them with the key control. Kazuha re-intertwined her arm with yours, and you walked with her inside the building before the main one, which served as a lobby and private restaurant. You were especially struck by the traditional style of the infrastructure, both the style of the roof and the height reminded you of a temple, but with a modern touch thanks to the glass walls.

"Do you want to eat something, daddy? The food here is amazing," Kazuha said as you passed between the long tables, where there were some people having their dinner.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry yet," you replied, watching people eat all kinds of dishes that you sometimes saw only in magazines.

"Are you sure? It will be a long night, if you don’t eat now, I think you should order food while I get ready to leave," as you crossed the entire food area, you reached the portal leading to the main building.

"I almost forgot, where are we supposed to go?" Kazuha let go of your arm and approached the receptionist, you couldn't hear what she said to her, but within seconds she came back with you.

"Itaewon," she replied with a smile on her face as she held your hand and carried you inside the building, "I want to see if it's as wild as people say."

"Well, it certainly is," you nodded, entering the elevator with her, who pressed the button on the top floor, "Huh? Why are we going so high?"

"They must know who my father is, do you seriously think they would let me stay in a common room?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you telling me you have the fucking presidential suite of this hotel?" you asked out of naivety.

"Nah," she chuckled, "It was offered to me, but it was too much. I have the deluxe suite, or the Shilla Suite, as they call it."

"Ah... sure."

When you reached the top floor Kazuha took the lead to guide you through the corridors, and finally stopped in front of the suite door, opened it, and pulled you inside with her. 

As expected, the suite was anything but modest, on its own it could already be a rentable apartment, in fact. The furniture and walls made a perfect harmony of colors, white, champagne and dark brown, so automatically your eyes felt comfortable. Just entering was the living room, which consisted of two single sofas without armbands, a long white linen sofa, and two coffee tables in between. On the right was a large TV, and after the living room a bookshelf with yellow lights and glass display cases with all kinds of valuables.

"Pretty big for one person, don't you think?" you asked, slowly walking forward as you examined every corner of the place.

"Not really, I like to have enough space," she went ahead of you and passed the portal that divided the living room from the next area of the suite, which was nothing more than a small room prior to what you thought was the main bedroom. There was a marble table with a large sculpture of a turtle in the middle, and to the left a large window showing a beautiful view of Namsan Mountain.

"And don't you think you need some company?" you asked, running your fingers over the turtle's shell as you looked at the mountain.

"So fast you want to be with me all the time, daddy? Don't let it be noticed that I'm driving you crazy," she teased you with a mischievous chuck and a radiant smile on her face as she walked past you to open the bedroom door.

"This little b..." you murmured, and then you couldn't help but smile to yourself before you followed her inside.

The bedroom had nothing to envy to the living room as far as good design was concerned, it was just as impressive and big, and the bed looked like a place where you lay down to sleep 18 hours straight. 

When you walked in Kazuha was already undressing, and you knew perfectly well that she had taken off her skirt with her back to the door just because she knew you were going to pass by in a matter of seconds, and so it was, so you got a perfect view of her gorgeous firm ass.

"Hey, don't be a peeping daddy," she said, looking over her shoulder with her back still crouching, prompting you to keep seeing her ass for a few seconds before standing up again and getting into the bathroom.

At this point that girl was doing her best to get you out of your boxes, but for now your patience, and especially your willpower, were prevailing over your desire to rip off those stupid panties and fuck her prone bone against the mattress.

You had no choice but to sit on the edge of the bed, lean back to rest your hands on the mattress and let out a sigh, seriously thinking about what to do while Kazuha was in the bathroom, you heard the sound of the shower a few seconds later, so she was not going to come out for the next few minutes nearby. You slowly gave in to boredom, so you just lay on the soft mattress and pulled out your phone to scroll Instagram while waiting.

You didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but you spent a while watching your phone screen until you heard the bathroom door open. Kazuha came out wrapped in a rather short towel, which covered only what was necessary, and once again you were mesmerized by the sensual shape of her body. She noticed you immediately, and climbed onto the bed to lie beside you, her head resting on her hand and her elbow.

"Did you miss me, Daddy?" she asked, seeing you with a playful little smile.

Before you could formulate an answer, you couldn't help but notice that in that position her towel had been lifted to almost her waist, so her buttocks were exposed and at your disposal. You couldn't see her intimate part, but if only she had turned a little, you would have been able to see that too.

"Nah, you didn't take that long," you teased her, with a small smile on your face as you looked at the ceiling.

"Oh come on!" she whimpered, "it took me half an hour, how is it possible that you didn't miss me?" she climbed on top of you and took the phone out of your hands so that you would put all your attention on her.

Kazuha completely caught you with her thighs, and you couldn't and didn't want to do anything about it. Her towel went up even more, and now her naked ass was totally exposed to you, that combined with feeling her pussy pressed against your crotch over the fabric, began to make the blood flow to your bulge.

"And why should I miss you so much, brat?" you raised an eyebrow, "do you think I have no other things to distract myself with?"

"Because I'm the only daddy's baby girl..." while saying that Kazuha brought two fingers to the fold of her towel on her chest, and slowly untangled it until she fell from her body to yours, showing you her pair of modest but incredibly sexy tits, "right?"

Your eyes almost popped out of your sockets when you saw Kazuha's completely naked body on top of you, a smile formed on your face, and when you finished scrutinizing every visible corner of her, you took a handful of her hair and pulled her towards you, so that her chest was flat against yours. Your faces inches from each other.

"I warn you, little whore, you don't want to provoke me any more than you already are," you said quietly, alternating your gaze between her lips and her eyes.

"And why not? I just want to make sure Daddy has eyes just for me," even though you were gripping her hair tightly, Kazuha managed to crack a smile full of mischief.

"I have eyes only for you right now, but you're behaving like a spoiled fucking whore," in a sharp move you turned the tables, and now you were on top of her, with a grip that had gone from being in her hair to being on her neck, not strong enough for choke her but to keep her in place. Kazuha continued with that little malicious smile, with her hand on your wrist, "don’t worry, I’m not one of those who deny their girl what she wants, but you should know that everything you are looking for right now, is gonna be returned to you, multiplied by a thousand." 

"That means daddy will really make me his cum dump?" she asked with a mischievous little brow lift, as she lifted her hips and brushed your crotch with her leg.

You watched her in complete silence for a few short seconds, until you got off top of her and got out of bed to stand by the edge of it.

"Undress me, little whore," you ordered, endowing yourself with unexplored dominant abilities. Kazuha turned her neck and stared at you for a few seconds while she was still lying down, biting her lower lip and then looking down at the bulge in your pants. 

"Yes daddy," she replied with a small smirk.

Kazuha got up, crawled towards you, and then knelt up to be at the height of your face; the girl took your sweater out of your pants while you took off your watch and left it on the bedside table next to the bed; it didn't take long for your sweater to be out of your torso, so Kazuha concentrated on unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down with everything and boxers to your ankles, where you completed the work by getting out of your shoes and then the clothes. Now both you and she were completely naked in front of each other. You took a moment to see Kazuha's perfect body again, making a small stop at her pretty, shaved pussy.

"Mmm, I think I want to have some fun first," you said, then you put two fingers in your mouth, filled them with saliva and brought them to her slit, slowly sliding them back and forth. Kazuha made the attempt to take your cock with her hand, but you quickly stopped it with a slap on her wrist, "Oh hell no. You don't have permission to grab Daddy's cock yet."

"B-but, I want to feel daddy's cock!" she whimpered, her face somewhat reddish as you started rubbing her pussy with your fingers, "I-t's not f-fair, ah..." the moans came out of her mouth alone, and as much as she wanted to keep complaining like the brat she was, the first finger you inserted inside her completely collapsed her desire to win.

Kazuha's knees became somewhat weak as you inserted the second finger inside her, so you took the opportunity to push her and make her fall on her back on the mattress, legs wide open without even asking her. You noticed from how she had her legs open that her flexibility was quite out of the ordinary, and you wanted to test it later. For now, you concentrated on kneeling right next to her, your throbbing cock floating inches above her face; you spread her legs even wider, and put your two fingers back inside her, moving them slowly at first because of how tight she felt. 

"Suck that cock, baby," Kazuha didn't even think twice, she obeyed your command immediately and caught the tip of your cock with her mouth, sucking a few inches until she reached the middle of your shaft, where she began to pump her head at a considerable pace, "that's a good girl," you congratulated her,  noticing that she hadn’t used her hands.

Her only response was to let out a small moan around your cock, to which you responded back by moving your wrist faster, your fingers completely going in and out of her pussy. You let Kazuha keep sucking your cock freely for a few more long seconds, her face was distorted with pleasure, the main point being her frowning eyebrows and blushed cheeks as she left your cock full of saliva with each pump. You continued fingering her as fast as your wrist allowed, causing your palm to continually bump into her pubis.

"Alright, that's enough brat," you stopped her, earning you a dismayed look from her, which soon turned into one of slight surprise when you started moving your hips and fucking her mouth. Your left hand went to her head, grabbing a handful of her hair and grabbing it tightly to thrust hard against her mouth.

The tip of your cock began to hit her throat with each thrust, that together with how her pussy was fucked by your fingers transformed her into a trembling mess, and when you least expected it, she turned away from your cock to let out a loud moan and succumb to her peak of pleasure. The walls of her pussy almost suffocated your fingers, which were now pumping at a slower pace as she passed her orgasm. Her legs also closed tightly, trapping your wrist for a few long seconds until her thighs relaxed.

"I'm not done with you yet, baby girl," Kazuha's body was almost asleep due to her recent orgasm, so it was easy for you to settle between her legs, hold her ankles in the air and throw them all the way back, just as you supposed, that girl was fucking flexible, and it was demonstrated by how her two ankles were now on either side of her head as if it were the most natural pose,  "Be a good girl and hold your legs there, understood?"

Kazuha gulped and nodded repeatedly as she held her legs with her arms, a lust-filled look that cried out for you to fuck her.

Your cock was already lubricated by her saliva, and her pussy was already soaked for quite a while, it was enough to rub your tip a couple of times in her slit, from top to bottom, and press forward little by little, letting her tight pussy and soft folds swallow your entire shaft, slowly, inch by inch, until you were completely inside her. A coordinated moan flooded the room, she for feeling how you filled every corner of her hole, and you for feeling how exaggeratedly tight yet soft her pussy felt, it was a difficult feeling to assimilate, but if it had been possible to put your balls also inside her, you would have done it.

You rested both your hands on the mattress on either side of her hips and leaned forward so that your face was floating above Kazuha's. She continually looked into your crotches, but when she fixed her gaze with yours was when you started pumping in and out of her wet pussy, forcing her not to look away from you for a second. 

You were kind of delicate with her at first because you wanted to feel carefully the soft texture of her pussy walls and how they tightened around your axis, but the desire to give that little whore what she deserved was stronger than you. You started ramming down harder and harder, eliciting loud moans from Kazuha, who kept holding her legs with hardly any signs of weakness.

"Oh god, oh god! Your cock feels amazing daddy! So fucking amazing!" Kazuha yelled, digging her nails into her own legs as you fucked her now with all the strength you had.

"Would you like daddy to fill you up, huh?" you teased her, seeing her faint eyes, "I bet you're wanting to feel all my thick cum paint your walls."

"Fuck yes! I need so much daddy, please, please!" she pleaded between whining of pleasure.

A small drop of sweat fell down your temple and fell on Kazuha's neck, you were fucking her impetuously, pumping up and down against her pussy, your cock going in and out completely. You wanted to keep fucking her while you saw her beautiful and sensual face, but you needed a new position that you were waiting for a while.

You quickly came out from inside her and made her legs let go, then held her by the waist and made her lie face down, with her chest and stomach flat against the mattress. You re-entered her pussy, but this time in a prone bone position that allowed you to enjoy her firm ass, which you gave a couple of strong spanks before holding her by the waist and starting your thrusts again.

Kazuha plunged her face into the mattress and clung tightly to the sheets, crumpling her fingers and pulling them almost out of the edges of the bed. You supported the entire weight of your arms against her waist and lower back through your fingers, you were holding her tightly, comparable to the force with which you were pounding her pussy over and over again.

"I'm gonna... ah! I'm gonna cum again daddy, fuck! I'm gonna cum on that delicious fucking cock!" Kazuha groaned loudly, separating her face from the mattress for a moment to see you over her shoulder.

"Then fucking cum, you fucking whore," you kept your left hand on Kazuha's waist, but the right went straight to her hair to pull it back hard, causing the girl to explode with pleasure once more.

Kazuha's body shuddered amid intense spasms, and she plunged her face back into the mattress to drown out her moans, almost screams, of pleasure. You didn't give her any rest time, in fact, what you did was make her lift her butt high enough to turn it into a makeshift doggystyle. You had to hold her tightly, otherwise, it would have been impossible for her to stay in that position by herself for the first few seconds, but wanting to show you how good girl she was, you had to make no effort but to keep fucking her with the intensity of a sex machine, since she did everything possible to support herself.

"Please cum daddy, I need it so, so bad," Kazuha's pleas already sounded muffled, as if the energy inside her had been drained from inside her with a vacuum cleaner, "give all your load to your little baby girl, just cum already daddy, please!"

You would have lasted only a little longer, but Kazuha's pretty and desperate pleas managed to break your psyche. Your two hands went to her ass to squeeze the flesh of her buttocks between your fingers, you kept fucking her with all your strength, and finally after a few seconds, you exploded inside the tight pussy of a beautiful Japanese girl.

"Oh fuck yes... yes!" she let out a deep, long moan, "Ahhh ffffffuck," Kazuha growled as she watched you bite her lip, feeling you deposit all your cum inside her, it was several thick jets, and you didn't stop until the last drop of your load had come out of your cock.

You stayed inside her pussy for a few long seconds, taking a moment to enjoy that feeling for a little longer before you stepped out and let your cum fall free from her hole to the mattress. As you let your load drip from her pussy you leaned towards her, to bring your mouth closer to her ear.

"Good girl," you whispered, "you'll be a very cute cum dump," then you kissed her on the cheek, and she turned to get you to kiss her lips too.

You lay down next to her only to wrap your arms around her body and snuggle her up against you as you shared a deep kiss. Once again, while kissing her you had lost a little track of time and space, you had almost forgotten that you were in an expensive hotel room with a girl you had just met 2 hours ago, but you didn’t feel that way, you felt that you were kissing a person you had known for years.

"Daddy..." she murmured, breaking the kiss, "you're so... cute," Kazuha looked into your eyes, and you looked back at her, meeting a pair of pretty, glowing orbs that looked at you like you were a precious treasure. You were speechless for a moment, not knowing exactly what was happening at that moment, but you had to say the first thing that came to mind.

"Uh… you too, baby, a lot," you muttered back, and before you even knew it, you had given her a stupid smile.

Kazuha smiled from ear to ear, and despite it being night, you felt like the sun had risen again in the form of a person because of how radiant and beautiful her smile was. The next thing she did was kiss you again, but this time more briefly to separate from you and sit on the bed. What the fuck had happened?

"God, we have to order the sheets to be changed," she said nonchalantly looking at the cum where it had landed.

"We'll do it when we leave, go get ready, baby," you ordered her in a low, meek voice, caressing her lower back with your fingertips.

"Yes daddy!" she answered, remembering with some happiness that you had a destination to go to. She got out of bed as quickly as possible, but when she got to her feet to try to walk to her suitcase, her legs gave out and she wobbled so badly that she had to hold on to the wall to keep from falling. You could only hold back your laughter, turning it into a nasal laugh, "Ah fuck," she cursed under her breath.

"Everything alright baby?" you teased her, with a smile.

"No, I think definitely not, Daddy fucked me so hard now my legs are weak," she giggled too, and then was finally able to walk over to her suitcase.

She took all the clothes she was going to wear from her suitcase, a small handbag that you assumed was makeup, a hair straightener and went back to the bathroom. You took advantage of the moment to also get going and get dressed again, you didn't feel very comfortable putting on the same outfit again, but unfortunately you didn't have much choice.

Kazuha spent another hour and a half in the bathroom, of which you took about 20 minutes to take a nap, but when she finally came out you were sitting on the edge of the bed watching a show on the bedroom TV, and you couldn't to do anything other than raise both eyebrows and leave your mouth agape in astonishment.

Kazuha was wearing an outfit that only highlighted how fucking sexy and beautiful she was, she was wearing a black top that exposed her midriff, clavicle and shoulders, surrounded by four black leather belts, each with different buckles; gray jeans and completely black sneakers. Her chocolate-colored hair was perfectly ironed, and her face with a not too heavy makeup that highlighted her pretty eyes and lips.

"Well? How do I look daddy?" she asked, extending both arms out to the sides of her to do a few turns on herself.

"Outrageously beautiful, baby," you walked over to her and cupped her face with both hands to give her a couple of kisses on the lips, "Hey, you've got a nice set of shoulders, plus I could wash clothes on your abs, you do sport?"

"Oh Daddy" Kazuha giggled, "No, no. I like to go to the gym in my spare time, oh, and I did ballet until I was 17."

"Well, that explains everything."

"Aham," she placed her hands on your chest, "so you could literally fuck me standing with one leg on my shoulder."

"Don't give me ideas," you warned her, but you also thought of all the possibilities, each one hotter than the last.

"You asked first," she gave you a peck on the chin, and then pulled away from her, "let's go daddy, we have a long night ahead of us."

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

Just as you'd expect on a Saturday night, the place you and Kazuha had chosen while walking through Itaewon was full of people. The deafening sound of music was all that hit your ears as soon as you walked in, but you immediately noticed an incredible atmosphere as you made your way through the crowd and Kazuha began to move her body to the rhythm of Lady Gaga's Judas. You had paid for a pair of VIP bracelets, which allowed you access to the exclusive area and open bar for all drinks and cocktails throughout the night, but Kazuha had told you that the first thing she wanted to do when you arrived was dance.

And there you were. Kazuha had a bright smile on her face as she began to get carried away by the music. You, in order not to stand still like an idiot, also began to dance subtly, but your only purpose was to see her. She moved her body hypnotically, with hips that could kill anyone with just one movement, at a certain moment she closed her eyes to immerse herself even more in the mood, a moment that you used to stand behind her and place your hands on her waist, Kazuha opened her eyes, turned for a second to give you a smile and continued dancing, this time with her back against your chest.

There came a time for you when you didn't even pay attention to what song was playing, you were so enthralled and caught up in Kazuha's flirtatious aura that keeping up with the music and her body was your only concern. If it wasn't for her stopping in the first place, you would have stayed there with her for quite a while longer.

"Daddy, can you take me to the bar? I want a drink," she said in your ear after turning around.

"Of course, baby, come on," you took her hand and pushed your way once more through the crowd until you reached the semicircle-shaped bar, where more than one bartender was working on various drinks for people who were waiting.

"Hi!" Kazuha greeted one of the workers, "I want a martini and…" she stared at you as she waited for your response.

"A mojito is fine with me, thanks," you nodded, sitting down on one of the empty stools, where you pulled Kazuha towards you and wrapped your arms around her waist, "Well? What do you think?" you asked in her ear.

"Is incredible!" she said with special emotion while looking at the place and then up, where the exclusive box for the place was, the lights looked different there, and you noticed, obviously, less concentration of people, "I'm certainly not disappointed!"

"I'm glad to hear it, I knew I hadn't chosen a bad place," you gave her a little kiss on the neck, and then she turned her face to kiss you for a few long seconds until the drinks were served to you.

You and Kazuha picked up the glasses and sipped your respective drinks, Kazuha raised both eyebrows and smirked when she tasted it, denoting that she had loved it. You weren't very used to drinking white rum, but the taste burned your throat quite pleasantly.

"Gosh, it's delicious!" Kazuha said, looking at her cocktail, before downing the rest in one gulp and leaving you with both eyebrows raised.

"Hey hey! What the fuck?!" your eyes were wide open, you certainly didn't expect that.

"What? I can order whatever I want all night, it's not a problem," as expected, she had her face scrunched up as the alcohol ignited her body.

"And if you want to enjoy the night in a satisfying way, I recommend that you don't use a martini as a shot," you warned her, and then you took a normal sip from your mojito glass.

"I don't promise you anything, sorry Daddy!" she wailed in the most false way possible, "another one please!" she told the bartender. You sighed, concentrating on not losing your temper.

"Listen to me, you damn brat," you grabbed her arm, not too hard, just for her to pay attention to you, "you're going to do what I tell you, you're not in charge here."

"Hmm, or what?" she teased you, cocking her head.

"It's just a warning, it's your problem if you want to accept it or not," you squeezed her arm a little harder and then released it.

"Let's go upstairs daddy!" she said when she got her drink.

She strode away from you and into the crowd, taking you so by surprise that you literally ran to chase her up the stairs to the upper box. You had to grab her wrist a lot harder for her to wait for you.

When you got to the upper box, the first thing that caught your attention was the great difference in activities that were taking place there, apparently the limitations or rules were not something that existed there for some reason, there were people doing all kinds of crazy things, from the slightest thing like drinking straight from a vodka bottle until receiving lap dances that weren’t subtle at all.

"Damn, I kinda like this place even more," Kazuha said, biting her lip and then giggling.

She took your hand and walked in front of you while you looked for a completely empty sofa, curiously you found one that was perfect, in a corner, away from the spotlight. They were leather sofas in the shape of a semicircle, with a round table backlit with white lights right in the middle. Kazuha let you sit down first, that way she could get to you and sit on your right leg.

"There must be some major motherfucker up here, otherwise I don't know how that guy could be getting a lap dance from a topless girl and not being warned or something," you said glaring, then taking a sip of the mojito.

"Looks like they're having a great time," Kazuha replied, settling her ass a little closer to your lap, "seems like something I'd do," she took a long sip from her glass, leaving it half empty.

"But something you clearly won't do, right?"

"Of course not daddy! At least for now, we'll see… maybe I'll just have my pants off," she laughed, taking another sip of the martini.

"Is the alcohol making you more rebellious than usual or what? It hasn't even been 10 minutes since you started drinking and you're already acting like a brat."

"I'm not being a brat..." she sat on her side and put her two legs up on yours, "I'm actually, a brat," she brought her face closer to yours, "and not just a brat, I'm daddy's brat," she bit your lip a little harder than usual, then drank the rest of her martini right in front of your face.

"This little bitch... I can't believe it," you whispered, that had been fucking hot, but still your blood began to boil a little, both from the annoyance and from the alcohol. Kazuha began to move her upper body slightly, following the rhythm of the music as she waited for a waiter to arrive to order another drink. You kept drinking from the same glass, which was barely half full.

As time passed and the alcohol took its toll on her, Kazuha began to feel more and more liberated, she was in constant contact with you at all times, so you noticed how hot her body was due to the liqueur.

"Daddy, come dance with me," Kazuha was no longer grinning from ear to ear at all times, now she was more serious, with a lustful look on her eyes and flushed cheeks. She wasn’t drunk, she was at that precise point where you felt all your senses sharpen.

She made you wrap your arms around her waist, while she placed a hand on the back of your neck so that you would stay close to her neck at all times, that is how she began to guide you through the music with sensual and marked movements, focusing more in making you enjoy her body than the dance itself. Her ass was constantly rubbing against your crotch, and inevitably your cock began to get hard. Kazuha noticed this, and gripped your neck a bit more tightly, turning her face around and giving you a mischievous smile before sliding a hand between her back and your chest to give your bulge a firm squeeze.

"Hey!" you jumped, grabbing her wrist, "we're in a public place," you said in her ear.

"And?" she teased, then continued squeezing your cock over your pants.

"And you can't do this here, control yourself!" you stopped her a second time, to which she stopped dancing and turned to face you.

"But I'm very horny right now! I want daddy to fuck me," you noticed a certain demanding tone in her voice, which didn't help much in not losing your temper.

"I'm not going to give you what you want, and I'm not going to let you boss me around like that, you damn bitch," you warned her with a frown and a tight grip on her wrist.

"Then I guess I'll have to find another man to give me what I want, bye Daddy!" she broke free of your grasp and began to walk away from you. That was the limit for you.

"Come here you damn brat!" you snarled, catching up with her in just one stride. You were incredibly angry at the time, so much so that when you reached up and grabbed her wrist, you yanked her hard towards you like she was a rag doll. That made her moan, "You're fucking mine, do you understand? My fucking property," you said as you grabbed her chin hard, seized with a combination of jealousy and anger.

"Yes daddy, but you don't want to fuck me..." she moaned, completely surrendering to you, "and this tight pussy needs something to fill it badly."

"Let's go to the fucking bathroom. Now," you ordered, and then pulled her with you by the wrist.

You didn't even know where the hell the bathroom was, but you were letting yourself be so carried away by your impulses that after a few seconds walking you finally reached the bathroom, you didn't even notice if you had entered the men's or women's, you only knew that when you entered there was absolutely no one in there.

You roughly shoved Kazuha forward of her, causing her to fall to the bathroom floor in front of the long sink block made of black marble. You quickly closed the distance between you and her to get her back on her feet, pushing her back and turning her around so she could see herself and you in the mirror, which ran the entire length of the block horizontally.

"Stay fucking still," you growled looking at her in the mirror, her hair was a bit disheveled, but her face, especially her gaze, screamed to completely destroy her.

Your hands encircled her waist and unbuttoned her pants, lowered her zipper and without hesitating for a moment, pulled both her pants and her balenciaga panties down to her knees, from where they ended up falling to her ankles. She gasped, and pulled out of both garments to kick them to the side. You gave one of her buttocks a strong spank that resounded throughout the bathroom, Kazuha moaned, and when you made sure that your hand had been marked on her skin, you fell to your knees right in front of her ass, you spread both buttocks with your hands. hands and plunged your mouth directly into her pussy.

"Oh fuck!" Kazuha moaned loudly, as you started to eat her pussy from behind.

You didn't want to do it for a long time, but the taste of her folds, your hunger to make her yours and her sensual moans made you spend more than a minute eating her pussy like a gourmet dinner. You ran your tongue up and down her slit repeatedly, stopping from time to time to insert a bit of your tongue inside her, which drove her crazy, bending her knees and pushing even more against your face.

You kept eating her pussy for a few more seconds, but you noticed that her ass needed some attention that it hadn't been receiving until now, that's why your tongue went from lubricating her pussy to eating her ass.

"Daddy! Ah! That feels… ah fuck! Weird..." and she was right, it was strange for her at first, but as your tongue, along with your fingers, continued to play with her ass, the more she enjoyed it.

When you considered that she had had enough, you stood up again and quickly unbuttoned your pants, then lowered them with your boxers to your ankles. You felt a rush of adrenaline at that moment, anyone could walk in at that precise moment and see you with your rock hard cock behind Kazuha, but that only made everything more attractive and sexy for you.

Just to make sure you spit on your own cock and lubed it up well, before bending your knees slightly and rubbing your tip up and down over her slit, you saw her through the mirror, meeting pleading eyes and a mouth parted with gasps, and not wanting to waste much more time, you lined up with her and maked just a one hard thrust, your cock disappearing into her tight, wet pussy.

"Holy ffffuck!" Kazuha snarled, dropping her head forward and clinging tightly to the edge of the sink block. A moan escaped your mouth as well, feeling a dance of hot sensations run through your body as you once again felt the silky, tight walls of her pussy engulf your entire length.

Your hands went to her waist, your fingers firmly squeezing her meat when you began to fuck her with all the energy and desire to give her what she deserved. Kazuha immediately began to squeal with pleasure as your pelvis crashed aggressively against her ass with each of your thrusts.

"You're fucking mine, is that clear to you, you fucking brat?" you asked in a raspy voice, taking one of your hands to her hair to pull it back and make her arch her back until it almost brushed against your chest.

"Yes daddy, I'm sooo fucking yours!" she answered you between loud moans that, to your relief, absolutely no one could hear, "I'm daddy's little whore, only daddy's!"

"Then you're going to stop acting like a fucking spoiled bitch!" you grunted and then released her hair with a sharp shove, which caused her to lay her stomach flat on the shiny surface.

You took advantage of her new position to grab her left leg and bring her knee up onto the sink block, giving you a better angle to continue hammering her pussy furiously. Kazuha's moans turned into screams and deep growls that you could feel ripping in her throat, she enjoyed being used as a little sex toy with which to vent your anger, and most of all feeling your cock slamming deep inside her.

You gave her ass a couple more spanks, each one hard enough to leave a mark that wouldn't go away for hours. Both of her buttocks were already red, but that wasn't enough to let her know who was in charge.

You left her pussy, and in one quick movement you turned her around again to grab her by the waist, lift her to the sink block and spread her legs wide to get back inside her. Your gaze met hers, and despite the fact that you wanted to kiss those pretty parted lips, you knew that the right thing to do was not to give in to her charms.

A break was the last thing you wanted to give her, but you were also sure she didn't want something like that. You continued fucking her as if your life depended on it, your bodies became sweaty, and in the middle of your thrusts some drops fell on her perfect and toned abdomen. Kazuha kept moaning like crazy, but you decided to shut her up in a very simple way; both of your hands went straight to her neck, you wrapped your fingers around it and squeezed hard, cutting off any sound coming from her throat, and her breath.

And as if that were some kind of special switch, as soon as your fingers pressed against her throat, Kazuha growled from deep inside her in an intense explosion of pleasure that made her tremble; the tight walls of her pussy nearly crushed your cock due to the strong orgasm she was having, but you didn't give a shit, you just kept fucking her hard through her ecstasy.

"That's right, cum for Daddy and Daddy only, fucking slut," on an impulse you slapped her hard with your right hand, and you would have regretted it right away, but that only made Kazuha squeal and growl even louder, then you noticed that she wanted to say something, so you eased your grip on her neck.

"Please cum inside your little princess daddy," she begged, looking into your eyes, with hair in her face and a few strands sticking to her forehead due to sweat, "Use my pussy however you please! I'm just daddy's cum dump!"

After saying that Kazuha wrapped her legs around your torso, trapping you tightly and pulling you closer to her, that made it much more difficult for you to hold on much longer. You didn't continue to choke her, instead you reached up to the nape of her neck and pulled her hair again, exposing her long, sweaty neck for you to kiss and lick as you gave the last few thrusts before exploding inside her pussy.

Normally you would never have moaned as loudly as you did at that moment, but all the sensations combined were extremely overstimulating for you. You bit into her neck, and then her shoulder, while shooting multiple thick strips of cum onto the walls of her pussy. Kazuha accompanied you with more high moans, which harmonized with yours and made you completely surrender to her. Her thighs tightened on each side of your torso, not letting you go under any circumstances until you left absolutely all your seed inside her.

It took a few slow pumps until your own orgasm passed, you squeezed your eyes shut, and let your head fall forward to rest your forehead on her shoulder. Both of you were breathing hard, as if you had run a marathon, her hair, which had been perfectly ironed before, was now ruined, and even her top was somewhat out of place, crooked on the right side. You stayed inside her for a few long seconds while you both rested, and when you regained your composure, you straightened up and slowly pulled your cock out from between her folds, letting a thick river of hot load spill out from inside her.

"You came a lot this time Daddy..." Kazuha sighed, biting her lip and then using two of her fingers to scoop up some of your cum from her pussy to take directly into her mouth to swallow, "was I a good girl?"

"No, you were anything but that, but you're lucky you drive me crazy," you grabbed her chin, and placed a small kiss on her lips.

"Oh yeah?" she raised an amused eyebrow, knowing that now she could do literally anything without you punishing her for it.

"I don't even know why I open my mouth," you sighed, shaking your head. It was at that moment that you remembered where you were, "Oh shit! We're fucking lucky, get dressed quickly!"

You helped her down from the sink block and then handed over her clothes. You both dressed and got ready as fast as you could, fearing for the first time that someone would walk in and see you both there together. Kazuha took some extra time to make her hair look halfway decent, and she certainly did, but she still looked like she'd been rolled down a hill.

"Fuck, we didn't clean that up," you said, looking at the pool of cum in the sink that dripped onto the floor.

"Never mind! Someone else will clean it up, let's just get out of here," once again, and as if nothing had happened, Kazuha was the one who took your hand and pulled you out of the bathroom.

To your surprise, everything was still exactly the same up there, no one had noticed your presence, and apparently they had not realized that you had been there for a long time, but before you continued walking you stopped when you remembered something. Heejin.

"Baby, go sit down, I need to send a message," you gave Kazuha a small kiss on the temple, and then another on her lips, "I won't be long."

"Yes daddy! I'll be waiting for you," she complied, walking away from you with little totters.

You took out your phone, entering Heejin's chat.

When you finished sending the messages you put your phone back in your pocket, and walked to meet Kazuha again. You didn't want to think about it too much, but you had the feeling that everything was going in a direction that you hadn't thought of from the beginning. You had definitely felt a connection with Kazuha, and you had all kinds of worries about it, but for your own sake and hers you decided to suppress those thoughts, and just dedicated yourself to enjoying the rest of the night with her.

——————————————————————————

Spren Notes:

I have nothing to say, honestly just excuse me for making y'all wait so long for this shit lol. Notably, I didn't realize I'd written 3 different smut scenes until I did, wow, I really got carried away by this girl. Anyway, thank you all so much for reading!

If you, dear reader, are also interested in buying me a commission, do not hesitate to go through my inbox, I’ll be delighted!

[spread4marvel]

Patience

I couldn’t decide between Bucky or Loki on this one but I ended up going with Loki so hope yall like it. (i’m also in a huge writing block so if u wanna send me a request feel free🤗)

You and Loki have been together for a few decades now in Asgard, which is still fairly new, but the two of you are far more comfortable with each other. Therefore, Loki had always been one to tease and edge you in public, and tonight, you were determined to make things different.

TW: Heavy smut, slight spelling errors, Breeding kink, dirty talk, and edging in a public area

”You’re not wearing green.”

Loki stated as you walked out of the closet to reveal your outfit to him. You stifled a smirk as his eyes got slightly low and dark, he could see right through your mischief. He was the god of if, after all.

“You don’t like it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

You bat your eyelashes at him, trying to act innocent, as if you didn’t plan this out. He furrows his brow before a wolfish grin plays on his face, he hums. With a snap of his fingers your dress begins to fade into a beautiful emerald shade of green. You sarcastically huff as his smirk grows wider, coming closer to entangle his arm with yours.

“You can’t just turn all of my gowns green.” You state, he can’t help but chuckle lowly as a response. “Ahh, i’m aware, My dear. Unfortunately for you, I can’t seem to help myself.” He replies playfully, smiling down at you. Your height difference is obscene, even in heels. A silence falls over the two of you for a moment, then you decide to break it. “I believe we should start walking now.” You said, cocky and teasing at the fact that he had been staring at you for the last few minutes of silence. He didn’t respond for a moment, finally, you realized what he was staring at.

“You are breathtaking, am I not allowed to bathe in My Wife’s beauty?” He asks, more rhetorically as he fiddles with your golden necklace. The initial ‘L’ on it shining brightly in the light. “You’ll be rewarded for this darling.” He says, dropping the necklace as it retreats back to your collar. His voice lower and brooding. You can feel your pussy practically soar with excitement as you tried to ignore the new found wake in between your thighs. “I-I believe your father will be displeased if we wait a second later.” You remind, trying to distract yourself from your newfound arousal. He smirks, reading your body so well as he notices your change in demeanor, but he doesn’t dare say another word as the two of you begin to walk, arms entangled together.

—————————————————————

So far, your plan had been going extremely well. You hadn’t been avoiding Loki all night, naturally you could never stray too far from your husband, but you had been coming up to him to subtly brush your body against his and then whisper filth in his ear before retreating to go mingle with other guests of the palace. He was, naturally, amused and sexually frustrated by your successful attempts of teasing.

Unfortunately for you, it was time to be seated for the speech that Thor had prepared. Since you were apart of the royal family, you and Loki sat alone at one table together. Naturally, Odin and Frigga followed suit, also sitting at their own table alone. Which meant, Loki could finally get his payback, now you felt a hand slowly creeping up your thigh. You look over at him before turning your attention back to the speech.

“L-Loki… what if someone sees you?” You whisper lowly to him, a dark chuckle graces your ear as a response, his fingers are hooked onto your inner thigh, so close to where you need him. “I think that would do wonders for my imagine, don’t you? Loving husband attentively tending to his needy wife, sounds quite heroic of me.” He replies, as cocky as ever. You roll your eyes at him, a slight scoff fleeing from your lips lowly. He can’t help but smirk.

“Besides, My dear, what if someone saw what you’ve done to me.” He continues, his voice is low and velvet smooth. A deep timber rumbling through his tone as he mumbles in your ear. You look at him, innocent confusion playing on your features. Still, it’s a great enough effect to remind you of the pool forming eagerly between your thighs.

“I have no clue what you mean.” You try innocently, he sees right through you and you know it.

“Liar. If you wish to be a tease, let me show you what all your teasing has wrought.”

His words seems to fall gracefully from his lips. You turn your head slightly before redirecting yourself back to the speech no one seemed to be listening to. Loki gently grabbed your hand, guiding it in between his thighs until you reached his rock-hard erection through his pants. You gasp slightly, quiet enough for no one to hear besides your husband. “Gods Loki…” You grip the girth of his cock deliciously, causing his breathing to spike for a moment. Fighting the groan that threatens to fall from his lips. He straightens his back, composing himself once more as he doesn’t seem to push your hand away.

“You feel that? That is the consequences of your actions, my dear. I hope you know how to finish what you’ve started.” He reminds you, your smirk grows wider. You remove your hand from his aching cock, which reminds you of the hand of his that is currently pressing against your soaked panties. “I wouldn’t be too smug darling, it seems your greedy cunt is no better.” He whispers darkly, you blush at the mentions of your dampness, your smirk quickly turning to a playful scowl as Thor finally seemed to finish.

—————————��———————————

It was now time for one of Asgards many traditions, the ballroom dance. You partnered yourself with Loki as he swayed you to the rhythms of the music. He twirled you gracefully before pulling you back into his arms. You took your opportunity and slightly rubbed your ass against his crotch subtly. Loki groaned in your ear before spinning you around and dipping you. “Naughty girl.” He growled to you, you couldn’t help but giggle before he pulled you back up and the two of you swayed more.

“Oh, you liked that hmm?”

You tease him in his ear as he brings you close before twirling you away once more. He’s glaring at you with his dark bedroom eyes as he brings you close once more. “You’re playing a deadly game, little girl. It would be a shame if I bent you over right now and made you moan for me in front of everyone.” He muses back, you can’t help but feel a new wave of arousal crash over you due to his manipulation, he can tell by the way you struggle to retort a reply. The ache between your thighs is only growing more unbearable as the two of you danced.

“Oh I think that would do wonders for my image.” You remark breathlessly, teasingly quoting his exact words. You can tell he’s about to make you regret your fierceness and just as he’s about to have his way with you, the song ends. You smile as he pulls you close one final time. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” He whispers darkly, before you both pull away and resume the party. Starting to rethink your decisions but you can’t help but be thrilled by what’s to come.

—————————————————————

The night had finally unwinded so the two of you gave your remarks to family and then begin the walk to your shared chambers. Lokis hand is rest possessively on your lower back as the two of you walk. Suddenly, you hear Thors booming voice calling after Loki, you huff knowingly. “Wait Loki!” He tries, Loki rolls his eyes and groans. “Wait in the room for me darling, spread with nothing on.” He commands, you nod as he sends you off, leaving himself behind to negotiate with Thor.

You hum as you pull your clothes off, just as he had requested. You know Loki was gonna be even more pent-up, but so were you. You thought about touching yourself, making yourself cum instead of waiting. Your aching cunt was practically begging you too, but you wanted to be good for him. Loki doesn’t take fairly long to return to you, in fact, he’s back in mere minutes. As soon as he shuts the door he’s onto you. With just three long strides across the vast palace chambers he has made it over to your body in a haste.

He lays you down on your back as he throws one of your legs onto his shoulder putting your bare arousal on display for him. “Oh darling I can practically smell your wet cunt, did you touch yourself while I was away?” He asked as his breath ghosts on your eager cunt. He already knows the answer, but he’s prone to making you say what he wants to hear. “N-No Loki I didn’t…” You answer truthfully, to which Loki replies “Good girl.” Loki hums lowly as he licks one long stripe through your ripe pussy. Groaning as he eagerly began to eat out your cunt with practiced precision.

You moaned as you felt his lips latch onto your arousal, whimpering slightly as you threw your head back into the pillow in pleasure. You simply adored the feeling of Loki’s silver-tongue on you, and he was smugly aware of that. “Mm you make such pretty noises for me darling, I intend to make you scream until that pretty voice is hoarse.” He explained as he lifted his head from between your thighs to tease you, you whine slightly at the missed connection, he smirked at that little noise as he found himself returning back to your pussy eagerly.

One orgasm leads to the next and you find your mind hazy and dumbfucked by Loki who had yet to stop eating your cunt. “Do you even know how much you’ve came for me?” He asked rhetorically as he lifted his head from yet another orgasm, his hair was ruffled and your cum was smeared around his lips as he gave you those low eyes. It was the most remarkable sight you could’ve thought of and the sight alone made you whimper longingly. He didn’t need a response, he let silence flow for a moment as he planted hickeys and kisses to your inner thighs silently. Either way, he was quite sure you couldn’t even fathom a response. But he knew you loved to hear his voice brewing your arousal and so he continued with his torture.

“I figured you didn’t, Love. I made sure of it. You know dearest, an Asgardian prince is too not pleasure their lover with their tongue? I always found the rule silly, like many others, don’t you dear?” He asked with a smug grin, clearly enjoying his affect on you, he doesn’t plan to stop yet. He intends to continue to pull orgasms until he feels as if ‘you’re ready’ for him. You whine in agreement, panting heavily. “y-yes my prince, I-I do…” You manage to get out, the ache between your legs seemingly missing Loki’s tongue.

“I would hope so, wife.”

He purrs knowingly as he returns his tongue back to your clit, beginning his beautiful torture again. Attentively, you buck your hips on his face eagerly. He groans in pleasure, loving the feeling of your evident desperate state. He buries his tongue in your pussy as he licks a clean stripe up your clit deliciously causing you another orgasm. He smirks at the quickness of this one, he knows you’re ready now. Eagerly, he licks up your remaining cum before pulling himself from your pussy to undress.

He takes his time with this one, peeling his clothes piece by piece in a teasing fashion. You know if he wanted to, he could make it all disappear with a flick of his hand, but instead he intends to tease you. “Don’t be a tease Loki, it’s not a good color on you.” You remind, he quirks an eyebrow at you with a smirk as he finishes with his final article of clothing before climbing on top of your writhing body.

“Oh, truly love you wound me. Plus, we’re both aware of the dishonesty that leave your lips. But please my dear, Dic mihi satis mendacium.” (Tell me more pretty lies) He purrs deliciously in your ear, you groan as his Latin graces its way to your ears. He could be saying anything in the world to you, but when he speaks it with that accent in that tone you simply can’t resist the feeling of being wet. You direct your hand to his hard cock, giving him two strokes as you bore into his eyes before removing you hand.

“P-please Loki… n-need you too fill me…” You plead, the ache between your thighs growing harder to resist as you fall back to begging him. He smirks as he lines himself up with your entrance. Beginning to push his thick cock into your wet pussy. The two of you seem to groan together in sync as he allows you to adjust yourself. Finally, he pulls his cock fully out before slamming it back into your cunt. He continues his ruthless pace as he pounds into you deliciously. You moan loudly in pleasure, shamelessly. He continues his pace as you feel his cock slightly stutter before pushing all the way back into you as you feel his cock graze your G-spot.

Instantly, you cum all over his cock. He smirks as he doesn’t seem to stop pounding into you. “That was awfully quick, Wife.” He teases you, you couldn’t care enough as you moan again, you can feel his cock hardening in your cunt. You’re sure he’s bound to cum soon, but he wants to make you cum another time before he spills his seed. “Think I could pull another one from you? Come on love let me feel you.” He encourages, you whimper slightly, with a few more thrusts you find yourself close again, you moan as you try to communicate. “F-fuck im so close!! D-don’t stop Loki.” You convey as you find yourself cumming once more.

His cock is practically soaked with your juices as he finally begins to drawl close. He grunts and groans breathlessly. “I’m so close amare (Love) I’m gonna cum all i-inside you… would you like that? mmmphh… g-gonna let me plant my heir in you? You would look even more beautiful with my seed growing inside of you.” He rumbles, his timber voice affecting you heavily as he talks about breeding you. You moan at the thought. “Y-yes please!” You practically shout, your voice hoarse just as he had promised as he finally releases. Spilling his hot semen inside of you with a groan.

The two of you pant together and lie intertwined for a couple of moments. Embracing each other warmly. He pulls out lovingly, planting kisses to your collarbone as he does. He grabs you a warm rag as he cleans you both up and plants kisses to your skin. A snap of his fingers and the sheets are clean and warm for the two of you.

“Goodnight, My love.” He whispers to you one last time as he presses his final kiss to your forehead before joining you in the bed together, interlinked.

_____________________________________

Sorry if I missed with this one😓, It’s my first time writing smut so I hoped you enjoyed and maybe drop me a request!!

[spookypete-94]

Heels John PricexFem!reader

Thought for a long time about who I would rather write about in this scenario. The big intimidating but loving Ghost, or our rather caring and gentle man of a Captain. The more I thought about it, the more John fit into this better. So! I present to you a short story called Heels (inspired by a TikTok I saw but can no longer find) that lives in my brain rent free.

Trigger warning for language, implied smut at the end.

Working alongside the TF141 is generally anything but boring. This time however, it is radically outside your normal specialties of defensive tactics. Commonly, your multilingual self worked with the front lines. Either making peace or declaring war with the faces of many enemies in their native tongue. Always willing to follow up with your promise of violence with your knowledge of weaponry.

You should have known something was off by the way Laswell pronounced herself half way in front of your make shift office in the hotel you were staying in, blocking herself with the other half of the doorway to what you would consider an evil plan trick. Using the entry way as a blockade hiding the tight black dress in a bag in her other hand.

"I need you to do me a favor." By her tone you could tell she was addressing something, rather delicately but still trying to be direct. Still acting strange none the less.

"A favor? Or is this an order?" Your tone not believing her, looking up at her through your loose hair and up past your eyebrows over the stack of papers you had finished for her.

She sighed seeing the direction this was going sensing your attitude.

"It's a mission, one I've already assigned you to."

"I'm finishing the last report for you and now you're sending me on another mission? What the fuck, Laswell?" You asked confused sitting back in your chair.

"You see," she said beating around the bush, "the dress doesn't fit me so I can't do it myself." Side stepping from the door frame and exposing the dress bag that was in her hand.

A long pregnant pause filled your office as your heated gaze glanced back at her, and back to dress bag.

"What entirety of a shit show have you signed me up for??" Your question booming out of your office and spilling into the hallway where Price stood leaning. He was watching the interaction of you and Laswell, trying to keep his snicker to himself. Laswell seeing this out of the corner of her eye stepped in and shut your office door hoping to save her hide from the embarrassment.

Behind close doors she explained that you were needed for an undercover mission at a gathering. One that you needed to drop off a mic that would allow them to get information on a weapons runner, however with this being a Russian party, they felt they would be going in blind.

"I'm your translator, not your spy. This is espionage, isn't that more your forte?"

"Please, I need your help and already told John we would help his team. You're the only one that can bullshit your way through this."

A loud scoff left you as you snagged the dress from her hand. Pulling the bag apart you could see the sparkly black dress. As much as you didn't want to admit it, your heart skipped a beat at something so feminine, fingers running against the fabric catching on the stones periodically.

"It's the only dress we have on base... And it's your size."

"You fucking owe me."

Laswell zipped up the back of the dress leaving you to smooth out the material trying to make it longer on your skin.

"Looks nice."

"Mm." Was the only thing your brain could come up with.

Finding some heels you kept with your pant suit you wore with, you slipped those on. They were a little risque seeming as your pant legs were long enough to cover them, but with the dress you could definitely see the red velvet on the back of the black heels. The heel, a normal 5" inch shaft with a tight point at the end. You always thought they would make a nice weapon if needed and here you might just get your chance.

Stepping out into the hallway following Laswell, you joined Price who was waiting patiently still. You could immediately feel his eyes on you. Somehow, even though the bright blue was like the frozen tundra, they were warm... like you could stay there.

"You ready?" His voice grumbled out.

"As much as I'll ever be," you said side stepping the two ready for this to be over.

*********************************

In the thick of it, you had been let in to the "social gathering". Turns out, if you dress yourself up well enough- no questions are even asked. Looking around, it really was rich socialites. Most of them made rich from their dirty deeds, or the lengths of how far they are willing to sell their souls.

But Laswell was right, the ability of your capability to bullshit your way through this, was impeccable. How grateful you were fluent in Russian.

"Nearly there," Price said being overwatch for you, seeing you make your way into the meeting room of the house where you had learned TF141's target would be assembling his counsel.

Placing your mic and wire under a shelf in a bookcase near the desk, you then quickly slipped out the door and found a way out of the party, heading back to the hotel to help Price and Laswell with translation.

*********************************

The meeting had already started once you had walked back into the office off of Price's room this time. Price offered you headphones which you had put on, closing your eyes to listen. Thankfully with were you had placed the wire, you were hearing everything. Repeating everything that was being said as Laswell wrote it down and Price made sure it was recording in case needing to return back to the information later.

As the meeting called to an end, you had discovered they were doing a weapons drop off tomorrow. Later in the evening to be concealed by dark to be exact. From the work you had done, you had the amount of men that would be there down to the amount of guns and bullets being exchanged.

Laswell stood up ready to go call this in as she squeezed your bare shoulder, leaving Price's office quickly due to their recent break through.

Doing so left you and Price alone.

"Thank you, I know that wasn't easy for you," he said getting up and reaching into his desk pulling out 2 whiskey glasses and a bottle with ember liquid.

"Glad its over, don't ever wish to do it again. Didn't enjoy it," you replied shuddering thinking about the many eyes that were on you. Thankfully you had quietly left, all unscathed and without issue. The whole idea of being in the enemies den however, was a bit much for you. You preferred it to be at the hands of combat, where everyone knows where they stand on the battlefield- not waiting for your cover to be blown.

He gave a quiet single chuckle, sliding the glass to you his way of showing his gratitude. Eventually leaning on the front of his desk near you.

"Dress looks nice, you look nice," he said making you flush but you tried to hide it with the glass he had just supplied you with.

"How funny, Captain. I had men with their eyes on me and none of them brave enough to flirt with me there," you quipped trying to break the awkward tension that was rising.

"Can you really call them men then?" The question he gave only rising your flush further. You snorted, still trying to play this off as banter- not realizing his full intentions of getting you riled. Finding the question rhetorical, you did not answer. Instead you focused on how sore your feet where from trying to almost sprint in the heels away from the lions den.

Making a grimace, you reached down to slip them off. The heavy feeling of Price's hand on your shoulder pushing you back though made you look at him wide eyed.

"What are you doing?"

"My girl can let me do that." He said reaching forward grabbing the leg of the chair you were in and pulling it towards him abruptly. The whole idea of him making a motion looks so easy made you weak at the knees... good thing you were sitting down. Large fingers around the back of your foot, slipping the heel down and off, quickly removing the other one as well.

A sigh of relief left you as you sat back in the chair but quickly looked up as Price was still standing above you.

"Captain?" You asked face now feeling permanently red and warm. Maybe it was the bourbon...

"John. That's the name you're gonna being saying tonight, love." A promise he intended to hold you to.

Making your jaw go slack, his chest reverberated in his normal laugh all while he kneeled in front of you. The sight of it all feeling like a dream to you. Slowly, he left kisses up your legs, taking turns moving back and forth on each one. Finally resting at your thighs, he pushed your dress up revealing your panties that he pushed to the side and buried his face in gently. Tongue separating your warmth.

"John," was all you could say near whisper. Thank god John kept his promises.

[strawberrystepmom]

cw omegaverse, cw yandere, cw predator prey dynamics. f!omega reader, alpha!geto. wc 698

pt. 2

“Fuck,” you mutter to no one in particular while inspecting the ingredients label of a jar of sesame paste to try and hide the flush that you know is painting your cheeks and the bridge of your nose crimson.

It has been a long time since you’ve felt like this and your hand shakes as you barely hold onto the jar enough to slide it onto the shelf in front of you.

You don’t even need sesame paste, you just need a distraction. Something to keep you from focusing on the twist of your stomach and the sweat prickling across your hairline and the back of your neck.

Today was clearly not the day to forego your heat suppressant, limbs feeling simultaneously light as air and heavy as lead as you drag your feet down the aisle with a basket dangling from the crook of your elbow. Your head hurts, your senses are dulled, but you don’t miss the clearing of a throat behind you nor the way it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

The voice is rich as the cake you allowed yourself to indulge in on your last birthday and it wraps around you like a velvet ribbon. As if you cannot control yourself, you turn your head and gasp looking at the man who is beckoning you in a way that makes you feel completely out of body.

He’s tall, his raven hair spills across his shoulders, and his broad chest blocks out the sight of anyone on either side of him. Swallowing but your throat feels more dry after doing so somehow, your pulse speeds up as realization dawns.

Alpha. This man, Suguru Geto, is an alpha.

“I’m sorry, I know this is a strange thing to ask, but are you…” he trails off, indicating you should know what he’s asking, but your blank stare tells him otherwise. Your eyes are narrowed but suspiciously glossy and he knows, instinctively, the answer is yes.

You are an omega standing in the middle of a busy grocery store filling the entire place with the aroma of bergamot and vanilla. Unbonded, he can tell as his dark eyes dip downward and check out the contents of your small basket - all for one, he can tell. No ring. No visible mating mark.

Brave or stupid, he can’t tell which.

Your scent is overwhelmingly sensual to the man, his mouth filling with saliva if he dares inhale too deeply, and he can feel his natural urges overtaking any sense he has left in your presence.

“Forgot my suppressants for a couple of days,” you clarify with an embarrassed whisper, eyes still narrowed despite the pull you feel to go to him - to give to him - and you take a step backward to put distance between your bodies, giving yourself a victory in the battle of wills.

“Better be careful being out here then, you’re bound to catch a lot of attention.”

His voice is just as velvety despite the low note of warning in it and if you were less controlled by your base urges in this moment, you’d bare your teeth in an overly polite smile and walk away. Right now, though, you are frozen in place and your eyes meet his. They are molten bronze framed by the darkest lashes you’ve ever seen and you’ve never felt as pinned as you do right now, beneath his gaze.

Like a frightened rabbit, you become skittish. Two further steps backward put even more space behind you and you turn on your heel, eyes wide as you look over your shoulder to have the last word.

“Thank you for your concern but I’ll be fine.”

He nods politely and plasters on a serene smile, inhaling just deep enough that his pupils dilate after another overwhelming rush of you inside his head.

“Take care,” he raises his voice to speak back and you shiver, stomach twisting even more as you fumble your way toward the checkout and force yourself to keep looking forward to prevent running back in his direction.

You’ll be back in a day or two, Suguru assumes, and his alpha instincts rarely fail when it comes to getting what he wants and he’s more than content to wait.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Even my Friends just Love Her

|| Dear John Series 💌

Warnings: 18+ sexual and thematic material, not a lot in this chapter but some brief voyeurism and mention of naughty photographs, letters and imagined sex acts

Coauthored: honestly bless my baby Bri who I begged to beta read this when I was stumped three quarters of the way to completion and she went above and beyond and gave the ending of this segment so much life, pretty phrasing and a beating heart. It was a total joy to work on this with you, darling, thanks for your lovely idea that spawned this whole series in the first place.💋 so many thanks to Christi and Ashley who endured my screams about Spangles and writers block

April-May 1945

Her tenth night in Paris found Marge Spencer hard at work earning her keep as a trusted member of The Lana Tierney’s retinue.

She didn’t mind the labor, it had paid for a boat ride and a plane over the pond and the prettiest shared suite in the Ritz, with a view of the iconic skyline and more macaroons than Marge knew what to do with. An American girl of average means, moderate schooling and a vast imagination, Marge felt like pinching herself that her view consisted of the Eiffel Tower; instead, she applied herself more earnestly to her occupation and diligently set about petting the soft white fur fringing Spangles’ little pink nose.

That was the extent of Marge’s job description, pet Spangles, feed Spangles, brush Spangles, wash Spangles, walk Spangles, carry Spangles; anytime Julie Jean couldn't tend to Spangles herself, Marge was at the ready.

Spangles, you see, was a white bunny rabbit of the masculine sex given to Julie on her latest War Bond tour by a Marine gunner and nothing short of death could part the two. He had a blue velvet collar, a fetching little name tag hanging from it and a very active set of whiskers.

“Spangles was my dearest friend before you.” Julie had told Marge when she first introduced them and Marge had done her best to not crumple at that unwittingly dismal revelation.

There had been a lot of those. Julie Jean, as Miss Lana insisted Marge call her, was a unicorn of sorts. Very magical, very shiny, very fragile, dubiously real even to herself. For someone so universally adored she was the loneliest creature Marge had ever encountered, before meeting her she had assumed that waifish little fairies like Julie didn’t exist outside of rather maudlin novels. That felt like a very cruel denial of a very real predicament in retrospect. Julie's happiness was unbounded, universally ignited and childlike in its exuberance, her sadness was without a bit of restraint beyond some brittle and fleeting acting capabilities of keeping it together until she got to the powder room.

During their brief friendship, Marge had already spent a great deal of time hugging the starlet and patting her milk white shoulders in powder rooms. Anyone else indulging in such frequent fits might have caused Marge to give them a little shove and advice to ‘chin up’, but Julie did “chin up” so thoroughly and profitably in between -more than anyone Marge had ever known- that Marge felt rather unentitled to that specific sermon. When Julie was up, she was really up and so was everyone within a mile radius of her. And when she was down -only the single person with her or Spangles knew it. And Marge figured that was a pretty decent way to live; as were three room suites at the Ritz and more flowers on flat spots than a funeral home.

What was missing was someone specific to channel it all into. But that, Marge knew, was why they were in Paris: so that Julie Jean could pour out what she had to offer to an entire crowd of furloughed GI’s or else the recently liberated POWs still waiting for transit and looking altogether too thin and too shocked by their first female sighting in over a year. Julie managed them all beautifully, standing under hot afternoon suns and chilly evening spring breezes like a champ, in spindly heels and fetching chiffon straps, collecting flowers and kisses and horror stories with unfading aplomb.

Tagging behind her each day, cradling Spangles and the overflow of flowers not even Herb could manage, Marge grew tired just by observing. You had to have some kind of heart to keep doing what Julie did day after day. Wake up looking forward to it. You had to have an awfully large receptacle to receive what she had to give, too.

A revolving crowd of hundreds of GIs -or Bucky Egan.

Tagging behind, ever watchful for threatening Hollywood acquaintances or freshly liberated boyfriends in the crowd, Marge had no luck so far. She went to each show, mingled in each press of the crowd before and after, scanning, always scanning for blue eyes and golden hair and the sweetest face she’d ever known.

Gale. There was no reason to think he’d be here, but it had been ages since their last letters, only word had been that they’d been moved and that was from some other pilot in the same gargantuan holding place. As the flurry of a world war wrapping up took hold of bedraggled Europe, no one knew where anyone was. Unless you were a world famous starlet residing at the Ritz in a very promoted continental tour -then folks knew how to find you and serenade you under your hotel window.

Communication lagged terribly and it was a roll of the dice whether your next bit of news would be the most tragic or joyful you’d ever received. Whether you’d hold the person you missed or the telegram regarding them first.

So Marge scanned the crowds and tried her best to receive the overflow of flowers -and the occasional kiss- from the men around her with half the grace Julie showed each. It was really all very flattering, very exciting, and while back home in America there was felt the buzz of approaching victory, nowhere exuded it in such frantic merriment of expectation like Paris.

“Everything’s better in Paris.” Julie had told Marge on the way over, dreamy and giddy herself that her plan had worked, that they were headed over to the same land mass as their men, and that Marge was with her, “Even the best things in the world get magnified in Paris. That’s why everyone doubts it’s real. But it is Marge! It is!”

So far, even sitting on the carpeted floor of the suite, staring out the balcony after ten nights spent here, and petting Spangles wet fur for a living, Marge had to agree it felt more than a little magical.

“Laaaa!” Julie’s exclamation interrupted her reverie, silver belled voice matching the atmosphere to perfection, “Wasn’t that a bop?”

She’d been soaking in that tub for two hours, tap turning and on and off to add more hot water and Marge thought her poor, no doubt sore, feet deserved every second of the extravagance. Plus the room now smelled of bath salts that Marge was pretty sure were the very distilled essence of seduction. And that complimented her view of the Parisian skyline, too.

“Always is with you at the mic.” Marge swore, meaning it, too. Nine shows in ten days and even though she had ulterior motives for attending Lana’s shows -scanning, always scanning- Marge was astounded by the variety and interest the entertainment retained after repeated tastings.

“Yeah? Really? Honest?” Julie sat herself cross legged on the fluffy duvet at the foot of their shared, king sized bed, and chewed her lip like it was her first performance ever. There had been another suite with another bed, and after the second night when Julie heard Marge crying her little heart out over Gale, the consolation had been made. Julie was eager for sleepovers. Never had them before, she swore.

Now these chats happened each night.

“Honest.” Marge got up from seat on the floor and came over to the bed, setting Spangles between them, “You gotta know that? Like those screams and yells were all hoo haa. Trust me, Julie, it was electric. You were electric. Again.”

They sat and pet Spangles in silence for a few moments before Julie spoke up again, soft and sweet as she watched Marge’s dimple deepen, “You’ve made this trip so much better than any other I’ve taken, you know that, Margie? Paris is how it should be with you.” she proclaimed triumphantly, “Lovely and pretty and makes me feel like I can float.”

“You can in my book.” Marge drawled, chucking under Julie’s chin, the girl looked half too young without the makeup and Marge felt it was easier to be friends like that.

Just two girls and a bunny in Paris.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Julie whispered.

They spent most of their sleepovers talking about them -the boys. Speculating happy little comforts for them and spinning happy little ever-after’s for themselves when this all wrapped up.

“Hopefully cuddling for warmth.” Marge’s grin grew sly, the mental picture too amusing even if it was bittersweet.

A small commotion in the hall outside sent both girls into high alert suddenly, Spangles’ whiskers twitching in solidarity for their anticipation. This had been happening most nights, too.

“Is it them do you think?” Julie gleefully whispered, untangling her legs and tiptoeing to the door with Marge begrudgingly protesting but following nonetheless.

Julie was generous with the peephole and Marge had given up pretending to be above the jovial pastime of people watching -especially when their swanky floor at the Ritz meant they had the most shocking sort of neighbors. Ingrid Bergman for one, and as of the last six days; accompanied by a man who was not her husband.

“He’s dark.” Marge reported, finally getting a better look at the man in question as the illicit lovers grappled in a kiss and fumbled longer than usual at their key.

“Lemme!” Julie shoved at Marge’s giggling frame and tiptoed to line her eye up, “Ooooh, lord! Marge, Marge I think that’s Capa!”

Marge made a disgusted little face. “Frank Capra? ‘Why We Fight’ Capra? Isn’t he old?”

“No, no.” Julie swatted at her without tearing her eye from her spying view, “Robert Capa -life magazine. War Photographer, Hungarian, very dangerous profession.”

“Being hungarian?” Marge snorted, “Or stealing wives?”

“Oh hush they’re so in love.” Julie whined, rapt attention until the door of the opposite suite banged shut with a decisive crash. “They’re so in love.” she moaned, letting her forehead thud against the door, allowing herself to dramatically slide down the length of the door to the plush carpet.

“He’s very hairy.” Marge was amusedly unimpressed.

“I don’t want him for meeeee!” Julie whined and Marge sensed another little fir coming on and cast a furtive glance at the macarons and tissues across the room on the side table. “It just reminds one of being in love.”

“Well, don’t fret, that’ll be you and John Egan in no time, clawing wallpaper and ruining respectable people’s evenings.”

Julie looked up at her unimpressed and Marge could have recited from memory the next fussy little cry: “He’ll probably hate me.”

Marge sighed and knowing this was going to be a little bit of a moment, sat down beside her, back to the door, matching pajamas a cool silk rub against each other as she hugged the poor girl. “No he won’t.” She insisted, “He’ll think you’re a silly little goose for crying so much over him and he’ll think you’re smart as anything for all the money you’ve raised -and the good you’ve done. He’s an ambitious man, he’s not one to knock a good idea. I bet he’s proud as anything. If he knows about acorn -he’s proud. You can count on it.”

They did this every evening, too.

Julie had never known a lovelier creature more convinced they were unlovable. It helped that the comforting sentiments she dished out like tranquilizers were firmly true; in fact, if anything, Marge was a little braced for the shock of Julie being quite happily eaten alive by the most voracious man she’d ever had the fortune to meet.

“I might as well jump into the Seine if not.” Julie commented casually.

“Yeah, well,” Marge tempered with a squeeze, “maybe don’t come on to him with that one.”

After some time of more innocuous conversation, a commotion startled them, the triple rap of knuckles on the door behind their backs -Herb’s special little knock. They shared a spooked look. Marge, quite settled in her protector mode, rose first. She gave the peephole a cursory little look to make certain before sliding the lock and cracking the door open as wide as was respectable in silk pajamas.

“Herb?”

“Miss Spencer, Miss Julie,” he gave a nod, something odd in his bearing, a simmering thing near to nervous excitement that jarred with his sober expression, “sorry to bother, but there’s been a development in the lobby -I, ya see, I’ve been turnin’ all the young bucks away after you go up, as you asked but -there’s one down there now-“

“Does he need a room?” Julie inquired anxiously, she’d put up about ten refugee families in various little suites and over a couple dozen servicemen, “That silly concierge not letting you put it on my tab?”

“No miss, this one’s not lookin’ for a room.” Herb’s keen eyes skittered to Marge, an almost cautionary expression on his face, “He says he recently escaped a camp and by the look of him I’d belive it. He’s asking for -for Miss. Spencer, Miss.”

“What?” Marge was not one to be cautioned against hope, “Herb! What did he say? Where is -what’s he look like? What did he say his name-“

“Gale.” Herb let it drop gently. “Said his name was Gale Cleven, and that Miss Turner didn’t know him but her Bunny Friend did. That he saw Miss Spencer’s face in the papers when he got in this evening, he’s meant to be flown out tomorrow.”

“Julie’s Bunny Friend!” Marge repeated with a hysterical little cry, watery smile gone megawatt, “Julie!! Julie it’s gotta be him!”

“Well, well should we-“ Julie patted her pajamaed self down in a bewildered state of companion joy, “-should we go down? Should he- Herb!” too flustered she begged for some direction.

“Up here, I’d think miss.” he advised, “If he’s not the one, there’s no scene made, I can keep him in the hallway while Miss Spencer’s makes use of the peephole -as she is so fond of doing ages after I knock.”

Marge gave him a wry face which he returned in kind.

“Herb, is he -alone?” Julie asked suddenly, voice quite small and Marge could have knocked herself over the head with the ice bucket for being so very callous.

“Yes? Is there a dark haired, tall, big, loud-“

“-American major with him named John?” Herb supplied, ever astute and dampening in the extreme, “No, he’s alone. Or that is, besides the army man who drove him in.”

“Right.” Julie wiped her sweating palms on her thighs, sitting heavily on the bed but doing her damndest to maintain a bright smile. “Don’t leave poor Major Cleven down there any longer, Herb! Bring him up! I’ll wring for room service.”

“He -he may not be-“ Herb cautioned once more but Julie was adamant, already dialing:

“No, no more buts, it’ll be him. And he’ll have news of John. Go! Go go go!”

Marge gave Herb a pitying shrug of solidarity but the minute he was out in the hall she gave all pretense of calm, turning in a giddy spin that spooked poor Spangled and took out an already precarious floral arrangement. “Should I dress? Should I-“ Marge patted herself down now, but Julie, having primly placed her order and tipped it with a sugar coated thanks came over to her, and merely began to take Marge’s blond strands out of their rag curlers.

“No, you should have your hair undone.” the actress proclaimed, “And your top button, too.”

“Julie!“ Marge gasped, somehow it all felt so very likely, with him possibly downstairs, maybe in the elevator now, all their naughty little girls chats suddenly leaving the realm of hypothetical at the likelihood of Gale actually seeing that extra sliver of skin in mere moments.

“Marge.” Julie gave it back to her, fingers insistent on the silk, “It’s up to you to welcome him home.” she preached with girlish simplicity, “And as you’re not home yourself, you must make do, bring home with you.”

“How?” Marge stressed.

“There is nothing more domestic than a lady in a carefully crafted state of repose.”

“There’s not?”

“No, there’s not. ‘Me? Just rolled outta bed to welcome ya honey!’ See?” Julie parroted her alter ego with a little shimmy that sent her own curves jiggling beneath the shiny fabric in such a blatant way that even Marge had to admit she had a point. “Besides,” she added with practicality that sounded very much parroted from Marge herself, “we don’t have time and there’s nothing sexy or welcoming about a woman struggling into her house dress.”

“Ohhh shooo!” Marge began to hit at her when another knock sounded.

“Oh god.” Julie vocalized for her, squeezing Marge’s hand encouragingly, “It’ll be him.” she rallied.

“Yes.” Marge set her chin firmly and having plucked up her bravery, strode to the door purposefully. Somehow it felt like a doubt unworthy of their love for her to use the peephole, so without even a moment's delay in turning the handle, Marge flung wide the suite door and stared back at the two men outside in the hall.

He was pale as spector, those dear and onetime soft features nearly gaunt from deprivation, a criss-cross of purpling scars cutting across parchment skin; but the eyes were the same, sunken and dulled as they were, the same soul stared back at her and the thread between them held firm.

“Marge?” that voice was just as deep and thrilling and homey as she remembered, it had melted her belly and filled her with devotion from his first greeting in Texas. She had not stood a chance, not then and not now.

She was throwing her silk clad self against his filthy overcoat before she could fully comprehend anything else beyond it being him -it was him.

“Gale, Gale, Gale it’s you!” Marge panted in his embrace, the heavy feeling of his hand cradling her head a long imagined thing that winded her in reality.

Julie stood back mildly stunned. She fiddled with her own turban, having forgotten to see to her own appearance. If watching Capra and Bergman hurt so good this- this was bone deep beauty that hurt like a hundred little cuts soothed by a warm bath. Major Cleven was muttering about dirt and redefining what missing her meant into something eternal and something else comparing Marge to angels.

Julie and Herb exchanged the communicative glance of well satisfied colleagues over the lovebirds’ shoulders. If she looked hard she thought she could see commiseration in his face, too. It was intolerable, and she turned her back on the scene and fumbled on the bureau for her cigarette case. The latch was being pesky, it made a clatter as she tried to wrestle it open on the tortoiseshell table top. She’d dropped the thing one too many times, and now the latch was busted just so that it was a bore to get it open.

“Miss Turner.” her real name spoken by a man made her jump, all the more so as he was so close behind her, suddenly deep into the suite as Julie had let too many moments go in her fight with the case.

Julie braced herself on the bureau and turned round to give Major Cleven his deserved smile. He really was as beautiful and ethereal as Marge talked of, recognizing in him some matching features to her own made her want to giggle in embarrassed disbelief at Egan’s obvious preferences. But her quips and greetings died on her tongue at his intense stare, a pink flush making it into his sallow cheeks the longer he looked at her and she recalled how he had seen her picture. But still he held her gaze and behind him Marge looked encouragingly expectant, and as if he could feel his girl’s prodding, he rallied.

“Miss Turner I-“ Gale Cleven looked at a loss for a brief moment, “-for everything! Thank you, for everything.”

“Why, whatever for? I-“ Julie’s batting little laugh was smothered by a sudden and engulfing hug of her own, and while she’d endured and repaid many a hug from soldiers and men alike, this one was different. “Oh Major Cleven, it’s alright, it’s a joy really.” She patted at his back and tried to grin back at Marge’s watery eyed happiness. Herb had gratefully closed the door behind the bedraggled major.

“You saved his life, ya know?” Cleven had pulled away suddenly, very emphatic hands on her shoulders and Julie caught a glimpse of something fatherly like she’d only imagined. “You’re what kept him going.”

“Did he-“ Julie felt her voice grow thin, in aggravation she about stomped her foot in his embrace, “-did he hear? I tried to send messages after-“

“He heard, ‘em.” Gale’s little nod shook her, too.

“He did?” Some chipped and unsettled hope was suddenly falling right into place in her heart, cemented and sure, “He did. But, he’s not with you?” she couldn’t help the little beg.

Cleven’s face fell and so did his hands. Marge approached them, feeling a presentiment. “What happened?”

“We planned to make a run for it together.” Cleven sounded guilty as hell, “Had to be that night. Two went over the wall just fine and I was following and he was behind and they spotted us.” If Julie could have found it in herself to hate him, the wretched look he flashed her would have compelled forgiveness on the spot, “He told me to go -and I did. And I heard shots after and I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Stunned, not at all expecting something of that nature, Julie clung to her furniture a little harder and tried to lean on that newly fastened hope in her heart. They had been connected all this time, she had felt it and now Gale had confirmed it and, she may be insane for it but- “It’s alright, we don’t know, which means we don’t know anything bad either.”

“Yes!” Marge’s voice was a little overly emphatic for the quiet moment, “That’s true! Nothing bad.”

“I know he’d take care of himself,” Gale offered, “-he has been. Just for you. Only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow.”

“Then I think,” Julie dared, feeling her cheeks growing hot and wet, this night being altogether too much to pretend at something close to sanity when with dear friends, “I think we’d know, don’t you? Me and you, we'd

know if he wasn't ... here anymore."

Gale looked at her like she was crazy but at the same time, understanding unfurled behind his eyes, as if he wasn’t used to relying on feelings like this, but it didn’t mean he didn’t know they were real.

Julie meant it, and believing it made some loathsome part of himself calm under the comfort of it. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I think we would.”

“Now!” Julie clapped her hands, Lana’s mask coming to smooth her face and brighten her smile, it wasn’t fair to Gale or to Marge to make this a somber evening, late as it was -this was Paris! The Ritz! If a celebration couldn’t be had and comforts procured, where could they be? “What we do have on our hands -is you! And you look as if you could use a burger and coke and a bath! And I’ve got all of them here, don’t argue, don’t you dare, Marge deserves to see you fed and moderately clean, don’t you think?”

Put that way, as a service to someone else, Gale Cleven only had weak thanks and pale rebuttals about needing to be at the newly rebuilt airport outside the city to get back to Thorpe Abbots tomorrow. He was still enthralled to military time, he hadn’t counted on this, not at all, but it didn’t change things-

“I’ve got a valet, Major, he could get you to Siberia tomorrow if you needed. Now hush, I’ve rung for food. Where are they? Herb! Herb!”

“It’s best to just go with it.” Marge teased him as he catatonically watched the starlet boss about the waiters and her valet, bewildered and bamboozled at the sudden luxury. The sudden proximity of his girl, too.

Suddenly there was nothing else on his mind but one thing, “You said yes.” he reminded in the middle of the chaos swirling around them.

“Yeah,” Marge’s dimples popped, “yeah I did.”

“You still of that mind?” he nudged closer, noses brushing and he was aware that he was filthy, but she was magnetic and willing.

“You’d have to drop off the earth to get out of this one, Major Cleven.”

Gale refused to sit on anything while Julie and Marge fed him from a sumptuous buffet off the cart. He swore he was too dirty to even stand in such a nice place like this but he was also shaky, pale and in dire need of food and with two little blondes plying him with the first bits of American cuisine he’d had in years, he wavered and stayed. His insistence on going to his original billet grew weaker with each passing moment as Marge smiled at him and fed him fries. By the time Herb had been sent down to inform Major Cleven’s jeep driver that his passenger was lost to welcoming arms, Gale had quite forgotten much of anything beyond the feel of a full stomach and the promise of a bath.

For a long time he sat in the cold porcelain shell and ran the water over himself, such a terrible amount of filth and grim didn’t deserve a bath, it would turn even his hardened stomach to sit in the juices of a year and a half’s captivity. So after being shooed by Julie Jean into her intolerably bright and ornate en-suite bathroom, complete with a star’s assortment of toiletries and the bunny’s monogrammed food and water bowls, Gale gingerly let his ratty clothes fall to the marble floor and stepped into the tub.

Over the roar of the faucet he was unaware of the tittering whispers at the door -still slightly ajar and unlatched as Julie Jean was nothing if not a little wicked. And concerned.

“People drown in bathtubs where I come from all the time!” She refuted Marge’s scandalized objections.

“Yes, because they’re pickled with booze!”

“After what he’s been through he’s in about as good of shape.”

Marge knew that statement wasn’t false exactly but her hand still fluttered over her belly in nervousness at the impropriety. “Alright.” she went with it, breathlessly anxious and a little flustered at the blurry something beyond that chink in the hinge.

“Aren’t you going to peak?” Julie unfolded the rest of her play with an alarming smirk. “Come on, he’s going to marry you, how many times will you see him in his natural state at the ritz?”

It wasn’t fair to put it like that, to remind Marge she was living on borrowed fairytale time. It was a deep seated fear she had shared with Julie once as they had the covers tucked up to their chin’s and their hearts out on their pillow cases -that she woke sometimes with a feeling of terrifying urgency and nothing but regrets for a laundry list of bypassed chances she had not taken. Upon waking further and regaining some sanity, she couldn’t for the life of her recall what these fateful omissions that startled her so badly had even been. But times like these, when she went to be good but then was asked if that really was worth her time, such urgency crept back, nagging. “Go on then.” Julie slipped aside, her battle won as Marge surrendered and delicately placed her cheek against the door frame, an eye to the crack.

She had spent many nights imagining the whole of Gale, a beautiful back she had only seen beneath drab olive, the nipped waist and the lanky legs that sent his trousers on a mile long spill of fabric. Her breath hitched at the pale expanse now before her, each proportion how she lovingly recalled but this time without obstruction or disguise, a strange dichotomy: the youthful taper and swell of his backside jarring with stark ribs and a mottle of ugly bruises and festered creases. She didn’t know if her gasp came from desire or commiseration, jerking her face back from the sliver of light as Gale turned his head sharply, as if feeling her observation even as the water had hid her inadvertent noise. Either uncaring or convinced he was mistaken, she watched as Gale stepped into his tub and promptly sank his head beneath the splash.

Julie watched Marge as she watched Gale and she wondered if this is what it was like in fairytales when the gates of the kingdom are thrown open, everything wanted and wished for is there. The protagonists never know what to do with a dream come true, do you eat it? Fondle, crush, preserve it in a glass case? Such a cruel kindness, dreams that come true; Marge’s twitching fingers and gasping lips suggested a torture going on inside her, heavy lidded love and belly hot want.

Julie swore to herself then, she’d feel it too. Soon, she’d be watching the man who owned the jacket as he showed her himself, just as he’d written his heart out for her eyes alone, one day soon he’d be naked and hers and she could watch him and do what people do with dreams.

Perhaps feeling vindictive for being ignored, or perhaps merely thirsty, Spangles suddenly made a series of determined little hops across the suite floor, threaded the blockade of the girls’ feet with ease and, perhaps seeing his chance, nudged open the crack of the bathroom door only to bounce along the marble floor in a cacophonous clatter of little paws that even Gale could hear over the faucet’s roar. Like a slippery fish, he skidded to his side along the bottom of the wide tub, a pink, bath-warmed hand clutching at the edge and hauling his sopping head above the lip to observe his long eared visitor -and the guilty little audience of girls in their night clothes at the threshold.

The look he leveled Marge made Julie’s toes tingle and second guess how chaste these two’s reportedly tame trysts pre-war had really been. “We merely wanted to make sure you didn’t-“ Marge clasped and unclasped her hands, “-drown.” it was a deflated little excuse by the time she got it out.

Spangles had begun to sneeze, ever sensitive to steam and Yardley’s lavender soap, his poor little legs skidding apart further and further on the damp floor. Gale bit his lip from laughing at the cute little creature’s plight.

“Oh laa!” Julie gave up all pretense and entered to save him -the bunny, that is- causing Gale to flail a little harder as if there was a deeper level to the bottom of his tub where he could take refuge. “Add in the bubbles, Major,” Julie always had a remedy, “it’ll hide everything nicely. Don’t ruin poor Marge’s first evening with you by being a prude, she misses you. It’s been years, you know.”

They spent much of that evening in the following way, Gale in his topped off tub, Marge with a mostly useless cloth beside him on the ledge, and Julie primly sat with Spangles in her lap on the closed toilet seat.

“Bucky’s confirmed as best man.” He told Marge, sheepish grin breaking out until both girls laughed at the thought of the boys indulging in their own wedding planning.

He tells them about the radio he built, about the first time they heard her broadcasts, of the photo she’d sent which Bucky and him divided in half each keeping their girl in their pocket,

about Brady and the liturgy of devotion he made up for Egan to recite to Julie’s printed picture on the combine wall. The particulars were left out, Gale being a gentleman to the last, but Julie glowed and wept under the obtuse assurance anyway.

“I trust you kept him warm.” Julie demands, “Seeing as how it’s your fault he didn’t take his jacket.”

Gale tells her of Egan’s presumptuous bunk sharing, how strange things were happening every day and that grew to be commonplace. At her inquiring look he only blushes and stares down at the water, the bruise on his throat blooming under the flush, and for once Julie thinks she knows Gale Cleven better than his Marge.

“I’ve gotta be on that flight tomorrow early!” Gale had just enough energy left to fret even as he was led in a fluffy terry cloth robe to the sofa and made to lay down on fluffed pillows under a velvet duvet.

“Don’t worry about it major, I’ve got everything sorted. We’re coming with you.” Julie insisted, without having even discussed it with anyone as it didn’t require it -of course they’d be going to England with him! And no, she had nothing sorted but as soon as she had Gale deposited on the sofa with Marge’s hands entwined with his from her place on the floor, Julie Jean sent for Herb and summarily entrusted him with sorting it.

“Before seven thirty am tomorrow, please.”

Alone in bed, as Marge had made a poor showing of joining her only to go “check on his breathing” and predictably not returned, Julie lay awake and thought of John. Fat, hot tears rolled out the corner of her eyes and into her ears, tickling her, making a miserable spot on her pillow. Whispering prayers with her eyes on the skyline, she begged him to stay alive for her. “We’re so close, sweet man. We are so close and I love you too much.”

By next morning Herb did indeed have things sorted. Or close to it. There was a small hitch. “Mr. Huston is confused by your change of plans.” Herb informed her as he oversaw the bellman with the last of the trunks. He had ensured Major Cleven’s threadbare uniform had been cleaned and pressed in the night, and when Gale appeared out the en-suite bathroom this morning he looked a modicum closer to how Marge recalled him shipping out.

“What doesn’t he understand?” Julie asked, feeling cross and dreadful suddenly.

“He asked to hear it from you. Room 608.”

“Well I, I suppose I should run by it and then we can be on our way.” Julie decided with brave sprightliness, fixing the little net on her hat to cover more than just her eyes.

“We’ll go with you.” Marge decided with forceful kindness; her pull on his arm was all the command Gale needed not to protest.

“Who’s Huston?” he asked as the elevator whirled them one floor higher.

“My business partner in the broadcast.” Julie replied, “And the man paying for this excursion. I suppose he’d like to make certain I’ve not gone looney.”

Mr. Huston’s cuban valet opened the door and behind him, despite the fresh morning hour, was a scene out of one of Gatsby’s parties. Multiple women in little clothing and a significant amount of discarded booze littered the place, and Huston, smoking a cigarette and flicking through the paper, did not even bother to leave his perch against the headboard. Julie suddenly felt as if she were seeing the scene through newcomers eyes and her face burned to be associated with it.

“Jack.” She greeted, knowing that despite how he had moved on for the most part, he would have teased her maliciously for trying to distance herself in front of her friends.

“Baby.” He flopped down his newspaper, “What’re you doing in here wearin’ tweeds? You know how I hate tweed, does nothing for your assets. God take off that jacket and pour a drink -who’re your friends?”

Julie clutched the donned sheepskin even tighter and could almost sense Gale Cleven shifting from one foot to the other, a loose stance of being on guard. “This is Major Cleven of the mighty eighth, and you know my dear friend Marge -she’s is his fiancé.”

“Ah, a fellow airman!” Jack perked up, rising off the bed with his full chest on display under a gaping embroidered robe and approached Cleven with a smug sense of equality. He stuck out his hand and Gale made him wait five whole seconds before he returned the grip, tightly. “Pleasure, Major.”

“Do I know your squadron?” He drawled.

“Oh, I’m an observer mostly. But I’ve seen some combat.” Jack didn’t have a group, those wings on his uniform meant about as much as Lana’s broach collection in regard to brave service.

It was like Gale could smell the costume party off him, and Lana admired him immensely for that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Pacific theater mainly”

Gale was smiling sympathetically and it was the most unsettling thing Marge had ever seen, and it satisfied something deep inside her that had loathed Huston since she first met him in the lobby ten days ago, his hand encroaching down her back and his language towards Lana so territorially possessive it gave the impression of her friend being a collectors item instead of flesh and blood.”Heard it was real windy on those atolls.” Gale remarked.

Huston’s smile wavered but only in confusion, no shard of doubt finding its way into his mind that it was derision curling Gale’s lip. “So- London?”

“East Anglia, actually.” Julie dared, “Major Cleven is in need of a ride” that wasn’t exactly true but “and I thought it would mean a great deal to give him a lift.” After a lengthy pause where Jack just stared at her with a smokescreen between them from his cigarette she added, “Great press, too.”

“You soft hearted little dolt.” Jack barked a laugh and it made Julie jump like all his rash emotions did, he pinched her cheek and tickled her ribs right beneath the swell of herbrassier as he went around her to his desk. “Ok, ok, you can have it. I’ll swing by to collect it and maybe get some footage for the documentary. What’s your group?” he asked Cleven.

“100th.”

“Oh, hell, I’ll definitely be swinging by.” Huston whistled, mind already ablaze with prospective press. “And you,” he pointed at Julie with his checkbook poised like a loaded gun, “better find something to do over there besides playing chauffeuring cupid, something that’ll make your mother think you aren’t going off script.” Julie gave him a frantic nod as victory was in sight and he went on, “But I’ll definitely be swinging by, I’ll pick you up, we’ll go back home out of London. Say, first week of May.”

Julie had no capacity to argue with her benefactor and meekly accepted his proffered momentary advance. She could only pray that John Egan would be in East Anglia by then, and she’d know something of her future: whether ‘home’ would depend on men such a Huston and their fickle lust or a steady ever after with an honest man like John.

“Thanks Jack I-I-I won’t forget t-this.” she managed, before they all dashed out the suite, Cleven having to be pulled from measuring up his seedy benefactor, and down to the taxi stand -England bound.

————————————————

Harry Crosby was taking sharp turns down the long runway at a pace and tempo Rosie Rosenthal did not find suitable but they made it alright, just as the anomaly of a jet came to a full stop on the runway, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the utilitarian bombers stacked alongside on the hardstands. When the radio tower had gotten buzzed for landing instructions from a foreign craft everyone had gone a little bizerk with speculation, but the pilot himself put them out of their suspense when he told Kidd that his cargo included The Lana Tierney and a Major Gale Cleven.

Harry had raced Rosie down the stairs to the nearest jeep and had begun to accelerate before his friend even fully landed in shotgun. Now they were just in time to see the hatch opened and the lanky and familiar figure of Gale Cleven drop to the tarmac in a graceful crouch.

“Harry!” He greeted as he straightened, his voice robust even if his constitution appeared battered by captivity, “They still got you at this dump?”

“Fresh outta the stalag Major,” Harry gave him grief back, “and getting dropped off on base in a private plane with Lana Tierney?”

“Yeah,” Rosie added, “What kinda war you been runnin’ anyway?”

Gale laughed off their backslapping greetings before suddenly recollecting, “Oh, right I forget. Ladies?” and turned back to offer his arms for Marge to take and he swung her gently to the ground.

“Boys, this is Marge.”

“Of course it is.” Harry admired with a hand outstretched to shake hers before he peered up into the plane, not being disappointed when he caught sight of a pair of ever so delicate ankles. “Holy mackerel, it is Bucky’s girl.” he blurted loudly as Lana’s angelic face peered back at him, as pristine and fuckable as her photographs but the delectable whole of her was swathed in Egan’s goddamn sheepskin.

“Aren’t you pretty.” Julie Jean admired Crosby right back, liking him immensely already for the fact he recognized her as Bucky’s girl. “Are you also strong?”

“I- I mean, sorta, not as much as-“ Harry stammered before realizing her meaning and so stretched out his arms to be of use, “allow me, Miss Tierney.” he helped her to the ground with a swing that was perhaps the most graceful of his life, gods be good. She was holding a little white bunny and Harry was instantly charmed.

“Thank you.” she kissed his flaming cheek.

“Who’s this?” Harry pet back the floppy ears, if only to have something to do besides gawk, he knew he needed to not gawk at Johnny Egan’s girl in Johnny Egan’s coat even if the girl in the coat was about as mouthwateringly perfect as—

“This,” Julie proclaimed with all the pride of a mother, “is Spangles.”

“You guys weren’t joking when you said Major Egan was pen pals with Lana Tierney?” Rosenthal shot Cleven a bewildered look.

“No, we weren’t.” Gale agreed.

“We should get you situated again.” Crosby rallied after Lana had sent Major Rosenthal siren red from a cheek kiss of his own, Harry was still vibrating under Lana’s assessing looks and the fond weight of her hand in the crook of his elbow, “We did not expect the company of ladies but I’m sure something could be sorted and uh, well, uh, we’ve got your billet, Major and we’ve got your footlocker. Bucky wouldn't let us ship it back to your folks. He kept saying ‘I expect him back.’ Heh, yeah he said his buddy was just MIA is all. Yeah.” Crosby trailed off before asking in a watery voice, “He not make it with you in the breakout? He ok?”

Julie watched Gale’s face go wretched again, truth dangling off his tongue too close to a damnable thing and she gently cut in for him, “He’s alive.” was all she supplied. “When have you ever known Major Egan or Major Cleven to leave behind their boys without either one of them?”

Harry’s eyes glittered dangerously close to tears before he gave a curt nod that so poorly disguised his emotion Julie immediately felt a kinship to him, “Probably just laggin’ behind, primpin’ his mustache for ya. He’ll be here in no time when he catches wind of our esteemed visitor.” Harry had also gone a little drunk under the influence of Julie’s perfume and Rosenthal had to admit it made him a little charming even if the balance could tip into cringeworthy at any moment.

“Oooh a Jeep ride.” instead Julie bounced Spangles gleefully in anticipation of utilizing the boy's regular mode of conveyance, taking a seat between Rosenthal and Crosby, the gearshift between her legs much to Harry’s driving distraction so that- “Gale and Marge can canoodle in peace” in the backseat.

Harry took the scenic route to Cleven’s old barracks, perhaps to give Gale and Marge more time, to brush Julie’s knee more often in shifting down or out of genuine desire to show her each storied handstand and Nissen hut. Probably a mixture of all three knowing Crosby. But the end result was Julie pink cheeked and wide eyed as a child, soaking in every bit of lore about the man she loved and never recalled, a hanky dabbing at errant tears now and again and Spangles being happily allowed to roam between her lap and Rosenthal’s.

Near the end of their little tour they stopped at one hard stand where Major Cleven seemed close to beside himself in joy to reunite with one of the mechanics, there were two children lagging about as well, civilians and Gale was very eager for them to meet his Marge. Not wishing to be aloof, Julie alighted as well and extended her hand to each of the ground crew, learning of their contributions and their marital status. There was a giggly stir amongst the group when suddenly a bouncing ball of fur attacked Gale from the back, bouncing on hind legs and nipping joyfully, it would appear the loving assailant was an overgrown husky.

“Meatball.” Gale sounded about as fond as he had when he first saw Marge and it made the girls titter behind their gloved hands.

Meatball, having exhausted his greeting of his old friend, turned to inspect the other newcomers, licking at Marge’s outstretched hand before turning with great interest to Julie. She was also inclined to stretch out her hand to him and give the pretty baby a good ear scratch when a sudden perk in the husky's face warned of a different interest: Spangles. If Gale had not noticed at the same time, there might have been a rather gruesome outcome but between Julie’s careful pivot with her precious rabbit and Gale’s strong restraint on Meatball’s collar, both pets lived to be reconciled another day.

“Guess we’re gonna have to train him not to think of Spangles as dinner.” Rosie laughed.

Their final stop was at Buck’s old hut, average in every way from the outside as the next cylindrical skinned hut, muddy path outside that the boys kindly spared the ladies by carrying them to the threshold, even if they protested they weren’t scared of a mired heel. Julie walked up and down the rows of beds, feeling the chilly air inside the metal shelter, footlocker names catching her eye as she scanned them. Somewhere behind her Gale was opening his footlocker, sounds of Marge’s pleased murmurs over finding her picture there reaching Julie from the end of the row. They deserved a minute to themselves and Julie had a specific thing she was searching for.

“Lookin’ for something in particular?” Crosby’s kind voice was very near her.

Julie turned and gave the mild mannered major a soft smile, shrugging her shoulders and her bunny before admitting her sentimentality, “I was trying to find John’s bunk. Felt like I might- know it somehow. But I’ve come up at a loss.”

“Oh he wasn’t in here.” Harry informed her, he always seemed beyond eager to talk about Egan and it warmed her, “He was with the 418th, you know, so he bunked with his boys. When he bunked at all.” He added as an afterthought and Julie’s mind went to all the letters she’d gotten from John dated with a slash between entries, as he wasn’t sure which date to sign as he began most of them at night and finished them at dawn. “Though he hung out here plenty to be with Buck and the other way around.” Harry added.

“Do you, do you think-“ Julie began, feeling shy despite how moderate she knew her request was.

“Wanna see his bunk?” Harry lept at her unspoken desire, “We kept his footlocker, too. We were all too scared to open it after he’d threatened us about your property in it.” Crosby’s creasing cheeks were flaming pink and Julie wanted to pinch them, then he went on, “And for the same reason we hated to send it to his mother. I mean, who knows what was in there, I mean, you’d know what but, I’m not saying there’s anything bad I just, we just-“

“Major Crosby, Harry, I’d love to see it.” Julie took his arm and he swallowed his tongue to shush himself, “Have you got the key?”

“I know a man with the keys.” Harry demurred his own influence yet his smile was sly.

“Major Crosby,” she murmured again as they slipped away from Gale and Marge’s preoccupied chat on his bunk and back out into a misting afternoon, the jeep left for them by a considerate Rosenthal, “I want it known I like you very much.”

Another metal hut. Nothing remarkable from the rest, but to Julie, stepping inside with Crosby at discrete hovering distance, it felt as hallowed as a cathedral. He stood here, he slapped this doorframe, knocked his fool head on that beam, paced a hell of a furrow between these bunks. Crosby had been generous with the anecdotes on the way over, and Julie had allowed herself to pester him, he liked it she could tell, and so she knew that Major Egan spent little time in here anyway, except to occasionally sleep, to dress and to read her letters.

Three of the most intimate activities she could conjure up, one’s she’d laid in her own room and imagined him doing. Basic, human, unpretentious necessities, she imagined John at them all the time until she felt like she’d truly played voyeur: the straightening of a tie, the scratching of an itch, the bleary coming to with a face down in the pillow.

He did those things here. Crosby was scraping a hefty metal thing from under one of the nondescript beds, and with a catch in her breath Julie realized it was his footlocker. “We couldn’t bear to stow it away, all the rookies who slept here after him had to deal with it. This was Major Egan’s bunk, they were just passing through.”

All the rookies. All of them. That meant many had slept here and then, truly passed through, passed on, a fiery death and mud hard landing. Sometimes she felt like the only girl in the world who’d lost something, and then she got told of rookies passing through his bunk and she thought of their mama’s who’d never allow their rooms to become the “spare.” Those rooms would always be theirs, even if they never came back. Just like John’s bunk.

But he was coming back. He had to.

“I-I imagine you’d like a moment to go through it.” Crosby had turned the key but left it dangling there, lid ponderously shut, Egan’s threats of evisceration and testicular imbibement still hanging loudly in the air for Harry, as if not a week had gone by since the last threat. No one looks into Major Egan’s footlocker.

“Yes, I would.” Julie whispered.

“Think you can manage the lid?” Harry hoped she’d not ask him to open it for her, that was too close to losing his balls for comfort. Jean needed them.

“I think I can.” Her voice was weak and her hands a little shaky but she wanted it, and what she wanted she always managed to find strength for. “I’d like to spend a little time in his bunk. Just -just to think of him.” she found herself saying, forgetting to blush under Crosby’s understanding gaze.

“Of course.” he didn’t bat an eye. “I-I could, I could take Spangles for you.”

A laugh bubbled out, “Why, you think I’ll need both hands?” Julie teased.

“Major Egan always did.” Crosby teased right back and Julie never would have suspected so puppyish a man could wear so lewd a look, it made her heart flip flop pleasantly.

“Shh, you’re awful!” She swatted at him with a beaming smile that she knew did the opposite of discourage him. “Take care of him, and get him somewhere warm.” she charged him with her pet, handing over the dear bunny.

“The officer’s club is two huts down.” Harry told her, “Turn right and it’s the second hut, you can’t miss it. Silver Wings. You’ll need to warm up too and that’s where we’ll be.”

“Alright.” she muttered and watched him leave before the slam of the door confirmed her as alone in vast space. It was chillingly sterile and looming as she turned to his footlocker in desperate need of something less monotonous and impersonal.

The lid was heavy and it had his name printed nearly on it. She kissed the C that stood for Clarence -what kind of middle name was that for a young buck anyways? It made her choke on her laugh before she bruised her fingertips by forcing the metal open. It was well stocked, all various sorts of items one might find in any man’s footlocker, soap that she had already become intimate with the scent of from the fleece of his jacket, a baseball, ever so many playing cards, razors, photographs of what she assumed were his family, a brown parcel that screamed of his mother so she left it untouched and books. A lot of books.

Guys and Dolls by Runyon was on top. He’d said that he was reading it in one of his last letters. She put it on the bunk. And then took out another book, and another, admiring the breadth of his taste, the way knowledge was balanced with humor in the collection, just like him. At the bottom of them she found an odd little wrapped thing in silk that her heart whispered was the thing it was secretly pacing its beats for.

His scarf came undone under her cold fingers and from its little makeshift bundle her envelopes poured out. Not a single one unaccounted for. She scooped them up and sat on the bed, allowing them to fan out, testimony and evidence of how much she cared, confession and declarations inside that could damn her a thousand lifetimes over.

-I love you.

That was the only line missing in them. Oh how she hoped he knew it. One envelope was an oddity. Blank, not from her, conspicuously fresh and unbattered by the postal system. She opened it and with a zap of arousal spied her photographs inside. She took them with her as she carefully laid back on the pillow. Sheets had been changed, pillows no doubt swapped, it wasn’t his bunk in more than metal and history but she laid there and held up the black and white prints and imagined him doing the same. The way her figure silhouetted against the hut’s curving ceiling, the patter of rain on the metal roof, the dismal gray light filtering through.

The fact he’d found inspiration to write her such stirring things from so blank a place suggested what kind of mind he had and she had ached, ached for him to not be restrained to suggesting only, but to doing, acting on every wickedly wonderful impulse his pen had confided. The throb grew so badly she wept, clutching and creasing the photographs to her breasts -they were so worn from his constant tracing and kissing and sticky with his smearing that a few more bends would be of no consequence. She pressed them to her face, wondering if she could smell his appreciation off the lewder ones. She could not, if she were being honest, but she felt her nose smudge against something tacky and imagined swallowing.

At the Silver Wings, Harry was trying to recollect if he’d ever been so popular. Maybe when he returned from Breman, they’d all slapped his back and joked about his charting them into a tree and they’d all meant it so admiringly he’d finally felt like he belonged a bit. But that was mostly Ev’s day, as it should have been. And then he’d been promoted, and he’d sent all his friends off into hell, and now days no one but the bartender and Rosie cared for him here as much as he’d have liked.

He should have brought a white rabbit with him sooner.

“The hell did you get that from?” Ev asked him, more intrigued than shocked at this point in the war, little bunny rabbits were a mild apparation.

“This is Spangles Egan.” Crosby informed him, being obtuse just to prove he could be funny when he wanted.

“Egan?” Jack barked from beside the bar, “Who’s naming their pets after Bucky?”

Harry grinned, “Well see, it’s his girl’s rabbit. Which makes it sorta their rabbit. Which means it’s an Egan.”

Ev didn’t look impressed but Jack just looked ever more concerned.

“Lana Tierney is on base and this belongs to her.” Harry finally fessed up although his original explanation still stood as true in his mind.

A repetition of her name and “Acorn? the Acorn?” rose up in the club, a battle between acorns and their varied associations rising up between the old timers, who recalled movie night with John Egan, and the youngsters, who’d spent their recent nights with an ear pinned to her broadcasts.

“Yeah, the ACORN.” Harry confirmed as both stood.

By the time Julie Jean had wiped her cheeks of tears and carefully folded her letters into her coat pocket for safe keeping, snapped the lid of his dear locker and set her sights for the outdoors, she had her face back in place: by the time she entered the Silver Wings, she was everything those service boys had ever dreamed of.

Platinum and cherry lipped and ever so thrilled to see and hug each and every one, Lana Tierney was well and truly in the house and those who knew it whispered amongst themselves about “Bucky’s girl.”

Upon meeting Jack Kidd he received a smattering of kisses on his face as she thanked him endlessly for sending her his jacket.

His laconic, “Glad it made it, ma’am.” was perhaps a little thicker than usual.

The newer arrivals couldn’t share any stories they personally had with Major Egan but they were more than happy to share stories told to them regarding the leader. Like how he paid off that one farmer after Meatball slaughtered his chicken. Or how he let a man from the village throw a dart at the apple above his head. From then on it continued and Lana delighted in hearing stories of her man told over and over again, of the impact he carried with these brave men and the life he brought to the crew. She sat in the middle of all of them as they regaled her with tale after tale, and she only wished he was there to tell the story from his perspective. She was sure he would have the most vibrant commentary.

“… told me he’ll buy me a jacket just like his,” one of the boys was telling Lana when Gale and Marge entered the Silver Wings. They were both flushed and her lipstick was on the collar of his jacket. “Major Cleven!” The soldier stood to attention at the sight of his superior being back.

Gale patted him on the shoulder, “At ease, soldier. And don’t go buying another ugly jacket like his. One on base is enough.”

“Major Egan said it’s about how one wears it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Gale returned, looking over how it currently cocooned Lana’s form. He took in the sight of her surrounded by over a handful of young boys and men, all eyes gawking at her and vying for her attention. Even Ev Blakely was seated beside her with his chin propped on his fist. He looked close to a lovesick idiot. “Now I’m sure you boys don’t want me telling Bucky you were all over his woman while he’s away. I trust you are being polite and proper and nothing else.”

Once again Lana beamed at being labeled as Bucky’s woman or Bucky’s girl. She had never felt so damn proud than in those moments; not even the achievements of Lana Tierney compared. If it was up to her she would gladly belong to Bucky Egan for the rest of her life.

But she also couldn’t shake the feeling of how wrong it felt to be there without him. He was supposed to be the one showing her the base. He would have loved to invite her to his bunk. He would take her to his favorite pub and introduce her as his girl to all the people in his life and having to do any of those greetings and events without him was only managing to further break her heart. Bucky would be so proud to show her around; she wouldn’t take that chance from him. As much as possible, she’d save that for him or not have it at all.

“Rosenthal says he knows a family who can put you and Marge up in the countryside,” Gale informed her. “They’re real big fans of you, he says. It only takes about twenty minutes to get there and back so you ladies can come down to base any time or, uh - I could go visit up there, as well.”

His cheeks tinted pink at his last admission, like anyone would bat an eye at Gale Cleven taking a day’s leave to visit his girl after everything he had recently endured. Julie Jean had half a mind to lock Gale and Marge in a room and let them have at each other, all propriety and waiting for marriage be damned. She didn’t begrudge their beliefs one bit, she saw the passion the two carried for one another and although she had never been in her Johnny’s presence, she knew all the longing and desire and love she had for him would have her undressing and bowing before him in seconds. She would gladly kneel before her man and knowing John Egan would just as happily do the same, settled any feelings of womanly resentment or weakness. Gale and Marge’s pent up passion made one wonder at the fire and electricity that would erupt their wedding night. Julie felt hot under the sheepskin collar simply thinking about it.

“I’m sure Marge would love having you come, sir,” she cajoled, patting the fist he rested on the table between them. Gale didn’t seem all too amused by her sentiments as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, hush! I mean coming to visit. Get your mind outta the gutter, Buck Cleven!”

Gale sent her a look that said he didn’t believe a word out her lying little rosebud of a mouth. She was all mischievous passion under the dusting of make-up.

“Uh huh. I’m going to have my hands full with you and Bucky,” he states with a head nod, like he’s already resigning himself to the fact. There’s a comment on the tip of Julie Jean’s tongue - something about how happy Bucky would be to fill Buck’s hands and how she’s sure he’d enjoy watching Buck touch Julie - but she bites it back. She means no disrespect towards Marge and her loyalty is only to Johnny. She’s also no idiot and the love the boys carry for one another knows no bounds or familiarity, yet, if they wanted to choose to be blind and ignore it, who was she to step in on what they had going on?

Her eyes settled on the bruise on his neck once more and Gale seemed to feel her looking, tucking his neck further into the collar of his coat. Julie Jean bit back a smile. She didin’t want Bucky’s best friend to think of her as mean.

“John Egan is my best friend,” Gale started suddenly, and for a moment Julie Jean wondered if this is where he professes his love for the man or if he was going to interrogate her on behalf of his best friend’s best interests. Turned out to be the latter. “He’s got a real big heart, Bucky. Wears it on his sleeve and gives and gives and never expects anything different than what you give him back in return.” Gale had pondered that a lot over the years. How Bucky was always so openly affectionate and loud in his love and trust in their friendship and how Buck never managed to give that back to him until the end during the train ride. Curt was like that too and Buck wonders if that’s why the two men clicked so easily and never shied away from any of the jokes or weird looks. “If you aren’t here to stay, Miss Turner -” and by stay they were both aware he meant for forever. “- then maybe you shouldn’t be here when John gets back.”

Julie Jean clocked Marge at the center of the club, preoccupied under the arm of Douglass as he no doubt regaled her with stories of their brave Majors, and for Buck to stay away from Marge -she wondered how long he had been planning to say this. Waiting for a moment of privacy to lay it out on the table and not upset Marge while doing so, because this was between them.

“I don’t feel comfortable sharing my feelings with you when Bucky himself hasn’t had the chance to hear them,” she admited, tears burning the back of her eyes again. She took in a deep breath. “He had to have known though, right? Be honest with me, you know him better than anyone and he loves you the most and you him. Do you think he knew, Buck?”

Once again Gale wondered what on earth John must have written in his letters for this woman to understand and suspect the deep nature of their relationship so completely. It was just like him - a stone in Gale’s shoe even when he wasn’t aware.

There was a hope in her glistening eyes that Gale was aware can be crushed by him. He’d never felt so much like father than he did now.

He had no interest in hurting this sweet woman who embraced John and Gale and Marge exactly for who they are. This selfless woman who he was so thankful brought Marge to Paris. A gorgeous woman who kept John mildly sane in the camp when there was no hope - an, admittedly, tempting woman as Buck recalled the photo he picked up from the floor all those years ago. His thumb pressed against her black and white nipples -it had a flush setting in and he had to avert his gaze.

“He knew, Julie. He knows.” Truth of the matter is, Gale knew John was aware. John, who was self deprecating and going crazy stuck in the camp, with not enough sky or land to keep him occupied but who woke up every day and tried to stay alive and out of trouble because of a pinky swear he had made to the woman sitting across from Gale currently. John was frightened and he fought against believing it at his darkest times but Gale remembers times when John would stand too close to the fence and guards would point their guns, images of John getting pushed and provoked but one thing always brought him back from that point of no return. Julie Jean Turner. If John didn’t believe he had love to return, he wouldn’t have bothered.

Julie released a breath neither realized she’d been holding waiting for his response.

“What about your fiancé?” Buck asked.

“What about him?” Julie returned. “In my line of work, Major Cleven, a fiancee is the only guarantee against a husband. One ya don’t want. I can tell you this, there’s one man in my future, there’s only been one man since the one letter I got on the 18th, years ago. One sweet man who calls me acorn and tells me he adores me and asks me for naughty pictures in exchange for him staying alive.”

“And you’re okay with that? With him asking?”

“He doesn’t need to ask. I’d do it anyway. But he loves me so he still asks.” Sitting across from his best friend, she’m was near glowing in the love Johnny had for her. Gale wouldn’t give her the time of day if it wasn’t real.

“I’m glad we had this chat,” Julie slowly eased back into being Lana Tierney before Gale’s very eyes, a charming smile on her face with white teeth glinting behind her red stained lips, looking every bit the movie star like when he’d seen her on film or in magazines. She looked different than in the photos she sent Bucky. In those she always looked younger, vulnerable, needy even. “Now that I've got your approval I can breathe easier, Major.” She teased him and he managed a bashful smirk.

“He’s got two protective sisters and a momma who turns his world,” Buck warned in jest and that was how Marge found them at the table. Julie warm and beaming at the thought of hearing about his family and getting to meet them one day. Bucky hadn’t been shy to tell her his mom was his best friend before Buck came along and she was the only one able to keep him out of trouble.

—“Not scared of no Colonel’s or SS officer’s - they haven’t met my momma he wrote in a letter one time. She’s a one woman army.”

Julie took the conversation she had with Buck and held on to hope even when time continued passing and no word of Bucky reached them. She kept the promise she made to herself - she refused to spend any more time on base or at the officer’s club or at any spots Bucky wrote about in his letters to her, because she wanted to wait for him. Instead she spent time with the boys when they visited her and Marge at the swanky estate with the kind English family. In order to appease her mother she booked performances at local bars where they are more than happy to accommodate her and the hordes of army boys that followed her around.

The first week of May arrived and Julie found herself white knuckling her mic in anticipation of Huston showing up any minute and whisking her off. She was not sure if she was sadder about being torn away from her vigil as she was terrified of being stuck back in an enclosed plane cabin with that man for over a day. Marge too, began to fret a little on the second day of the month when Gale told her he was going to be flying mercy missions to Holland. He was too happy about and too assuring about its safety for her to question him, but it was hardly assuring with a war still on.

But Marge knew better than to show that, so she went to Thorpe to wave him off and watched him at his craft while Julie went further north to help co-host a charity event for servicemen’s families. The joy had gone out of it, worse than Paris, she used to be decent at distracting herself with the task at hand but as her days flitted by as uncaring and ephemeral as dreams, the end of the first week of May came in sight, and nothing could keep her mind off John Egan and the heartbreaking notion of not meeting him. Not even the supreme pleasure of dueting with Vera Lynn. All that honored pleasure made her think of was how much her John would have enjoyed listening to it.

Huston came on the sixth. He also left on the sixth. And he didn’t loiter at Thorpe to interview anyone. There were bigger fish to fry out near the Solomon Islands, according to him, and he was off to film it and at his side was an intrepid little secretary he’d met in Paris and thoroughly vetted in between his sheets.

Julie wondered if he’d entirely forgotten her own existence, an unlikely thing, seeing as how she was the entire reason his plane was in East Anglia, but as she was removed at a distance from Thorpe and he had a new adventure and a new lover, perhaps it was a happy case of out of sight out of mind. She breathed easier the minute she heard that he was off in a roar over to another hemisphere.

And right after, or later that evening to be precise, interrupting a charming dinner of rationed butter and plentiful pheasant, was a phone call from mother. The gig was up, in as many words, Huston had lost interest, the fiancée had only gained more and that of the suspicious sort, and mother wanted to know what on earth there was in bombed out England for Julie to find time and payment for. Julie had to list a growing set of fabricated engagements for her mother to even countenance another day spent there, working her name-dropping way up from canteens to a dazzling venue in London which gained her a hem-hawing allowance of three more days.

All the while keeping her sane and functional was one singular thought : John Egan coming home. It was terribly cruel and unfair of the world to have him be within her fingertips, to finally allow her to land in Europe, and then to take him so far away again. Sending his best friend back and leaving him behind felt like the punchline to the joke that was so obviously her heart.

Take that, the universe was saying, you still don’t get to have him, spoiled girl. In her lowest of times, right before she went on stage or nights that she spent having everyone around her praise her she wondered if fame was the price for her man. She didn’t want it either way; she wanted him always.

“Take it all away,” she prayed one night, once her tears had dried and her pillow was soaked and the smell of him on his jacket had wafted, “I only want him. I only need him.”

Meanwhile mother chided, “Have them send me the details on the honorariums, you’ve lost your head over there girl, just like I knew you would, I warned you, remember how I warned you? You’ve lost your head and you’ve grown very lax about these things. Make them send it to me before you even put your foot out for them to applaud, if it’s not top notch we aren’t doing it. And afterwards, you’re coming home and we’re getting this wedding settled. I’ve already got the dressmaker holding a nice dove gray-“

It all blended together in the end, her own lies and her mother’s requirements and in abashed desperation she had managed to plead and finagle Herb to actually book her into “something swanky in London, anything Herb, I just need it to be legitimate to stave her off!”

It was cruel torture to say goodbye to everyone at Thorpe, Julie took her sweet time with it and permitted herself to get a little sniffly about it. This prompted a flurry of produced tissues and solicitous hugs and assurances of Major Egan’s love. It made her sorely tempted to curl into a ball of sheepskin and hide in a footlocker in this nice place till doomsday -let the world try and find her if they dared.

“Send me word!” she charged Gale and Croz, gripping jacket sleeves for extra emphasis, “If he gets back -I’ll still be in London until late tomorrow. Send a telegram, call, whatever you must. Even if you just hear of him, you must tell me, you must! I’ll -I’ll change everything for him. If he comes, I’ll leave it all and come back. Tell him that.”

On the way to the airport Julie Jean only had their promises to do so reverberating in her head and Spangles on her lap to keep her warm. Croz’s eyes had been sadder than she’d ever seen them, sadder still then when he had asked Gale why Major Egan hadn’t followed him back home. And Buck - oh, sweet, virtuous Buck Cleven who had pulled her into his arms tightly and whispered promises of Bucky’s love and intents for their future in her ear. He had spent the entire week thanking Julie for making it possible that Marge stay with him longer with no worry for money or anything back home but in the moments where they had said goodbye, the last words he had left her with were only of Bucky.

Leaving Marge was no easy feat either. The girls had wobbled in their heels and held onto one another tightly and cried and laughed whilst feeling so ridiculous because they were aware the friendship they had formed was for life. Julie wasn’t sad to leave Marge - the only sad part of leaving was losing another piece of John - most of her sadness stemmed from having to be thrusted back to the land of selfish vultures with no care for her after being around the loveliest humans she had ever met. Everyone had been sure to level Spangles with kisses and cuddles and assuring him they would tell his father stories of the joy he brought to base.

“I’ll be sure to give him a stern talking to for getting back so late!” Marge had insisted, clutching at the jacket she had never seen Julie without. “That Bucky Egan - it was bad enough when he changed my Gale’s name. I’m not the pen-pal type, that’s what he told me the night he shipped out. He had no idea you were right around the corner, Julie Jean.”

Her heart beat with the hope that she would never make it to the airport but now here she was. Julie Jean had convinced herself there’d be something happening that would stop her reaching their destination. The driver wouldn’t arrive. Her mother would call to inform of a high paying job. The sky would fall. Bucky would run in front of their vehicle and announce he was back. Anything. But no, none of that happened. The traffic was light and the drive was quick and every step she was taking was a step further away from the future she wanted. Away from her Johnny.

Julie Jean would have to marry Vincent. None of her future children, if they allowed her any, would be safe. Her mother would never relent. The studios would never stop demanding. With each passing thought her vision began to blur and the breaths she was taking came out quicker. On her own accord, she felt herself reach for Herb’s arm in order to maintain her stance. Paparazzi were snapping photos and journalists were yelling and a few regular folks had came out to speak with her - everyone unaware she was losing the love of her life and any chance of happiness.

Bucky had promised her babies. Bucky had promised her safety. “I’d marry you first chance I got,” he had written one letter when she teased possibly visiting Europe. They had been hopeless fools in love and the world wouldn’t relent to them it seemed. She was never going to get any of that.

“We’re almost there,” Herb reassured with a sympathetic pat to the hand gripping his suit, opening the door to allow her entry. “The cameras will know you were poorly from the change in weather and tired from the shows.”

Inside the airport she didn’t feel any better but at least there were no people there to yell in her face. Herb had led her inside a private room and had been sure to lock the door behind him and now he was allowing her silence and her grievance for what might have been. She clutched the jacket tighter around herself where she had curled up on a reclining chair, Spangles asleep on the open spot beside her. This would be all she ever had. And even maybe this they would take away. After all, they had taken away her letters.

The only way they will get this off me is if they pry it off my cold, dead body.

There was a knock on the door and whispers following it. “If it’s the press I’m not pretty enough to be looked at, Herb.” She said. Her make up was running and her hair was disheveled and hiding inside the thick coat of the jacket certainly wasn’t helping the heat in her face but Julie Jean didn’t care.

She was allowed to be heartbroken. John had always told her he would take all her moods, even when she wasn’t behaving like the Hollywood starlet her mom conditioned her to be.

Herb answered the door then, but only a crack so that he was able to see the person on the other side but allow no one to look inside. He excused her, saying the traveling and working hadn’t left her feeling her best but offering her apologies to England. Whoever was on the other side of the door was clearly disconcerted. Star-struck, possibly at getting so close. Their words were breathy and they were stuttering. Julie Jean could faintly make out them saying they adored her but actually - and everything else couldn’t be discerned. Whatever it was, it held Herb’s attention long enough that the door remained open a couple more seconds before he thanked the person and turned to Julie Jean.

“Well,” the tone in his voice, amusement for the first time all evening, had Julie Jean turning in her seat. Taking her face out of his jacket for the first time. There was a paper held in his hand, brown with an approval stamp from the army and the English postal service. “This certainly changes things.”

Julie Jean quickly stood to her feet, approaching Herb with her hands outstretched so she would reach the mail even before she was next to him. She startled poor Spangles who had been deep in sleep, causing him to hop to the floor. Herb wasn’t a cruel man, not to Julie Jean he wasn’t - he extended his own arm so it was within her grasp even faster.

Julie Jean [stop] hope this finds you well and in Europe [stop] Major John Egan is back [stop] Has returned to Thorpe Abbots [stop]

Sincerely,

Major Harry Crosby

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[zahraaziza]

hey babe, i wanted to request something on abby or ellie just being subby little messes, because there is definitely a shortage of those on here & your writing is just perfect for that me thinks!!! :3

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: thank you so much for this lovely request, my dear anon! i hope i made this justice, regardless of my writer's block. this is merely a post on submissive ellie for now, i'll get to writing one for abby next!! enjoy reading!!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. explicit sexual content. 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢.

—୨♡୧ now playing 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 (𝐤-𝐬𝐢 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠)

as ellie enjoys nothing more, than to surrender to your each and every desire…

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒

εїз sub!ellie who is nestled between your legs, bashfully peering up, lightly batting her glossy green orbs at you, all pliable and docile. tenderly lacing her slim digits around your ankle, she gently rested your heel upon her knee. her lukewarm palm delicately traced the fine, shimmery straps laced divinely around your leg to untangle them, as the pad of her thumb drew small figure eight's along the very serene skin her plumps lips have just left an abundance of faint, wet kisses.

εїз sub!ellie making such a lovely little service sub for you, so eager to please and willing to tend to all the right sweet and sensitive spots on your body. her being your good girl, getting all worked up from dragging the tip of her nose up and down your clit, gingerly grazing the edges of her teeth over your hardened nipples or doing just as much as dipping one of her long fingers between your slick, rosy folds, all the while a wet patch sticks her boxers to that candied puddle dribbling down her slit.

εїз sub!ellie whose soft whines for that sweet, sweet release she so desperately yearned for welled up within her chest, leaving the very tip of your velvety tongue to toy with that rosy tinted and flushed nub, softly pulsating amidst the plush of both her lips some more, merely for your own shere pleasure. she can't help herself, but to drawl out her needy pleas, slurring and stammering on almost each word in between hitched breaths.

εїз sub!ellie's need to feel some friction and loving up on those tingling parts she carved your loving touch the most, being so fucking bad, she sloppily grinds herself against your thigh in a needy attempt to take the edge off. poor baby, not being able to last that long, mind full of all the sweet nothings you whispered into the shell of her ear about how well she was doing for you, earning her to messily cum undone inside her briefs.

εїз sub!ellie who does not once forget uttering her hushed little "please's" and "thank you's", as these would just keep on parting the freckled cup of her mouth, at the feeling of each and every slight swirl and stroke of the very tips to your dainty fingers around that cum leaking opening of hers, enough to cloud her senses entirely.

εїз sub!ellie being extremely handsy once it's your turn to make her feel so good. her fingers always finding rest atop the crown of your head, interlacing her digits with your locks, as well as giving them occasional nice little firm tugs and pulls, the closer she gets to her release, most especially when you work your tongue against her tight, glistening holes. pleasured gibberish seeming to roll off her tongue like velvet as you plunge yours inside her, whilst she needily tries pulling you in closer by your hair.

༺♡︎༻𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @scarstarlet @millersaurora @anchoeritic @ellabsprincess @seraqhites @cowgirlcherrie @abbyskitty @destielcore @elliessknife @dropsofs4turn @milllersfae @cherriesxinthespring @dixonsdolls @digit4lslut @porcelainbambi @angvlita @kissesskittens @elliesbelle @starologist @kokomos @xioriae @machetegirl109 @abbys-wife @lightpinkprincess444 @hazywazysmind @winfleurs @elliephobic @lias-writings @lonelyfooryouonly @beforeimdeceased @angel4abby @hehatesmati

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

[impala-dreamer]

Wonderstruck

A Magical Short Story

~ Attending a wedding alone is rarely fun. Add to it a bunch of people you don't know all hidden behind masks, things can get a little shaky. But sometimes, if you're lucky, magic can happen...~

Henry Cavill x F!Reader

3,160 Words

Warnings: Nothing but romance and magic and fluff and mystery!

A/N: Yes, it's me. No, I have not been kidnapped. This was written in part for my personal goal of branching out a bit, but moreover as a Valentine's gift for @mariekoukie6661 and @kittenofdoomage <3

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Her dress was sleek and as dark as midnight; her heels were high and deadly. Her lips dripped with crimson; a silver mask hid beautifully sad and strikingly painted eyes.

She kept to the edges of the ballroom, ducking behind round tables clad in expensive linens and gold inlaid china, skirting billowing gowns as they spun on the dancefloor. She slipped in and out of the shadows with a slowly emptying champagne glass pinched delicately between two fingers.

Despite her annoyance in being there, she could not deny the beauty of the night. The massive room was decorated in glamorous gold and pearl accents. Heavy velvet curtains hung over the windows on each wall, letting in a glimpse of the moonlit garden outside. The floors were marble that had been polished to perfection, and a warm candlelight glow illuminated the room.

It felt as if she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

A fairy tale about a sad girl watching the party from afar, alone but for the bubbles in her glass.

Which, sadly, were now gone.

Y/N sighed heavily and looked across the dancefloor at the long bar that stretched across the back wall of the ballroom. A hundred guests in suits and gowns, feathers and masks, twirled in front of her, blocking the path. Silently, she weighed the pain of entering the waltzing throng over going another moment without a healthy buzz in her head. She took a breath. She took a step.

Her heels clicked rhythmically as she laid her course for the bar. She kept her eyes on the goal, carefully maneuvering through the dancing couples, wondering if they’d all been to some class she hadn’t been invited to. All their steps seemed identical; all the women spun with the same flourish. She shook her head. Life should never be so choreographed.

After nearly tripping over a dragging tail of taffeta, Y/N finally made it to the bar and braced herself on the top. As she caught her breath, a deep but soft laugh hit her ear.

She turned toward the sound and spied a large man leaning on the bar a few feet away. He turned as she did, leaning one elbow on the bartop and kicking a long leg over the other. His tuxedo was immaculate and perfectly tailored; his shoes shined like the stones below. He wore a mask of black with silver adornment, and two crisp blue eyes scanned her form from beneath. She could feel them sneak down her body, lingering a bit in the deep curve of her waist and at the globe of her ass.

She cleared her throat, drawing his eyes up to hers.

“Something funny, Slick?” she asked, lips pursed in clear annoyance.

The man grinned. His lips were full and pink beneath a thin scruff of a beard.

“I liked your dance,” he said in reply.

She was startled by his accent - elegant and somehow too perfectly English, as if he were pretending to be from across the Atlantic. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure him out.

It was nearly impossible. The masks were a problem.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why, but she felt that he needed to work a little harder to get her attention. Maybe she was bored, maybe the shock of his voice had her aflutter. Whatever it was, she turned up the sass.

“Yeah, well, I was a ballerina in a past life.”

Again, he laughed. A little louder, a little more enticing.

“I can see that. Prima ballerinas often trip over themselves and end up slamming into tables.”

She bit back a laugh and turned back to meet his gaze. “We take a special class for that.”

The man cocked his head towards her champagne flute. “And with an empty glass, no less.”

“What can I say, I’m very good at my job.”

Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bar and took a step closer. “May I buy you another?”

Her eyes slid up from his shoes to the loose, curly mop of black hair atop his head. He was tall and broad, and looked as solid as a statue. Her pulse quickened.

“I’m pretty sure it’s free,” she teased.

He stopped a foot from her side. “Still…” With a quick snap of his fingers, he called for the bartender and ordered them both another round.

“A dirty martini, Mr. Bond?” She smiled at his order.

“Shaken, not stirred,” he replied, lifting his glass.

His smile was as intoxicating as the golden liquid in her glass and butterflies swirled in her stomach.

Each took a sip, swallowing slowly with their eyes locked. The blue crashed over her and Y/N lost herself in the sparkle of his smiling gaze.

Worried that she was staring too hard, she tore herself away and let out a hard breath.

“So… how do you know the bride?” she asked, trying to pry his identity free.

He licked a drop of vodka from his lip. “I don’t.”

She laughed gently. “Wedding crasher, huh?” She leaned closer, dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn you in.”

He moved in even closer. A warm scent pulsed off of him, flooding her senses with leather and vanilla and something she couldn’t place. Something spicy that made her mouth water so much she forgot that she was supposed to be playing hard to get.

“That’s kind of you,” he whispered. “I don’t think Charlie will press charges though.”

She smiled. “Ah, you’re on the groom’s side.”

“And you?”

His eyes fell to her lips and Y/N’s cheeks burned.

“I, uh… I work with Chloe, the- the bride.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Charlie and Chloe,” he said with a light laugh. “So many Cs.”

He was too cool, too confident yet sweet. She almost hated him.

“Who are you?” she asked, confused and irked. She had not come to the wedding to meet anyone, let alone a gorgeous, blue-eyed Brit, who may or may not actually be British.

Another slow sip guided her eyes back to his lips and she wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled.

“Henry,” he said softly.

She laughed. “Of course you are.”

“Why’s that funny?”

“Because of course your name is Henry. With your perfect accent and your sexy tuxedo…”

He stood up, suddenly towering over her, and tipped his head, eyes swiping over her again.

“And what about you? You’ve got to be called Celeste or Audrey or something classic and elegant.”

Y/N drained the rest of the champagne at the bottom of her glass and stood to face him properly. “Well, Prince Charming, why don’t you just call me Cinderella.”

Henry reached for her hand and she gave it jokingly.

His kiss was no joke, landing softly on her skin and making the rest of her shiver. She held her breath and nearly fainted when he looked up.

“Pleased to meet you, Cinderella.”

Her head swam a bit and she wondered if that was what swooning was.

“Charmed,” she said with a dreamy smile.

He held her gaze, swept a warm thumb over her knuckles. His touch was like fire and she wanted to run. Away from him or into his arms - she couldn’t decide. All she knew was that there was magic in the air and she could not seem to tear herself away from the mystery of his face. His eyes were tragically beautiful, as if she was lost at sea on a broken raft, thirsting and alone, but she had the comfort of the blue waves to keep her safe. She thought herself insane. He was just a man in a mask at a fancy wedding. Just a tall, impossibly fit, perfectly dressed man at a masquerade ball. A deliciously gorgeous man who smelled like drinking in front of a roaring fire in a cozy library filled with old books in some ancient castle in Scotland. A man who was still holding her hand and her gaze, stealing too many moments and breaths from her day.

Y/N shook herself and pulled her hand from his.

“I should… go…” She turned toward the room. She had to get away, had to free herself from the captivating stranger and return to ignoring her coworkers and the bride’s overly friendly family. “It was nice to meet you, Henry.”

His frown nearly cracked the earth beneath her feet.

“Don’t leave just yet,” he pleaded. “I… Well, I don’t really know anyone here and you’re…”

She looked back over her shoulder as he hesitated. “Yes?”

He blushed and sought comfort in his shoes. Such a beautiful sight: a strong, confident man instantly melting into shyness.

Blue eyes looked up. “Beautiful and enchanting and… I was hoping that we could dance.”

She nearly fell over, knocked out by his voice and charm. A quick breath steeled her nerves. “Sadly, I cannot.”

He stood up fully but somehow still seemed small. “Dance with me?”

“Dance at all,” she corrected.

He laughed. “Well, how about another drink and some conversation?”

With a sigh, Y/N looked back at the crowd, into the sea of indistinguishable masks and unfamiliar forms. Giving in, she nodded politely and spun around to the bar.

They ordered another round and took up residence at the end of the counter, half hidden in shadow, invisible to the other party-goers. Music soared above their heads but they could barely hear it, so engrossed in each other’s stories.

They spoke of simple things- movies they’d loved as children and that well-worn paperbacks were still tucked into their bookcases. She asked him about home and he talked about the London traffic and how he preferred to stay around the house on rainy days playing games on his PC. He poked her about work and she glossed over her job, insisting that they keep the conversation light and free from day-to-day struggles. They drank and laughed and fell even deeper into each other’s gaze.

It was strange to have a conversation with a stranger in a mask. She knew that he was handsome- his eyes were brilliant, his lips perfectly plump. His jaw was tight and his neck was thick. He was big and sturdy, yet gentle and bashful. Though most of his face was hidden, she knew he was perfect.

Perhaps a little too perfect.

But as the alcohol flowed and the night wore on, Y/N couldn’t find a reason anymore to run. The night had cast a spell around them and there was no escape. There was magic in the gilded accents around the room, in the symphony of violins that danced above their heads, in their true smiles and tentative touches.

Even if he wasn’t perfect, she thought, the moment was.

And the moment was suddenly broken.

A firm hand on her wrist dragged Y/N from her place at the bar and onto the dancefloor. The bride would not be ignored and refused to take no for an answer. Pained by the intrusion and the demand, Y/N reluctantly took Chloe’s hands and twirled her around. The skirt of the massive wedding dress billowed like a cloud around Chloe’s small frame and Y/N laughed as she was nearly caught up in the fabric.

Heart racing and smile wide, she turned back to Henry but was shocked to find his place empty. Their glasses sat abandoned on the bar and Prince Charming was nowhere to be found. She felt a tug in her chest and a dampness behind her eyes.

Before she could shrug it off as just a random encounter and push his blue eyes from her mind, a tap on the shoulder made her gasp.

She spun on the spot and found him there with a sweet smile and open arms.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, dipping into half a bow.

Excitement rushed through her and Y/N bit her lip. “I told you, I’m not a good dancer.”

Unwilling to let her back away, Henry scooped her up and held her close, one hand capturing hers and the other pressing gently into the small of her back. He leaned in and teased his lips at her ear.

“Then let me lead…”

His fingers pulsed against her back, guiding her to move against him. They turned a few times until she was dizzy in his arms, laughing as he whispered into her ear:

“Left… right… back… you’ve got it…”

His breath on her skin was like a gust of summer air, warm and delicious, flooding her body with calm.

“See? You’re not too bad at this.”

Y/N looked up into his eyes and felt the world fade away. They rose up together off of the dancefloor, floating gently above the other guests, impossibly alone in the crowd. She knew she was drunk, knew she’d pay for it in the morning, but she didn’t really care. She didn’t care that her friends were watching, probably whispering about the mysterious man she was dancing with. She didn’t care that she’d twice stepped on his toes or that there was no way she could hide the fact that being so close to him wasn’t turning her into a melted, lustful shell of what she usually was.

The music crescendoed and Y/N held her breath. Henry dipped his chin, blue eyes locked on her hers. The world slowed down, the seconds stretched on forever. She closed her eyes, savored his exhale against her lips. His hand slid gently up her back, fingers wove through her hair. She felt her legs grow weak, her stomach tensed, her heart skipped. He took a breath.

The band stopped short and Y/N startled as the crowd shited. The moment was gone, ripped away once more by the party swelling around them.

A rush of silk; the click of hundreds of heels. Cheers rose throughout the room as a giant cake was rolled out onto the dancefloor. It towered up to the ceiling with beautiful rows of white creme roses and pearls strategically placed to make the fondant glow in the warm light trickling down from the chandelier above.

As the guests closed in, Y/N was pulled out of Henry’s arms and her heart ached as he once again was out of her sight.

Black suits swarmed around her, heavy gowns brushed against her legs. Voices rang loud. Bodies closed in on all sides.

Breathless, she spun, searching for an exit, for a way to push through the throng.

A hand appeared and reached for her. She clasped his fingers and Henry raced toward the big doors to their left, pulling her free of the mob.

They tumbled out into the cool air and found relief as the doors closed behind them, blocking the music and the excitement, leaving them alone in the night.

The garden was dark but magically aglow with warm, golden light. Fairy lights twinkled around them, strung from bushes and topiaries, highlighting a stone path. Beyond, a labyrinth of tall evergreen waited for curious souls to venture inside, daring the branches to keep them from reaching the end.

Wonderstruck by the evening- the dramatic escape, the music, the champagne and Henry’s crystalline eyes- she stumbled. One single step turned her ankle and the deadly heels she never wore took her down.

Her gasp tore through the garden, but Henry was there to catch her fall. She swung in his strong arms and her fear turned to laughter.

“This is just absurd!” she said, steadying herself with a palm over his chest.

Henry was calm and stable, easily holding her upright. “What’s that?”

“I mean… You literally just swept me off of my feet.” She shook her head and with a blushing smile, pushed away. “This is getting silly.”

Away from his grasp, she teetered again and Henry took her hand before disaster could strike.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment,” he suggested, nodding towards a stone bench not far away. “Those shoes are dangerous.”

“You have no idea.”

She let him help her to the bench and watched in awe as he fell to one knee. Like an actual Prince Charming, he took Cinderella’s ankle in his hands and gently ran his fingers over the thin strap holding the shoe in place.

“You’re not swollen,” he reported. “That’s good.”

When he looked up, concern fading from his eyes, she gave up trying to suppress the enchantment of the night and took a deep breath.

Hands cupped around his face, she leaned in and finally met his lips.

Startled but delighted, Henry pushed up to meet her, taking her once more in his strong arms and kissing her properly.

Tiny lights flickered in the breeze, soft music seeped out into the garden, and Prince Charming and Cinderella found each other in the dark. Lips hungry and hands wild; heat mixing between them like a budding fire.

When the clock struck twelve, it chimed loudly and they broke apart, laughing.

“Seems about right,” she joked, looking towards the wedding. “Party ends at midnight.”

Henry dragged a thick finger over her collarbone. “Does that mean you’ll turn into a pumpkin and disappear?”

She laughed softly. “I don’t know when the last time you read Cinderella was, but… no.”

He licked her taste from his lip. “So you don’t need to go then?”

Her smile fell. “I do…”

“You could stay…” He dipped his chin and looked up through the mask, blue eyes dark in the light. “We could… find a spot-”

Y/N shook her head and reached for his hand. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to be back in the city tomorrow for work.” She lifted his fingers to her lips and left him with a final kiss.

Henry sighed. “Pity.”

She nodded and gathered her strength to stand and do what she should have done hours ago- run. Except this time, she was certain she meant it to be into his arms. Only this time, she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry…”

Quickly, she turned, carefully stepping back onto the stone path and away from the mystery man with his intoxicating voice and perfectly engrossing kiss.

He stood and called to her, desperate for one more look at his Cinderella.

“Wait-”

She paused, hand on the big glass door, heart in her throat. “Yes?”

“Don’t I even get to know your real name?”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “It’s Y/N.”

Henry bowed his head in thanks and when he came up, the mask came off, slowly revealing a face she’d only imagined in her dreams.

He blushed at her shocked stare and laughed gently.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

She sighed, blissful and lost in a dream that she prayed would last the rest of her life.

“You too…”

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[equallyshaw]

a night in paris | john marino

౨ৎ masterlist. ౨ৎ word count: 3.1k ౨ৎ warnings: none ? just some cigarette use. ౨ৎ this was started weeks ago in honor of his birthday and now...its a little gift after the news ౨ৎ started strong...then fizzled out lol ౨ৎ also, french is in italics

john had just arrived in the city of love, meeting up with nico, dawson, jack and alex for a little european excursion. the five of them all met up in the historic hotel's lobby before heading down to avenue de cameons for some croissants and expresso, before heading towards the eiffel tower. his jet lag began to set in as soon as they stepped foot down the street and towards carette which was about a 10 minute walk. nico was busy talking about the city of love and some places he thought they should visit since he'd been coming here since he was a child. john took in the sights and sounds, the expanse of the block, and the sheer chaos that ensued around the hockey players. after a quick stroll, the group quickly took the two open tables next to each other in front of the cafe. nico had explained that since it was only 7 in the morning, it was free for fall.

nicolette was not enjoying the city of love at this current moment. she had just gotten off from her shift at a 24 hour cafe and was in line for a croissant at carette, and thought she was going to lose her mind as somebody dumped their expresso on her. her and the perpetrators eyes went towards her white button up shirt and then met eachothers gaze.

"im so sorry madam!" they apologize quickly and she put her hand up, "maybe you should be paying attention to your surroundings you fucking phony!" she screamed, as a cafe worker handed her napkins. which were no use at all.

the cafe went silent as they all looked towards the young woman who had insulted the middle-aged man, and quietly snickered. nico looked back as soon as he heard the french insult and made a shocked face before laughing. "whats so funny?" jack questioned as he looked between the young woman and nico. "she just insulted the man." nico smirked before sipping on some of his drink, "it doesn't really translate well. it just means 'phony' which in the french language, is just an insult." he explained and the guys nodded. the woman was still rambling in french before she handed the napkin back to the worker, and turned on her heel. her brown locks swaying as she walked out of the cafe with the middle aged man still apologizing. she rolled her eyes as she ignored him and hoped he would catch her drift. she pulled her vintage black sunglasses down from her head and looked both ways before crossing the street. before she was out of their view, she flipped off the man. jack being the little kid that he is, immediately giggled which in turn made the group laugh.

nicolette scurried back to her apartment two blocks over, as quickly as her ballet flats could take her. she was still quite upset that her white shirt was ruined, one she'd recently gotten in milan for a quick holiday. a deep sigh of relief came from the petite brunette as she spotted the familiar red doors of her apartment building, and picked up her speed. she wanted to get out of these clothes and into some pajamas. her roommate and best friend camille was up on the couch with a cigarette freshly lit, who smiled widely once nicolette stepped inside. her smile faded once she saw the state of her shirt and frowned, "don't tell me that's -" and nicolette cut her off, "yes yes." she snipped pulling it off to reveal a bralette underneath and threw it in the garbage. nicolette held out her hand for the cigarette for the brunette to take, and camille quickly gave her it, "i thought you gave it up," she paused, "6 months ago?" camille teased as she watched her friend's eyes close and a sigh of relief pool from her body.

"to hell with resolutions." she shrugged and handed the cigarette back.

nicolette plopped herself down on the green velvet couch, looking at the current state of the apartment. her anxiety rose with how cluttered it was and groaned loudly as she heard the tea kettle scream. camille rushed over to pour it in the french press, for their morning coffee. "how about we go out tonight?" camille asked from the kitchen and to which, nicolette rubbed her hands down her face. "it'll be funnnn!" camille said angelically from the kitchen before leaning on the missing door - frame, taking in her friends distressed state. "how about no?" nicolette snipped turning on her side.

"tony invited us out... yknow how big of a crush he has on you!" camille teased walking back to the french press. nicolette rolled her eyes, if she never had to see him again - her world would be alright. but no, he found her everytime they went out and she was honestly quite sick and tired of it. "i'd call it stalking." nicolette murmured as she stood, and headed into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

_

john and the rest of the group went to the eiffel tower after croissants and coffee and then headed towards a market that held produce, small gifts, and many, many delicacies for them to try. nico being quite the man, translated and spoke for the group in french. the boys gave him the most teasing as they strolled down the market street, before feeling the real effects of jet lag. "how about we go back to the hotel, nap, food, nap, dinner then drinks?" alex offered and the group all agreed.

━━

nicolette and camille stood outside the club around 12, smoking a cigarette as they tried to catch their breaths. that evening in the club was hot and claustrophobic nicolette thought. "oh oh oh." camille said hitting her friend in the chest and her hand quickly went to go soothe the sting, "christ cami." she murmured as she followed camille's eyesight. "americans." camille grinned with delight in her eyes and that made her friend giggle. "i don't think they're all american." nicolette said pointing out the fluent french also being spoken and she thought her friend just about fell in love right there. the group of 5 men were currently trying to get into the club and was having little success, and now one of them was trying to tell them they should try another place.

"how about we pull them in, and say their our friends?" camille questioned turning back to her friend with puppy eyes. nicolette shook her head with a small giggle. "nicole! come on!" camielle begged and nicolette rolled her eyes at the nickname she didn't care for. camille did not wait for answer before stalking over there and began to speak to the bouncer. her expressions and hand movements were theatrical and nicolette gave her friend a pointed look, when camille pointed back toward her. nicolette felt many pairs of eyes on her, as she still leaned against the wall. she dropped the last bit of cigarette before stepping on it and crossing her arms. camille smiled and kissed the bouncer's cheek before telling the group to follow her. "do i even want to know?" nicolette murmured to the girl and camille could only respond with a giggle.

the guys all followed camille, and eyed the two as they spoke in hushed french. "im camille!" camille beamed, eyeing each of them and they all nodded. "nicolette." the other girl hummed more softly, and the guys nodded as well. the guys all introduced themselves and then nicolettes eyes landed on the very friend that just a few minutes ago was trying to get them to go someplace else before camille swooped in. she took in his curly hair that was just about to cover his eyebrows. then she moved on to the tall, strong build of the mysterious person. before landing on the two dark, shimmering orbs, like melted caramel - that were his eyes.

"john."

his voice matched his eyes, warm, inviting, and smooth.

"well boys, come follow us!" camille announced confidently as four of them followed her back through the club doors. while leaving john and nicolette behind, briefly. she smiled softly before taking the door from the one named 'jack', and held it for john who slipped in behind.

the club was hot, steamy and had a rhythmic pulse to it. french club music was playing out from every corner as they all made their way back to the table they had been at before. as soon as her and john made it to the table, all the guys began scoping out the place as a waiter came to take their order. "chartreuse, please." nicolette ordered and then he was off.

"so where are you all from? i hear different accents." camille questioned loudly over the music. one was from switzerland - who was currently ogling camille, who lets be real; was ogling him right back. three were from the states, including the one with chocolate eyes. and another was from canada. "ah! i have family who live there , i think-think, newfoundland area?" nicolette said with a slight glint of curiousty. dawson's eyes skyrocketed and the two quickly began a conversation. they had realized their families had a mutual friend in common and laughed over it being a small world.

"i haven't been since i was a young girl, about 5. but i do remember -oh whats it called- a beavers tail?" she questioned unsurely, and dawson laughed. "yes! beaver tails are so good! do you remember the poutine?" he questioned and she shook her head for a brief second before nodding, "oh ofcourse! gravy and cheese- so good!" she smiled widely before turning towards the waiter who was setting down the drinks. dawson entered the conversation with the other guys while john looked around and simply, people watched.

"so." nicolette said leaning in towards the boy, and he quickly looked towards her. "when did you all get in?" she questioned, sipping her drink that was sweet, tangy, and a bit spicy. "this morning actually." he said sipping his. "who got you guys to go out with jet lag?" she teased and john pointed towards the swiss who was currently talking with camille. "cheeky man he is." she grinned bringing the quartz glass to her rosy lips. nicolette looked around briefly before making eye contact with the one person, she did not want to see. tony.

she felt her blood run dry as he made his way over towards the group, with nicolette looking back at camille in a panic - who didn't notice because she was currently locking lips with the swiss man.

"fuck." nicolette mumbled before setting down her drink and dragging the closest one to her - onto the dance floor.

nicolette pulled him into the middle and rather closely, beginning to sway to the beat; while nonchalantly checking for tony. nicolettes heartbeat felt like it was going to beat out of her chest, as they danced. john's hands fell to her upper hips, trying to keep them at a respectful spot. the two danced for what felt like an eternity, finding each other's eyes in the middle half.

the smell of sweat and peony filled johns nose, as she pressed herself into him as the two continued to dance. butterflies ever-present, as the two continued to dance. nicolette found herself softly smiling as her back was facing him. she turned towards him now while her hands found his neck, and again made eye contact. "do you wanna take a breather?" she questioned loudly, and he nodded quickly. she took ahold of his hand and pulled him through the crowd to the back door where she had been previously with camille.

cool air hit the two as they stepped outside, now finally able to catch their breaths. nicolette wiped some sweat off of her forehead with her shirt, as she leaned against the wall. she felt herself itching to have a cigarette but decided against it. john let out a sigh of breath, before turning to look at the girl. her soft blue eyes were shut as her head tilted up towards the night sky. her leg tapped as her thoughts swirled, trying to calm them. "you good?" he questioned softly, knowing something was eating at her.

her eyes opened in a flash, before looking away. she swallowed harshly, hating how her skin still burned.

"i take it there was somebody walking up that you didn't want to talk to?" he said with slight hesitation and she nodded. "yeah and won't take the hint i don't like him like that nor really as a person." she giggled nervously. john understood and nodded, before looking out towards the busy streets. "wanna get out of here?" he questioned and her eye met his before she nodded.

the two headed out towards the small square while making small talk.

her eyes found the custard cart, le maison glacee.

"ice cream?" she questioned with a twinge of giddiness and john nodded, allowing her to take the lead. the two walked in silence before nicolette took over and ordered vanilla for her, and then turned towards john who answered with chocolate. the way the words effortlessly rolled off her tongue, created even more butterflies for john. she thanked the cartman as the two grabbed their bowls of french custard, and headed towards a small table nearby. "do you guys even sleep?" he teased as the two sat down and she shrugged with a slight grin. without a second to pass, their heads whipped towards a loud noise - a box falling - and then two voices began to scream. nicolette giggled mischievously as the two screamed at each other.

and then john realized.

"it was you!" he said with realization and nicolette gave him a slight head tilt of confusion as he chuckled. "you were the one who screamed at that man this morning." and nicolette felt her cheeks turn rose before giving him a cheeky grin. "it was me unfortunately." she hummed, taking a big spoon of icecream. johns eyebrows furrowed before she began to speak again, "that shirt was from milan recently, thrifted it from a boutique there and on top of that, my shift was shit and that was the last thing i needed." she groaned throwing one leg over the other as she leaned back.

"how come?" he questioned softly, eating a bit more. she sighed, "shitty boss and shitty customers." she shrugged looking off towards the distance. john watched as her eyes moved with the movement, as couples danced to the street singer who was serenading the square before they found his. "i work at a cafe not far from here and it wasn't a good night shift that's all. but it'll due for now." she shrugged as she looked back towards the dancers.

she absolutely adored dancing, whichever the kind, and found herself now swaying to the song.

"what do you want to do?" he questioned as she smiled softly, "i'd love to be a journalist. not much pay or glitz and glamour but i love writing, and id love for it to be my career." she said finishing up the bowl. john looked down at his, before looking back up. "have you gone to school for it? or do you not need it over here?" he asked and she nodded. "yeah, i finished a year ago at de paris with honors, but haven't found anything that would be good." she explained wiping her lips with her napkin. "have you always wanted to be a journalist?" he questioned. "since i was a little girl i loved to write, when i received my first journal when i was about 6, it was technically a drawing book but i just began to write. mostly nonsense but as i got older, it continued. once i got to highschool, it really took off. i joined the school newspaper and started writing once a week for the local newspaper back home before transitioning to the paper at universite." she explained with a wide smile, "being able to bring important heartfelt, and deep stories to light is my passion." nicolette finished. "what do you do?" she questioned giving him her full attention.

"im a professional hockey player, all of us are." he explained, " but i just got traded to a different team though. i played with them the past few years. besides lukey, who's only been here a year." he added. nicolette nodded softly, and then the two began to talk about anything and everything for the next hour, when john interrupted the conversation, "let's go dance." john said abruptly before standing up. he took the empty bowls of icecream and then her hand, before pulling her towards the singer. the singer was performing a slow french jazz, and john instantly pulled her in closer to his chest.

her heartbeat could be heard in her ears, as it felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. her body became warm and filled with butterflies. his chocolate eyes had pulled her in, and swooned her. yet, they were soft and inviting and safe.

his mouth opened softly, as if he was going to speak; with her butterflies swarming at the thought of hearing his voice. his eyes searched hers as the world and the music slowed around them. a soft hand came up to cup her cheek, ever so delicately. his thumb softly tracing her cheekbone before pulling her in for a deep kiss. her lips immediately returned the favor, before they pulled apart after a few seconds. her ever-pale cheeks turned rosy as the two foreheads rested against one another. a small smile formed on her lips, while a toothy smile appeared on his; the same feeling running through both of their bodies.

she was quite the enigma, john knew almost immediately after speaking to her. so down to earth, quiet, gentle, and inviting. she made you want to open up about everything and share the most wildest dreams and goals. he could see why she and camille had been thick as thieves since they were 6 years old, after meeting in ballet class. she was quite rare in a fast-paced world, and he adored that about her. it made him want to keep her in his life, somehow some way. even as friends.

her head found his chest, as the two continued to sway to the music. smiles covering their faces as the night went on. the city of love pulling them towards one another, giving the two a beautiful night to remember. and possibly, many more.

SO not the greatest, but am very rusty and really wanted to get something up! hope you enjoyed (:

if you did, please like and repost!

xx Anna

[calypsocolada]

I BET U THINK ABOUT ME | nanami

(click here for part two!)

synopsis: nanami's getting married to the wrong girl. authors note: Hiiiiiii, not really sure what this is tbh haha but it was super fun to write and HEAVILY inspired by i bet u think about me by mother taylor swift cw: swearing, angst wc: 1.5k

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

Everything was perfect and white just like the dress that fit her like a glove. Her hair pulled back in an intricate braid. With lace and a labor of love it drifted down the aisle as though it was floating, carrying her right towards the man she loved. Her face was like an open book. The pure love and affection in her eyes brought tears to everyone else's. Gentle music wandered through the sun lit room, large stained glass church windows casted a hue of colors just above the groom that bounced off the white lace of her dress. 

Everything was perfect. This was her day, the day she’d waited for half of her life. To walk down the aisle and be handed off to someone she loved. To look in his eyes and know he loved her just as much as she loved him. To be bound in matrimony. All the shortcomings and bumps in the road lead to this. Lead her right to him. Walking down in heels that she hated with her messy hair pulled back out of her eyes that were golden rimmed. This was her day. 

But it wasn’t Nanami’s. 

And the moment her excited eyes met his it was like he’d spoken right to her. With all the love and affection in her eyes they were met with hesitation and guilt. His brown eyes shone with a gleam as they swept up her dress. It was like he was seeing a ghost, or someone entirely different. She stopped where she stood and everyone stared at her but she was only looking at him. His eyes said everything that his lips couldn’t translate. She remembered two nights ago suddenly. When he held her hand, he was shaking, she’d just kissed his knuckles and told him to go back to sleep. 

He tried to tell her then. And she knew it all too well now.

“Honey?” Her father said to her left, his arm still interlocked with hers. His voice sounded miles and miles away. She took one last step forward, thinking foolishly and hopefully that this was just the last minute jitters playing cruel tricks on her. But the man she loved with all of herself only swallowed dryly and exhaled, his eyes slowly looking down. 

Because although she was bathed in white lace all he could see was that damned elegant olive green velvet dress. And her doe eyes that teared up had been replaced with sharp eyes and lips that almost always curled in a smirk. The man she loved blinked, his face twisted like his mind was at war with his heart and time stopped. Because she wasn’t standing in front of him anymore. 

You were. 

Someone he’d tried to block from his mind. With your infuriatingly beautiful hair and quips that always made him want to laugh. 

He blinked again. In the span of ten seconds it was like his life with you played through his mind like an unkind rewind. 

All the mistakes he made, all the ones you made. All the fights and sex and love and laughing. He used to look at you with unabashed love and affection. You were every face in the crowd, you haunted him like a beautiful and cruel specter. You were the waitress that served him drinks the night before, the person smiling at him from across the street, the actress laughing behind the screen, and the woman he really wished was walking down the aisle right now. He blinked again and you were gone. Just like all those times before.  

What a goddamn mess. 

“Honey?” In the silence of the church her father spoke her name once more. To her it felt like hours since he’d last spoken but really it had only been mere seconds. She blinked numbly as the man she loved, with his blond hair slicked back just the way she liked it, an array of colors dancing off the stained glass windows took a step forwards as his brows drew in and a whole new emotion colored his face.

Shame. 

The deepest and darkest shame that pulled tears quicker than anything else could. She cried as he stepped off the stage. Everyone in the crowd watched in shock, eyes darting between them. 

The room was deathly quiet as their eyes met. She knew. She knew what he was going to say and she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to believe it. Her gut had screamed at her over and over again but she was so naive and swept up in him she didn’t want to see the signs. The signs that told her the man she loved had never loved her. She turned from him, she turned and she ran. The heels she hated tossed from her feet as her tamed hair bounced and came undone. 

The man she loved wasn’t going to chase her down like she wanted more than anything. A naive and romantic part of her thought he’d catch her wrist just as she got to the large church doors. With his strong grip and serious eyes, his other hand would comfort and cradle her cheek, his thumb swiping at her tears. He’d apologize, say he was just scared and pull her back on that altar. He’d kiss her silly after the preacher said he could kiss his bride. And that be it. She’d be his bride and he’d be her groom. But that was just her naivety. 

And as he watched her go he knew once again that something had stained his mind. Something stuck to him so fervently that even when he forced himself on the altar you still haunted him. It seemed even the skeptics weren’t immune to ghosts from the past. Because on a day dedicated to white all he saw was your favorite color. So without a word Nanami straightened his tie, he didn’t look a single patron in the eyes as he walked out the side door and towards his car. 

You had started seeping back in, slinking into his life without even knowing. You two ended things on bad terms, Nanami was always working and you’d never been great at being alone. So you broke up on a September night, the cold just settling in. The chill biting as you packed your things into the car, Nanami racing home to stop you. To beg you to stay, to give you another empty promise. You were practically kids then, barely nineteen. You two had been together for two years before you up and left Jujutsu high, tearing his heart out of his chest and stealing it away with you. Nanami hadn’t really been the same since. Since meeting a girl at a bakery and trying to move on. But things were never over in his mind. He always held out hope that you’d come back, that he’d be enough for you. 

Nanami clicked something on his phone. A text he’d received hours before the wedding from a number he didn’t recognize at the time. But the contents of the text shifted everything. Nanami had everything planned out. Everything was running like a well oiled machine and suddenly one text was enough to blow the engine. 

you: i know you probably don’t want to hear this from me but gojo told me you were getting married. i’m happy for you. congratulations!

That was all. He didn’t want your congratulations. He didn’t want you to be happy that he’d moved on. Because he hasn’t fucking moved on, he’s more miserable now than he was then. And it’s all because of you, because of him being stupid enough to let you go. Nanami liked to think he was a good person. That he understood things, that he was practical. But when it came to you it was like he lost all sort of sense of right and wrong. He knew karma would circle around after the mess he’d just incited. Nanami tossed his phone into the seat next to him, he loosened his tie and sunk into his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles flashed white. Nanami loved control, loved knowing his life was in his hands. But it wasn’t anymore. He turned on his car, grabbing his phone once more. September. The same month you left him. What a cruel coincidence. He sighed and clicked on your number, bringing it to his ear. It rang once. Twice. His stomach churned. Third ring and an automated message. 

“Hi this is y/n. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you.” Beep. Silence. Nanami swallowed and just started spewing out words. 

“I don’t know if you're asleep or not. I know our time zones are different. I just-- I wanted to talk to you. I don’t want to say what I have to say over the phone but I need you to know. I still love you. I’m not ever going to stop. I ruined my wedding, I ruined everything. Just,” He sighs, knowing he probably sounded like a damn fool. “Please call me back.”

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

Part 14: The Drama You've Been Craving

summary: this chapter is sexy and intense! You and Eddie both have obsessive exes on your heels just as the entire Coffin Kings MC is given a reason to take down Craig. You and Eddie are glued at the hip until work and life split you apart and you realize you aren't as safe as you thought. Steve takes his new benefactress to a wedding, but you and Robin show up to warn him--even though it might be too late. wc: 10.3K

Series Masterlist

18+ONLY, mature themes, smut, angst, mention of a consensual bdsm relationship, typical series violence, a stalker, high speed chase, a death, mention of sex with someone other than reader, reader is threatened, everyone is a possible target.

authors note: I want some things to be a surprise, but if you've been following this story---you know the vibe to expect. That being said, this chapter and the next are VERY fast paced, full of angst, tension, and a sense of everyone on edge. If this is not your thing, I totally understand. This story started out as a tow truck driver who just happened to be in a Motorcycle Club, but it has morphed into a full-blown biker drama. A new character is introduced at The Velvet Hammer who will be Steve's love interest in a side fic I'm working on! I love you, enjoy the ride ❤️

"You feed it once, and now it stays

Now, it stays

You tear me open but beware

There's things inside without a care

And the dirt still stains me."

-- Until it Sleeps, Metallica

---------

Eddie stayed with you that night, knowing that Craig had broken into your place, and Katie went to be with Robin, so the two of you had the duplex to yourselves. Eddie put the deadbolt on both of the doors and blocked under the doorknob with kitchen chairs, and then the two of you took a shower together. He soaped your back with care, and it wasn’t long before you felt both of his hands at your hips as his hard length rocked back and forth along your slit from behind.

“Again?” You gave him a glance over your shoulder, a bit in disbelief. This would be the fourth time in less than two hours.

“You’re right,” he mumbled, continuing to saw his hips slowly while the water sprayed and the steam rose. “I should stop, huh?” He wrapped an arm around your throat and pulled you back to suck your earlobe into his mouth while his other hand found your clit.

“You’re a maniac,” the last word was a gasp as his tongue twirled in your ear and your hand skidded down the wet tile wall.

You were so stressed about Craig, and letting Eddie fuck you senseless was the only thing that gave you a bit of relief. The orgasms wiped your mind clean, if only for a few moments, and you wondered how many he could give you before the night was over and you could succumb to sleep. Craig was always there, in the back of your mind now, creeping around your place, stalking your house from across the street---god forbid he was stalking your friends.

Just as Eddie had you bent forward to slide his tip in, and you begged for him to go deeper, the phone rang.

“Shit,” Eddie hissed. The shower stream blasted against his neck, dripping down his nose and hair as he watched his cock stretch you out.

Your eyes shot open and you stiffened. “Wait, I need to get that,” you straightened, reluctantly forcing his cock to pop out.

On any other day, under any other circumstances, Eddie would have coaxed you to ignore it, but the current Craig situation had everyone on edge. His nerves were fried with how bad he wanted to hammer the nails into your stalker’s coffin, but he was doing all he could to remain calm for you. He didn’t want you to see him frazzled and amped up and storming through town kicking down doors like he wanted to.

Plus, he also didn’t want to let you out of his sight.

Eddie swatted your bare butt as you stepped out onto the mat and pulled a towel around you.

“Hey,” he yelled as he finished washing your conditioner out of his hair. “That ass is mine.”

“Sure, sure,” you mumbled, snorting at his constant eagerness. Your feet made wet imprints on the carpet as you crossed over to the phone on the nightstand by your bed.

Eddie was just about to ask if he should turn the water off or if you were getting back in when he heard your voice crack. “Baby? It’s for you.”

Eddie jerked the lavender curtain back and wiped his eyes. Your face was pinched with worry, your legs still dripping wet below the towel.

“Who is it? Steve?” But then his stomach dropped as he asked it, knowing it was something bad just by the look on your face.

You shook your head. “I didn’t catch her name, but she’s really upset,” you came in close to whisper to him as he turned the shower off, your eyes searching his.

“She said that someone named Jester was just murdered.”

------

Eddie sat down on the couch with a huff and bent over to tie his boots furiously, hair dripping wet, heart racing with adrenaline.

Goddamn it, Jester, Eddie murmured under his breath. He should’ve called Eddie, he should’ve waited, like Eddie fucking asked him to. Shari said the guy at her motel matched the description of Craig, and Jester went over there to check it out; two hours later, his Coffin King brother was found in the parking lot with a broken neck. Jester was just a kid, barely 23, and he’d just patched over from being a Prospect only a few months ago.

Fuck, Eddie was pissed. The anger pumped so hot in his veins that he had to shake his head a few times so that he could see straight.

You were dressed now, but haphazardly so; your tee shirt was on inside out and the first pair of sweats you pulled out of the drawer had a blue paint stain on the thigh. You were biting your pinky nail down to the quick as you stood back against the kitchen island watching Eddie. You knew Craig had something to do with this---you knew it in the depths of your soul---but Eddie wouldn’t tell you any of the details. He said he needed to go down and check it out for himself.

He said he’d be right back.

He told you to keep everything locked and lodge the chair under the door when he left.

But you didn’t want to let him out of your sight, not with your maniac ex on the loose. You weren’t even worried about yourself, you were more concerned with Eddie riding out there in the dark to the motel all alone. 

You’d met Jester once; his real name was Aaron, and he was young but he was big and strong, and one of the guys who ran the fights said he had the skill to be the next War Machine.

“Should you call Hopper?” You watched him lace his other boot while you gnawed another nail off.

Eddie frowned. “What the hell is he going to do about it?” He spat. “Besides, he’s probably already down there, making shit harder for me.”

“You think it was Craig, don’t you? The one who murdered Jester?”

Eddie took a long breath and sat there bent over for a second, eyes on the carpet. “I don’t know anything right now baby, that’s why I need to---”

You bent down to put your shoes on.

“Hey, I told you to wait here, please,” Eddie stood up, adjusted his belt and wallet chain, and came over to take you by the shoulders. You tried to shrug away, but he found your eyes, grabbing you by the chin so you would look at him. Piece of hair were sticking to his cheeks, still wet from the shower.“I don’t know what I’ll be rolling up on down there. I can’t risk it being a situation where you might get hurt.”

Your eyes were hot with defiant tears. “Well, what if this was just a ploy so you would leave me here alone, did you ever think of that? Hmm? These chairs blocking the doors are cute, but they won’t stop him, I think you know that.”

Fuck, he hadn’t thought of that. Eddie’s blood rage was making him sloppy; he had to get his head on straight.

You could tell that your words had nudged him and the gears in his head were clicking in your favor.

You continued to pull the bill up on your converse to slide your foot in. “Like you said, the cops will be there, and probably a bunch of other people rubbernecking, and he’s not going to do anything out in the open, even if he does see me.” You squatted down to tie them as quickly as you could.

You stood up, breathless, and swallowed hard. “I’m not staying here like live bait. If you leave without me, I’ll get in my car and follow.”

Eddie’s nostrils flared, assessing you from under hooded eyes, but in the end—-he knew you were right.  You snatched your helmet from the dresser in your bedroom and went out to straddle your man on the bike like a pro as it yielded to your weight.  Eddie smiled a little to himself as you adjusted  yourself behind him, remembering how shy you’d been about riding in the beginning.   With your arms secure around him and your chin pinned at his shoulder, the bike growled out onto the main road from the street.  You glanced around in the bushes on the sidewalk, expecting to see Craig’s face looming in the shadows.

—---------

The police had the area between the motel and the gas station taped off, protecting the crime scene, and Jester’s body was gone, but his bike was still there by the gas station, tipped over onto his side, his helmet was a few feet away.  There were 3 patrol cars, the Sheriff’s bronco, and an ambulance, plus a crowd of people from the motel, and one woman was crying while the other one held her.  A few of the Coffin Kings including the patch President Bones, and Thumper were already there, hanging back, arms crossed, wondering who would do this, and how they could find him before the police did. 

You checked around, squinting into the crowd as you dismounted the bike.  Eddie opened his hand for you to pass him your helmet once you took it off.  

Hopper waved off one of the other officers and approached Eddie right away, removing his hat to slick back his hair as he strolled over.  

“Eddie,” he nodded.

“Hop,” Eddie returned. He called you his “old lady” when he introduced you, which made your smile twitch up in a weird way, having never been referred to as that before.  It sounded like an insult, but apparently it meant that you were his pride and joy.

Hopper got Eddie up to speed on what they knew, which was almost nothing.  Jester was found face down on the pavement with a broken neck, legs trapped under his bike.   His girlfriend Shari who worked at the motel is the one who found him, and she didn’t see or hear anything unusual during the time when it happened.  Of course they’d questioned her as if she had something to do with it, which was ridiculous since Shari was maybe 90 pounds soaking wet.

You were doing a spin around in a circle to take everything in when your eyes landed with a screeching halt on the hunter green SUV parked in front of room 11 on the far side of the lot.  A squeak escaped your throat and you stumbled back against Eddie.  Was he inside the room watching you right now? 

Hopper raised his eyebrow at Eddie. “Any issues with retaliation that I should know about? Has Jester had beef with anyone lately?”

Eddie lifted his chin, bracing his hands at his hips.  Hopper knew damn well that, even if this had to do with a rival gang, Eddie sure as hell wouldn’t talk about it to the cops.  He’d take care of it in his own way, which was exactly what needed to happen in this case.

There was usually some polite banter between the two of them, but the mood that evening was much too somber.  

“What about people staying at the motel?” You blurted.  “Have they been questioned yet?”

Eddie curled his arm around you and pulled you closer, almost as if to shut you up, but Hopper paused to meet your gaze. The only people staying at the motel that night were a husband and wife with their newborn, an elderly couple on their way to visit grandkids, a business woman representing Mary Kay cosmetics, and a highly decorated war veteran who had been injured in the line of duty.  The vet was on his way home from a conference in Pennsylvania—Hopper had yet to confirm this, but nothing about the guy felt concerning.  

“You think someone staying at the motel wanted to kill Jester?” His tone had an edge of mocking, but he was also genuinely curious why you would ask that.

Eddie squeezed you tighter, silently reminding you not to share too much with the police.

“Well I—” you stammered, checking over your shoulder at the SUV, and then back up to Eddie. “I was wondering if there were any witnesses, that’s all.”

Hopper nodded.  “We’ll be checking with all of them early in the morning, but my guess is they were asleep.  Whoever did this was quick and sneaky.”

That description made a shiver run down your spine.  Even as you stood there in a crowd, you could feel an imaginary blade slice across  your throat.  

Hopper was good at his job, but he was letting himself be blinded by the people Jester chose to associate himself with.  You run with a ruthless MC, you get hurt, that’s a given.  

Hopper questioned Shari, but she also knew not to talk to the police, and kept quiet about the way Jester came there to keep an eye on the creepy guy in room 11.  She told Bones, though, and the second Hopper strolled off, you pulled Eddie aside.

“Look,” you motioned with your head to the SUV across the parking lot.

Eddie rolled his bottom lip through his teeth, checking to make sure Hopper was far enough away.  “I saw it, baby,” he grabbed the back of your neck and massaged it.  He worked his jaw as he stared at the motel room in question, hoping that fucker was peeking through the curtains and could see him holding onto you.  If the place wasn’t crawling with pigs, he’d kick the door down right then and there.  

Steve rolled into the lot on his chopper and gave a two-finger wave to Bones and the rest before making his way to a halt near you and Eddie.  He had clear, utility glasses on to keep the bugs out of his eyes when he rode at night, and he pushed them up into his messy hair as he dismounted.  He wasn’t wearing his helmet, which was an illegal and risky thing to do right in front of law enforcement—but Steve was notorious for making up his own rules.  

There were also two mean looking hickeys on his neck. Even mixed in with his tattoos, they were hard to miss.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Eddie raised an eyebrow at the aggressively bruised mouth bites. One was positioned dead-center on his adam’s apple.  Something about them felt familiar to Eddie, but he shrugged it off.  

Steve reached into the front pocket of his cut for his lighter and smokes, popping one in his mouth.  “What did I miss?”

Eddie filled him in on Jester getting whacked, and Steve blew smoke out of his nose, thoughtfully, his brows knitting together.  

“Bones wants to take it to the table,” Eddie told him, meaning their MC would get together at the clubhouse at Munson’s Garage and discuss what they wanted to do.  His eyes lingered on room 11 again. “But I want to take care of this guy myself.  It’s personal.”

“If it’s personal for you, it’s personal for me,” Steve told him, letting Eddie know he had his back, even though he had no idea about the gravity of the situation and who Craig actually was. 

You sniffed the air.  “Hold on,” you stepped closer to Steve, taking another long whiff.  He exchanged a curious look with Eddie over your shoulder.  “Is that Chanel number 5 I smell?”

Steve lifted the collar of his white tee to his nose.  “Um, I dunno. Maybe.  I guess?”

“Expensive taste,” Eddie mumbled, and another cog clicked in his brain, another piece falling into a puzzle that he didn’t know he needed to solve.  He was about to open his mouth, to ask Steve where he had been—but then he remembered that who his friend was fucking was none of his business.  There were plenty of wealthy, horny women in the area who wore Chanel number 5 and gave aggressive hickeys.  He was sure of it.

You stayed very close to Eddie and Steve as they walked over to get as close as they could to where the body had been, so much so that you tripped over the back of Steve’s heels twice, and he teasingly asked if you were drunk.  “No, but I wish,” you admitted, constantly looking over your shoulder at the motel.  You kept expecting Craig to appear, to step out of his room with his hands in his pockets and a smug look on his face, enjoying the chaos he caused.  

Eddie made a point to ask for Jester’s cut-off leather vest, with the Coffin Kings insignia on the back and his nickname patched on the front.  Eddie folded it with great reverence, knowing they would give it to his mother at the funeral.  Eddie also wanted to talk with Shari, but now was not the time to interrogate her.

Hopper told everyone to disperse, including the group of Coffin Kings that were lingering, but none of them were going far.  As much as they weren’t afraid of the law, they also had to pretend to abide by it from time to time so that they weren’t getting their feathers ruffled constantly and thrown in jail over stupid shit.  

They positioned two of the Prospects across the street in the park with a clear view of the motel. After what happened to Jester, they weren’t taking any chances with snoozing on the job, and both were packing serious, illegal heat.  

You asked Steve how Oliver was while Bones clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.  The man was average height, but all gray, with a bandana on his head, and a thick mustache; he reminded you of Sam Elliott.

“You think this is the guy? The one stalking your old lady?”  Bones’ already gruff voice was accentuated by years of smoking. 

Eddie’s gaze flicked to one of the patrol cruisers that was leaving the scene, and he nodded. “This one is mine, brother. I need this.”

“We all need it,” Bones agreed, gripping Eddie’s shoulder.  He leaned in, “If you want to drag that guy out of there right now, we’re with you.”

“No,” Eddie appreciated the offer but, “I want to catch him on the move, away from all of this protection,” he added, hitching his chin in the direction of the police.  “I can’t risk us getting locked up while he roams free.”

Eddie also didn’t trust the Prospects to keep a close enough eye on him, so he planned to take you to Steve’s and come back; there was no way he’d be able to sleep knowing Craig would be up and about in a few hours.  

But you weren’t so crazy about that idea.  Sure, you’d stay the night at Steve and Robin’s if that made him feel better to know you were all in one place, but Eddie needed to stay with you.

Robin and Oliver were asleep, and Steve was in the shower washing off his Chanel number 5 when Eddie shut the door to Steve’s bedroom so you could talk.  Steve’s room was little else than a tv, a dresser, and a futon sofa that folded out into a bed.  There was a chair next to the window and an ashtray full of cigarette butts on the sill.  He usually slept in the extra twin bed in Oliver’s room down the hall, though, and that is where he would be that night so that you and Eddie could have the futon.  You knew that not much talking needed to be involved to get him to stay and you quickly dropped to your knees, working his belt off and unzipping his jeans.

“Wait, baby, I—” Eddie began to protest but by then you’d already pulled the top of his boxers down and were wrapping your soft lips around the head of his cock.  “---oh fuck that feels good,” he whispered, dropping the back of his head to the wall.

You kissed down the smooth shaft and felt it grow against your lips, and then swirled your tongue around the head again, knowing by the sounds he was making that you had him right where you wanted him.

“Stay here with me baby,” you coaxed, gripping his cock in your fist, lapping at it with your tongue a few times like it was an ice cream cone, looking up at him.  “I need you.”

He put a hand on the back of your head and pushed his hips forward ever so slightly, so the tip made its way to the back of your throat.  It was growing to full-size fast, and you made a humming noise, vibrating on it while you caressed his balls through his boxers.

“Shit, oh fuck, I love it when you do that,” he breathed.  God, he loved watching how well you took care of him, especially the way a string of saliva would stretch out between your mouth and his tip when you pulled back; your mouth was so wet for him.

“Mhmmm,” you nodded.  His tip was already leaking, and you pulled his boxers down further to take one of his balls into your mouth before coming back up to lick the drops clean.

There were a handful of times when Eddie let you give him head from start to finish, but more often than not—he always wanted to finish inside of you.  It wasn’t a breeding thing, it was more of a “I need to be as close to you as I possibly can” kind of thing, and his balls ached for it.

After making sure the door was locked, speaking exclusively in hushed whispers, it wasn’t long before you were both naked and Eddie had you on the bed with your legs straight up over his shoulders.  He ran his cock along your slippery slit, and then he tapped your hole with the head a few times, like a vow.  He braced his hands at your hips and sank in, making you both bite back a cry of pleasure.  He pounded you with fierce urgency before slowing it down to long strokes, turning his face to kiss your leg.  The open futon had the cushion of a cement block, and so there were no pesky springs or hinges to make curious noises.

“I’m so full baby,” you whined. “You’re so deep.”

“Fuck,” he bottomed out a few more times, clapping his hips against you.  You heard the shower across the hall turn off and worried that Steve might catch the wet smacking noises.

There were no lights on in the room, but enough illumination from outside for Eddie to be able to watch himself slide in and out of you, growling low as he did so, loving how the skin of his cock glistened with your arousal.  

You were swiping at your clit with the pads of your fingers, and your hand sped up when he started fucking you hard again. You met his eyes, your brows knitting together.  “Oh fuck Eddie…just like that.” 

Eddie knew that, if you said you liked something, that was not time to switch things up, and he ached to hear you get loud.

“That’s my girl,” he hissed.  “Cum on my cock baby, I want you to cum so fucking hard, oh shit—” he could feel his own release mounting as your walls rippled around him.  His strong fingers dug into your thigh as his thrusts became erratic, long hair hanging down his strong, tattooed shoulders and chest. 

You arched up, mouth opening only to mouth a curse word as you felt Eddie buck and release inside of you, biting his lip so hard it almost bled as he moaned deep in his throat. Your cunt milked his dick as you came, twitching, breathing hard from the adrenaline rush of trying to keep quiet.

The bathroom door opened, there was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and then a knock at your door.  You mirrored Eddie’s wide eyes, and then he pulled out of you, reluctantly, semi-hard cock bobbing in the air, and stepped into his jeans while you covered yourself with the Harley Davidson blanket.

Before Eddie could get his jeans zipped, Steve tried the doorknob. “Yo, the bathroom is free,” he let you both know, as any roommate would if there were only one shower and toilet in the house.  

“Thanks man,” Eddie paused, waiting, wondering if that was it.

But Steve rapped his knuckles softly on the wood again.  “Let me in for a second, dude, I gotta get something out of my closet.”

Eddie shot a look back at you, as if to make sure you were covered up, while simultaneously wondering if he wanted Steve to see that you were obviously naked under his blanket.  He adjusted his cock in his denim and reached out to pluck the lock open on the knob.

“Took you long enough,” Steve blew in with a Snoopy towel around his waist, exposing the wash of colorful tattoos covering his torso that you’d never seen before.  He had “FTW” inked in big letters in an arc over his stomach, and after consulting with Eddie later, you learned it stood for “fuck the world”.  Your eyes also landed on Oliver’s name tattooed over his heart.  He usually slicked his hair back, so this was the first time you ever saw it so messy and wild.

Steve slid the closet door open, yanked something off a wire hanger, and was about to walk back out the door when he stopped and turned on his heel to give you both a wiggle of his eyebrows.  “Hold up—did I interrupt something?”

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just blinked a few times, and you plastered a tight smile across your face that made your cheeks squeak.  

“If you need me to stay, I could—” Steve teased, offering a few exaggerated winks.

“Get the fuck out,” Eddie pushed his shoulder, snorting a muffled laugh as he did so.

—-----------

Earlier that evening, when you and Eddie showed up at the crime scene near the motel—-Craig was not in his room.  He hadn’t been there for almost two hours, since he killed Jester.  He got out through the window in the bathroom, and that poor kid never saw it coming.  After that, he hotwired a car from the grocery store parking lot a few blocks away and waited across the street, in plain sight, watching the whole thing. He gritted his teeth and mumbled under his breath when Eddie put his arm around you, and when you left together—he followed.  

He already knew where your friends Steve and Robin lived, and it was not a shocker that your biker boyfriend took you there. You didn’t need protection from Craig, though, you needed protection from the world, and metalhead scum like Eddie Musnon.  He knew you would thank him one day, for finding you and bringing you back to your senses.

It took him a while to figure out the exact spot where you would be in the house, but once he did, he found that the window was cracked open, like a gift.  He hadn’t expected the sounds of you getting fucked to turn him on, but the way you whimpered…oh god…those noises you made.  He put his head against the side of the house, closed his eyes, and pretended it was his cock inside of you.  He came into the bushes, mumbling your name with the additional, “you fucking bitch, you fucking whore” before adjusting himself and making his way back to the motel.

—-------

The next morning, Craig’s vehicle was still there, and it didn’t appear like the guy had even moved a muscle or pulled back a curtain.  

At around 8:00, the two Prospects stationed on watch across the street got a phone call from the payphone on the corner.  It was Bones, letting them know they were both needed down at the abandoned steel mill.

Both were tired of waiting, but Van, the one who’d answered the phone, couldn’t mount his bike fast enough, while Devlin worked through some internal struggle.

“Hold on,” Devlin said, taking a second to absorb what Van just told him.  Both had long hair tied back in ponytails, each similarly tall with lanky muscles.  Van was sleeved with tattoos, though, while Devlin only had a Celtic design on his bicep.  “He needs both of us? What about this guy?” He tossed his chin in the direction of the motel.   “Eddie said not to let him out of our sight.”

“Do you want me to call Bones back so you can give him all these questions?” Van offered snidely, knowing that the last thing a Prospect would ever do is question the President of the MC. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I gotta piss.  If Eddie wants this guy so bad, he can come babysit him.”

Devlin pulled his leather gloves on, flexing his fingers as he stared across at Van.  There’s no way in hell he’d talk that way to Eddie’s face—he’d get rocked into next week.  Devlin noticed that Van was jittery, like an addict jonesing for a hit of something.  “It’s your ass,” Devlin assured him as he strapped his helmet on under his chin.  

—------

When the boys swung by to talk to the Prospects a bit later, the two were nowhere to be found, and Craig’s SUV was gone.   

“Son of a bitch,” Eddie spat, motioning for Steve to follow him to circle around to the motel. 

“What the fuck?” Steve barked, looking around as they each dismounted their bikes. He had on a red tee with the armholes cut open wide to expose his tan ribcage and scattered tattoos.“Where the hell are Van and Devlin?”

Eddie didn’t have time to solve that mystery, he was too focused on the way the door to room 11 was cracked ajar, suggesting that the occupant had left in a hurry.

Both boys stood back on either side of the door, each with one hand on the hilt of their holstered knives.  Not only was Craig dangerous, but he was a sneaky coward who didn’t have the guts to face Eddie like a man.  

Eddie pounded the door the rest of the way open with his boot.

The room appeared to have been vacated—the guy even took out his own trash, as if someone would want to sift through it.  The bed had been made, with the sheets tucked so tight, you could bounce a dime on it, and on his way back from checking the bathroom, Eddie saw a matchbook from The Golden Lion Hotel and Resort sitting on the desk.

“Maybe the guy gave up,” Steve looked around the dresser under the tv, pulling the empty drawers open.  “Tucked his tail and ran like the scared puppy he is.”

Eddie shook his head a few times before he said anything, turning the matchbook over in his fingers. “Oh,he’s still around,” Eddie concluded.  “And I think he left us a breadcrumb.”

Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew the guy hadn’t left it there by accident.  Craig seemed to get off on slipping through their fingers and mocking them around every turn, but he underestimated what Eddie would do when he actually got a hold of him.

—-----------

When Eddie called to tell you what had happened, a cold chill ran down your spine.  It was late morning, and you were at your Saturday “bloody mary brunch” shift at the Velvet Hammer while The Drama You’ve Been Craving by Sleater-Kinney played from the jukebox.  The b-movie on the tv mounted above the bar was The Killer Shrews. Your shift was 9 to 4, but you planned on asking if you could work a double and stay as late as possible, because it felt safe to be in a crowd; staying busy also kept your anxiety at bay.  The only downside would be that Eddie was out of your sight, and you had a feeling that both the boys would be trying to track down Craig for most of the day.  You weren’t doubting that Eddie could handle himself against Craig in a fist fight—but that wasn’t the type of combat Craig excelled at.  There was always some element of manipulation and psychological fuckery.

And then Steve was off to be a bodyguard for some wealthy, country club wife later that night, leaving Eddie completely alone.  You weren’t sure of the details, but you knew he was being forced to go to take whoever it was to some wedding.  All you could do was serve alcoholic beverages and hope the world outside figured itself out without anyone you loved getting hurt.

You overheard the new server ask Shana if Steve was working the door that day.

“He’s only here after 6,” Shana replied, digging a metal scoop into the ice to make a mint mojito.  There was about an inch of platinum stubble growing in on her shaved head.  She wore a dark red choker with a cross dangling from it, and a low cut, velvet shirt to expose the roses and thorns tattoo that covered her chest.  “But, he asked for the night off,” Shana wiggled her eyebrows at the girl.  “I think he has a hot date.”

To your surprise, you watched the new girl’s face drop.  She’d only been there for a week, and it seemed like she and Steve were always in the middle of a lover’s spat.  Some of it was playful banter, but also, the more she pushed him away and teased him,  the more he sought her out to tease her more, and she wasn’t afraid to give her rejection harsh and swift.  

“It’s not a date,” you corrected, walking side by side, carrying drinks to your table.  “Some lady is paying him to be her escort slash bodyguard for a wedding tonight.”

A smile twitched on her lips; she looked relieved as the two of  you set the drinks down black cocktail napkins coasters.  After you finished at that table, Lily tapped your elbow.

“Who would need a bodyguard at a wedding in this town?” She asked, frowning quizzically. “Is she famous or something?”

Her question brought a sudden avalanche of memories down on you.  You remembered that day at the gallery when you first caught sight of Charlene, and the second time you ever met Eddie.  He was there as her “bodyguard” that night, according to Jeff, and you recalled how ridiculous it sounded.

That night several months ago, you teased Eddie for being on your “turf” on the sidewalk outside of Moon River Gallery, and just the thought of those early days made your heart flutter.  

It dawned on you then, like a smack to the forehead, who Steve was escorting to the wedding that night, and you leaned across the bar to ask Shanna to pass you the phone.  

—--------

Robin answered as she spun cookie dough in a mixing bowl with a wooden spoon, her hair in a scrunchy on the top of her head.  She’d offered to watch one of her friend's kids for a bit, and both the boys were giggling at cartoons in the living room.  The smoke alarm just went off because she burned the first batch and was determined to try again.

You asked if Steve had checked in recently, or if she expected him home any time soon.

Pinning the phone between her shoulder and her ear, Robin opened the window above the sink to try and wave some of the burnt cookie smoke out with her hand.  “He was just here to grab something, but then he took off again,” she kicked the oven closed with her foot.  “Why, what’s up?”

You figured there was always a chance he’d stop by The Hammer even though he wasn’t working—you hoped so anyway.  “You know if he’s still doing that escort thing tonight?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty excited about it,” there was a tiny voice in the background and Robin held her hand over the receiver to tell Ollie she’d be there in a second.  “Well, he’s excited about the money.  I got invited to the same wedding, but Katie’s visiting her mom and I don’t want to be lame and go by myself, even though Paul’s mom did offer to babysit.”

“Oh, that’s right,” you considered the implication of what she was saying.  If you could duck into the wedding long enough to warn Steve and let him know his “date” is the reason Eddie got stabbed, then at least Steve would have fair warning for what he was getting himself into. 

Robin stopped stirring and held the phone with her flour covered hand.  “Hey, do you want to be my date? I know you’ve got this creepy ex breathing down your throat, but until the Kings grab him, I think it would be fun to take your mind off of it. There’s an open bar at the reception and I’m always a fan of free food.”

You were nodding, but realized there were no words coming out. “I think that might be a really good idea,” you sucked in your top lip, almost wishing Eddie hadn’t ripped the dress John bought you.  “I was going to try and pick up another shift, but yeah, I could be your date.”

You already told Eddie you’d be working, so you’d let the new bouncer at the Hammer know where you were in case he came by.  Since Eddie was usually impossible to get a hold of during the day, you’d leave a message on his machine, too, just in case.  

Meanwhile, as Robin spooned dough onto an aluminum sheet, she remembered the gun that was locked back in the safe.  For some strange reason, the hair stood up on the back of her neck and she wondered if she would need it.  

—-------

Right before you left your message on Eddie’s machine letting him know where you would be, there was another message that came through:

(machine clicks) “It’s me, Melanie.  Wow, I guess you really don’t want to talk to me. (long pause) It’s been five years, I figured we could at least try to be friends or something, but I am reading your silence loud and clear. (heavy sigh) I went over to visit Wayne and he said you have a new girlfriend now, and that you’re happy, so, congratulations, I guess.  You deserve all the good things.  This is the last time I will try to contact you. Have a nice life, Eddie.”

Later that day, just as the sun was setting, the phone rang again.

(machine clicks) (shuffling, muffled cursing) “You know what? Fuck you, Eddie Mussin.” Melanie slurs. “Fuck you for making me fill like a peas of schit for even trying to be a part of your life. (hiccup) Your new whore is here at this wedding, where are you?  I don’t fuckin deserve this.  I need you to come down here right now and tell me to my face that you don’t love me anymore before I come to you–” (loud click)

—------

Back at the Munson’s Garage, Eddie did not go up to his apartment, but he did meet with Bones and a few of the other members inside the clubhouse.  Eddie told Bones about how Van and Devlin had disappeared, and he was just as confused as anyone.

“I don’t know shit about them leaving,” Bones assured from one of the bar stools, silver hair brushed back off his face, wearing an old school denim cut-off with the club insignia on it, and a thick wallet chain hanging down the thigh of his dark denim. “I told those fuckers to stay put until you got there.”

Eddie put his hands on his hips and worked his jaw. The door that led in from the garage opened then, and the two idiots in question appeared.  Eddie didn’t wait to ask questions, he just walked over, took the first one he could catch by the throat, and pinned him up against the wall with a hard thwack that sounded like he almost broke the wood paneling.  

Van choked and wheezed against Eddie’s hold. “Where the fuck have you two been?” Eddie spat through gritted teeth.  

Devlin started talking fast, waving his hands.  “We’ve been over at the abandoned steel mill, waiting where you told us to for the past couple hours,” he said to Bones in a rush.

Bones and Eddie exchanged a frown.  Bones shook his head, scowling at Devlin.  “What the hell are you talking about? Nothing’s going down at the steel mill today.” There were several abandoned buildings on the outskirts of town where the Kings conducted the shady side of their dealings, but so far, the weekend plans were tame.

Devlin shot a look at Van, whose face was beet red above Eddie’s grip, and then turned back to Bones.  “So, if you didn’t call us on the payphone this morning to tell us to go to the steel mill, who did?”

Eddie released Van so that he could talk, waiting for him to catch his breath and cough a few times.  “It sounded like you,” Van sputtered so hard that saliva dripped from his lip.

Bones sat back in his seat, smoothing out his mustache, while the other members around him mumbled to themselves.  “You really are just as stupid as you look.”

And then Eddie’s fist came in tight, landing flush with his Van’s jaw, and he stumbled back against the wall and slid to the floor, accepting his punishment with a curse.  

The door from the garage pushed open abruptly, and there stood Josh, one of Eddie’s mechanics wearing smudged overalls.  He threw a thumb over his shoulder.  “Yo, Thumper has eyes on that hunter green SUV you’ve been looking for.  It’s headed for Highway 22 off of Deer Park.”

Eddie pushed himself off the wall with the side of his fist, pounding it there, on his way outside to jump on his chopper.  The rest of the guys followed, including a woozy Van, stumbling as he got to his feet..  

Chrome pipes roared to life one right after the other as the eight of them rumbled out of the parking lot.

—------

While Eddie and a handful of the Coffin Kings were blowing down the highway in the hot summer sun in pursuit of Craig, Steve was sipping champagne, getting his sleeves marked to be adjusted last minute by Charlene’s personal tailor. They were in her master bedroom overlooking the pool as beige curtains billowed in along with the soft echo of Joey by Concrete Blonde from the radio down near the jacuzzi.  Charlene had a see-through coverup over her zebra print bikini as she watched from her chair.  She liked to touch herself whenever the tailor wasn’t looking, and to be fair—Steve liked it too.  She plucked at her nipple and ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth, making his cock twitch in his pants as he gnawed vigorously on his Wrigley’s Spearmint gum.  

He’d been with a few batshit crazy chicks in his day, but this one was up there with the battiest.  Honestly—he didn’t hate it.  The problem was, he’d started to have this crush on one of the new servers at The Velvet Hammer, and two things were wrong with it: one, he didn’t have time or room in his life for romance, and two, she kind of hated his guts.

She acted like she did, anyway.  She told him that his reputation preceded him, and that he’d never get in her pants, no matter how hard he tried.  

Bet.

Charlene helped him to take his mind off of that, even though she did treat him like some sort of life-sized Ken doll.  Her sexual appetite was insatiable, and that afternoon, before the tailor got there, was the second time she’d asked him to choke her while she came until she almost passed out.

Steve was afraid of those torture kinks though; afraid he might not know his own strength one time and take his anger out on his partner.  He had a switch inside of him that was either on or off, and he didn’t know how to idle in between.  

The tailor walked away to the vanity to grab something, and Charlene sauntered over to pretend she was fixing Steve’s collar.  She leaned forward to whisper in his ear: “I want to feel your cum drip out of me all night,” and it gave him a shiver.  He would definitely have to fuck her again before they left, and maybe again in the towncar on the way there.

—------

The thing that surprised Charlene the most was not how attracted she was to Steve, but how she was starting to not miss Eddie anymore.  This all started as a way to get closer to Eddie, and to get back at him at the same time, but now all she could think about was being naked with Steve—to have him rip her suit off with his teeth.  

He’d left marks on her, because she asked him too, and there was some slight bruising around her throat that she loved to admire.  John wouldn’t ask about it, he didn’t care what she did. Eddie always refused to indulge her in that way—he would fuck her rough, sure, but he didn’t like the idea of introducing pain, and none of her other lovers had the right touch until now.

She watched Steve’s jaw muscles work as he chewed his gum, and then he winked at her after the tailor asked him a question.  She was down bad in a way that made her want to be 15 years younger, to start completely over with someone like Steve. Maybe it would’ve made her a different, softer person, maybe they would’ve had a son together.  But then she remembered her situation and how that wasn’t an option, and then the bitterness flooded back in, rising like bile at the back of her throat.  

While Steve was just trying to make it through the evening, Charlene was trying to think of ways to keep him with her forever.

—-------

You showed up at Robin’s with the only dress you had that qualified as formal wear—the style was possibly outdated by ten years.  You brought your Caboodles makeup case too, because you knew how much Oliver loved to watch you put makeup on.  Robin never wore makeup, aside from some lipstick now and then, so she always appreciated it when you or Katie indulged him.  You had a polaroid back at the duplex of the makeup Oliver put on Steve once; wide, outlined red lips, bright green lids from lashline to eyebrow, and a dusting of glitter.  

“Which color do you think?” You asked, gesturing to your eyelids, in front of the bathroom mirror while Ollie stood on a step stool next to you.  He had on a pair of bright yellow swim trunks and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tank top.  

“I think this blue for one eye,” he scratched his head, tapping the hard plastic shell over a sparkly turquoise with a tiny finger.  He paused his hand as his eyes moved around, and made a serious face, concentrating.  “And this color for the other eye,” the other color was a dark red.

He looked up at you with those big, honey brown Steve eyes, waiting for you to start applying them, rubbing his lips together.  “Ollie, my love,” you chuckled.  “One day, your artistic genius will be appreciated, but I don’t think Hawkins is ready for it quite yet.”

“What if we do these,” you showed him a few things including eyeliner and blush. “And I’ll let you put some of the mascara on me.”

He nodded, eyes widening at all of the options scattered around the sink, wanting to put it all on your face at once. 

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the front door that made your heart stop.  

You told Oliver to wait in the bathroom and shut the door while you went to check it out.

Relief flooded in when you realized it was only Robin. She’d gone out to close the garage and accidentally locked herself out of the house.  Who else had you expected? Craig? Surely, he had no idea where Steve and Robin lived.  

Paul’s mom Raina was running an hour late to pick Oliver up with promises of ice cream and Scooby Doo, so you missed the wedding itself, but the two of you decided you’d still make it to the reception; shame to waste all the time you took getting ready. While you had a glass of wine in the kitchen and helped Robin zip up the back of her navy blue, strapless dress, you kept looking at the phone, and glancing out the living room window to the street, waiting to see Eddie, or at least hear from him.  On your way out the door, you tried his apartment one more time, but hung up before you could leave another message.  

—------

The Coffin Kings zoomed along the highway, weaving in and out of cars, keeping to a tight, intimidating pack as much as possible with Bones out in front and Eddie right behind him, hair flying in the wind. Thumper caught sight of them from a road crossing and joined, spitting up a cloud of dust as he went.  

Up ahead, there was a bottleneck in traffic as two lanes converged, and the line of cars were beginning to slow down.  Eddie spotted the SUV in the distance and waved the group to the side of the highway to bypass all of the vehicles at a standstill.  

Eddie’s arm muscles were tight and flexed, the sleeves of his Pantera tee exposing his tan, inked arms.  His face was locked in a permanent frown as he braced against the wind.  Four of the other guys went around the opposite side of the highway, ready to box in the target.  

The windows of the SUV were tinted, but Eddie could tell that the guy must’ve seen them coming in his rearview mirror because the vehicle lurched, wheels cranking, trying to get out on the lip of the road to escape.  

Eddie sped up, twisting the throttle on the right handlebar, weaving in through the cars again to rage down the dotted yellow line.  

The SUV bolted out from the line of cars, dove into the ditch, and then corrected itself before swerving onto an unpaved road that led out through the trees.

The gang followed; Eddie and Thumper got up behind it, eating dust from the tires, and once they were away from the traffic cluster, Thumper reached down for his handgun, aimed it at the back tire and shot twice.  

The vehicle swerved and kept going but slowed down enough for them to get along each side, and then Bones raised his gun and blew out the back window.

The SUV turned so fast that Thumper lost control and flipped his bike into the dirt, but motioned for the others to keep going.  

There was a dead-end curve with metal railing, and that is where the vehicle finally screeched to a halt sideways.  A few of the guys stayed on their bikes and aimed their guns at the driver’s side door, while Eddie dismounted and waited to see if Craig would step out, but he didn’t, so Eddie went over and yanked it open for him.  

“Please please please don’t kill me!” The woman behind the steering wheel screamed, holding her hands up. She was in her early fifties, highlights of gray hair in her brunette bob, wearing an orange corduroy jumper over a floral shirt.  

The woman was in tears, and Eddie stepped back in disbelief.  He jerked open the side door only to realize it was the same make of SUV, but it did not belong to Craig.

“You can take my wallet,” the woman stammered.  “It’s in my—”

“We’re sorry, ma’am,” Bones told her, motioning for everyone to lower their weapons as a dust cloud settled around them.  “There’s been a terrible mistake.”

Eddie started to walk away but then let out a violent curse at the last minute and punched the side of the SUV causing it to dent.  

—------

Steve ran the tip of his tongue over his gold incisor and buttoned his jacket as he came around the passenger side of the Jaguar to take Charlene’s hand at the entrance to the Golden Lion Hotel & Resort before he tossed the keys to the valet.  The tats on his hands and throat were an interesting pairing with the fancy suit he had on, and it took all of Charlene’s willpower not to kiss him right there.  She knew what everyone whispered about—she knew that the infidelities both her and John exercised were well known in town—but it was important to continue the facade.

It was a strange arrangement in more ways than one: Steve escorted her inside to where a group of her friends were, but then was told to wait out front like a guard until the ceremony and dinner were over.  Steve took a walk, smoked half a pack of cigarettes, talked to some of the other drivers, and sat in the lobby, bobbing his knee restlessly. Charlene came out to check on him a few times, like someone would a dog, even brought him a plate of food.  He planned to wait until the music for the dancing started, and then he’d go and find his benefactress to ask how much longer they needed to stay.  He didn’t mind Charlene—he thought she was hot as hell—but the only thing motivating him to stick around was feeling that wad of cash in his pocket once the evening was over.  

He saw Eddie’s ex Melanie at the bar taking shots with her friend, and he ducked behind a collection of imported palm trees so that they wouldn’t see him. 

______

“Steve!” You called across the parking lot as your heels clapped up the pavement with Robin close behind you.  You were relieved to see that he was alone, if only for a moment.  

He was afraid to look up at first, his head bent down as he finished the last of his smoke, not sure if it was someone he wanted to ignore.  But, when his eyebrows finally lifted the rest of his head up, his face beamed with a mix of relief and confusion.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” His surprised expression landed on Robin; it was only the third time in his life he’d seen her in a dress.  He almost didn’t recognize her.  

Robin scoffed.  “I wanted to go to this wedding in the first place, remember?”

“Oh shit,” Steve balked. “Is this Scott’s wedding you were telling me about?”

Robin shook her head and snorted a laugh out her nose.  “You are unreal.”

“Damn, I wasn’t paying any attention,” he jerked the corners of his mouth down in an oblivious frown. 

“Hey,” you took Steve by the elbow, leaning in.  “The woman you’re here with, is her name Charlene?”

Steve’s ADHD was getting the better of him.  “Yes, why? Where’s Eddie? Is he coming? Did they catch that freak who broke into your place?”

You stammered, trying to choose which one to answer.  “I’m not sure, but I—”

And that was when Charlene showed up in the entranceway behind you—in the flesh—and beckoned for Steve to come inside.  You could almost feel her there, even without looking, and it made all of the hair on your body stand on end. 

You turned to face her in all of her Sharon Stone glory, and in that moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a flicker of fear flash over her face as she recognized you.  

“Stevie,” she said it louder, clearing her throat.  “Come have a drink with me?”

“Be right there,” Steve threw her a lift of his chin and grin, and then he turned back to you, running a hand through his hair.  “I have to go do this for a bit longer.  See you in there, though, yeah?”

But before you could say anything else, he patted your arm and strode over to greet Charlene, offering his elbow for her to take.  You could hear the music start up from the dancefloor: Good Vibrations by Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.

Robin pushed tight to your side. “Is that her?” She asked. “The one who got Eddie stabbed?”

“That’s her,” you said, watching them through the glass as they disappeared around a corner. 

“Hell no,” Robin pushed off with a huff. “I don’t care how much money she’s giving him, he needs to know,” and then she charged fullbore into the building, getting stuck in a crowd of people exiting, pushing her way through while trying to be polite.

“Robin, wait!” You blurted, still weary of Charlene’s reach and power.  You hustled after her, stopping to hold the door open for an elderly couple as people poured in and out to get some air, music vibrating in your chest.  

You broke free into the lobby, scissored your way through the line for the bar, keeping your eye on the back of Robin up ahead.

That was when a strong arm snaked around your waist from behind and a mouth pressed against your ear, hissing at a whisper: “Try to fight me or make a sound and I’ll hurt your friends,” the voice promised.  

It was Craig.

You could feel the stubble on his chin and smell the familiar Altoids and whiskey tang of his breath.  

“Come with me?” He asked it as a question, but he knew you would nod, swallowing hard and then he grabbed your arm with one hand and rested the other on the small of your back, guiding you back and to the side, into the shadows.  

You didn’t say a word, you just kept pace with him, knowing that his threats were never idle.

—-----

Eddie sent two of the guys ahead to bring a tow truck to take the woman’s SUV back to the shop, and he let her know that all of the repairs were on him, apologizing for the “mixup”.  But then Bones had to step in and have a serious conversation with her about how she shouldn’t tell anyone about what happened, especially the police—that it would be bad for her “health”.

It was dark by the time Eddie got back to his place.  He was angry and frustrated and fucking exhausted, but finding you was now his priority.  You told him you’d leave a message on his machine letting him know if you did a double shift at The Hammer, and so he went up to wash his face and see if you’d called.  His boots clomped wearily on the steps, tired shoulders rolling, his neck cracking.  

With his shirt off, he dried the water and soap from his face, wet bangs brushed off his forehead, and then hung the towel around his neck as he played the messages he had.

The first one was from Melanie, and he deleted it as soon as it was over with a weary sigh. 

He snatched the matchbook he found in Craig’s motel room from the nightstand and spun it in his fingers as he sat down on the bed, lips jerking up in a smile at the sound of your voice in the next message.

You’d decided to go to a wedding with Robin.  He stopped twirling the matchbook and let that sink in.  But, Steve would be there too, you assured him, and you asked him to join you if he was in the mood.  You said you’d call when you got back to Robin’s if you didn’t see or hear from him.  You told him you loved him, and he whispered, “I love you too,” at the machine.

The only problem was, you forgot to mention where, exactly, the wedding was.  

He spun the matchbook again as the next voice clicked on:  Melanie. Again.

But, this time her words made an uncomfortable lump form in his throat.  

Melanie was at the same wedding? Fuck. 

The end of her message sent fireworks through his blood, and he put the matchbook down to go over and search through the pile of papers on his desk for the invitation that he got.  It was still sealed in the envelope, and he ripped the corner open with his teeth, spitting out the paper, cringing as confetti fluttered to the ground when he pulled out the buttercream invitation with lace corners.

Golden Lion Hotel and Resort

His mouth went dry as he circled back around the bed to pick up the matchbook again, realizing with a buzzing in his ears that it was from the same place.

And it had been in Craig’s room.  The only trace left of him in an otherwise immaculate space.

Eddie squeezed the matchbook so tight in his fist, he crushed it, and then he went to find you.  

Part 15

I cherish you all, and please remember that your comments, especially your reblogs, mean the absolute world to me.

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[quiet-saint]

"𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞"

Pairing: Vergil/fem!reader, android!vergil/reader

Cw: nsfw/+18, spanking, some light degradation, a little angst, comfort at the end. Reader is a bit touch-starved, didn’t have a good childhood. I think that's it?

Summary: You were assigned an android by your father against your will. Vergil wants to make the situation better for you both but you don’t make it easy.

A/n: Y’all this is pure self-indulgence again. Idk I kinda don't like the way it turned out but i’m throwing it into the void anyway bc i spent way too much time on it. Not really proofread.

ִ ࣪𖤐

It's been a little over a month since your father–whom you haven't had contact with in years—assigned an android of his own creation to you. A combat android, built for protection and fit for bodyguard work. Part of the Sparda line, of which there have only been four created before the entire project was scrapped. Deviancy seemed inevitable.

Vergil doesn't talk much about his brothers and refuses to tell you about Sparda, the first android of their type. Whatever. You don't much care. You don't care much for anything these days, really.

Prior to Vergil's arrival, you lived alone. Apathetic in a shitty apartment on the outskirts of Red Grave City, away from your father's technological empire. You tried for years to get in touch with him but he left you to be raised by tutors and nannies that came and went. As you got older, you didn't want anything to do with him or his advancements in technology. So much so when you turned eighteen you never touched the money your father put into your bank account. Changed your last name and moved away. Thought that was the end of it. Didn't think you'd have anything to do with him ever again.

But here you are, living in a luxury apartment with the android your father assigned to you without your permission. Vergil's very presence dredges up years of resentment and abandonment you thought you buried so deep within you they ceased to exist.

It's no wonder then, why you begin to backtrack to your room as soon as you catch sight of Vergil seated on the couch in the dark living room. You turn on your heel, biting your tongue. You only spent time around him if you had to and even then you tolerated him.

You take a step back toward your room, being as quiet as possible, not wanting to draw the android's attention.

"Come here." Vergil says and you still, inwardly cursing. Of course he heard you. Android hearing and all that. You're certain he knows what your heart rate is right now, your temperature. You take a deep breath and turn back to face the living room, glaring at the back of Vergil's head as he flips a page in his book, continuing to read. Unaffected by the lack of light. Casual and relaxed.

"What?" You say sharply, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration, unable to resist the slight rocking back and forth on your feet.

"I want to talk. Come here." He repeats, with that same low, gentle tone he uses to get you to eat. The windows of the highrise apartment are blacked out, blocking out any potential prying eyes yet giving you a clear, if less bright, look at the large buildings of the city.

"I won't tell you a third time." You drop your arms to your sides and fight the urge to stomp over like a child throwing a tantrum. Slowly you patter over, hallway carpet giving way to smooth wood flooring. You come to stand in front of Vergil. He closes his book with a faint thump, sets it down on the armrest of the blue velvet chesterfield sofa. He then pats the space beside him. "Sit." Spoken like an order. You bite the inside of your cheek but comply, keeping some space between you two. The little lamp on the side stand comes on and you know it's Vergil's doing. You blink a little as your eyes adjust to the change in lighting.

"Okay. Talk." You mumble, glancing over at him. Unfair how he can look so impeccable. He's dressed in a white button up shirt and black slacks. The top two buttons are undone to reveal a bit of his pale throat and clavicle. His silvery-white hair is slicked back in his preferred style.

Vergil's shifts to face you, his knee a hair's breadth from bumping your thigh. He has an elbow resting on the back of the sofa, two fingers along his temple. "Oh? Two words this time. I didn't know you were capable." He says with a teasing lilt.

Your nails dig crescent moons into your right palm. "Did you ask me to sit here just to torment me?"

Vergil chuckles, the sound low, incredibly human and unexpectedly pleasant. "No. I... want to make things easier for you and I." That catches you off guard, your eyebrows pulling together slightly in a mix of confusion and surprise. Vergil is being nice, and you hate it. Hate the way he uses that gentle, patient tone. Hate the way it makes you want to give in and drop your carefully crafted detached demeanor. Hate the way hearing that tone makes you crave his approval. Your knee begins to bounce as you cross your arms over your chest. You huff in frustration as you turn your head to look at him. "Like anything will make it easier to be babysat by a fucking machine?" You snap.

In a flash Vergil grips your jaw, thumb along one cheek and his fingers pressing into your other, forcing your mouth into a pout. "Careful." He whispers leaning in, artificial breath warm as it fans lightly over your face. You can't speak clearly with the way your lips are pressed into an unwilling pout. Your eyes narrow as you catch the faint upturned corners of his mouth, anger flaring at the sight. His grip on your jaw lingers a moment longer before releasing.

"I don't need a hunk of plastic to—" You're cut off by Vergil's right hand fisting the collar of your shirt, exposing the warm soft skin of your tummy. You gasp in surprise. Vergil wastes no time in using his hold on your shirt to haul you over his lap, draping you over his thighs with ease. The action knocking a bit of air from your lungs. Your hands press flat along the rough area rug of the living room, your socked feet slip a little as you attempt to push yourself up and off his lap.

"I was wondering when you'd break." A warm hand comes down to press at your lower spine, resting just above the waistband of your jeans, the tip of a pinky slipping teasingly below the denim. The small skin to skin contact makes you dizzy, causing you to still, heart stuttering in your chest as your breathing becomes shallow. "W-what the hell are you doing?" You ask, craning your neck and pushing up on your hands to try and look at him, hair getting in your face.

Vergil's free hand reaches down to wrap delicately around your throat, not applying any pressure. No squeezing. His touch is soft, near feather light. Grounding, even. Vergil removes it in favor of giving your hair a brief stroke as if you're some pet in his lap and not a grown adult. He leans down a little.

"You," he begins voice quiet and a little rough in the low light of the living room. "Are going to say Yamato if you feel unsafe. Or if this gets to be too much."

Your breath catches in your throat, heat pooling in your stomach immediately even as your brain is slow to piece this all together. "W-what?" You ask in disbelief but there's heat low in your tummy and Vergil's hand on that bit of exposed skin above your waistband. Comforting, teasing, and intoxicating all at once. "I want you to say it now." Vergil's voice is a coaxing purr. You swallow, tongue darting out to lick at your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Y-yamato." You stammer, face hot as you hang your head.

"Good." Is all you get before Vergil's hands go to your jeans, fingers hooking in the waistband and pulling the denim halfway down your thighs. Swift and rough. You gasp, fingers digging a little into the area rug below you. Vergil runs a hand up the back of your right thigh, thumb brushing along the crease where your ass meets it, just below the edge of your underwear. You begin to squirm.

"I've been wanting to correct your behavior for a while now." He says and you huff in indignation. "M-my behavior is fine."

Vergil scoffs and pinches your ass cheek harshly. You jolt, a squeak tumbling forth. "Excluding the rude insults from a moment ago, you're rather... polite most of the time, yes." Vergil replies, running his palm over the area he pinched soothingly before giving a light squeeze. You moan softly. Embarrassment and molten want swirl in your stomach, your senses in overdrive. Vergil snickers. "But even I get tired of one word answers and sulking. I think I might have more of a personality than you." He says dryly as he grips the waistband of your underwear, bunching it up and pulling the cloth taught against your slit and you can feel how slick you've become. You press up a little on your toes, gasping as he pulls the fabric tighter, nearly wedging the fabric in your middle.

"Ah, wet already." Vergil all but purrs as he ghosts his thumb over the damp spot with his free hand. Your breath catches in your throat, heart beating wildly against your ribcage. He clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. "I've hardly done anything, dear. A few touches and a pinch really get you that worked up?" You whimper in humiliation as Vergil tugs the material down to rest under the curve of your ass.

Without warning Vergil's palm connects with the soft skin of your right cheek, stinging and sharp and aching. You cry out in surprise. "H-hey!"

"I want an apology." Vergil states coolly, rubbing and gently squeezing the reddening flesh of your rear. Your mouth struggles to form words, head full of want. Vergil scoffs and smacks harshly against your left cheek this time. Once, twice, three times before doing the same to your right. He hits sharp and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. You've never been spanked before, haven't received any real physical discipline growing up. Your nannies and even your father in your early years opted for isolation. You wonder if you'll bruise. The thought shouldn't make you ache and leak but it does, hole clenching around nothing. "I-I'm sorry!" You squeal, panting as your arms tremble from holding a bit of your weight up at the awkward angle. He could have laid you over his lap on the sofa but you suspect Vergil wanted the position to be a little uncomfortable.

"Oh you can do better than that."

You swallow and collect yourself as best you can. "I'm sorry for calling you a hunk of plastic and a machine." You mumble, slumping a little, head hanging once more, hair hiding your face. Humiliated and turned on, out of your element and overwhelmed. The word yamato rests in your throat at the ready but you don't want to say it. You don't feel as if you need to.

Vergil hums as if in thought. "And? What of your behavior?" He asks, soothing his palm over the pink heated skin of your ass. You nod in understanding. "I'm... sorry for that, too. I-I'll stop... sulking." You stammer, the words awkward on your tongue. When was the last time you had to apologize for anything? When was the last you actually had anyone to apologize to?

"Better." Vergil murmurs, pulling the fabric of your underwear back up to cover you and you whine, aching and needy. Vergil hushes you as he pulls your jeans up to your rear. He taps your hip and helps you stand. His pale fingers tug at your belt loops, pulling you close to stand between his spread legs. Your hands go to his shoulders for support as your knees feel a tad weak.

Vergil looks up at you from his spot on the sofa, maintaining eye contact as he pulls up your pants the rest of the way. An unnameable intensity in his pale blue gaze. He smooths out your shirt, however the collar of it is stretched from Vergil using it to haul you over his lap.

"Sit with me." A soft command. He leans back against the blue velvet sofa, draping an arm along the back of it. The ache between your thighs begins to fade. You've never been in this sort of situation before. Fuck. You've hardly had a meaningful conversation with Vergil and you certainly haven't been spanked until tonight. Although it wasn't much. A million questions flood your head but you don't have the energy to ask them or word them properly.

Overwhelmed you fall back on simply listening. You settle onto the cushion beside him, ass aching. Vergil moves his arm from the back of the sofa to pull you further into his side. He tucks some of your hair behind your right ear.

"Are you alright?" Vergil asks and you nod as you stare at your lap. He sighs and his free hand comes up to gently grab your chin so you're forced to look at him. His brows are knit together, mouth set in a slight frown as he looks you over. "Come here." He says, not really waiting for an answer before reaching and pulling you into his lap, his arm moving from your shoulder to wrap around your lower back. Your left side grows warm as it's pressed to his front and his right hand rubs over your hip in a soothing manner. Unsure of how to respond to Vergil's affectionate physical contact you stiffen momentarily. You haven't been hugged since... when? You can't remember.

Gradually, you will yourself to relax, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. You'd expect an android to smell like plastic but Vergil smells good. Like sandalwood and vanilla with the faintest hint of something metallic. Does he wear cologne? You wonder. Vergil's hand not on your hip goes to your hair, stroking softly, palm sometimes grazing your cheek. It feels good to be held. It's warm here. Safe. Secure.

A lump forms in your throat. Heat creeps into your cheeks as your vision blurs. A soft, broken sound leaves your throat as your lashes grow damp and spikey from tears that slide down your cheeks to trail down your chin. Vergil sighs again and you sniffle. A small strained "'m sorry" leaving your lips. Vergil shakes his head, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears under an eye. "Don't be. I was prepared for this sort of outcome." You huff a quiet laugh against his shoulder that's more air than anything. "H-how did you know I'd cry?" You ask, sniffling as you blink back more tears. Vergil resumes stroking your hair. "Going off your behavior and your history, there was a high probability you would react this way."

"You can... calculate that?" You whisper.

Vergil hums. "Not accurately." He answers but doesn't bother to elaborate further.

Tired but not as overwhelmed, the gentle stroking of your hair and the warm hand on your hip has your limbs growing heavy.

"It's alright." Vergil murmurs, lips near your forehead. "You can sleep. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow."

As much as you try to fight sleep in an attempt to drag this moment out, to stay here, held and warm and wanted, it's impossible. Your body grows lax and your eyes fall shut.

"Sleep well." Vergil says, low and whisper soft against your hair.

ִ ࣪𖤐

Y'all idek...