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huhniebowl · 1 month

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Mourlin Rouge

dominic fike x reader

warning(s); mentions of drug use, lil spicy & once again a try at some plot, so it’s a little long!

a/n; hey...been a while🧍🏾‍♀️...real shit i missed y'all.

ima try and wheeze my way back up in here. here's my apology... thanks for the request♥️

not proof read yet!

You push and shove your way through sweaty, sticky bodies trying to get to the bar. The bottom of your boots stick to the candied floor from spilled drinks, and God knows what else.

You're positive that if it weren’t so loud in here, you’d hear the toe-curling sound of your soles detaching from the sealed concrete.

This wasn’t how you envisioned your Saturday night to go; in fact, it wasn’t supposed to go like this at all.

What was meant to be a night of takeout and reruns of Supernatural suddenly wasn’t when your best friend, Aria, rang your phone.

Lights from the provocative club paint the room in deep crimson and make it hard to distinguish the faces and details of the clubbers.

Maybe that was the point of it. To hide the platinum pink hair of the woman you thought was blond, but remember the way her skin-tight dress glittered as she moved.

It had been a while since you felt that unreachable state of bliss.

You’re jealous.

Jealous of the people here. They aren’t here for a long time, you could tell by the way some were leaning over glass tables with rolled dollar bills—noses powdered white.

Or how they drop unicorn-shaped tablets on their tongues before kicking back a shot. They have no purpose, nothing to lose if shit were to hit the fan.

You grimace, no stranger to that state of mind. But that’s not you anymore.

Hasn’t been for years. Not since you met him.

In time, you make it to the bar, tall bottles of alcohol lined up in the wall, a golden glow emitting from behind them, and a bartender whose breasts look as if they're about to spill from her top. Betty.

Her nickname was given thanks to her curvy figure, pixie cut, and melanin skin.

Proclaiming her to be a real live Betty Boop. She’s familiar with you, as this isn’t your first time here, but it’s been a long while since you’ve set foot.

A thick cloud of smoke disperses from her lips, she winks at you, and you grin.

No stranger to her flirting.

“Haven’t seen you round’ here inna minute, you ain’t cheatin’ on me now?” her southern accent loud and thick.

“Could never do that you Betty, you know that.” You counter, leaning forward a bit and into her space.

You order something strong and sweet, voice open and teasing. Used to playing your cards right and getting your first drink free with her.

Betty gives you a once over, eyes playful and pupils blown as vapor steams from her nostrils, and clouds around you again. It’s sickeningly sweet.

The smallest smirk grows on her face, and then she goes about doing her job—bending down into a cabinet to grab what looks to be an expensive Vodka—playfully shaking her ass in the process.

You get comfortable on the stool and unstick your boots from the ground, placing them on the stool’s metal foot rod.

Your lips curl up at the resistance.

Out of all the clubs Aria could have picked, this is always the designated meeting ground.

Mourlin Rouge.

It's a lewd place within the red district of LA. You used to love it here, came every weekend with her and your friend group.

With him.

A Friday and Saturday night hotspot for the young and reckless. Music loud, K bumps on gold platters, and the weighted stench of marijuana.

You contribute to the stench. Weed fragrancing off you since you hotboxed your car before coming inside.

Your high is a pleasant one, Wedding Cake, always your go-to when clubbing.

Your name is shouted out, and you faintly hear it under the bass of the music. You crane your neck over your shoulder and lazily scan the onslaught of clubbers for the face with the familiar voice.

A tan arm sticks out, then a leg clad in leather pants before Aria shoves the rest of her body through the crowd.

Similar to what you did moments earlier.

You reach a hand up, ready to wave her over when you make eye contact, but your arm stills mid-way when a few other people filter in behind her, following in her footsteps.

The look you share is brief, but she looks nervous. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her lips pursed to the side.

Then you see him. The side of him, and suddenly the look on Aria’s face makes sense.

Your stomach churns and you quickly swivel back around to the bar before he can see you.

Betty comes back and slides a tall glass of alcohol towards you. It’s pink, has sugar on the rim, and a cocktail toothpick with a lacy black panty on the tip.

You grab it the second it’s within reach and take a much-needed sip.

Quick to get rid of the sick feeling in your stomach. It burns the entire way down, just as you hoped.

It’s uncanny how after months, just a look at him can make your body curl in itself within seconds.

You part your lips, ready to catch Betty’s attention to add a tequila shot when an arm slithers around your bare torso. The tattoos are a dead giveaway, your body knows who it is before your brain can catch up.

His touch is scorching and reminds you of the nights you'd curl into him to warm yourself.

He tugs you back and presses you against his chest. You feel the cold metal of a necklace on your back, no doubt the one you bought him.

The pendant digs into the top of your spine, as you grip the sides of your chair.

You take a deep breath when the hand around your waist spreads open, palm now resting on your hip. It takes all your strength not to succumb to old habits.

To curve your body to fit into his grip, reach around to scratch at his jaw as you turn your head to leave a glossy kiss on his neck. Right over the tattoo he has of your lips.

He smells familiar, spicy, and warm. Your clit pulses at the remembrance of it all.

“Dominic,” You start, voice shaky. You clear your throat, quick to cover up vulnerability.

You don’t miss him, and he’ll be aware of that by any means necessary.

“Get off.”

He no longer has access to you like this, he’s crossing a boundary. One that you’re having trouble keeping up.

With more effort than you’d like to admit, you yank his arm off you and cross your legs. Swiping non-existent lint off your skirt. Anything to keep yourself from facing him.

Your breakup was nasty, though you both never ventured past the title of a situationship. So you’d hardly call it a breakup. And that was the problem.

Dom was ready for something more, more than just a fuck, and so were you. But you didn’t trust him, not with a reputation like his.

Hell, you both started messing around because of his reputation. He was known for no strings attached. A nice fuck, a good friend.

Simple and to the point.

But you both never expected it to stretch out like this. For feelings to develop, for them to be mutual.

You got scared, scared that this was just a phase for him and not real. Because it was so real for you. To a point where it felt like your lifeline.

You broke it off and went no contact.

The night of you and Dom’s argument is something you’ve never been able to forget. You’d never seen him so distraught. So angry.

The intensity of it all reached heights you didn't think was possible. It’s been 3 months since then and the weight feels as heavy as it did back then.

“Girl, hey!” Aria steps to your left, her hands interlocked and resting under her chin as she smiles brightly. Voice up a pitch.

Something she subconsciously does when she knows she's fucked up.

“We saw him and some of his friends while waiting in line. We sort of just merged.” She eyes your other friend, Chloè, who fiddles with her hands and gives a weak smile.

You sigh, and can’t help but wonder if this was planned. The two of them time, and time again have told you that you acted irrational, that what you did wasn’t fair to him.

And you know. But you've convinced yourself that it's too late to reach out. To make amends. You've made your bed, and now you have to lie in it.

Chloè begged you to reach out to him, and you shot her down every time.

Aria adjusts the strap of her skimpy top, which didn’t need fixing but is now twisted around. Another anxious habit of hers.

This was planned.

You nod your head and muster a smile. “It’s cool. We’re all friends here.”

You look around towards the mixed group and try to play it neutral when you make contact with Dean. Dom’s closest friend. He’s staring blankly at you, judgment and anger bleeding out from his demeanor.

You cower under his gaze and divert your attention elsewhere. You can’t say you blame him.

“Uh, Jim Beam. Neat.” Dom’s voice rumbles behind you, he’s still so close you can feel the vibrations. He didn’t take your aggression seriously, and you’re not surprised.

He knows your body inside and out. Knows exactly how you tick. He’s seen the worst side of you, as well as the best.

Your weak attempt to keep a staid act was pointless.

It's why you can’t help it this time when you slyly turn to glance at his side profile. Your first official look of the night.

He’s looking at Betty as he orders, jawline sharp and lightly stubbled over.

Your eyes move up to his hair. It’s down to his neck now, slightly curled up. The start of a mullet.

The front of his hair long and curly and cascades down the side of his face. Stopping just under his cheekbones. He’s changed so much.

“She’ll have a tequila shot, salt rim.” He remembers your order and your foot twitches.

Before you can move, Dominic turns to you. Locking you in place with the eye contact you’ve been trying to avoid since the moment you saw him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart thumping against your ribs.

He leans down so he’s level with your ear, hot breath fanning against your neck, “Right?”

Your arms wisp over with goosebumps.

His eyes are hooded, glossed over. You can tell he smoked before coming in. He roams over your face, stopping at your lips, before slowly looking back up. He leans in closer, and something in his face glints.

An eyebrow piercing. That’s new.

It looks completely healed, and your fingertips tremble with the need to softly run over it.

The parallel of the gold glow emitting from the bottle wall, to the red lighting of the club wash over him. He looks downright fuckable, and your self-restraint is hanging on by a thread.

It doesn’t take much for you to start remembering what you’ve tried so hard to bury.

Remembering how his lips felt when leaving reassuring kisses on the parts of your body you hated most.

How’d he laugh when you’d fuck up a string while he was teaching you to play guitar.

Arms wrapped around your middle and chin hooked over your shoulder as you sat in his lap in his studio. Arms and hands pressed and tangled over each other as he taught you an A cord to a B.

How he’d stare at you as if you were the sole reason for his existence as his hips moved at a pace that always had you on the brink of admitting the immense amount of love you hold for him.

He’s giving you that look now. You need to get out of here.

You swipe your clammy palms down your thighs and shoot up from the barstool, making a beeline to the bathroom and not sparing a look back toward Aria or Chloé.

You fall into the door when you make it inside.

The single restroom is washed in a warm low light. It’s surprisingly clean, with a bathroom vanity, and square mirror.

You take deep breaths to try and calm down.

“Fuck fuck, fuck!” You whisper yell, adjusting your top and moving over to look at yourself in the mirror.

Sweat starts to pebble on your forehead, and you hastily pull tissue from the dispenser to pat at your face. Careful not to smudge your makeup.

You’re racking your brain, trying to think of all the ways you can escape the club when the door clicks open.

You freeze, looking at the door through the mirror. It’s Dom, and he looks at you through the reflection as he locks the door behind him.

Something you thought you did.

You’re not thinking straight anymore, the only thing your mind keeps repeating is Leave! Get out!

Your body moves on auto, and you throw the paper towels down, gripping your mini purse tightly as you take long strides to the door.

Dominic doesn’t move, he stays firm in front your only exit, and watches your acrylics hit against the handle in an attempt to grip it.

“Dom fucking move or I swear to God.” Your voice comes out weak and desperate.

The strong tilt you had at the bar is gone.

You feel your body start to weaken, tears threatening to spill at your waterline.

“Dominic please.” Your voice simmers out, and your arms fall limp at the handle. He doesn't budge. You feel his eyes on you, and you suddenly feel small. Bared.

Dom softly brushes his fingers against your collarbone, moving up to your throat, then gently pulling you towards him by the sides of your face.

You keep your eyes on the sealed concrete.

“Stop.” He speaks against your lips, “Stop fucking fighting me.”

His voice is as weak and tired as yours.

It’s silent between you, your breaths mingling together with the muted bass in the bathroom walls.

“Can I trust you?” You finally speak. Vulnerability leaks out of you in waves, you’re on the brink of giving in.

You’re surprised you lasted this long in your resolve, your want to give yourself to him present since the very beginning of all this.

“I want this so bad. I want you so fucking bad, but can I trust you? Can you even trust me after what I—” You choke up, shaking your head.

“Yes, you can trust me.” he nods his head, “And despite it all, I trust you. With every fiber of my fucking being.” His thumb moves to swipe at your bottom lip, “I’ve never been more sure about anyone than I have with you.”

He tugs on your chin for you look at him, and you follow. Willingly locking eyes with the man you swore you didn’t need.

“I swear it,” Dominic says your name with finality, leaving no room for you to doubt him.

And it’s all you need.

You drop your purse to the floor, and eagerly tangle your fingers in his hair, yanking him to your mouth. Everything feels hot, your heart thrumming through your ears.

He kisses you feverishly, something about it almost primal.

Something spreads throughout your chest. It’s so strong, heavy, and so liberating that your fingers start to tremble.

You’re relying solely on muscle memory, when Dominic grabs a handful of your ass underneath your skirt, your flesh protruding between his fingers.

You let out a whimper, a confirmation only he can understand, and you jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his hips.

You feel his arms flex as he swings you around, everything around you a dizzying blur until he sets you down on the edge of the sink.

The cool ceramic sends a shiver down your spine, contrasting with the heat radiating from your skin, as you feel its smooth surface touch the curve of your ass.

Dominic doesn’t let off your lips once, taking everything you’ve denied him. You’re completely swallowed by him and let yourself fall into it without any restraint. He’s touching you everywhere, picking you apart in a way only he can do.

You try to pull back, "Dom," you whisper, the sound barely escaping your lips.

He tries to chase them, and you let him, unable to deny yourself. Your lips hover over eachother, open and panting. Anything to stay close.

So you try again, “Dominic."

His name falls from your tongue soft and determined.

He fully pulls away to pepper messy kisses along your throat, each one pulling you deeper into a fuzzy headspace.

Your hands, still trembling, tighten in his hair, silently urging him to return to you.

You guide his head back up until his gaze meets yours, his breath ragged and heavy against your skin. His hands grip your sides tightly.

His fear of losing you is still there. Your heart clenches at the realization.

"I love you." Each syllable is weighted and leaves no room for hesitation.

Dominic's body stills.

"Say it again," He whispers, his voice a plea. Staring at you with the same intensity he had the last time you saw each other.

Longing.

"I love you," You repeat, the words a fervent affirmation of your unwavering devotion. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close.

"Again, please," He implores, his voice sounds broken, disbelieving. Scared. He buries his face in the safety of your neck.

With gentle hands, you cup his cheeks, guiding his gaze to meet yours once more.

"I love you, Dominic," You murmur, voice laced with raw honesty.

"I love you so fucking much and I’d never do anything to hurt you again. I promise."

You brush his hair back and leave tender kisses over his face, “I’m so sorry. You have me now. All of me.”

Dominic’s eyes start to gloss over, big, brown, and so full of love.

He nods his head firmly, and for the first time in a long time, you see him smile. It’s a genuine one, a real one. All teeth, and dimples are on full display for you, and you only.

It’s the same smile he gave you all those years ago when you realized you had fallen for him deeper than you believed possible.

“I love you too.” He noses at your jaw, closing his eyes and melting into your body, “But you already knew that.”

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dmreeser32 · 5 months

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I would love to be Bettie's butt stool

#bettie page

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emmaleighsworld · 5 months

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A “Thrill Seeker”

College AU

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x reader

Summary: Peter’s spidey senses become more useful in everyday life when he’s best friends with a clumsy classmate.

Contains: fem!reader, fluff

Word Count: 1k

Peter’s spidey sense is great when it comes to helping the people of New York, but sometimes he wishes they would go away when he took the suit off.

He was always aware of every little thing happening wherever he was.

Although he did get used to the feeling after a while, his thoughts kept wandering back to why he has to hear every time Flash clicks his pencil for more lead, pushes the lead back into his pencil, and repeats the process about 30 or more times depending on how bored he is in Professor Stanley’s Chemistry class.

Sometimes feeling all those things at once can be a real headache, except for when Peter gets to help you.

You were in the middle of the student union building standing on top of a ladder trying to hang a homecoming banner over twice your size from the second-floor railing above you.

You’d already secured one side of the banner. All you had to do was tie the other side. No big deal. Right?

Not quite, because when you moved the ladder into position you didn’t move it far enough to the left and had a little too much confidence in your ability to stand on top of a ladder.

You did manage to balance standing on a stool to change the lightbulb in your apartment kitchen on Saturday, despite Peter yelling at you when you told him about it yesterday. Maybe you’re getting better at this balance thing.

So there you were, when Peter walked into the student union, leaning over the side of the ladder. One foot on the top step, both hands holding onto the bottom of the railings, reaching as far as you can to tie the banner.

You tied the string in a knot, finally getting the job done just as Peter saw you pushing off the railing to get back to the ladder.

He knew you were going to fall the moment you started to wobble off the back of the ladder and tried to grab onto the sides of the ladder. He could feel it in his veins.

Without a second thought, he drops his backpack to the side and rushes over to you.

“Crash, wait!” Peter says.

Hearing his worried voice, you turn to face him and you feel yourself begin to fall further.

The next few seconds were a blur until you felt Peter’s arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. You both fell to the floor as he broke your fall.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, looking you over for any sign of injury.

You turn to look at Peter, a huge smile on your face.

“Oh my god! Peter, you’re a lifesaver!”

“What were you thinking Crash? You could’ve broken an arm or a leg!” Peter says.

You can tell he’s upset, this isn’t the first time he’s saved you from your clumsy self. He even calls you Crash on a regular basis, but you don’t want him to worry about you. He’s got enough on his plate as it is.

“But I didn’t, because you were there to catch me.” You smiled sitting up next to him on the floor.

Peter looks at you exasperated. You could have gotten hurt, but here you are smiling like it’s just another Monday morning.

“I’m glad you’re okay, but why didn’t you just move the ladder a little more?” He asks.

“I thought I could do it, and I did. See?” You say, standing up and showing him your handmade homecoming banner.

“Doesn’t it look good?” You ask.

Peter gets up, grabbing his discarded backpack, taking a good look at your banner. It’s got a funny play on words about your school mascot and homecoming.

“It’s perfect,” Peter says, looking from the banner to you.

You’ve always had a knack for finding the right thing to say. That’s why he encouraged you to apply for your internship at The Daily Bugle to become a journalist.

“Thanks, I helped Betty with it. It’s for her student senate thing, but she had to go to class.”

“And that’s why you ended up hanging this on your own?” Peter asks.

“Yep, but I am glad my superhero was here to save me again,” you say, bumping your shoulder with his.

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” Peter scoffs.

“But you are!” you say, “You always seem to know when I’m in trouble.”

“I do not,” Peter says defensively.

“You do, and you always know just how to keep me safe,” you argue.

At this point, he’s saved you more times than you can count.

It’s not like your life ever depended on actually being saved. It was mostly simple fixes that saved you from embarrassment or a few bruises.

Peter had helped you so many times you’d started calling him your personal superhero.

“Don’t be silly,” Peter smiled, “I’m just doing what any friend would do.”

“So you’re saying that any old friend would run all the way back to our apartment complex to get my laptop charger because I was at low battery and needed it for my presentation later that night, and I had to stay because I had another final?”

“Sure,” Peter shrugs casually, “ You wanna get some lunch? I’m sure you worked up an appetite, putting your life in mortal danger and all that jazz.”

You can’t help but laugh at his over-exaggeration.

“You better believe it,” you say, “I thought you knew I was a thrill seeker.”

Peter smiles knowingly at that. He’s fascinated by the way you always find a way to see the positive in any situation, even if you are chronically clumsy.

You’ve turned something seen as a bit of a negative trait into a positive one, and you never fail to give a healthy laugh whenever it comes up.

“Oh, I do Crash,” he says putting his arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards the campus cafeteria.

“Your fearless bravery never fails to amaze me," he says, “Why don’t we test that bravery on those turkey burgers?”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #fluff #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #andrew garfield

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the-froschamethyst4 · 8 months

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Save a horse, ride a cowboy

𖤐Pairing: Cowboy! Ghost x F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: smut, P in V, fantasy, a bit of jealousy, drinking, smoking, flirting, enemies to lovers, ass grabbing, eating out, pussy slapping, mentions of violence and blood language, cocky Ghost

Y/n with Ghost in the same guild but they end up getting partnered up together for the same mission

Y/n has be dressed in a tight tiny skimpy outfit that drives Ghost mad and pisses him off when he sees other guys drool all over her

He ends up taking his anger and jealousy out on her

—————

——————

10:30AM

Ghost had pushed opened the double doors to the guild where he works and get money.

“HEY PRICE! Any new jobs?” Ghost asked as he hoped to the bar and sat on the bar stool.

“Go look at the board. Soap’s put up some new jobs, Y/n’s checking out one,” when Ghost heard Y/n’s name he slammed his glass on the counter and saw her examining one of the papers.

“Like hell she is,” he got off the stool and strolled all the way to Y/n, snatching the papers from her hands.

“HEY!” Y/n turned and saw how Ghost held the papers above her head.

“What job is this. I might take it instead,” Ghost said as he started to look at it, his eyes widened when looking at the job.

The job: Wanted Dead or Alive: Jacob Killan $1,400,000

“$1,400,000!” Ghost yells.

“GIVE IT BACK GHOST!! I GOT IT FIRST!”

“Yeah right. You’re not getting this anymore,” he rolls the papers up and stuck them in his back pocket.

“Yeah we’ll newsflash Bone head, it’s a two person job that’s why the money is high you split it, I was going to ask König to come with me.”

“König?” He whispers and looked back down at Y/n who had her arms crossed over her chest.

“Yeah, because he actually wants to help me and not make fun of me,” she states.

“What?! I don’t make fun of you.”

“Yes, you do. You do it every time I get a job, you get mad that I got it before you, and then you make fun of me because you think I won’t be able to do it but guess I always get my money.” She said as she snatched the papers.

Ghost tried to grab them but he missed.

“Since…you saw the amount of money, do you want to join me on this mission?” Y/n asked.

“Sure, I guess,” he mumbled.

They walked to the desk to take the mission. Soap smiled and gave them the information where this Jacob guy was.

“He’s been at some bar for the past 3 weeks and the owner finally saw him and asked for help, so…Y/n you will have to be a dancer and Ghost you’re gonna be a patron for the bar,” Soap said.

Soap pulled out a tight tiny skimpy outfit. Ghost’s jaw dropped seeing it and Y/n held it against her body.

“Will this even fit?”

“It should, that is what his dancers wear.”

“Oh…shit…okay…” she said as she took the outfit and Ghost load up on ammo and made sure he had everything.

“Come on,” she said as they left the guild.

Soap chuckled as they left.

“Who would have known that those two will go on a mission together,” Price said coming around the bar.

“Yeah, from how much they hate each other figure Y/n would have fold and let him have it,” Soap chuckled again.

——————

“We take Betty,” Betty is Ghost’s horse.

“You can. I’ll walk,” she says as she made sure her dagger stayed put in her thigh.

“God you are so fucking stubborn, get on the goddamn horse.”

“No, dick, I’ll walk, I’ll meet you there,” she said as she walked away from him. He grabbed her wrist.

“Up.on.the.horse,” he says.

“Fine,” she gave in and got on the horses back. Ghost sat in front of her and instructed her to put her arms around his waist bit of course like usual, she refused to do so.

“Fine, suit yourself,” as he said that he clicked his tongue and flicked the reins which made Betty take off running which made Y/n wrap her arms around his waist.

She felt him chuckle as she looked over her shoulder and saw the beautiful city they lived become much smaller the farther they got.

She then looked forward knowing they have some time before they reach their destination.

———————

Betty came to to holt and Ghost got off her back and ‘helped’ Y/n, but she swatted his hand away from her waist.

“I don’t need your help, Ghost,” she said as she got off Betty.

“Whatever,” he put his hands up.

They stopped in the middle of some forest so they could take a little break and so Betty could get some water and food.

Y/n walked to the little river they stopped by and splashed water in her face. As she let the water fall on her, Ghost watched her and looked at her body.

Her thin white shirt soon was somewhat wet and she turned and he immediately looked away.

“Stop looking at me,” she said as she walked up to him and pushed his black cowboy hat down and cover his eyes.

“Can’t help it,” she could the smirk on his face. He pushed the hat back up on his head and surely enough she saw that stupid smirk.

“You’re such a pervert,” she mumbles.

“Am not,” he said as he got on Betty’s back and Y/n did too.

Ghost could feel her wet shirt pressed against his back and smirked at the fact he could also feel her harden nipples.

——————

They soon arrived at the town and Betty trotted around, they soon found the bar and Y/n got off first this time and opened the doors and Ghost tied Betty to a post.

Y/n went into the back where the girls were getting ready.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the girls asked and the others looked at Y/n.

“Umm~ I’m Y/n, I’m from North Guild, we got an ‘Wanted’ poster about some guy here and your boss wanted anyone to come and I was given this,” she showed off the outfit that matched the other girls.

“Oh, yes, thank you for coming,” the girl said. The whole rooms demeanor changed. It went from cold and serious to calm, bright and relief.

“I’m Candace, I’m the head girl here. Come with me,” she pushed open the curtains and pointed out Jacob at the bar.

“That’s him,” she said.

“He’s been here for so long and made us uncomfortable and has even threatened us too,” another girl said.

“Okay, my partner and I will take care of it.” Y/n said as she ducked back into the room.

“Who is your partner?” A girl on the bench asked.

“He’ll walk in soon,” she said as she removed her shirt and pants, leaving her in a matching pair of black panties and bra.

“He?” As one of the girls asked. They heard the bell above the door ring and the girls went to see who ‘he’ was.

They saw Ghost walk in, he fixed his hat, he adjusted his belt and sat a few seats away from Jacob.

“That’s him?” One asked.

“Yes,” Y/n said as she looked amazing in her outfit, she really looked like she belonged in this bar.

“WELCOME ALL TO HUDSONS BAR!” The announcer yelled catching the males attention to a stage. A bright light landed on him.

“Oh we have to get ready,” Candace said.

She pushes Y/n to the stage.

“H-hey wait,” Y/n said, she stood in the middle, since she was ‘new’ she would get the spotlight, she’ll get the most looks and the most men wanting her.

“It’s just for a little bit.”

“How long is a little bit?”

As she said that the curtains opened and the light landed on Y/n, who wasn’t even in the position as the rest of the girls. Candace gently pushed her to stand in their pose and to have her follow their lead.

Y/n felt uncomfortable being in the center, her face was red and she knew Ghost was probably enjoying her embarrassment.

But Ghost, he was more looking around on who he has to kill first for looking at her. He looked at the stage seeing her red face.

The girls soon made their way off stage as Y/n stayed on the stage. She felt even more embarrassed being alone up there.

She swayed her body like the others till she could hear the music slowly dying down which meant it was almost over. Soon she heard it stop, she brought her leg up and her arms up to look sexy bit really again she felt embarrassed. This is mainly why she does these missions alone.

The men clapped their hearts out and Ghost even clapped to make Y/n feel embarrassed.

She was ready to leave the stage but Candace stopped her.

“You’ll have to entertain them some more.”

“WHAT!? WHAT DO I EVEN DO!?” She yells.

“You’ll figure something out,” she smiles as the girls were now passing drinks and food around being waitresses.

“Fuck,” she mumbles as the music started again and she started just do random movies that she knows while also trying to look sexy and cute all at once.

“Mmmm~ this is so embarrassing,” she whispers to herself as she looked at Ghost to do something but Ghost just smiles at her embarrassment.

She got an idea to go talk to him. She seated her hips as she got off the stage, she passed the other men that drooled over her skimpy outfit. She placed her finger one of the guys chins making him ‘bark’ and coo out to her.

The others whistled to get her attention. But she moved to Ghost and placed her hands on his knees. She moved her body from side to side and leaned forward to his ear.

“Fucking do something,” she whispered. “I want to get this done and over with,” she said as she swayed away from him.

He just chuckles at her and moved to a free seat next to Jacob to talk to him.

“Which one would you pick?” Jacob immediately asked Ghost.

“Girl?”

“Yeah…” he looks at Ghost.

“I chose the hard working one.”

“Which is?”

“The one on stage,” Ghost taking a sip from his bourbon.

“Haha! I like you, I’d go with her and the head one,” he pints from Y/n to Candace.

“To do what actually?” Ghost asks.

“To fuck, to kill,” he says before gulping down his whiskey.

Ghost’s eyes widened at what he said.

"I'm gonna go smoke. You wanna come?" Jacob asked, grabbing a cigar from his pocket and Ghost nodded as he followed Jacob outside the bar. Ghost looked at Y/n who saw them leave and he titled his hat to her. Letting her know everything is under control.

The music stopped and Y/n went to the back room to catch her breath.

"Y/n, do you smoke?" Candace asked.

"No, not really," she says as Candace gave her a blanket.

"Well, you wanna take a break?"

"Yes, please," she said and followed her around back where, she saw Ghost and Jacob talking.

Candace leaned against the brick wall and lit her cigarette.

"So, how's the first day going?" She chuckles.

"Embarrassing."

"Well, I mean, you'll get over it in a couple days," she chuckles before blowing the smoke out.

"Hey ladies," Jacob said, walking to them both. Ghost looked at Y/n who seemed embarrassed that he was even looking at her.

"Oh hi," Candace said trying to not make it seem awkward.

"Are you two doing anything afterwards?"

"I have a husband to get home to," Candace said. Jacob looked at Y/n next.

"I umm~ I have a-"

"You're free," Jacob cut her off. Ghost looked at Jacob then at Y/n. Candace scoffed and grabbed Y/n's arm.

"We need to go back inside anyways," she said as they walked back inside.

--------

Ghost and Jacob were back inside the bar and Y/n was back dancing on stage. Ghost watched the guys look at Y/n and drool over her and even tried to give her money, but she greatly declined.

Ghost cracked his knuckles and neck. Y/n smiled as she felt comfortable now.

"I want to fuck her," Jacob said as Ghost felt fire run through his veins when he said that.

"Yeah, well...you'll probably never get to," Ghost said.

"The fuck does that mean?" Jacob asked, looking at Ghost.

"I mean, you'll never get to touch her or fuck her...want to know why?"

"Shoot why?" Jacob asked as Ghost could see his knuckles turn white.

"Because that's my job," he smirks, and Ghost could see Jacob ready to swing at him, but Ghost smacked his glass in his hand on Jacob's head.

Jacob fell to the ground and Ghost got on him, holding his wrist and digging in his belt to grab his ties to tie up Jacob, but Jacob managed to push Ghost off.

Y/n doesn't know if she should jump in or not. But everyone around her now started a bar fight. Glass flew and everyone was fighting, Candace pulled Y/n to the back, but she pushed past people and joined Ghost in on taking down Jacob.

She pinned his wrist and Ghost tied his hands.

"You know I would be into this if I wasn't going to be taken to jail," Jacob teased. He teasingly pushed his hips up and Y/n groaned from being uncomfortable.

"HEY!" Ghost then punched Jacobs in the face making him shut up. "Don't fucking do that to her," Ghost yells. Y/n got off him and Ghost picks him up.

"Ghost, Y/n," they both turned seeing the bar owner. He has money in his hands and gave it to Y/n. "Split it and I'll give you a horse to take him back the North Guild."

"Thank you, for the night he'll spend the night in jail, and we'll leave tomorrow morning."

-------

Ghost tossed Jacob into jail, and he turned to Y/n who was covering herself up, but Ghost stopped her.

"Why are you covering up?"

"I'm embarrassed and the job is done," she says. Ghost grabs her wrist and looks her up and down. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you don't understand how sexy, beautiful and gorgeous you look in this outfit. I wanted to kill every single guy in that bar that looked at you like you were the last meal on the table. It pissed me off. And from how this bastard talked about you also pissed me off."

Ghost cups Y/n's face and gently and slowly moved close to her face, Y/n's face felt hot, and she felt Ghost's lips land on hers. She slightly moaned into the kiss.

"G-Ghost," she manages to say between kisses. He started to kiss her jaw line, neck and soon back to her lips. "N-Not here," she says. Ghost forgot they're kind of in public.

"Right come on," he picks her up and takes her to a motel. He kicks the door open and lays her on the bed.

"WAIT!" She speaks. Ghost just looked at her. He saw her hot and bothered face, she had her legs up trying to cover her almost exposed chest.

He moved her legs and started to strip her from her skimpy outfit. She slightly moaned feeling his soft hands touch her. She leans forward and grabs his black hat off his head. She put it on and smirked at him.

"Do I look like a cowgirl?" She teased.

"I can barely take you serious in a cowboy hat and your underwear," he chuckles.

"Is that a bad thing?" She said, resting her wrists on her knees looking sexy once again.

"No...not at all," he leans down and kisses her lips again, she felt him smirk into the kiss. "You know about the hat rule?" He asks.

"Hat rule?" She asked, placing her arms around his neck.

"When a girl puts a cowboy's hat on her head, it means she's going home with him..." he smirks.

"Well...I'm already here," she says. He smirks and now pulls her panties off her lower half, he leaned forward and started to kiss her again, he slowly and swiftly moved his hand up her back and started to remove her bra with one hand.

He moved his hand down to her area and gave her a small smack against her pussy. She yelped into the kiss and Ghost smirked, he chuckled at her jerky movement and hearing her moan against his lips.

He moved from her lips and moved his hat from her head and pushed her back on the bed, she held the hat against her chest as he started to move down to her clit.

He licked her up and down earning a soft moan from her, she hid her face, but she projected her moans for him. He smirked and licked between her wet folds. He flicked his tongue against her bud and sucked on her. She let out a breathy moan never feeling this good before.

"You taste so sweet," he teased. He then sat up and started to remove his clothes. Y/n moaned from not feeling him anymore.

"Awww you needy little thing," he smacks her pussy again earning a cute and soft moan.

He places his dick against her lower stomach, he moved the hat placing it back on his head. His mask was still on his face, but he removed his sunglasses off his face.

She looked down at his body and looked at his well-defined body, He was so muscular, it made her blush when she looked at his body.

"You like something you see, love?"

She just nodded. He grabbed her chin. "Words, love, use your words."

"Yes...I love everything that I am looking at," she said.

"Good because this is all yours," he touched his chest down to his dick and smacked his dick against her lower half earning a moan.

"God, you are so fucking hot," he mumbles and leans down and kissed her lips and slowly pushed himself inside of her lower half.

He began to thrust into her slowly, she moaned into the kiss and his hands just roamed all over her body, he grabbed her thighs and moved her legs to his shoulders and moved faster.

"AHH! AHH! G-Ghost w-wait," she stuttered.

"D-Do you want me to go slow?"

"F-For now p-please," she begged, and she could tell he was smirking under that mask.

"Only for you, love," he rested his forehead on hers and started to go slow again. "Just tell me t-to go fast," he kisses her temple.

Y/n's arms wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands held Y/n against his hot body.

"F-Faster," she moans. He smirks and moves faster, she felt so good.

He swiftly flipped Y/n on her stomach, her face in the pillows and her ass up. Y/n's hands gripped the bed sheets for dear life.

Ghost's hands moved from her thighs to her ass, he grabbed them and squeezed her cheeks. His hands just rested on her ass the whole time.

"Holy f-fuck," he moans. Y/n felt a knot in her stomach, she wanted to cum on him.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut and felt herself cum on him, he smirks and kept moving fast till he cums inside of her.

"P-Please cum i-inside of me, G-Ghost," she begs, and he did with one more thrust Ghost ends up coming inside of her pussy. She lets out a soft moan and Ghost smacks her ass and chuckles.

Ghost pulls out and bends down and licks the cum leaking from her lower half.

---------

Ghost sits on the bed and has a cigarette lit between his lips. His mask was lifted up passed his nose and has been looking down at the money and was splitting it up between him and Y/n as she was in the shower cleaning herself off.

He soon was done, and Y/n was out of the shower. She was in a towel and sat on the bed in front of Ghost.

"Did you split it evenly?"

"Yep," he said. He put his cig out and cups Y/n's face as she counted her money.

"Ghost?"

"God...I fucking love you...I've always had, I get on your nerves just so you can look at me and give me your attention, I love it, I love you, I want to be with you..." Ghost confesses to her.

"Ghost why do you...why are you a dick to me though?" She asks as he kisses her cheek.

"Because I want your attention," he kisses her jaw line.

"You've always had my attention you didn't need to be so extra to get it," she giggles at him.

"But sometimes I have to, just to get you to look at me or else König steals your attention away from me."

"So, that's why."

"What?"

"You're jealous of König and mines relationship," Y/n laughs. "Ghost, König and I are best friends, we're not together or anything and won't be together any time soon," she giggles and grabs his hands to wrap them around her waist. "To be honest...I thought you hated me so I would act mean, but you didn't hate me...you loved me." She teases him.

"I do love you...and I always will even if you don't..."

"Well, I do love you," she said as kissed his lips.

---------

Y/n and Ghost were now heading back home to the North. Jacob was laying across a donkey that Betty was pulling.

"Look, Ghost as ass riding an ass," Y/n laughs and so did Ghost. Jacob could say anything Ghost put a bandana in his mouth, and his hands still tied behind him.

They saw the North city up ahead and soon made it into town, they headed to the jail placing Jacob inside the cell and they went back to the Guild to report what they did to Soap.

Ghost helped Y/n off Betty and they walked into the Guild.

"SOAP WE GOT SOME NEWS!!" Ghost yells.

"Oh please, do tell," Soap laughs.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader

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supercap2319 · 3 months

Text

Friday Valentine

Umm... Kevin? What is this?" Y/N looks down at the song sheet full of music and lyrics. At the top were the printed words of the song: Friday Valentine. Kevin was making a musical for the school with Archie as the main character in this story. Pretty fitting since the nice guy in school would be the center of attention. Go figure.

Kevin looks at him. "It's my new version of Friday Valentine that I wrote. Originally, it was about four best frenemies fighting over one guy. So, I thought I'd add to it and have a male profess his love for Archie, and why he would choose him over the other girls. Isn't that a gas?"

"Umm... No?! You're making me sound so queer. Do you really expect two boys to get together?"

"You'll never know unless you sing. So, please from the top." Kevin sat at a piano and started to play the melody of the song as Y/N rolled his eyes and began to sing the words on the page.

Hey Veronica, Toni, Cheryl, and Betty too

Listen up, I've got something to tell to you

Y/N was surprised to see that the music room of Riverdale melted away as he was in Pop's diner when Toni, Cheryl, Betty, and Veronica swiveled around on their stools and looked at him.

Archie Andrews, he's a good guy, no doubt

But when it comes to love, I'm the one that stands out

They all roll their eyes in annoyance at his statement as they 'shu bop, shu bop.' Y/N thinks this is crazy at what's happening, but he starts to get into the music as he stands on top of the table as the girls sit on both sides of the booth. He points to all of them.

He'd choose me over you, that's a fact

I've got the charm to keep his heart intact

At the Friday Valentine's Day dance, you'll see

Archie's eyes will be locked on me

He takes a nearby milkshake from the table and puts it to his lips in sip as he looks at the window to see Archie arrive in his Jalopy. Archie looks at him and waves his hand. Y/N licks cream off his lips and gives him a wink before looking back at the girls.

Veronica, you're glamorous and full of grace

But my love for Archie, I'll boldly embrace

Toni, you're cool, but I'm the one he adores

Cheryl, your fire's strong, but my love soars

Pop's melts away into a stage at the gymnasium as Y/N is dressed in a red tuxedo surrounded by Archie, Veronica, Betty, Cheryl, and Toni as they all put on a musical concert for all the female students in school. This is getting weird. Y/N thought to himself.

The boy's mine, next Friday Valentine's dance

My chance of ending the chase

Can't hardly wait to be the one, hot fun

Next Friday, Valentine

Archie's mine

Y/N stopped singing and the illusion or whatever in God's name that was, melted away back into the music room with Kevin and Clay looking at him with bright smiles. "Yowza, so fun right? What a bop."

"A bop on the head maybe. Kevin what was that?" Y/N asked.

"That was the magic of music, Y/N. And I'm definitely keeping that part in. You did so great."

"Gee thanks." Y/N rolled his eyes.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #riverdale #riverdale season 7 #Riverdale musical #archie comics #archie andrews #Archie Andrews x male reader #kj apa #KJ Apa x male reader #why did i make this

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hoodie-buck · 6 months

Text

—happy halloween 🎃 murder!boyfriends is here 😈 this is definitely darker than anything i’ve done before but i hope y’all still enjoy it <33 thank you to my unhinged murder!wife jess for all the help and support!! ily 🫶🏼

rated: e | words: 7.4k | read on ao3

summary:

Buck scoffed. “Amateur.”

“Tell me about it.”

Buck turned toward the other voice, diverting his attention from the television for the first time in hours. He’d been hauled up on the barstool after taking care of his latest victim, their dried blood still covering the blade in his pocket.

“Think you could do better?” Buck challenged, hoping to catch the man off guard.

The guy shrugged casually as he downed the rest of his beer.

“I don’t think. I know.”

Well, Buck always did like a challenge. Sure, the whole point was to kill his prey—it was the stalking part that got Buck going.

Buck leaned back in his stool, spreading his legs apart as he pushed his glass aside.

“How would you do it then?”

Most people could act the part, but they couldn’t ever keep up. Not with Buck at least.

The guy looked Buck over, something warm yet terrifying about the glimmer in his eyes.

“If I told you, it’d ruin my plans to kill you.”

—or—

Buck and Eddie team up to kill ghostface aka murder!boyfriends

tagging squad below:

@loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @loveyourownsmiilee @monsterrae1 @buddierights @swiftiebuckleyhan @honestlydarkprincess @barbiediaz @spotsandsocks @justsmilestuffhappens @witchesdiaz @djdangerlove @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @jacksadventuresinwriting @stanningsky @wh0re-behavi0r @ronordmann @spaceprincessem @arthursdent @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @betty-boom @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @theotherbuckley @louis-tenn @the-gayest-wug @buckley-diaz-rules @muppetbuddie @gamer-kai @blorbodiaz @heartshapedvows @trashbaget @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @wikiangela @hobbitnarwhal @shortsighted-owl @pirrusstuff @goldencherrymooon @undead-buckley @daffi-990 @mattsire @greenfairrryy

#buddie #buddie fic #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #911 #dark fic #dead dove do not eat #murder!boyfriends #blood tw #kinfe tw #ghostface #kel (s) writing

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assortedseaglass · 7 months

Text

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Two

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn (OFC)

[Masterlist]

Volume II Summary: Tom escapes occupied Europe to find home irreversibly changed. How will Tom and Bess cope when what was once familiar has changed forever?

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence (fairly mild), Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

A/N: Characters we haven’t seen for a while? Trauma from way back in volume one? You betcha. Posted in haste, will fix mistakes later.

Fucking war.

Tom ripped open the cardboard packet of his Marlboro’s just in case. Nothing. No Rita Hayworth. No Betty Grable. Not even Vera fucking Lynn. He lit a cigarette and sighed.

A pint of pale was put on the table before him. Through a haze of cigarette fog and beer-blurred eyes he looked at the barkeeper.

“We’ve had men in here trading their old cigarette cards. Anything for something new,” he scoffed and picked up Tom’s three empty glasses. “’Waste of resources’, ‘s’what they say on the wireless. You’d think a bit of leg would do everyone good. Keep morale high.”

Tom took a long gulp of the beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his jacket sleeve. “Well, if you ever run for office, you’ve got my vote. Bring back the tart card.” He raised the half-drunk glass but the man had already walked away. “To Winston fucking Churchill!”

From their position at the bar, a few patrons looked over their shoulders at him. None could have been younger than fifty. “What?” Tom said to them, his volume a touch too loud, eyes dark over the rim of the glass. They ignored him.

“Dunkierka!”

Tom screwed his eyes shut. It had been hours, but still Grzegroz’s voice rattled around his mind.

“Dunkierka!”

How strange, incredible really, that he could be transported so quickly to the battlefield once more. One moment he was playing football with Jan in Mrs Chase’s garden, the next he was watching the man with the terrified eyes screaming at him on the beach.

“Shoot me!”

“Fuck.” Tom downed the rest of the beer. Eight o’clock. The pub was busying now. He’d arrived not an hour before, having walked from Mrs Chase’s back into town. Now, the shift’s had changed at the dockyard and the factory, and the weekend was free for these men to take.

The table wobbled as Tom used all of his weight to stand. He blinked hard. A rush of blood drained from his head and he faltered. A lifetime’s worth of bad memories did not mix with four pints and an empty stomach.

Tom wasn’t drunk. Not by his standards at least. Instead, he was balanced on a precipice. A precipice that could turn the night into one of infinite wonder or have him fear the world by 8 o’clock next morning. Would it send him down the Palais with Bess? Hadn’t she said there was a dance on? Or would it be a night in the pub, taking on any Tom, Dick or Harry that dared, and sleeping under a bench? Tom found he didn’t care which. One drink more would do him right. Let Lady Luck decide.

Tom wasn’t drunk. However, he did not slide onto the bar stool with as much grace as he would’ve liked and a few men tittered. “Another pint please.”

“Right you are, Tom.” The barkeep gave him a wary look but poured the pint all the same. He’d seen enough soldiers and marines to know that if they weren’t drinking in his pub, they were out drinking and making a nuisance. God knows he remembered the last war well enough.

Another pint appeared before him, and Tom watched the foam settle. He leant forward, caressing the cool glass, and took a long, pleasured sip.

“How’s the navy treating you anyway, Tom?”

“The navy? The bloody navy? Can’t even steer a pedalo.”

Tom jolted and looked over his shoulder. It had happened the night before too, and that morning. Drifting off, he’d heard his father’s voice. “My brave, brave boy.” Only to wake up and have reality hit him hard, all air leaving his chest before he’d taken his first waking breath. His dad was gone.

A glass smashed in the corner of the pub and a roar of laughter rang up.

“Watch it! You lot break anymore, and you’ll be paying.” The barkeeper sighed. “Tom?”

“You what?”

The barkeeper watched him. “Ah, don’t worry about it, son.” He patted Tom’s arm and made his way to the end of the bar. Tom’s eyes followed as the man collected a sweeping brush and gathered the broken shards into a pile. One of the men in the party was gesturing wildly around, trying in vain to help. It was Fergal Vaughn.

“Sit down, man,” the barkeep said good-naturedly. “You’re a hindrance, not a help.”

Fergal flopped into his seat, the beer he held spraying everywhere. The friends surrounding him laughed. Sweat gleamed on the old man’s brow, his face red and shining. When he spoke, flecks of spittle flew from his mouth, and he laughed so hard Tom feared he might keel over for lack of breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Tom muttered into his pint. Well, at least the old bastard isn’t at home, bothering the girls.

There was a great commotion and Tom looked back to the party. Fergal had stood abruptly, his round belly pushing the table and knocking yet more glasses. He raised his near empty pint of Guinness in the air. “To my Cora, and to her Roger!”

The men cheered, raising their glasses and swigging their beers. “To her roger!” The two men nearest Tom cried and fell about laughing. Fergal swiped at them pathetically but giggled at their joke.

Tom should have laughed too. Should have joined in their merriment. But sat there, five pints deep, listening to Fergal Vaughn’s witterings while the ghost of his own father lingered just beyond reach, Tom felt his blood curdle. On the step of the stool, his leg began to bounce. The din of the pub’s patrons gave way to the swirling of blood and breath in his ears.

“Dunkierka!”

Tom slammed his fists into his eyes and tried to rub away the sound. Fergal guffawed behind him.

“You don’t think I’m genuine?”

“Are you, son?”

Bess’ voice joined the fray.

“You’ve never committed to anything or anyone. It’s not because you’re a womaniser, or because you don’t believe in the war. It’s because you’re a coward.”

“Just fuck off!” Tom shouted. He didn’t hear the way the pub stilled. Didn’t notice the way the man beside him got off his stool and shuffled away. Slowly, the noise around him picked up as everyone ignored the screwball at the bar.

He tried to calm himself and, naturally, thought of Bess. Almost half-past eight. She’d be at the dance by now. Hair rollered for once, a brush of lipstick. Tom’s body hummed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Who would she dance with, without himself or Albie there? Roger? From Fergal’s exclamations, it sounded like a night for celebration. Would Lois be there, singing with Connie? He hadn’t thought to ask Lois about her shift on the ambulance.

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

The last words Lois hissed at him before he crumpled and made his way back to Bess. She’d spat them at him like a weapon. She’d meant to hurt him, and hurt him it did. The moment she’d uttered them Tom saw every disheartened, disapproving and disappointed look that had shadowed his father’s prematurely aged face. Each one, directed at him.

Yet another glass was placed next to him. An amber tot of whisky. “From Fergal,” said the barkeeper. Tom glanced over his shoulder to where Fergal had another pint raised in his direction.

“To Tom,” he slurred. “No doubt he’ll be stealing another of my girls away from me.” Fergal smiled at him and the other men silently raised their glasses.

Tom pushed the whisky away. “No thanks.”

“Right you are,” The barkeeper said after a moment, taking the glass away while eyeing something over Tom’s shoulder. With a hard smack, a meaty hand landed on Tom’s back and he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy breath and stench of ale told him everything.

“Rude to refuse a drink from your father-in-law-”

“You’re not my father-in-law.” Tom continued to stare straight ahead at the optics behind the bar.

“I’m as good as!” Fergal chortled. “And don’t you tell me I won’t be one day,” he tried to lean on the bar beside Tom but stumbled. Despite himself, Tom reached out a hand to steady him. “With Cora engaged, everyone will be looking to you and Bess.”

“Let them look.”

Fergal wobbled, leaning forward slightly to observe Tom. Fed up, Tom stared back at him, watching the man struggle to stand straight.

“God, you look like your Dad.” Fergal said after an unnaturally long pause. Tom snorted.

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

“We all miss him terribly, me and Bess especially,” Fergal continued. Did Tom miss him? He supposed he did not. He hadn’t been given enough time to comprehend the fact he was dead, let alone miss him. “My favourite drinking partner.” Fergal finally found the bar and leant upon it.

“You’re doing alright, to me.” Tom watched the men in the corner watching him.

“Ah, but none were like your Da-A drink!” Fergal cut himself off. “Another whisky for me and Tom.” They appeared before them in an instant. Seemingly, the barkeeper hadn’t thrown them away. Fucking rationing.

“I don’t want it,” Tom pushed it back and Fergal made to sip his own.

“To Douglas!” The Irishman roared.

“Stop!” Tom grabbed Fergal’s hand before the drink could reach his lips. “Stop.”

“What’s gotten into you, boy? Used to love a drink with me and Albie and your Da-”

Tom stood from the bar and Fergal staggered backwards. “I’ll not share a drink with you, you fat old bastard. Not in my dad’s memory. Not when you’re like this.”

“Now just a minu-”

“You’re a drunk!” Tom spat in Fergal’s face. He was towering over the man now, and for a flicker of time, Fergal looked like a scared child. “I’ll not drink to my dad’s memory, when it should have been you in his place.”

Fergal looked like he had been struck. Tom didn’t care. A year’s worth of war, the immediacy of his grief, the way it awoke the longing he held for his mother, years of watching Fergal ruin his daughters. Tom felt every bruising blow life had dealt him, and was presented with the perfect outlet for his rage. The man before him.

“My dad fought for what he believed in. Did I agree with him? No, but I damn well do now!” Tom was shouting and the barkeeper laid a hand on his arm. He wrenched it from his grip but lowered his voice to a menacing hiss. “He didn’t have much, but he did enough to make himself proud. To make me proud. Gave everyone the time of day. Grafted. Put up with me,” his voice wobbled. “And then there’s you. What have you ever done?”

Fergal opened his mouth but Tom cut him off. “Who do you think’s gonna look after you now Cora’s engaged? Do you know what?” He grabbed the whisky and raised it in the air. “Here’s to Roger. If it weren’t for him, Cora would be left to a life looking after you with not one bit of thanks.” He downed the drink with a wince. “And Dot! You’ve spoiled her beyond reason. Five minutes in the real world will ruin her, Fergal! Don’t you remember the last time!? All them battered men coming back, what they did to the women waiting for them at home? And Bess!” Tom’s voice cracked and he jabbed a finger into Fergal’s fleshy shoulder. “Do you know how many nights she’s spent crying because you said she wasn’t woman enough, like Cora and Dot? Or how you never stood up for her at school? It was Etta marching down there every day to set Frank Smith and Walter Watson right. Etta giving the teachers a bollocking because you didn’t have the guts. What did you do? Fucking nothing. Only thing you’re good for is fucking fertiliser-”

It happened quick as a flash. Fergal grabbed Tom by the scruff of his collar and hoisted him over the bar. Glasses clattered around them and the murmuring of the pub crescendoed to an excited clamour. The edge of the bar was rammed into Tom’s ribs as Fergal held him there, leaning over and growling in his face. Any trace of drunkenness was gone.

“You’re one to talk, my boy.” He shoved Tom again, and Tom felt his head hit one of the pumps. “Fucking off to join the navy was the best thing you ever did. Brought nothing but shame to your father, and now you’re doing the same to my Bess.” At the mention of her name Tom struggled to get up. “You’re only courting my daughter because I see how happy you make her, God knows why, but when you get yourself blown up, well, it’ll be all the better.”

“ENOUGH!” The barkeeper bellowed, reaching between the two of them. Two of Fergal’s friends pulled him backwards off Tom, and he slid off the bar. “ENOUGH!”

Tom straightened his jacket, stared down at Fergal and laughed bitterly. By some miracle, Fergal’s whiskey still sat unbothered amongst the debris of their argument. Tom downed it in one and, with his hands in his pockets, swaggered from the pub and into the night.

“-our Florence tailored her mam’s old dress. I suppose Bess could help you with that. And Roger will have a mourning suit, won’t he? Or will he get married in uniform? Oh, that would be best I think, that beautiful air force blue. It’ll look excellent in your wedding photograph-”

On discovering Cora Vaughn’s engagement to Roger, Queenie Warren had not drawn breath. Her curls bouncing animatedly as she spoke, Queenie quizzed Cora on everything from the colour of her bridesmaids’ dresses to whether the cake would be fruit or Victoria sponge.

Bess had tuned Queenie out ten minutes ago. Instead, she leant against the bar, glass in her hand, cigarette between her lips, and watched couples spin around the dancefloor. She wondered if the Palais would ever be as full as it was before the war.

The red lights of the room hid a multitude of sins. The floor was becoming sticky under foot, and wallpaper was starting to peel from the high ceiling. The darkness did well to hide the few couples, and the fewer men. Indeed, it was mostly full of women from the factories. There were some fellas that Bess recognised from about town, and other uniformed men she did not recognise, no doubt visiting women they had met on the front, or nurses from the infirmary.

Dancing at the centre of circle were Roberta and the teacher from the primary. With so many of the men off fighting, it was the first time Bobby had been able to step into the light with the woman, under the rouse of needing a dance partner. Hiding in plain sight, Bess had never seen her happier. Indeed, when they turned so that Bobby could look upon the bar, she caught Bess’ eye. Bess winked, and Bobby giggled. Tough, feisty Roberta actually giggled.

“-you’ll have your hands full soon I expect, Bess.”

“Pardon?”

Queenie was watching her eagerly. “A wedding dress and bridesmaids’ clothes for yourself and Dot. That’s an awful lot to be doing.”

“She’ll have to ask me first,” with a smile Bess nudged Cora, who looked up from gazing at the modest ring on her finger.

Her betrothed was not far away, sharing a drink with Frank Smith and a few other lads from the air force. He was bright and merry, and though the others congratulated him, Bess noticed the glances they cast the bride-to-be and her sisters. Namely, herself.

Bess knew what she was doing when she’d stepped out that night. Bedecked in a pinstriped suit, she wanted people to look at her. She felt deflated after Tom’s flit from Mrs Chase’s and his inability to confide in her. This did just the job to make her feel powerful again. She’d seen Marlene Dietrich where something similar in a copy of Vogue she’d read years ago at the atelier. It just so happened that they had a pattern there too.

A man cut across Bess’ vision of Bobby on the dancefloor. “Fucking dyke,” he muttered as he passed. Bess stood straight, prepared to defend her friend from the man, when she faltered. As he passed, the man looked over his shoulder at her, eyeing her suit from sharp collar to perfectly-ironed trouser.

“Don’t be jealous she’s a better dresser than you!” Dot piped up, just as Cora took her glass.

“That’s enough sherry, Dot.”

Before Dot could so much as take a breath to retort, the Palais’ double doors burst open. Even over the playing of the band, the noise caused the sisters to jump and cast their eyes towards the doors.

Bess knew that silhouette.

Against the streetlamps outside, the figure staggered sideways before moving forward towards the bar. With his hands in his pockets, he nearly fell over, and a few people rushed to help him. He brushed them off and, ascending the steps to the bar, smirked lopsidedly at the group.

“Bobby,”

“Tom.”

The enmity that lingered between Bobby and Tom had dwindled of late, and Bess tensed at the renewed hostility.

“How’s your friend?” Tom wobbled as he glanced around the old ballroom, his words dripping with intentional sarcasm. Roberta said nothing. “Suits you well, doesn’t it? No men about.” He swaggered towards her, his body a millisecond behind the movement of his feet. Bess prickled with mortification. All evening she’d been worried about him, what he was thinking, what he was doing, and it turned out he was the same as any other man; leaving their problems at the door of the first pub they came to.

He staggered a step towards Roger and Frank. Frank, having experienced Tom’s devastating right-hook in childhood, edged backwards.

“Watch yourselves, lads, she’ll be giving your girls ideas.”

He can embarrass himself all he likes, but leave Bobby out of it. In three high-heeled strides, Bess placed herself between Tom and the others. “Enough,” she said warningly. Tom eyed her. There was a hint of pride in the dark blue of his eyes. Then he glanced at her suit.

“If I didn’t know you better,” Bess could smell the beer on him. The stale cigarettes. “I’d say you were going the same way as your Roberta.” He looked her up and down, amusement evident on his features.

At this closeness, Bess’ worry returned. When he’d returned, the first thing she noticed about him was the hollowness of his cheeks. The way the skin clung his cheekbones like wax. In the red light of the Palais, his pale skin looked near translucent, and his eyes…

His brow bone jutted forward, casting them into shadow. Below, the soft skin beneath his lower lashes sagged, as though gravity was working harder to root him in one place. She’d seen this dogged look before. On her father. What a sinister concoction; grief and grain.

Gently, as though calming a wounded animal, Bess whispered in Tom’s ear. “Go home, my love-”

“I haven’t got one,” Tom slurred, blinking slowly, that ridiculous smile still plastered on his face.

“Albie’s bed is always made up, just sle-”

“In a dead man’s bed?” The sisters and their companions each took a sharp breath. “I’ll not be tempting fate, ‘my love’,” Tom tapped Bess on the nose. “Besides, I’m here for a dance.” He held out a hand, the other still firmly in his pocket as he swayed on the spot. “Come on,”

“No,”

There it was. That wrinkled brow and jutted jaw. He knew he was pushing it. Still, as he always did, he carried on.

“Why do you have to go around winding the rest of us up? That’s what you do.” Vic’s voice joined the chorus of ghosts in Tom’s mind. He shook his head.

“Come on,” he waggled the hand he held out to Bess. “Gotta dance with my best girl while I’m back.”

“I said no.”

With speed unexpected of a drunk, Tom made a beeline for Bess. Just as his arms made to grip her close to his body, someone blocked his path.

“Go away, Tom.”

His held jolted backwards before his body, and he stumbled. “Fuck,” he said. In this light, in this state, the Vaughn girls all looked the same. Steely, dark eyes were boring into his. It was only the smaller stature of the girl before him that gave it away.

“Dotty-”

“Go away-”

“Oh shut up, Dot. You’ll never get a fella with a mouth like that,” Roger and Cora straightened at the bar. Bess came to stand at her sister’s side. Frank gripped Queenie by the arm and steered her away. This was it. The showdown. The two cockiest kids in Longsight. Dot Vaughn and Tom Bennett. “Shut up and use your mouth for something useful-”

SMACK

The force with which Dot walloped Tom near gave him whiplash. Like a felled tree, he hit the ground hard. No sooner was he looking up at the three red-headed furies, was someone dragging him along the ground. For the second time that night, someone had Tom by the scruff of his collar. His feet struggled to find footing as whoever had hold of him pulled him towards the door. He looked up.

“Fuck me. Didn’t think you had it in you Rog.”

The pilot said nothing, only continued to drag Tom from the Palais. The clacking of high heels followed the pair, and as Roger hurled Tom onto the damp road outside the dancehall, Cora came into view.

Tom lay there for a few seconds, looking up at the dark sky as drizzle speckled his face.

“Get up.”

“You gonna fight me, Rog?” He received no reply and, with great difficulty, stood up. His head was beginning to pound, as though his brain was fight to break free from his skull.

Roger’s arms were folded against his chest. Tom had never realised, despite Roger’s lanky height, how imposing he was. In his uniform, he looked like the perfect poster boy for the British military. Beside him, Cora glared.

“Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was quiet, challenging him to dare to fight back. Tom rolled his shoulders and squared his jaw.

“Pub.”

Cora tutted. “I might have guessed.”

“Saw your dad there,”

“I’m sure.” Cora’s eyes hadn’t left Tom’s. Her feet hadn’t faltered. All that distinguished her from a statue were the few strands of hair waving in the cold night air.

“Gave him a piece of my mind-”

“A very small piece then.”

Tom snorted. “Was there celebrating your happy news. Congratulations, by the way.” He added as an aside. “Never seen him at the pub so happy, usually there to forget his own fuck ups. Wouldn’t catch me in that state-”

“You’ve got a nerve.” Cora snapped. “Dadda’s got his faults but don’t think for a second that you don’t have your own, Thomas Bennett.”

Cora walked towards him, her steps so slow and purpose that for the first time in his life, Tom was scared of her. She folded her arms and looked at him with disgust.

“You’re not the only one that’s suffered-”

“Tell you about this afternoon, did she?” Tom shouted. Cora raised her eyebrows and he silenced like a petulant child.

“No, Bess didn’t,” Behind her, Roger watched on. He didn’t move, flanking her like a sentinel solider. “But I’ve known you long enough to know you’re a jumped-up little shit who never put much store by other people’s feelings, BE QUIET!” she shoutedwhen Tom opened his mouth to argue. “You’re not the only one that’s fighting. That’s lost someone. Roger flies over Germany every other night, looking at the destruction we’re wreaking. Coming home to discover who he lost along the way. You know Vernon was the last to go down? Disappeared over the Channel. I don’t suppose you’ve thought for one second that Lois lost her father and her fiancé?”

Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“That we loved your father too? That we lost our Albie?” Cora’s voiced wobbled and a few tears fell from her eyes. Her gaze, however, did not waver. “I can’t imagine what horrors you’ve seen, Tom, but it isn’t plain sailing here. The fear of getting bombed every night, worrying if we’ll ever see you all again? Pretending it’s all smiles when you come home in case you see the cracks and crumble. Because what’s the point of fighting for a world that doesn’t exist anymore?”

Finally, she brushed her tears from her eyes. With a shaky breath, as if to set herself right, Cora straightened.

“It’s not the world against Tom Bennett. I know it feels like it-”

“No you don’t.” Tom said bitterly. “You don’t have a fucking clue.” And with the little pride he had left, he turned on weak legs, stumbled down the nearest ginnel, and vanished from sight.

Next morning, Bess rose as the sun crept over the brick red houses of Longsight.

Beside her, Dot and Cora were sleeping soundly, their arms cast over each other’s waists. Slowly, so as not to wake them, Bess drew back the quilt and crept onto the landing. The floorboards creaked and she stilled. No-one stirred.

Tentatively, she opened the door to her father’s bedroom.

He was slumped, half sat against the cold wall, atop his bed. Albie’ remained empty, his folded jumper and photograph sat neatly on top of the covers.

A swell of dread rushed over Bess and she felt sick. So it had been dadda stumbling around the house, not Tom.

Fergal’s misuse of alcohol was no secret about the street, and every neighbour knew his routine. His daughters knew it better. Six o’clock. If Fergal wasn’t working as an air raid warden, he would arrive home from the dockyard, ready for his supper. After reading the newspaper and listening to the girls talk about their days, he would depart for the pub at approximately twenty past seven. If drinking at The Crown, he would be allowed room under one of the tables and arrive home next morning with the milk float or the postman. If The Red Lion took his fancy, Old Arthur, for that was what the girls had always called the publican, gave him board in the small flat he kept above the pub. Only if Fergal drank at The Swan did he stagger home, for Mrs Mallory always cast him out at eleven o’clock.

On tiptoe, Bess hurried down the stairs. The hammering of her heart doubled. Tom was not slumped on the piano stool, nor was he at the table or in Fergal’s armchair.

This was it. His years of aggravating, pestering, hiding, skiving and shirking had finally caught up with him. Or, someone had caught up with him.

Terrified, worried and entirely unsure of what to do, Bess busied her hands by rummaging through the Welsh dresser drawers. Flicking through dressmaker’s patterns, ones belonging to herself, her mother and her sisters too, she pulled out a set for women’s slacks.

For Kasia¸ she thought. Well, that was that job done.

Curled up in her father’s armchair, Bess watched the world beyond the window wake up. Mrs Mason collected the milk bottles from her front step. Dennis Warley, the miserable postman, began his rounds. A few men Fergal’s age cycled to work. She looked at the clock. Half past six. At seven, she would wake Cora, and together they would hunt from Tom. What good was it now, when most of the city was still sleeping? Who could help?

A sudden wailing caused Bess to startle. She jumped up from the armchair, clutching the trouser pattern to her chest. Dot looked lazily up from the table. Cora placed a plate of bacon and eggs upon it, and hurried to the window where baby Vera, in her Moses basket, continued to cry.

“Got used to living alone and don’t want to share the bed?” Dot poured herself a cup of tea.

“Probably fed up of your snoring,” said Cora good-naturedly, the delight of Roger’s proposal radiating from her. “But Bess, love, why were you sleeping in the armchair?”

“I must have just drifted off,” Bess brushed the frizzy hair from her face. “Went to check in on dadda’s room. Tom didn’t stay last night, Cora.” Much to her surprise, Cora did not seem worried. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Bess felt the temper she inherited from their mother spark into life. “Cora?”

“Connie said she saw him last night, on her way to her shift on the ambulance. Was with Frank and some other lads.” Dot said through a mouthful of food. Cora tutted.

“He-oh. Ok,” Bess deflated, relief Tom was alright and embarrassment at her assumptions fighting for pitiable dominance. “Connie was here?” She moved forward to take the now whinging Vera from Cora.

“Mhmm,”

“Dorothy Vaughn. Don’t eat with your mouthful.”

Dot swallowed pointedly at Cora and turned back to Bess. “She brought Vera over.”

“Why?”

Dot faced her sister fully and grasped her cup of tea eagerly in her hands. After new dresses, Dot’s favourite thing was gossip. “Lois had to go to the infirmary. Was helping a family out of a house that got hit in the raids last night over in Fallowfield, and the house came down around her. She’s fine,” Bess had gasped. “Cut her head but just fine. That’s why Connie brought Cora. Lois is resting.” Dot punctuated her news with a long slurp of tea.

Bess sat at the table beside her sister, Vera now settled back to sleep. “Tom won’t know, about Lois, he’ll have no idea-”

“Doubt she wants him to know.” Dot said matter-of-factly. Again, Cora tutted.

“Dot, stop being cryptic and-”

“Well,” Dot launched herself into hurried speech. “Connie told us that Lois told her that her and Tom had an argument the day he got back-something about Douglas dying and him not knowing-anyway he got all angry with Lois saying that if she’d been there then he-Douglas that is-might not have died-”

“Breathe, Dot.”

“-and of course Lois didn’t like that and gave him a piece of her mind about working on the ambulance and doing her bit for the war effort, and then Tom-get this Bess-Tom turned round and said her job was to look after Douglas and Vera!” She took a deep breath and another sip of tea.

The anger caused by Cora’s apathy was nothing compared to the flame roaring into life now. Bess’ cheeks reddened, her eyes darkened, and a rigidity settled in her bones that God himself could not have shaken.

“Oh he did, did he?”

Three miles away, in a terraced house that edged Cringle Park, Tom Bennett woke. The bedsprings beneath his back were hard, a few pressing into his bony side, and the frame wobbled as he struggled to get up.

Bile rose to his throat and he lay down again. Above him, the ceiling spun. At its centre, the ceiling light had been draped in a rose silk scarf. Turning his head slowly so that it lolled on the pillow, Tom looked over the vanity table. Make up covered its counter, and few dresses in reds, pinks and purples were crumpled on the stool.

Beside him, the clock read just after eight o’clock. Its ticking was so loud inside his head it sounded like machine gun fire, and he groaned. The knock that came at the door was thunderous and Tom thought the sound alone would make him vomit.

“Morning, pet,” A high voice said. “Brought you a cuppa. Poor thing,” a soft hand touched his forehead, as though testing his temperature, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Tom rubbed his bleary eyes and took the tea from the person above him. Perfectly manicured nails, ringlets, red lipstick and the overpowering smell of lavender.

“Cheers, Queenie.”

Notes: Cigarette cards (sometimes called tart cards, if they had women on) were banned in Britain at the start of 1940 because the government indeed declared them a “waste of raw material”. I don’t know about elsewhere, but in Britain “to roger” someone is to have sex, usually in a bit of a rough manner. In research, I also read a study about the increase in domestic violence post-WWI, in households with soldiers returning to civilian life. Fuck war and fuck the men that start them.

Thank you to @arcielee, who helped me unfuck this chapter more than she realises! There’s a line direct for one of our chats in here. And thanks again to @theoneeyedprince for help with the Polish. Below is the inspo for Bess’ outfit. Saw it and knew she’d wear it.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey@multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234@babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandompromptsside @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol@beiigegalx@skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools@aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictore @shmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @blairfox04

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #the seamstress & the sailor #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x ofc x oc #world on fire #ewan mitchell fandom #hotd #bess vaughn #tom bennett x bess vaughn

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bettie-may-page · 5 months

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Bettie Page Chair Collection #318 Photo Retouched: Craig Stewart

#bettie page #bettiepage #long hair #beautiful smile #long legs #betty page #sexy #beautiful face #high heels #beautiful eyes #fishnet #betties stool

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 1 year

Text

You can be the boss

Natasha RomanoffxFemale!OC

TW: Toxic!Nat, Mob violence, torture, manipulation, Smut at the end, bad grammar and spelling errors, Natasha speaking Russian

!Disclaimer English is not first language so please excuse any spelling or grammar errors!

Word count: 1.7k

Masterlist

The dark streets of the city I called home and dangerous, especially as a women like me. I made my way into one of the many bars of the city. The air was smoky and the lights dim, I was being completely honest, I didn't knew what I was doing there. Maybe it was because my family kept telling me to finally get a boyfriend. Of course I didn't like the thought of having a men in my live. I was an independent women who doesn't anyone telling me what to do and what to don't . But my stuck up family didn't get that.

I was sitting alone at the bar slowly taking sips of my beer. When suddenly the door of the bar swung open. Suddenly the crowd went silent, so silent you could've heard a needle drop. All of it just because a woman came in, she walked through the bar a group of four tall guys following her. Slowly the people started conversations again and I was utterly confused. Hardly a couple of minutes went by until I felt the mysterious women next to me.

"Hey there, pretty girl. Is that seat taken?" she asked pointing to the bar stool next to me. "Uhm, no. It's uhm free" I was beyond nervous and I didn't even know why. The women now sitting next to was wearing a withe blouse neatly tugged in her her dress pants.

"Can I buy you a drink, pretty girl" Her green piercing eyes looked in mine. Only now I saw the beauty of her face which was before hidden by her hat. I could only nod I was to stunned to speak. I watched as she orders for two vodkas for the both of us. "Tell me, what is your name?" I couldn't even look her in the eyes anymore. My fear of staring at her like an Idiot was too big. "Betty Carter" I mumbled "Such a pretty name, for such a pretty girl." She said probably more to herself than to me. She was caressing my cheek lifting my cheek until I was looking at her. "I'm Natasha Romanoff, but you can call me Nat."

I could feel my cheeks heat up under her touch "Thank you, Nat" She laughs as she grabs the shot in front of her and drinking it. We talked what seemed like hours I told her all about my job as a teacher, while she listened laughing now and than. She didn't give me a lot about her job except that she was a business women.

"I'll have to say, Betty you are really cute" she bit her red painted lips before she leaned down whispering in my ear "Would like to take you some where more private. So we can talk better" I nodded as if I suddenly lost the ability to speak. She grabbed my arm before leading me too an door with the words private painted big on it. She pushed the door open.

It revealed a smaller room filled with the disgusting smoke of cigarettes and people drinking or playing Poker. The moment Natasha stepped into the room one of the guys was already standing next to her. I recognize him, he already accompanied her when she first arrived. He was fairly good looking, dark short hair, grey eyes, a neatly trimmed beard. You could say every women's dream, except mine.

"Is everything to your liking, Miss Romanoff?" Natasha walked over to a table, me and him following. "Yes Bucky, everything is good" we were now standing in front of a table with even more mysterious men sitting around it. "So Betty, these are Bucky, Pietro, Sam, and Steve. They are my employees. Guys this is Betty, she's our guest tonight so be nice to her." Natasha smiled, but not the kind of smile which was warm and generous. This had this treat to it. I slowly started to realise how dangerous the women.

I was sitting next to her while she played poker. Every now and then she would place her hand on the inside of my thighs. Hours of flirting and touching went by until a woman rushed into the room making Natasha jump up. "Yelena what are you doing here" The blond women was out of breath as if she had just run for weeks. "We got him, Rumlow we got him"

"Bring him in" The younger woman looked utterly confused "But-" "NOW" Natasha cut her off. The fast the Yelena appeared the fast she was gone. Natasha signed before sitting back down. She looked at the men "And you guys are just goanna sit here?" No one dared to say something "GO HELP HER" she punched the table, the men were already grabbing their jackets to leave "DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU GUYS EVERHING" She was now looking at me "I'm so sorry I had to scream зайчик" She strokes my cheek it looked like all the anger disapperared from her face "But sometimes I have to do thing I don't like. Okay зайчик?"

I was terrified but I still nodded she put an arm around my shoulder pulling me close "No need to be afraid зайчик. I'm going to be protected you from all the bad in the world" She kissed my cheek and I blushed "Thank you, Nat. But I still don't understand what is happening" "Don't worry your pretty head. It's just how we make business" She held me close until her men came back through the back door. One off them had a bag over his head, he looked beaten and abused. Bucky kicked him in the knees making him fall to the floor while whimpering in pain. Natasha stood up walking towards the helpless man.

"The big bad Brock Rumlow" she laughed "Well not so big and bad now" Natasha placed her foot on his chest pushing down making him gaps for breath. I didn't know what I had just gotten myself into, I mean I was just an elementary school teacher. How could she be so cruel yet so caring. Rumlow now sitting on his knees with Natasha's gun pressed between his eyes begging for his live while laughed. I couldn't bear the sight I carefully stood up before leaving out of the door.

I couldn't believe what I just witnessed I ran until I didn't know were I was. I didn't realise that I was sitting on the pavement until I felt her presence next to me. I wanted to cry, to scream, to throw up. But I just sat there in silence while Natasha smoked on of her disgusting cigarettes.

"How did you find me" I asked my voice shaking "детски, I have my eyes everywhere this city is mine. Why did you run away from me?" I look at her terrified "You tortured a poor man right in front of me. You... You are a filthy criminal!" She looked at me with her cold gaze "He was a bad guy he killed women, men anyone for fun. He was a threat to my business you have to understand I just did justice. The police b filled with corrupt basters I'm just do justice were justice has to be done." She placed her hands under my chin making me look in her eyes. I wanted to believe her I wanted her to be that hero.

"Do you understand?" she asked me looking directly in my eyes "Yes" I said in a small voice Natasha looked my lips before pressing her lips to mine. Her lips were so warm and soft I didn't want this to end. She breaks away "You are mine, Betty. I know that you want me. You want me to do things to you that normally only a husband would do. Even if you say that you don't want my touch, you would let it happen and you would love it?" I nodded shamefully.

"I want you to know that from now one you stand under the protection of the Romanoff family." She helped me stand up and placed her expensive fur coat over my shoulders. "Lets get to my car, зайчик"

The moment I stepped into Natasha’s big mansion she had me pressed against the front door kissing me. Slipping her tongue in my mouth moaning as our tongues crashed together. She kissed down my neck smearing her lip stick on my neck. She lashes onto my neck sucking and biting down on my neck. "Nat- Natasha... no.. no marks. I have.. school on.. Monday." She smirked against my neck "Too bad it already happened" She grabbed onto my waist pulling me impossible closer. Natasha unbuttoned my blouse pushing it from my shoulders. Her hands opening my bra kissing my breaths, while I grab onto her hair.

She picks me up caring me up to her bedroom laying me on her bed. Kissing and nibbling on my boobs. I can hear how heavily she breaths "You are probably a virgin right? No one ever touched you right. You are innocent, untouched, ready to be corrupted by me right?" I let out a whorish moan before I nodded. She slapped my boob "Answer me, whore" A strangled moan broken out of my mouth "Yes I've never been touched"

She let out a low groan before moving down to pull off my skirt. The next thing I felt is how she kissed my clit through my underwear. "Please no... no teasing" I get interrupted by my own slutty moan. "Don't tell me what to do" she mumbled. Natasha ripped my underwear before lashing onto my cunt. "Fuck Nat, that I liked that pair" She liked up my cunt neglecting my clit "I can buy you a whole store if you want" her mouth send vibrations trough my body making me moan in lust. She finally played attention to my clit, sucking and kissing it. I grabbed onto her hair while letting out despired moans. She slowly pumped her finger in me. She kept hitting that special spot inside me I clenched around her desperately.

"Nat- I.." she laughed "Your close I can feel it зайчик. Come for me детски" That send me over the edge cuming on her fingers. She cleaned me up before she pulled the blanked over my naked body. She kissed my head before laying down next to me pulling me in her arms

"You're finally mine now" she mumbled to herself.

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