#galas drabbles
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Meet Me at the Met
Lewis Hamilton x up-and-coming singer!Reader
Summary: in which you go head over heels (quite literally) during the most important event of the year and end up right at the feet of none other than Sir Lewis Hamilton himself
Warnings: minor injury
The roar of the crowd hits you like a tidal wave as you step onto the iconic themed carpet of the Met Gala. Flashing bulbs from countless cameras nearly blind you as you blink rapidly, trying to adjust. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it thrumming in your throat.
“Over here, honey!” A photographer calls out, gesturing for you to turn towards him. You pivot gracefully, the layers of shimmering tulle from your Maison Margiela gown swirling around you.
“Work it! Look this way, sweetheart!” Another shouts, snapping shot after shot.
You take a steadying breath, channeling every ounce of confidence you can muster. This is your first Met Gala, the biggest night of your fledgling music career so far. One misstep could be disastrous.
Your publicist Samantha appears at your side, perfectly put together as always in a sleek sheath dress. “You’re doing great,” she murmurs with an encouraging smile. “Just keep smiling and be yourself.”
Nodding, you continue gliding down the iconic path, pausing at the designated spots to pose for the ravenous paparazzi. An elegant string of Bulgari emeralds adorns your neck, glittering mesmerizingly under the bright lights.
“Miss! To your left please!”
You turn obediently, the intricate beadwork on your deep blue-green gown catching the flashes. Despite the oppressive late spring humidity, you refuse to let a single drop of sweat show. This night is too important.
After what feels like an eternity, a security guard appears to usher you up the final flight of stairs and into the main event. With a brilliant smile plastered on your face, you make your way carefully up the steps, lifting the delicate train of your dress to keep from tripping.
Suddenly, one sparkly heel catches on the fabric and you’re thrown off balance. Unable to catch yourself, you tumble head over heels back down the stairs, gasping in shock and pain as you land hard on the ground.
There’s a collective intake of breath from the crowd as you blink up at the bright lights, thoroughly stunned. Your vision is blurred and there’s a sharp throbbing in your head. When you try to push yourself up, bolts of agony shoot through your right wrist.
“Oh my god, are you alright?” A deep, accented voice sounds from beside you.
You turn your head and your breath catches in your throat. Crouched beside you in an exquisitely tailored double breasted suit and wool coat is arguably the most handsome man on the planet. His beautiful coffee-colored eyes are filled with concern as he reaches out to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your face.
“I … I think so,” you manage to stammer out, though your pounding head begs to differ. “Just clumsy, I guess.”
Despite the sheepish grin you attempt, a wince of pain crosses your features as you shift positions. Lewis’ brow furrows and he places one large hand on your bare shoulder to keep you still.
“Easy there, love. Don’t try to move just yet,” he soothes in that rich baritone that has melted millions of hearts. “You took quite a nasty fall.”
You nod mutely, unable to tear your widened eyes away from his handsome face. This couldn’t be happening … could it? Did you really just faceplant in front of the entire world and, perhaps more importantly, your celebrity crush?
“S-Sorry,” you whisper, utterly mortified. “I’m usually much more graceful than this, I swear.”
Lewis chuckles warmly and you feel your cheeks flush. “No need to apologize, darling. These things happen to the best of us.”
Nearby, Samantha is frantically trying to wave over security and a medic, her expression pinched with worry. You groan quietly as another stab of pain lances through your skull. Definitely a concussion, if your swimming vision is any indication.
“Let’s get you looked at, yeah?” Lewis murmurs, rising fluidly to his feet.
Before you can protest, he slips one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, cradling you gently against his firm chest. You suck in a shocked breath at the sudden movement, instinctively reaching up to grab onto his shoulders for stability. His Burberry suit is buttery soft under your fingers.
“Whoa … y-you really don’t have to carry me,” you stammer out as he easily lifts your frame.
Those rich brown eyes meet yours with an amused glint. “I insist. Can’t have one of the brightest new voices in music getting any more hurt, can we?”
You bite your lip shyly, unable to hold back a small smile of wonderment. Is this really happening right now?
“I’ll be fine, honestly,” you try again as Lewis maneuvers around the gathered crowd, heading for a discreet exit with Samantha close behind. “Just a little banged up.”
“Your wrist is already swelling, love,” he points out with a frown. “Best to get it checked properly, yes?”
“I … yeah, okay,” you acquiesce quietly, not having the energy or brainpower to argue with him further.
The two of you disappear through a door and down a mercifully empty hallway, leaving the stunned crowd and flashing cameras behind. Samantha is rapidly conversing with security to locate the nearest medic station.
“Thank you,” you murmur, letting your head rest wearily against Lewis’ shoulder. Up close, he smells incredible — like crisp bergamot and just a hint of expensive cologne. “For helping me, I mean. I’m sure you had better things to do tonight than playing knight in shining armor.”
Lewis smiles down at you, eyes crinkling in a way that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. “What a coincidence, I just so happen to be a knight.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling shy under his warm gaze. “Lucky for me then, I suppose.”
“Indeed,” he agrees with a wink. “Though I can’t take all the credit. That dress is clearly too stunning for us mere mortals to handle.”
A watery giggle slips past your lips before you can stop it. Even slightly concussed and in quite a bit of pain, you can’t deny that foreign flutters are dancing in your stomach just from being in Lewis’ presence. He’s even more charming in person than you ever could have dreamed.
“You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton,” you tease lightly. “But I’ll be sure to leave the couture gowns at home next time.”
Lewis opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Samantha hurrying over with a young medic in tow, his kit already open. The worried expression on her face deepens when she sees your obviously injured wrist cradled against your chest.
“Thank god you have her,” she exhales in relief, nodding towards Lewis. “What do we know so far?”
“Took a pretty hard fall down those stairs,” Lewis explains calmly as the medic kneels down to begin his assessment. “She was unconscious for a moment and seems to have injured her wrist as well.”
You wince as the medic gently prods along your forearm. “Definitely a sprain at the very least,” he confirms. “And with the way her pupils are reacting ...”
He shines a small light into both your eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’d say mild concussion too. We should get her to the infirmary for further evaluation, just in case.”
Hearing his words, a small wave of panic crashes over you. Missing any part of tonight because of this would be devastating. You force yourself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the room spins sickeningly.
“No, no I’ll be fi-”
“You’re not going anywhere but to get checked out properly,” Lewis cuts you off firmly, placing a staying hand on your shoulder. His expression brooks no argument. “Head injuries are nothing to mess around with, love.”
You open your mouth to protest again, but Samantha quickly interjects. “He’s absolutely right. We’re not taking any chances with your health.”
As much as you hate to admit it, they do have a point. If your condition really is as serious as the medic suggests, it could be dangerous to simply brush it off. You let out a resigned sigh, wilting back against Lewis’ sturdy chest.
“I suppose you’re ri-”
Before you can finish your sentence, a sudden dizzy spell washes over you. Bile rises in your throat as the room tilts crazily. Your voice trails off into an anguished groan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fighting off waves of nausea.
“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting you looked at immediately,” Lewis declares. He shifts you effortlessly in his arms and strides down the hallway, the medic and Samantha hurrying to keep up.
The rest of the journey to the infirmary is a blur. You’re vaguely aware of being transferred to a gurney and giving the doctor on staff your information. Lewis’ worried face keeps appearing in your line of vision, his voice a soothing balm against the incessant pounding in your skull.
Finally, the doctor confirms that while your concussion isn’t serious, you definitely need to be monitored overnight. A brace is fitted around your sprained wrist and you’re given strict instructions on managing the symptoms over the next few days. Throughout it all, Lewis remains stubbornly by your side, declining offer after offer to return to the main event.
Thoroughly drugged and exhausted by this point, you can barely keep your eyes open as a wheelchair is brought over to transport you out to the car waiting area. Lewis helps you into it carefully, crouching down in front of you with a tender expression.
“I’m so sorry,” you mumble miserably, gesturing vaguely to your bandaged wrist and slightly dazed state. “I’ve completely ruined your whole night … your entrance, your photo ops … everything.”
He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head adamantly. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. I’d take meeting someone as wonderful as you over all of that any day.”
You blink up at him in surprise, an embarrassed blush staining your cheeks. Did he really just say that? Lewis Hamilton, world famous athlete and heartthrob, thinks you’re wonderful?
“Still,” you protest weakly. “This is supposed to be your night to shine. And now you’re stuck playing nurse for a clumsy fool.”
Lewis arches an eyebrow sternly. “I think you’ve bumped your head around a bit too much, darling. That’s no way to speak about yourself.”
He reaches out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, his calloused fingertips grazing your flushed cheek with unexpected tenderness. Your breath catches in your throat at the gentle gesture.
“Missing out on some silly party is more than worth it to me if I got to meet someone as lovely as you,” Lewis continues honestly. His eyes are filled with sincerity. “The only thing I’m upset about is that you were the one who got hurt.”
You’re rendered speechless for a long moment, completely disarmed by his words. Never in a million years could you have imagined this kind of scenario playing out tonight. Is this all really happening?
Finally, you manage a weak smile, blushing furiously under his warm regard. “You’re too kind, Sir Hamilton.”
“Please, call me Lewis,” he insists with a wink. “And let me know where you’re staying, yeah? I’ll come by tomorrow to check on how you’re doing myself.”
Your eyes widen in surprise and you quickly scramble to recall the name of your hotel. “U-Um, the Lotte New York Palace,” you stammer out shyly. “But you really don’t have to do that ...”
Lewis waves off your protest easily, rising to his feet with a soothing grin. “Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll be by with some breakfast to make sure my favorite new artist is being properly taken care of.”
With a final wink and dazzling smile, he steps aside to allow an assistant to wheel you towards the exit. Your head is still swimming, though you can’t blame it entirely on the concussion this time.
Did Lewis Hamilton, actual living legend, really just say he was coming to check on you tomorrow?
You allow yourself a tiny, bewildered smile as the night breeze washes over your heated cheeks. Somehow, despite all the mishaps, this crazy night had turned into something straight out of the kind of romantic comedy you secretly loved.
Perhaps falling on your face in front of the entire world wasn’t so disastrous after all.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#lewis hamilton#lh44#lewis hamilton imagine#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton fic#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#lewis hamilton x y/n#mercedes#lewis hamilton one shot#lewis hamilton fanfiction#met gala
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Drabble Prompt
“Oh,” Clark breathed, stopping himself from reaching out. Bruce was beautiful, form between the terror of Gotham and the far too kind human man, mechanical wings outstretched yet loose. Like some sort of personal cover from any prying eyes, claws so viciously sharp and dangerous now relaxed against the ground.
Long hair as black as a moonless night framed eyes as blue as fresh glacier ice, though were far warmer and shy in the way they peered through heavy lashes. His suit fit him perfectly, armored yet clinging against his form, accentuating every curve and muscle, shifting as he steadily breathed.
“Oh?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, one of them being bisected by a scar, usually covered by the cowl. Yet he still kept the silhouette from before, a mixture of paranoia and anxiety not letting him take the secondary ears off just in case.
“You’re beautiful,” Clark told him honestly, resting a hand on the other man's waist from where he sat. A flush spread across Bruce’s skin, incredibly obvious against the paleness of sun-starved flesh as he looked up from ice-blue eyes.
#superbat#batman au#batman#dc#dcu#prompts#cryptid batman#superman#bruce wayne#clark kent#battinson#have a prompt of a drabble I'll never finish lol#feel free to use#clark absolutely adores bruce & vice versa#why yes this is Clark's first look at Bruce when he's not in public gala stuff#The batkids: fuckin finally y'all were pining so much
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a jealous pedro boy?? (dealers choice 😭)
(pushes money across the table)
you are a really good writer 🫂
Thank you so much! I got you, but I obviously had to make it dieter at the met gala ;) (no reader description here <3)
*****
Dieter knows you can feel his eyes on you from the other side of the carpet.
You’d only arrived at the Met about twenty minutes ago, but you’d both been immediately swept to different sides of the room. Him by a couple of coordinators to have pictures with some of the guys in the movie he’s working on in a few months, and you with some actors and actresses who have made appearances in the show you’ve been working on—including your ex.
You’re surprised there isn’t a hole burned into your back yet. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you,—no, not at all—but more so that your ex has not taken his eyes off of you since you walked in.
And he can’t deny that you look fucking devine, but you’re also his. And your ex has no right to ogle you the way he is right now. He should know by now that the two of you are together, that you have been for a few months.
He can barely hear anything that’s being said around him, too busy watching how your ex seems to sneak closer and closer to you. It’s only once the man’s hand finds a home on your hip, that he breaks and makes his way over to you, pictures be damned.
You’re busy trying to shove him off without attracting too much attention, when Dieter reaches you. He swiftly comes up to your other side, winds his arm around your waist, and tugs you close to him. You visibly relax as your ex is forced to back off. You catch Dee raising his brows at him, giving him the hint to take a hike.
Your resounding sigh as you melt into him ebbs away at the jealousy burning in his gut—not that he’d ever admit that’s what it was. The two of you pose for some pictures, trying to play the whole thing off to not cause conflict, even though he secretly wishes he could. People would be appalled by your ex’s behavior.
“Jealous much?” you whisper into his ear. Okay, maybe he will admit it.
He looks at you, jaw clenched, as he scratches his chin. “Maybe a little,” he decides.
You hum and look back to the cameras. “We might have to find a closet and figure out what to do to get that out of you, don’t you think? Don’t want you to be too pent-up before we even get to the party.”
Dee looks at you again, and this time there’s something hungry in his gaze. You smirk and switch your pose, making a point to not look at his crotch and the growing bulge that’s sure to be there.
*****
More drabbles here
#pedro pascal#fan fiction#ao3#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#dieter bravo fanfic#dieter bravo#met gala#fic request#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo fanfiction#the bubble fanfiction#dieter bravo x reader#drabble#gn reader
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Mermie, do we ever find out how Weeds and Bakugou's Halloween went? 🥺 It's sooo cute that Deku notices that he's in a good mood the day after!
It’d be very quiet! A Sunday; the shop’s open on Sundays, so Weeds will go into work even though Bakugou has the day off. Neither of them will realise it, but they’ve been making the upcoming date worse for themselves by worrying about the other. Trauma is trauma and Bakugou’s had his fair share of them, so in some ways he’s better at weathering it than our Weedsie-Woo—but also he was there for the fallout in a way that Weeds, being knocked out, wasn’t. Like, he had to deal with all the horrible what-ifs and the realities—what-if Weeds and the kid are dead, what-if Weeds is dead, what-if he can’t find Weeds, what-if he never gets the chance to get over himself and say how he feels? And with the current case being on-going, Bakugou’s already going to be extra vigilant—Weeds would know, would’ve seen first hand just how much of his time and his energy it’s taking, and a big worry of hers would be the that maybe he’d be mirroring whatever anxiety she has, and adding it to his own load.
‼️📍 18+/MDNI — vague (and i mean vague) smut.
Because!!! Weeds wouldn’t be immune to the anniversary; very few of us would be. And like, maybe the lead-up to the date is worse than Halloween itself, you know? Like it’d be small things—Weeds being reluctant to have her back to the shop door. Keeping her hearing aid in, whereas before she might’ve been laxer with it. Being reluctant to stay over at Bakugou’s apartment—not because she doesn’t like it, but because she’s worried about the coming back to her small home, and the staleness of air and the reminder that there had been a chance she might not have at all, once.
Haru too isn’t unaffected—Weeds goes with him and his grandmother to the Silent Disco the Deaf Association hold again that year, during the week, but throughout the night he stops when he’s among the other kids and darts back, making sure Akane and Weeds are still there (they are—talking to Haru’s JSL tutor, who’s still friendly and still warm and still makes sure Weed’s pockets fill with sweets, to take home). Haru and his mum leave the city for the weekend—go to the seaside, maybe, or somewhere with a cool open-air museum where Haru can run around and be miles and miles away from the shop street or big, overhead concrete buildings.
(He facetimes Weeds early that Saturday night; Bakugou’s making dinner, keeping an eye on the conversation, Weeds on the couch as she and Haru share about their days and some new video game that Haru wants his mother to buy him for the handheld console he’d gotten for his birthday that year. Neither of them talk about Quirks.)
Saturday night is quiet. They eat dinner and watch something mundane and ignore the spooky movies that are playing. Sunday morning is much the same pace—they sleep in, they wake up. They languidly touch each other in some kind of silent reassurance until they’re both surer; Bakugou teasing Weeds, teasing himself with the warmth between them as he bites at the swell of a breast, a strong hand holding Weed’s face in place.
Later, showered and fresh, he makes them breakfast—egg over rice, fried spam, avocado that he scoops with a melon-baller. Neither of them mention the significance of the day, and Weeds doesn’t dress for it. He walks Weeds to the train station under the guise of an errand. When Weeds is at work Bakugou returns to the apartment and does some housework—laundry, moping, vacuuming. There’s a cake waiting in the fridge—that morning’s errand, something Sato baked—small and perfectly sized to share. Bakugou eats lunch and reads up on a few things and preps what he can of dinner and then, with the sun still up in the sky, he goes to meet Weeds at work.
The flower shop has been warm, even in the October cool. Akane has been in and out, and extra loud next door—for Weed’s benefit, for her own. Other shopkeepers in the street wave to Weeds or come over to gossip with Akane and at one point Kirishima comes by on patrol, the old aunties of the street surrounding him like school girls. Weeds cuts flower stems and sweeps the floor and clears out what she needs to from the fridge and orders new ribbon (red and black, she’s running low) and looks over her orders for the coming week and what she’ll need to buy from the markets—and then the afternoon comes and Bakugou’s there and she smiles at him and they both ease up; just a little.
The shop closes early on Sundays; he helps Weeds bring in plants and buckets of flowers and the shop sign and gives Weeds space as she’s locking up the shopfront. They make their way back to Bakugou’s apartment, across the other-side of the city, stopping only to pick up a couple of things from the supermarket, bickering over which drinks to get and green-tea chocolates (“Got you some sweet shit back at home,” he says, disgruntled, though the chocolates make their way into the basket regardless). They walk past a Halloween display that includes an inflatable Grim Reaper and don’t think anything of it, though Bakugou bumps his shoulder into hers on the way out, their bags in hand.
They make dinner together and eat it to a view of the city and Bakugou will pull out the little cake for dessert and Weeds will almost, almost make a joke about this being a Congrats You Didn’t Die cake.
She doesn’t, though, and after dinner, after the cake, when they’ve cleaned up everything, Weeds will go to kiss him—surprised instead by the force he accepts it with, the way he kisses back, pulling her to him.
It’s his own fear, his own relief. The only way he can think of to express these things. He spends a long while lingering over her, his hands warming the longer they stay on her, Bakugou concentrating on feeling her fall apart against him. He bares his teeth against the pulse of her neck and pants fuck and s’okay against her wet skin and she pulls him into a kiss that’s barely a whisper, promising against his mouth, s’okay. It makes him shudder, and afterwards in the safety of his bed, his room, his home, he holds Weeds tight.
(They spend the night like this; entangled, entangling, and the next day at Riot Ground Kaminari cheers Izuku with his waterbottle, when the other Pro walks into the agency’s kitchen.
“I like Kacchan way more when he’s getting laid regularly,” he says, causing Izuku to sputter and almost drop his own drink.)
#ofmermaidstories-asks#it’s not a proper drabble but—i hope it gets the idea across anon 🥺#should i write it out properly for the one-shot collection i wanna do?#we could shove it between kacchan’s birthday and the gala 🧐#‼️📍 content warnings at the beginning of the post 📍‼️#surrender-fic verse#this love (is ours) — collection#prompts and drabbles and other things
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Hero x villain fake dating. Now. NOW.
(Also love you MUAH MUAH)
Yes ma’am. HAPPY NATIONAL GIRLFRIEND DAY, BABY!!! I love you so so so so so so so so so so much <33333333333333333
(No reposts but reblogs appreciated <3)
Love is in the Air
“Mmmm, you look so hot in that outfit…” Villain drawled, eyeing up the hero who was panicking to get dressed and ready.
Hero stopped their fussing and glared at their nemesis. “Thanks. It’s for the gala, if you had forgotten?” The edge in their tone was evident, they were slightly annoyed—if not frustrated—with the way things were panning out.
Oh, and not to mention the fact that they were stuck having to pretend to be Villains lover for the night.
“Come on, I’m not that bad am I?” Villain stood up, heading over to Hero’s side as they helped them pick miscellaneous things off the ground and tidy up. Hero let out an annoyed huff but they continued with their rushed cleaning alongside Villain.
“You are that bad. You’re terrible.” Hero scoffed, dropping their things on their half of the bed—which was defined by a very large pillow wall Hero had created to keep the two halves separated.
Villain winced playfully. “Ouch, are you always this mean? Normally the roles are reversed, hm?”
Hero’s patience was beginning to run thin, they were already overwhelmed with the whole undercover situation and Villains incessant teasing was becoming a bother at this point.
“Do you ever shut up?” Hero asked, pausing to turn and glare at their enemy. “Like seriously, all you’ve ever done since we got assigned this stupid project is talk. Talk talk talk talk talk. Can you just be quiet for one second???”
Hero had to admit that it came out harsher than they wanted it to. They didn’t mean to actually hurt Villain, they just got caught up in the heat of the moment. And when Villains face dropped and they took a step back, Hero knew they had fucked up.
Villain cleared their throat, acting unfazed as they angled themselves away from their fake partner. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, yeah.” As much as Villain refused to be hurt by Hero’s words, they stung. But they pushed away their pain and squeezed their eyes tight, they were not about to cry over a stupid fake dating game with their stupid nemesis.
The words left an acid-like taste behind in Hero’s mouth, filling their throat with a taste similar to bile as they swallowed back their guilt. The night had barely started and they had already ruined everything. There was no way this mission could continue if they didn’t fix it right here, right now.
Just as Hero was about to speak up Villain interrupted them. “Do you really mean that?” Villains back was turned completely towards the hero, but a slight wobble in their voice gave their hidden pain away. “I mean, about like me being terrible?”
There was a moment of silence between the two since Villain had stopped their cleaning and Hero froze in their steps. Hero sighed, rubbing a hand over their face as they let their chest deflated in defeat. They hadn’t meant what they said, but it was too late to take it back now.
Villain scoffed, it was quiet and under their breath but it was there. They shook their head, “I’m sorry.” They whispered, Hero barely heard it. They almost wished they hadn’t, but the second they did—the second Villain began walking away from them—they reached out and grabbed them.
Pulling Villain close and then pushing them up against the wall, forcing them into close contact and to lock eyes. “Villain. You are terrible. You’re the worst. You’re a villain for fucks sake. But you’re my villain. You’re my beautiful evil and you’re my date tonight. And if there’s one thing I know for a fact it’s that you are the best lover out there and it’s about time I made it up to you.”
Villain averted their gaze, pressing themselves closer to the wall to create a space away from Hero. “You’re just saying that.”
Hero chuckled slightly, watching the blush creep up Villains neck, but the sound of footsteps outside their bedroom door was enough to snap them back into reality. “Want me to prove it?” They smirked as they heard the handle turn and click to open the room door. In the blink of an eye their lips were on Villains, both hands on their hips, toying with the dress clothes on Villains body.
To Hero’s somewhat surprise Villain kissed them back with such passion, one hand on the back of Hero’s head, pulling them closer and the other too close to the crime-stoppers inner thigh.
“Ah, young love. Always so strong and vehement. Oh, how I long to feel such ways again…” Supervillain groaned from where they stood in against the doorframe. The couple separated for a second to turn to the gala host and blush nervously, but Supervillain waved them on. “Don’t let me interrupt you, just making sure all my guests are having a good time!” The master criminal laughed as they turned and shut the door.
In the end, the mission worked out surprisingly well. They both gathered the information they needed off Supervillain and they didn’t have to fake any of the feelings between them any longer.
#I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DARLING#HAPPY NATIONAL GIRLFRIEND DAY!!!!#to the best girlfriend out there <3#hero x villain#villain x hero#villain#hero#drabbles#fantasy#imagines#oneshots#scenarios#fake dating#hero and villain#villain and hero#supervillain#gala#fake dating>>>>>>>>>>>>>
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"So...you've already invited people to the gala?"
Jai gives a muffled 'Mmmhm.' around the mouthful of food he'd taken. Taking a moment to smile at the expectant looking food vendor he and his cousin had stopped at.
"Yeah, why not? I figured it'd help Uncle Fei out if I got some of my connections out here. What, haven't you been contacting people, too? Or organizing, or whatever else?"
He hadn't even finished speaking, before Areix had started looking sheepish. Well, he supposed that answered that question. One dark brow quirked downward, lips turning upward in a taunting grin that had Areix giving a huff in response.
"Don't give me that look! I've been getting somewhere good with my current project, and I...may or may not have gotten a little carried away in trying to get it done. But I was going to help with organizing as soon as we got to the castle, okay?! Really! Come on, don't laugh at me, Jai...!"
"Rei, you do realize what day it is, right?" The long pause, followed by a begrudging grumble that Jai got in response saw an amused snort escape him. "...At this point, everything is probably done and ready, knowing Uncle Fei. All that's left to do is show up!"
#[Royalty verse]#[JJ -drabbles-]#[Areix -drabbles-]#As you can see Setia is going to be having a gala#other kingdoms are being invited#If anyone has nobility/royalty/what-have-you that wanna attend...😎#I'll probably make a starter thing tomorrow#or I'll post it tonight and then reblog it tomorrow whichever
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Ruggie Bucchi is once again the highlight of every event he’s in. AND we get to work directly with him !!
#liya chats#spoilers#twisted wonderland#ruggie bucchi#HES SO SPECIAL TO ME#anyways I should write a drabble about fairy gala shenanigans it’ll be fun#ruggieeeeee
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Fairy Gala Jack and S/O (rot? kinda)
He was crowned with the flowers that boasted of vernal opulence— white starflowers that were like gleaming stars to the silvered sky. A snow white white peony was neatly tucked beside his ear, it's overlapping petals were pleasing to the eye.
He was beautiful. Though, it wasn't the gilded beauty of lilac and jewels, of royalty and extravagance. It was the beauty that you can compare to rolling hills of wildflowers, it was sweet and simple. It was something personal, intimate.
It was wild as it was gentle. It was as beautiful as stone arcs and impressive canyons. He held the roughness of the savannah and the softness of the flora that grows within it.
You gazed at the pools of gold, ones that held pride and confidence. The silver shade of eyeshadow adorned his eyes, it made him all the more stunning.
Your heart was soaring, beating a mile per second as you drunk in his entire figure. Handsome, like it was chiseled by the finest hands on the finest marble. He was heavensent, the light the penetrated through the windows looked almost like a halo.
He stepped closer, striding through the grass. Almost like a dream, or a phantom of sorts that floated towards your lovestruck self.
Silver. It wrapped around him perfectly, like the color itself was hand-made for his likeness. He wore the same shade as the moon you'd often admire.
"Hey...!" He was taken aback by your sudden movements. In a heartbeat, your lips planted itself on his. It was magical, enchanting, a Halley's Comet kind of opportunity to see him like this.
"You're beautiful..." The words left your mouth. It was the truth and the whole truth, he was indeed beautiful. You know that more than anyone else.
"You really think so...?" He asked, shy. The faintest tint of pink dusted his bronze cheeks. "I know so." You flashed him a reassuring smile.
"Come back here." He called, pulling you in for another heart stopping kiss. Another shower of his love, and you gladly accepted it.
#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#jack howl#gn!mc#jack howl x reader#twst fanfic#twst oneshot#twst drabble#fluff#twst fluff#fairy gala#twst jp#twst imagine#JACK HOWL OH MY GOD YOU HANDSOME CREATURE#jack howl fluff#gender neutral reader#twst x reader#writing#my writing#JACK HOWL ROT OH MY GOD#JACK#YOU'RE SO AUAIWOSKDO#established relationship
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💚
#somehow i got so many new followers today hello hello hello!!!!#welcome to my silly diasomnia space where i post my inane babbles about (mainly) lilia and silver and of course mal and dear sebek!!#so happy to have you here!! 💚 pls check out my tags for some fun drabbles and hcs!#(tables the fairy gala reaction post for tomorrow i got so side tracked BUT THE INSPIRATION IS REAL AHHH)
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𑁍⋆ Eya - Ep. II ⋆ 𑁍
Rating: Teen and up
Wordcount: 2.7k
Characters: Eya (Mando!Nautolan!OC), Marilys (dancer!OC), Raia (Togruta!OC belonging to @cyarbika) and mention of Cherise (owner of 79's, who also belongs to Bee)
Warnings: very slight allusions to sexy times, angsty thoughts, non-exclusive relationship, some flirting, one (1) mention of gore though fairly non-descriptive.
Just to avoid any confusion: Eya is also referred to by their full name - Kyreya. Eya uses they/them pronouns.
Eya Artwork ⋆ Eya’s Charactersheet ⋆ My Masterlist
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Closing Time
One night at 79's, 19 BBY
Slender fingers hook into the shoulder straps of Kyreya’s top and tug slightly.
“This new?”
Eya turns to the side and their eyes are met with Raia’s sparkling ones, full of tender mischief. Eya’s tendrils curl up happily when Raia’s finger trails down their side before she pulls away. It’s not much - barely the ghost of a touch - but it is enough that Eya can barely think anymore. Their own desire hangs heavy in the air, too heavy for them to taste anything else, too heavy for them to rely on the chemicals that Raia emits. In moments like these, Eya always realises how much they usually do rely on their sixth sense. They sigh internally. Reading facial expressions is so much harder - a trait Kyreya’s own people never cultivated when amongst their own. Why bother when the smell, the gentle touch of tendrils, expresses so much more? There is no need, really. Especially when helmeted-
Kyreya stops themself. No. No thinking about that today. Focus. Raia. Now.
The cybernetic eye whirs louder than it should when it focuses on the way Raia’s teeth sparkle in the strobing lights, on how her eyes shine when she grins wide. How her lekku swing when she casually steps back and wipes the counter, her eyes flicking between the smooth surface and Eya’s neutral face. Eya curses their own starforsaken pheromones for clouding their judgement. Does this same desire tint Raia’s aura?
Once again, Eya wishes there were another Nautolan here they could ask. But none of the customers are well enough acquainted to ask for so personal a favour, and asking the dancers… that could lead to awkward questions. Kyreya throws a quick glance over their shoulder, flashing a practiced smile at Marilys who is lazily sprawled across the floor, her legs moving in beat to mesmerise a shiny whose eyes are fixed on her form. Not that Eya could blame him.
Marilys is beautiful, to say the least. And both of them agreed- nothing exclusive. Just a bit of fun on the side. A way to blow off some steam. And still… asking one of the few Nautolan dancers to taste the air of another would feel like betraying Marilys.
Eya’s thoughts are broken by Raia, who chuckles and holds a glass up to see if it needs polishing.
“Not in a chatty mood today, are we?” The Togruta clicks her tongue and smiles. “Not that you ever are, just- is something the matter?”
Yes. I want to taste you.
Eya shakes their head. That is not something one can say that to a stranger - well. Not that Raia is a stranger, but… ugh. Why does it have to be so complicated? They bare their fangs when they smile at Raia, and there is no missing the way the Togruta’s eyes flick down to catch on the silver that sparkles between Eya’s lips. Kyram’edeem - the fatal bite. So many reminders of old lives never truly lived. Raia does not mean anything by it, she does not mean to stare. Eya knows this, and still, it stings, that even after all this time… there seems to be no escaping the past. Finally, Kyreya finds their voice.
“No… no, nothing in particular. Just a… nostalgic day, I suppose.”
Raia shrugs and starts polishing a glass that was already perfect to begin with.
“We all get those, Eya love.”
Eya’s tendrils curl so far up they can feel them tickling their gills. They bend across the counter, their frame still towering over Raia even now.
“Moved on to nicknames, have we?”
“Just trying to comfort you,” Raia defends herself, but she is giggling wildly. Eya presses their lips together as they smile. No need to invite more questions, although they seem to become unavoidable the longer they know Raia. But it is a dangerous game, when the feelings get stronger each day even though they should not. Eya should know better. They cannot talk about their past, not to anyone. It is too risky, too ugly, too chaotic. Raia would not understand – she couldn’t. And Eya would not blame her. And without talking, without getting to know the other person, how will they ever form a relationship? No, it is impossible. Which is why Marilys is a safer bet. No strings attached. As if Kyreya’s thoughts called out to her, two small arms wrap around their waist from behind.
“Hey, baby.”
Eya snorts.
“I still think it’s funny you call me that. I’m twice your size, little one.”
Marilys stands on her tippy-toes, but even in those high platform heels her nose barely bumps Eya’s chest when she nudges them.
“My shift’s nearly over,” she twitters, then interrupts herself to smile at Raia and ask for some water. Her hand sneaks over to Eya’s thigh, tapping little rhythms on their leg. “You got some time for me… baby?”
Her teasing tone and obvious intention make Kyreya laugh. With Marilys, everything is easy. Uncomplicated. And… shallow. Not in a bad way. It’s what Eya needs, or so they keep telling themself. It’s what is possible, and so they must be content.
“Sure, darlin’.” Eya makes a conscious effort to smile at Marilys. Humans are especially finnicky about facial expressions, or so they have found. Especially when the eyes - to them - say so little already. One big Nautolan eye, so dark that the pupil is barely visible, on cybernetic eye that for all its supposed ‘upgrades’ still cannot truly replace the emotion that eyes can express. Kyreya’s face truly cannot be easy to decipher.
“Splendid! Won’t be more than an hour!” Marilys climbs onto the barstool next to Eya to press a kiss to their cheek, then waves and flutters off, back to the stage where the troopers welcome her back with enthusiasm.
“She’s so sweet,” Raia murmurs and slides a pint of dark ale across the counter towards Eya.
“She is,” Eya muses, their eyes fixed on Marilys who is blowing kisses at the troopers worshipping the very ground she walks on. “Not just pretence, either. Just genuinely… sweet.”
Raia smiles.
“A rare one, then. You gonna… walk her home?” She waggles her brows and laughter bubbles in Eya’s chest. They distract themselves by digging into their trouser pockets in search for their hydro-cig. The air gets drier and drier in this place. They’ll need to talk to Cherise about that if it keeps getting worse.
Raia slides something across the counter and Eya looks up to find a charged and filled hydro-cig sitting in front of them. Raia shrugs.
“I keep them on hand for aquatic customers. I know the air in here isn’t great.”
“Only disadvantage of working in this place,” Eya grumbles. “The bar I tried before this was aquatics only but didn’t seem half as much fun.”
“I’ve heard Nautolans are pretty tough,” Raia grins and tosses one lek over her shoulder. Eya shrugs and chooses their words carefully.
“We are, we just… it’s not like I’ll die if I don’t get in the water. I’m just more comfortable there. And in here it’s more comfortable smoking to keep my gills from drying out… which is ironic, considering smoking actually describes quite the opposite of what this thing does for me.”
They take a deep drag and gurgle quietly when the water coats their lungs.
“What’s- sorry. I don’t mean to be impolite.” Raia bites her lip and Eya’s brow raises.
“I’d tell you if you were,” they say quickly. “So… ask away. I won’t be offended.”
Raia stares at the countertop, then pulls her shoulders back and looks Eya straight in the eye.
“Please actually tell me if it’s impolite, but… what’s that noise you make? Does it mean anything?”
“What noise?”
“That… what you just did. This little sound where it sounds like you’re gurgling water.” Raia gestures vaguely towards Eya’s throat.
“Ah.” Kyreya pauses and considers. “I’ve never thought much about it. We all do it, at least in my cl- in my family we did. It’s a sign of… not happiness, exactly. I think the most exact translation I can think of would be… the-state-that-was-has-become-better-through-ease.”
Raia stares at them, her mouth slightly agape.
“You mean like relief?”
“Oh. Well- yes.” Eya knocks their fists together in embarrassment, cringing at the sound of the metal that is always so much louder than intended. “Yes, I suppose. Relief.”
Raia’s roaring laughter fills the room, so loud that a few customers look over. It’s a weekday, and most battalions seem to be deployed, so it is a quiet night. Still, Eya hastily shushes Raia. Her laughter is not malicious in the least, she is not making fun of Eya. It feels more like an easy, shallow joy. Like fun, together.
“Oh dear, for someone who doesn’t talk much your language sure seems complicated,” Raia chuckles to herself. Eya grins, then hastily shuts their mouth when they catch the shiny reflection of their teeth in the mirror behind Raia. The Togruta seems to notice the sudden change, judging from her questioning looks, but she does not ask out loud, and so Eya decides it is best to ignore this issue for now. It would only complicate things.
Hey, I know we’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but I just wanted to tell you the reason I don’t smile more at you although custom tells me I should is because I ripped out a man’s throat with my Kyram’edeem and now I can’t look at them anymore without thinking of the unjustified bloodbath that followed.
Eya shakes their head. Yeah… not a great conversation in any context. Not now, not later… maybe never. Their tendrils tremble with the memory, and Eya takes a sip of the ale that is dark and bitter and so different from the net’ra gal they sipped the night of victory… the night of the massacre.
“You alright, baby?” Marilys’s voice that sounds like bells and sunshine rips Eya from their thoughts of blood and murder. Their severed tendril recoils, and Eya impatiently brushes it back.
“Yeah, I’m grand. You good to go?”
Marilys looks so different out of her little dancer outfit - short hair instead of long, wide trousers, oversized shirt… she seems to drown in her clothes. Nothing left of the tight-fitted bodysuit she is usually in when she dances, the one that hugs all her curves exactly right. Eya eyes the sweater that hangs on Marilys’s frame like a sack suspiciously.
“Hey, isn’t this mine?”
“…yes?” Marilys peers up at them and bats her lashes. “But it was comfy and I was cold. I should’ve asked, sorry- do you mind?”
Eya shakes their head quietly and tugs on the sweater, then throws their arm across Marilys’s shoulders.
“Nope. I don’t mind, Lys. Not in the least.”
“Phew, good.” Marilys sighs in dramatic relief. “I’m not sure how I would’ve lived with myself if you did.”
She presses a kiss to Eya’s bare arm - the only part she can reach, really - then tugs on their belt.
“Come on, let’s go. I’m tired.”
“Too tired for this?” Eya grind and lifts Lys high up in the air before pulling her against their chest and kissing her nose. Marilys sighs happily and wraps her legs around Eya’s waist to kiss them back deeply.
“Never.” She winks, then twists around in Eya’s arms to wave at Raia. “Goodnight!”
Kyreya looks quickly at Raia.
“You gonna be alright closing up on your own, Raia?”
“Sure! I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.” Raia lowers her voice. “Though maybe pick up those two stragglers near the door on your way out so I can lock up.”
“Oy!” Eya calls, and the two troopers lingering near the exit look over at them. “Come on, troopers. Bar’s closing up for the night.”
One of the troopers hums and haws and blushes so dark red he looks like a blumfruit.
“I just wanted to ask the bartender-“
“He hasn’t got the nerve to ask her out,” the other interrupts him. The first trooper elbows him in the side, but concedes.
“Well… yeah. Been trying to gather my courage all night, but- yeah. Thought rejection might sting less when there’s not so many people around anymore.”
“Not very optimistic, are you?” Eya notes, but their voice is soft, not snide. The trooper’s crush is honest, that much they can taste in the air. “But, whatever the reason… either ask now, or come back tomorrow. You can’t stay here. We’re the last ones out.”
The trooper nods and shifts uncomfortably.
“I’ll come back then,” he says quietly. Eya slaps his shoulder and he stumbles a bit. Whoops.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to put that much force behind it,” they mumble and the trooper smiles.
“No worries.”
“Where are you guys headed?” Marilys chirps, hanging from Eya’s arm.
“Barracks,” the second trooper shrugs. “Not much else to do. We’re shipping out in a couple days, thought we’d enjoy the time while we could.”
“Hmm, not our direction then,” Eya says. “Sorry lads. Come on, we’ll at least take you to the station with us.”
They gently shove the troopers in front of them and wave back to Raia one last time before pulling the doors shut behind them, inhaling the fresh Coruscant air. Well, maybe fresh is a bit exaggerated. Just a different kind of pong than the bar, really.
“How’d you know we didn’t know where to go?” the first trooper asks. Eya grins, and the trooper shies back before catching himself. Fuck. Forgetting the kyram’edeem gets easier and easier every day, until the reactions of other people bring back unwelcome reminders of the past.
“We didn’t,” Kyreya responds finally. “Just, you can’t really walk anywhere from here. So, station is more than likely.”
They walk in silence for a bit, before Marilys, whose curiosity is bursting at the seams, can’t hold back anymore and starts firing questions at the poor shinies. Eya listens with half an ear, but is more than content with saying nothing. Conversation is more Marilys’s area of expertise. They wave the two troopers off at the station, then change platforms to catch their own train. Marilys nestles up against Eya’s side, her eyes falling closed as she nods off. Eya doesn’t have to ask, your place or mine? It’s Marilys’s, it always is, for the simple reason that Eya’s apartment is a communal living waterpod on the lower levels. Most of their flat is flooded, save for the spaces where Jaster usually goes. Kyreya tried living alone, they did, but it was too quiet, too eerie, another unfamiliar thing in an already unfamiliar city. And communal living is so much less expensive. They have their own rooms, but there is a communal kitchen and hangout area, and Eya likes their living mates. They are nice and respectful and still familiar enough to be someone to come home to. As it should always be. Once again, Kyreya shrugs off unwelcome memories. The train announcement calls the right level, and Eya picks up Marilys carefully so she doesn’t wake up, and carries her outside. The walk to Lys’s apartment complex is quick, and the door unlocks with Eya’s bioscan.
Thank Nephto they only need one eye, Eya had joked when they had first put their data into the system, and Marilys had laughed and asked no questions. So easy.
Lys stirs when Eya places her on the soft bed that’s nearly long enough to house even Eya’s enormous frame.
“Hey,” Marilys pouts. “m‘ya I wanted- wanted t’take care of ya.”
“That’s alright, little one,” Eya soothes her. “Tomorrow. You’re tired, we’ll sleep first.”
“Mhm.” Lys is already half-asleep again. She cuddles closer and wraps her small frame around Eya. She is so soft, always so soft in all the right places. Eya’s eyes close as they inhale the scent of Marilys’s perfume, their shampoo… one tendril snakes its way around Lys’s shoulder and Eya breathes in the deep contentment and the affection the lingers in the air.
“G’night ‘ya,” Lys mumbles. “‘morrow… talk. After caf.”
“Mhm,” Eya hums. “Tomorrow.”
So easy.
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#gala's ocs#oc eya#oc marilys#other people's ocs#oc cherise#oc raia#eya's adventures#tcw fanfic#79's#galawrites#gala's drabbles
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Prompt W— Festive Sign and Wooden Cabinet for slythindor100 and "box" for newyearcntdown
It's the most wonderful time… (AO3)
After the news of their relationship spread in the wizarding world, it was out for good.
They'd managed to keep it a secret for a year but now, he was invited to the Burrow to meet the Weasleys and have dinner with them.
Draco was terrified to face the Weasleys, even though they'd forgiven him years prior. Still, this wasn't just "ex-death-eater-Draco" going to the Burrow, it was "Harry Bloody Potter's boyfriend-Draco."
What if they hated him?
He knew he had to do the best thing he could. He used up his savings to buy lavish presents for all.
#drarry#art#my art#drabble#drarry drabble#25 days of drarry#25 DAYS 2022#25 days of harry and draco#author: digthewriter#artist: digthewriter#harry/draco#draco/harry#day 16#weasley family gala#it's the most wonderful time#harry potter#year: 2022#community: slythindor100
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omg this sneak peek made me completely obsessed with this au, i need to know what happens next
how do we go from here, to when everyone is in different time periods, Lucy has lost her memory and Sophie is looking for Ben while he’s depressed in the countryside???
i love this so so much, i’m so invested 🤩
(also, i’m italian and it was so funny and literally unexpected to read cazzo cazzo ahahaha)
can’t wait to read more about this au, you’re so talented 🫶🏼
Ps. i’m a fashion student and i loved your met gala opinions☺️
What happens next is that the time warp trio manage to travel back in time to about three months before the absolute bedlam they first stumbled into occurs. They're back in the alleyway but fortunately London is still in one piece and yet to be invaded. They follow Sophie's instruction to find the Minimax Fire Extinguisher Company, though it takes them a couple of days just to locate the building and when they do they're not quite sure why Sophie told them to go there. After a few hours of skulking around, wondering what a fire extinguisher company has to do with anything, a gentleman exits the building and does a double take of the three men. He beckons them to follow him at a distance and though apprehensive they go along with him and end up at his flat where upon the stranger's features shift and the woman now in front of them tightly embraces Gareth.
Sophie is relieved that they're finally there and Gareth quickly informs her of the scene they came across when they first landed from their time travel, a scene that will take place in three months time. She is left stunned by the insight as she tries to wrap her head around it and asks several questions though the trio don't have much information to provide her with other than the fact that England is three months away from having an atomic bomb dropped on them. Sophie's frustrated that her future self didn't give them much else to work from but Colin points out that there was only seconds to go before they were nuked.
Gareth then questions why Sophie's working for a fire extinguisher company and she reveals that the building she had come out from is actually the main operating base of the Secret Intelligence Service. She explains that ever since she landed in the past four years previously that she's been working tirelessly to track down everyone, and by going undercover within the SIS she hoped they'd be the first place to receive reports of anyone with superhuman abilities. Her logic paid off and as a result she knows that the majority of the Umbrellas and Bridgertons are currently present in the time period they now find themselves in (and shows them a board she has made up detailing everyone's movements and sightings etc), however there are still a few unaccounted for. There's nothing about Penelope since following the events that led up to the time travel she decided to stop using her powers altogether; no sign of Lucy due to Gregory taking her powers as well as her amnesia; and much to Sophie's perpetual dismay (as well as her unstable appearance) there's no trace of Benedict whatsoever. Gareth tells her that seeing as all three were present three months from now that they're either going to land soon enough or else they're already present in 1940s London, which at the very least cheers her up momentarily before remembering the severity of the stakes they're up against.
Colin questions how events could have changed so drastically for the world war to have turned into the rest of the world being against Britain. Sophie pours herself a drink before launching into an explanation. Several major events in WW2 never took place due to interference from the Umbrellas and Bridgertons; though the main one is that Hitler has been dead for two years. Anthony, Simon, Kate, and Hyacinth worked together to assassinate the biggest player of the war and whilst it was a positive outcome, their blatant show of their superpowers coupled with the bravado they flaunted on a world's stage has led to fear among other countries. Great Britain is armed with what appears to be the most powerful weapons; human beings with special powers who would appear to be able to cause plenty of damage if they so choose to, and it's struck international fear as a result. At the moment things are tense between governments and the world is on edge for what is to come and while Sophie wasn't sure what they were bracing themselves for, it would appear that in three months time the rest of the world is planning to invade the country they see as a threat and in case of defeat, the atomic bomb will suffice as backup.
Now armed with what the future holds if they don't do something about it, Sophie and the time warp trio decide to round up the Umbrellas and Bridgertons in order to return to their original timeline and prevent the country from being nuked; however there's going to be several speed bumps along the way as they try to track down and regroup the two sets of siblings.
#asks#leaving it there for the time being but i'll expand on more later#fun fact i googled italian curse words just for the drabble lmao#and i'm glad you enjoyed my silly met gala opinions regardless of my lack of fashion know how#the umbrella academy au
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Girl Crush - MYG
Part of my Milestone Drabble Request Game. Find the request here.
Read the follow-up drabble, Afterglow.
Pairing: Husband!Yoongi X Wife!Reader
Theme: Angst, Unrequited love au, arrange marriage au
Wordcount: 1.5k+
Summary: It was and is Min Yoongi, who you fell in love with over the course of charity galas, executive meetings, quarterly gatherings, parties and so on. And he never once looked in your direction. But then again, there are very few people Yoongi really looked at.
Based on Girl Crush by Harry Styles (Cover).
Warnings: unhappy marriage, unrequited love, yoongi loves someone else. this is very painful.
Minors are not allowed in this blog!!
A/N: I had this idea sitting on my head for a long time now. Thanks to @jimintaemin for requesting this and giving me a chance of writing this. This is very angsty just as you wanted. Hope you like this. Hit me back with your feedback!:)
“I've got a girl crush… Hate to admit it but
I’ve got a heart rush… It ain’t slowin' down”
“I assume you already know that this is a marriage of convenience, a negotiation between two companies. And I hope you will not expect anything from me. As long as it’s about responsibilities, I am okay with those. But don’t expect anything more.” Min Yoongi had said, cold and stoic, as if not conversing but stating some flat facts related to stock prices.
He was not wrong. Whatever he had said are indeed facts and there was nothing you didn’t already know.
So you stood there, standing as still as a porcelain doll, ready to fall and break at any given moment.
“And just so you know… I have someone.” he finished, diverting his eyes from you even though he never really looked at you properly.
Although you were glad that he didn’t. You were more than happy that he didn’t witness tears rolling down your face, gathering below your chin and dropping down at the immaculate fabric of your wedding gown.
Do tears leave stains? You hoped that was not the case.
It’s not that you pictured a fairytale married life for you. You know arranged marriages come with more cons than pros. You knew you would have to pay the price.. but at the same time you had no choice. You were even more reluctant to do anything because it was him.
It was and is Min Yoongi, who you fell in love with over the course of charity galas, executive meetings, quarterly gatherings, parties and so on. And he never once looked in your direction. But then again, there are very few people Yoongi really looked at.
It was foolish for you to expect a man of his stature would not have someone to love, to be loved by. And it was even more foolish for you to think, you can be his wife, a real one.. and lead a life with him.
However, now you know it’s impossible. And the realization made you feel helpless, caged and broken.
“I won’t expect anything, I promise, but in return… Can we at least be friends? It will make things easy for both of us.” you’d uttered upon managing your voice and emotions.
Only then he looked at you, like really looking at you with a small smile playing on his lips, he’d said “sure.”
That was the moment you realized you had a girl crush. And it was the woman who managed to make Yoongi, your husband, fall in love.
“I got it real bad.. Want everything she has
That smile and that midnight laugh.. She's giving you now.”
You thought, you would be angry. You thought every possible darkness would cover your senses, when you’d meet her for the first time.
But wrong… you were.
You had so many prejudices about this woman and you hated her with every drop of blood your body owns but all of it evaporated in thin air when she smiled at you standing right at your and yoongi’s door.
She is beautiful, she is kind, she is loveable… and maybe everything else you can’t ever be.
“Thank you so much, Y/N. I never thought I was going to see Yoongi ever again.” she’d murmured as she stood close to you in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you three.
You had stared into her eyes then.. Trying to find mockery and a hint of brazen victory telling you, “you’re only his paper wife. I own his heart.”
But again.. Again you were disappointed.
In her eyes, there was no mockery, no pretense, no dishonesty.. Rather only understanding and kindness. Only then you understood why Yoongi loves her so much.
Why will it never be you and always be her.
That night as you stood at the balcony, enjoying the stinging sensation cold wind brought to you, you heard them laughing.
It was the first time you heard Min Yoongi laughing. Even though faint and muffled, you could still sense his happiness through the sound.
Min Yoongi was finally happy... for the first time since the wedding ceremony... and you were not the reason.
All of a sudden, you were jealous again, even though you were not sure if you had the right or not.
“I want to taste her lips… Yeah, 'cause they taste like you
I want to drown myself… In a bottle of her perfume”
You didn’t know what you were thinking when you invited her to your and Yoongi’s honeymoon.
Both of your and his parents have been pestering you to set out for the trip. You have been using excessive workload as the excuse and you assumed Yoongi to do the same.
But a week ago, everything went south when Yoongi had a fight with his father. As a result, flights were booked, accommodations were chosen and you two were notified only two days prior.
That night, Yoongi didn’t come back home. And when he did, he didn’t speak a single word to you.
The visible frown on his forehead and the cold aura that oozed from him, made you want to make him smile, made you invite his lover to the trip secretly.
She was already there when you two reached and you will never forget Yoongi’s reaction when he realized what was happening.
The grumpy cold Yoongi broke into gummy smiles and giggles as soon as he saw her. They kissed right in front of your eyes and you silently cried.
Oh how you wish, you could taste him too. How you wish, he would hold you like that, caress you like that.
How you wish… he would love you like that.
“I want her long blond hair… I want her magic touch
Yeah, 'cause maybe then… You'd want me just as much”
“Babe, could you please turn your head a little? Yes.. yes just like that.”
You watched the man as he clicked photos after photos of the woman he loves, seemingly trying to document her beauty for a long long time.
You watched her as her long blond hair flowed like a waterfall down her shoulder, wind ruffling it gently making her look even more beautiful.
“Let’s take a selfie, will you?” she shouted at him and he chuckled.
He buried his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent, he said, “you smell so nice.”
You wondered, what she smelled like, what perfume did she use to make Yoongi look this satisfied. You even considered asking her, purchasing a bottle and drowning yourself in one of those if that means Yoongi would love to smell you too, he would curl himself around you late at night. If that means Yoongi would want you, just as much.
“I don't get no sleep… I don't get no peace
Thinking about her.. Under your bed sheets”
“Where are you going?” confusion dripped through Yoongi’s voice. You stopped at your tracks and turned to face him.
“I will sleep in the other room. You two should have your space. I will send her in as soon as I am there.” you smiled at him, even though your heart bleed invisibly inside your chest at the thought of how they would spend the night together.
“No, Y/N. We will adjust. You sleep here in the suite.” Yoongi commented, as firm as a verdict, as he stepped towards where you stood.
“But Yoongi, I am alone, what would I do with all this space?” you sighed. You definitely didn’t want to be left alone at the honeymoon suite, decorated for the newlyweds. You hate it. Totally loathe the decorations. Those giant red hearts had been mocking you since the moment you stepped there. You might tear those to pieces if you were left there alone, raising endless questions regarding such an act.
“You have done enough. You have done much more than you needed to and I feel like I’m taking advantage of your kindness. So, please… stay here. Enjoy the stay. We will manage.” giving you one of his tight lipped smiles, Yoongi slipped out of the room to spend the night with his lover.
That night when you slid inside the covers, which smelled awfully like him because he took a nap earlier in the evening, you started breaking down.
Your hopes, your dreams, and your heart all started crumbling right before your eyes. You held the duvet tightly around yourself and pretended it was yoongi wrapped around you, it was Yoongi, whispering sweet things in your ear, it was Yoongi, telling you that he loved you.
Somewhere you knew, Yoongi is actually doing all these things in real-time but.. Not to you.. Not for you.
You closed your eyes, tears streamed down your cheeks and wetted the pillow. You imagined your life as her… as your girl crush… as the woman your husband, Min Yoongi, loves.
“I've got a girl crush… Hate to admit it but
I’ve got a heart rush… It ain’t slowin' down”
#bts angst#yoongi angst#suga angst#bts x reader#yoongi x reader#suga x reader#bts fanfiction#yoongi fanfic#bts x you#suga fanfic#bts arranged marriage au#bts drabble#bts#bts suga#nika's milestone drabble game
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WHEN I WAKE UP, WHERE DO YOU GO? — Soldier Boy/Ben
Summary: When Soldier Boy was taken away and Vought faked his death, he dreamt of you non-stop while with the reds. Now, decades later and back in the modern world, he just has one thing in mind: finding you.
Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.
Word count: 1.6k.
Warnings: heavy angst, language, some nudity, sexual implied content, pregnancy, the usual stuff in the boys universe, death, AU where Soldier Boy was never with Crimson Countess.
If you'd like to be added, the taglist is here!
☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !
Notes: this was a request for my 400 followers drabbles but i got more things in mind to develop an angsty one shot with a sad ending, so this is what happened. also thanks for being patient with me as i try to come back to tumblr and write. real life is not easy.
GEN MASTERLIST!
1981
He didn’t know where he was standing. He didn’t know the place around him, nor the people having a sweet ball, with the music playing and mingling with their laughs.
He could see the beautiful ladies swinging to the classic music in the gala, the supes he used to know in the back of the scene as if they weren’t an important part of it. Dressed in that green suit, mask off, he walked between the couples and the guests dancing. His eyes caught a stunning wine colored dress in the middle of the pale colors around. He knew it was you.
It was the first time in years he heard his heart pounding against his chest this fast, as he approached you. His hand brushing your bare shoulder made you turn around, a bright smile adorned your face appeared when you saw it was him. You quickly focused your attention completely to him, leaving the ladies you were speaking to behind.
“Ben! What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming!” you almost shouted to him as you dragged him with you to the less-crowded bar.
He furrowed his brows in confusion. “I wasn’t?”
You shook your head with a hint of embarrassment and placed your drink on the countertop.. “Edgar said you wouldn’t, so… I just thought you weren’t,” you said with a soft voice. “But nevermind that, I’m glad you’re here, I’ve missed you,” you beamed, this time your voice sounding happier.
Ben nodded, taking in the sight of your figure and your pretty face, delicately made up, expensive and graceful just for a night like this. Somehow, seeing you felt like ages. “You look perfect,” he whispered.
Under his gaze, he knew your cheeks were burning. He started fighting the urge of caressing your cheek but now, in front of all these people, it was better not to.
He always had this need of protecting you from the outside, from the world. Being the supe he was, he knew how fucked up everything around was. You didn’t deserve to see that. But countless times, Ben remembered your courage and the way you used to raise your voice to be heard. And still knowing you could take care of yourself, he felt the need of looking after you, of being your shelter. Despite everything, he wouldn’t forgive himself if anything bad happened to you.
“Thank you,” you smiled. “You look good too, but I bet you’d look better with a different type of suit,” you gave him a flirty wink.
He was all in that playful mood of yours.
“Probably later, if we leave,” Ben teased back, the distance between both of you getting shorter. He could smell the sweetness of your perfume and the taste of alcohol. “Whatcha say, sweetheart?”
“I’d say yes. Always would say yes.”
1983
Ben woke up again, in a place that was oddly familiar in the back of his mind. It was a big bedroom, he was laying on the bed, and immediately noticed the blanket covering his bare body. The sunlight sneaking in the curtains told him it was morning already. There was a heat coming from the other side and he rolled softly to see you, sleeping and tugging his arm against you.
“Good morning,” you mumbled, fluttering your eyes open. You leaned to place a kiss on his stubbled cheek, the blanket falling off a little from your breasts. “How you feeling today, my husband?”
“Husband?”
You chuckled at his confused face. “I told you I’d say yes, didn’t I?”
Ben snorted to himself. He didn’t even remember proposing to you, but it was better than he’d ever imagined. Looking back at you, he asked with a quizzical expression on his face. “Am I dreaming?”
You laughed louder this time. “No, Ben. We got married yesterday. Thought you couldn’t get drunk and all, is there anything wrong?”
He felt your hand caressing his cheek softly, as you placed your head on his shoulder and laid back down. And he felt not only the warm touch of your skin, but a coldness coming from a ring on your hand. He wrapped his own on your wrist to get a glance of the bright, gold ring adorning your finger. It was true.
You were his wife, and he couldn’t believe it.
1984
“Please don’t go.”
Your voice came out as a plea, and he, somehow, felt something was wrong. Looking around, Ben found himself in a cozy kitchen inside a house, and you were standing in front of him. He looked for the ring in your hand, and there it was. What the hell was happening to him? Why was he suddenly reminiscing every moment with you? And why this?
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Ben, I’m pregnant,” you confessed with glossy eyes. His face softened and he shook his head, part of him wanting it to be a lie. He wasn’t ready to be a father yet. “Please don’t go to Nicaragua. You promised you’d give this up, why hasn't it happened? It’s been a year!”
You were already crying, the tears coating your cheeks and he stepped closer to cup your cheeks between his hands, making you look at him directly.
“I really have to go,” he muttered as he wiped the tears off your skin.
Ben pulled you for a hug, as you cried against his chest and he soothed you softly, a side he never knew could have for anyone but you. He hated seeing you like this, but he knew he had to go. He was Soldier Boy, he’d come back soon, for you and the baby.
“I just want you to be safe and happy,” you mumbled, once you pulled away and wiped your face with your hands.. “You always wanted this, a family. And I want to give it to you because I love you… I wouldn’t want it any other way, Ben.”
“I love you so damn much,” he said, with a beam on his face and a spark in his eyes, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “How long?” he asked.
“Like four months…”
Ben smiled again, remembering the weird foods you were having, how you’d get sick all out of nowhere and the countless nights and days he took care of you, even if you got pissed at him because it all felt like you were useless. But he didn’t care about all that. How he couldn’t notice it and pull the strings together, he thought to himself.
Suddenly he kissed you sweetly, but so strong at the same time that you gasped against his mouth. “You’re the most amazing thing that ever happened to me, y’know that.”
His words made you smile against his lips, still trying to compose yourself. You nodded as you reached for his hand, entwining it with yours.
“I hope it’s a boy,” he said, before planting another kiss on your lips.
2022
When Ben came back to the real world, he thought of finding you. Butcher had facilitated your location in exchange for a deal, but a grave wasn’t the place he had in mind when doing so.
He already lost count of how many times he had arrived to grief and hate himself for leaving you and the baby that day when you begged him not to. It was late noon, almost dusk, and probably he shouldn’t be there, saying sorry to the air and the tree in your grave. There was an emptiness growing in his chest, like a black hole swallowing every single particle of life he had been preserving for you, once he came back.
Ben spent the last four decades dreaming of you, remembering every moment, either be happy or sad, the only thing that mattered was you. Whole you, with your beauty, your laugh, the kindness in your eyes every time you looked at him, and the courage in your heart. If only he could go back and change everything, he’d do it with no question.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you asked me to.”
He read the plaque with your name written on it and a small ‘beloved daughter and wife’ below, and his fists clenched tightly. More than ever, he wanted to burn Vought down to the ground. He had cried to himself, all alone, when he learned you were gone and to regret his decisions. It wasn’t enough for those fuckers to take his child and raise him in a damn lab to be a monster, but they had to kill you.
Ben remembered the things this Hughie kid had told him; about you trying to look for your husband for months non-stop after he went missing and the fake story of his death was released to the world. You spent day and night doing research, getting involved with different organizations even when your son was born, and when Vought sensed you were moving masses, they decided to get rid of you and take his son away. Ben was sure you knew pretty well the dirty secrets, and taking threats out of the radar was their specialty.
Now he had to take Homelander down. The only bond that joined you and him resulted to be a stupid, crying asshole, all because of the whim of some rich men running a pharmaceutical. Supes were a lie, but he was a soldier. And he had promised himself to avenge you, whatever the cost was.
“I love you,” Ben whispered to the wind. “I hope you understand why I’m doing this.”
“I'm pretty sure she’d be okay with it,” Butcher said, standing a couple of feet back.
Ben had been used to the british fucker to appear out of nowhere. Butcher was the one taking him to the cemetery after all.
“Yeah, I hope so,” Ben said back. The sadness and grief fell off his face as he turned around to meet Butcher. “Let’s go then, I want to take them fucking down.”
Soldier Boy taglist: @delaynew @k-slla @thesilmarillionblog @onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester @daisy-the-quake
#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#soldier boy imagine#soldier boy x y/n#soldier boy/ben#soldier boy angst#soldier boy fanfiction#soldier boy imagines#the boys soldier boy#jensen ackles
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where the heart leads, the eyes follow
summary. suddenly, jungwon is everywhere you look and part of every thought you think.
pairing. jungwon x y/n
genre. fluff, classmates to lovers, y/n inner turmoil 👍
word count. 0.9k
released. 03.05.2024
author's note. feedback is appreciated! i need to know how long it takes u guys to write drabbles i feel like i'm doing something wrong 😭😭😭 like why do they take me FOREVER
masterlist
For some godforsaken reason, Yang Jungwon has always been there.
There. Right in your field of vision. Running the school festival's concession stand when you were craving funnel cake. Next to Nishimura Riki on the soccer field when your eyes dart to him, yet also next to Sim Jaeyun when they land on him next. Conveniently seated two columns to your left in your economics class, so when you turn to speak to your friends, you're forced to see a head of midnight hair.
It's irritating. A nuisance.
You hate how Jungwon is somehow always there, because when he is, he's the only one in the room you ever see.
His presence is permanent and permeating; it causes unfilled lesson notes and empty documents to stare up at you every class, begging for your attention while you beg for your attention to stray for once. To not leave a question set half-finished because he just carded a hand through his hair—to not feel your chest weakly twinge whenever he laughs at something his pretty desk mate said.
At some point, you begin to see Jungwon even on the days he isn't there. Even without a stimulus, you can see the lines of his figure that carve out the definition of his shoulders and the sharp inner corners of his cat-like eyes. Your brain is more familiar with the sight and thought of Jungwon than not, including him in an infinite number of mental paintings and films, as if he was as customary in your life as the changing seasons.
Life was better before this bullshit, you think in exasperation.
You hate how the subject at the forefront of your thoughts was just some boy—how he manages to seemingly go about his life so effortlessly while confusion, turmoil, fear settles in your gut.
What's going on? Is this some twisted joke? Why is he always there—
"Y/N?"
His voice comes from behind your open locker door.
You've never heard his voice this close before.
Your name sounds like honey dripping off his tongue, and yet you don't know what to think of it. The rapid beating in your chest and the uncomfortable churn of your stomach are giving you mixed signals.
Cautiously, you close the locker shut. Your voice comes out in a weak exhale.
"Jungwon."
A serene smile appears on his lips. "I wanted to say congratulations. If anyone deserved to speak at the district gala, it's you."
You blink slowly. "District gala?"
"Yeah! You got it, didn't you?"
That doesn't make any logical sense.
Sure, you'd wanted to represent your school and speak in front of the district's administration—but that opportunity has only ever rightfully belonged to one person, and he's standing right in front of you.
"I-I thought you were speaking at the gala."
Jungwon tilts his head at you in a way that makes you feel like your knees could give out. "Pretty sure the name the principal just said over the PA system sounded a lot like yours and nothing like mine," he teases, leaning against the locker next to yours.
Silence falls over the two of you while your gaze is trained on a floor tile, the process of digesting the fact that you'd be giving a speech at the district gala significantly slowed down by Jungwon's looming presence. He looks down at you, a fond speckle in his eye, before he speaks again.
"You can say no, but I have a favour to ask," he says softly. "I have a few parts of my original speech that I really want to make heard. I was wondering if you'd be willing to include them on my behalf?"
He's clutching a small piece of folded paper in between his slender fingers, holding it out for you to take.
You're sure you take way too long to react, shakily reaching out to take the paper from him. Your skin is set aflame when your fingers brush against his.
Trying to pinpoint the emotion Yang Jungwon evokes in you has led you to feel a billion different ones in the process, each one more conflicting than the last—
—and yet, in this moment, you let down your defences.
Letting yourself fall into the sea of stars behind his irises.
Four months later, you're walking up to the stage's wooden podium, over the top of which you're greeted by an auditorium of three hundred different faces.
There's amazement, and then there's anxiety. It manifests in the dry gulp you take and the tightened grip of your hands on the sides of the podium. Your eyes frantically dart around for something to focus on, searching, searching—
Jungwon.
He's there, leaning against a far pillar with one hand in the pocket of his dress pants, and the other holding a glass of sparkling juice. There's a delicate, sterling silver charm bracelet wrapped around his wrist, a singular charm of your initial attached to it.
Your eyes flicker down to the near identical one on your own wrist, the charm with his initial glimmering under the chandelier lights.
With a clear of your throat, you redirect your gaze to the audience. Instinctively, it falls again on the boy against the far pillar.
The one with his phone camera pointed at the stage and the prettiest smile on his face.
Jungwon always seems to be there, waiting for your eyes to land on him.
Or maybe, in a room filled with people, he's the only one you've ever looked for.
#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios#enhypen fluff#enhypen oneshots#enhypen drabbles#jungwon#yang jungwon#jungwon x reader#yang jungwon x reader#jungwon fluff#jungwon imagines#jungwon scenarios#enhypen fic
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Menace
prompt: ( request that i accidentally deleted ) in essence, "drabble about Tangerine going to the bathroom and texting Reader 'come here'."
pairing: Tangerine x female!reader
fandom masterlist: Bullet Train
word count: 4.4k+
warnings: cursing, OC!Tangerine, we talk mental health (social anxiety), established relationship, busy public work settings, the request and then some, alcohol consumption, smut, bathroom sex at a work event (Cherry, what the fuck?), handguns and mild depiction of violence 'cause it's Tangerine, i give him a 'real' name (Aaron), not edited.
"This is such bullshit, sugar, c'mon, fuck are we doin' here?" Tangerine snipped in your ear, his arm curled protectively around your waist as he glared at those in rich suits and expensive colognes around him. "We don't belong 'round this lot, they're just here t'wave their money. There's no real reason for us bein' here, sweet girl, c'mon, let's just shove off. Better than chokin' on whatever this lot's wearin' - I mean, Christ Alive, smells like a bloody Bloomingdales, don't it?"
You smiled prettily in case of watchful eyes, telling him sternly in a sweet tone, "Lovie, I told you, my boss said we were needed for at least cocktail hour. We can leave before dinner, okay?"
"This is gonna last fuckin' hours, princess, c'mon, we should just go," he grumbled. "Fuck these people and these bullshit fundraisers."
"We'll be okay, I promise," you soothed sweetly, the honest opposite of Tangerine - leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You were constantly touching one another and early in your relationship, you realized how much you loved kissing him and completely forewent lipsticks or glosses because of it. Another peck and you told him in a soft tone, "C'mon, just remember we said we'd pick up Changs on our way home and there's that bottle of nice Merlot A - I mean, Lemon gave us," you almost used your boyfriend's brother's real name, but caught yourself with plenty of time.
"Hmm," he smirked, his favorite takeout place being a happy distraction. "Cheat day sounds nice, yeah, but still don't make this go any faster, now does it?"
"No, but we're not gonna be here forever," you soothed, turning into his chest to pet the expensive material of this navy three-piece suit. "You look so handsome, my love. Really love seein' you in navy suits, and the white button up looks really clean with it." Tangerine smiled down at you, the bustle around you melting away as he could only hear, see, smell, feel, and focus on you. Then, you spoke coyly as you fixed his tie, "If you behave the rest of the night, I promise I'll make it up t'you. Yeah? Maybe wear that li'l white thing you love?" He perked up, but before he could respond, you ended, "Or maybe I already have it on - anyways, so, listen t'me, I have to go talk t'some people and do the job that pays me, so I suggest you just take a deep breath; get another drink, find Lemon, and then we'll go soon, okay?"
He looked around the usual investors his private employer had to shmooze for donated funding and frowned when he was acutely aware of not just the sheer number, but how many "important" people attended the evening's gala. The Black Market was funded by multiple someones; most of whom were in this very room and while under the radar, it still made Tangerine feel as if a huge target was painted on the building's wall. There was always a need for services outside the law and these richie-riches couldn't take the money with them to the grave, so, they donated money if it meant they were "well taken care of".
The Twins' handler insisted they attend the gala tonight; being well aware that they were more like show ponies for being on display for investors to see. Putting a face to names made myth into reality, and your boyfriend was a hot commodity due to his skill as a contract killer. He and his brother were legends around the various active agencies, investors happy to see their money going to good use; all wanting to know what they had bought for a price-tag of several billion.
The common conversation of the evening was how readily available The Organization was able to offer their services with no questions asked, no matter what. Tan hated these events, feeling nauseated, overstimulated, overwhelmed; overall, exploited by his employer as attendees gossiped about the Bolivia Job, the Kyoto Crash, the Libyan Disaster, and a few other memorable jobs Tan and Lemon were involved in. Their beady little eyes followed him around, mouths hidden behind crystal flutes of champagne, and bodies always shied away from him as if he were a wild beast.
Sure, they pay to sit and gather in the arena, but flee when the raging bull they've helped antagonize gets loose.
Then you came along and took on the brunt end of these social events. Tan was never quite sure how you got involved in this life, you always giving a new answer, but knew you had gone to university for multiple degrees - one being in something called "communications". Now, if you had asked Tan a few years ago, he'd've said that was a bullshit job, bullshit degree, a total waste of time. Now that his popularity had grown and he was exposed to more social obligations, he was was beyond grateful to have someone navigate this with him. Tangerine's bad attitude most of the time was just a deflection, being why you and Lemon could handle him; knowing the lad's anxiety often choked him past logic and made him a sarcastic, violent cunt.
When Tangerine forced himself back to reality after glaring at the other warm bodies mingling around, Tangerine's arm contracted tight enough that he could bring you in for a quick kiss. Quietly, he muttered in your ear, "I'll give you half an hour, darling, no more."
"No less," your eyes rolled but your lips were spread in a grin. He chuckled and softened his expression; whoever might've been watching feeling something akin to shock and awe (like one felt when they saw a lion in person for the first time), knowing Tangerine was a horribly stoic, violent, and short-tempered man. To see him now, amused and soft with such a beauty of a woman - well, it was jarring. He was still known to be an asshole, but it seemed you had a stronger leash on Tangerine than his handler ever did. But perhaps, no stronger than Lemon.
"Right," Tan sighed. "What was first on your list fa' me t'do?"
"You're gonna take a deep breath, get another drink, and then find Lemon," you repeated softly, "but I'm gonna say you owe me a kiss before that drink."
Tan huffed.
"That wasn't a deep breath, Tan, c'mon, we've been over this," you mock glared, feeling both his hands secure to your hips. He pet the expensive silk you wore with his thumbs, the pocket square resting over his heart a tailored square of the same material.
"Sweetheart - "
"In through your nose, out through your mouth, Tan," you cut him off. "Together, I'll do it with you, c'mon. In..."
Tangerine adjusted his stance in those shining Italian leather shoes you gifted him for Christmas that year. He took a steady breath in through his nose when you did, watching for your subtle nod, then exhaling slowly through his mouth - when you did. Again, together, in through the nose, your nod after about seven seconds, then exhaled through the mouth. After one more, you smiled at him in encouragement, both hands splayed on his lapels; his own moving so they coiled around you.
"All right," he grumbled, "yeah, it helps, pretty girl."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Feel better?"
"Don't push it, plum," he mumbled, bringing you in closer so he could kiss the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear while stroking your spine with his fingertips. "Thank you," he whispered, mustache tickling your skin, "always know how t'get me out me head, don't'cha?"
"I try, but you don't always make it easy, you know?" You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth to smother your grin, leaning into his chest. "Kiss me, please, then go get a drink and find Lemon. Don't talk to the investors," you warned, adding, "please."
This made a mischievous smirk spread across his lips, "Awe, hey, c'mon, aren't they here t'see me? I can say hello. You won't even 'ave'ta introduce me, they'll know me."
"Okay, yes, they're here t'see the lot of yah, but they're not here to get yelled at, yeah? Or called cunts? Insulted in any manner?" You sang in a light tone; caressing his cheek to guide him to your lips for a long desired kiss. The hand on his cheek curled around to grip the back of his neck, gently tugging the neat strands of hair as you tried to convey your pride.
Social anxiety was a bitch and though he'd deny it vehemently, Tan was riddled with it. Seeing him endure this evening (despite the constant complaining) was a mighty feat, wanting your kiss to spark something in his gut that would cause his confidence to soar so it'd put a bit of "pep in his step" to get through the rest of the evening.
And boy, did it.
After parting ways, Tangerine was left to get his drink with a full-chub that made him shake both legs out in an attempt to hide his arousal. Yet as he watched you melt seamlessly into the crowd, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind that maybe you were wearing that white thing he liked. Tan leaned on the bar top, cock stirring to life with each passing second; watching you mingle and mix and shmooze investors and wanting nothing more than to interrupt and get you alone. With his drink, he located Lemon, trying to forget the way his cock was begging for attention while you worked your magic on these walking-talking-money-bags.
"All right, bruv?" Lemon asked, the two standing with a few other agents that were wrangled in for the event.
"Hmm?"
Lemon glared, then snickered to himself. "Oh, fuck me, mate, you're fucked, aren't you?"
"Come off it," Tan took another slug from the expensive whiskey glass. "'S only me second."
Lemon blinked in shock, "That's not possible. You hate these fancy things, you don't like bein' sober at'em."
"I've been distracted."
"No shit, 'cause your lady's here, gotta be on your best behavior, don't yah?" Lemon snickered, sighing as he shook his head and accepted the champagne being passed around by a waiter with a full tray. "But enough that you ain't been drinkin'? Yeah, right - oh, shit, wait," he beamed, "didn't Y/N get that administrative promotion? It's that, ain't it? Ho-ho!" He laughed, "Yeah? Don't tell me you've been her arm candy all night, mate?"
"We've been tucked away, actually," Tan admitted, missing the way Lemon blinked in shock 'cause he was searching for you in the deepening crowd. "She knows I don't like these things, right, so, we stood away from 'em all, ova there," he pointed off to where Lemon knew was roped off for VIPs. "We were just talkin', laughin'. She makes these shitty li'l jokes, you know? Kept us more entertained than the rest of these fucks," Tangerine chuckled, hand hiding his grin of amusement as he wiped around his mouth to play it off.
This made Lemon nod with impression, "Yeah?"
"Yeah, but," Tan sniffled, "duty calls, she's gotta work a bit, get some donations goin'. Apparently, I'm not allowed t'talk t'the fancy donors."
Lemon checked his watch, "Fair enough, you did punch that Sultan - "
"Oh, come the fuck off it, that was three years ago! He was fine."
"You broke his nose, mate. You want another?"
Tangerine skulled the last of his drink, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good, mate. Might be time t'go soon."
"I'll leave when you two do, wouldn't wanna be stuck here alone," Lemon agreed, the two turning away to stand at a cocktail table together and away from the others. "This is why we don't work inna office, this lot - Jesus, fuck. Oh, shit, oi, mate, you seen who all's here tonight? Fuck's sake..."
"Yeah, mate, I've seen 'em all, but there's too many t'know who the fuck you mean specifically." He pulled his phone out as Lemon rumbled on in excited impression about the evening's guests to send you a quick text,
wrap it up, pretty girl. i got things i wanna do to you that ain't for others to see unless they pay.
He could see you from where he and Lemon stood; and when your phone chimed, you checked it almost instantly, smiling at the message. He waited for your rapid reply,
if my panties had a crotch, they'd be soaked. love you in blue 💙
That was enough for Tangerine, who nodded at his brother, "Gimme a minute, yeah? Gonna pop off t'the loo before we go. Have another," he pointed to the drink in Lemon's hand as he backed away, "but not that frilly shit, mate, have a real fuckin' drink. Oi!" He snapped his fingers at a passing waitress, "Sorry, sweetheart, yeah, my bruva, there," he pointed at Lemon, who waved awkwardly, "will take a double whiskey, on the rocks, yeah, and he likes them lemon twists. That somethin' you can grab for him, love?"
"Absolutely," she nodded, high-strung ponytail swishing.
Tangerine snickered lightly, shelling out a hefty tip that she accepted, "And bring him a Lemon Drop shot, too, please."
"Anything else, sir?"
"Ah, if you'd like, maybe your number for him, too?" Tan instigated, hearing Lemon groan and grumble in embarrassment. "My bruva, there, he's bloody golden, yeah? Can't do no better, man just has no flaws - less we count tha' he's a wee bit shy, innit? Pretty ladies intimidate him a bit, but he's the bravest man I fuckin' know. Just gotta warm 'im up a bit, don't'cha know?"
"He sounds like a real gentleman. But maybe I can give mine if you give your number to my friend?" The waitress countered, pointing towards the central bar that the servers operated out of. There was a decently pretty girl with dark hair, twiddling her fingers at them with a pearly grin. "She's sweet, kind, absolutely wild in bed - "
"Sounds like an even deal, sweets, but you see - I've got a woman, yeah? And my lady? Well, she's kinda one of your bosses tonight, so, uh, might not be a good idea now, would it? She gets all territorial, protective, likes what's hers t'be just hers - ain't real big on sharin'." The waitress flushed in embarrassment. "But my bruva, here," Tan pointed back at Lemon while unlocking his phone, "he's a fuckin' don, yeah? Ain't nobody gonna treat cha' t'a better night. Oi, hey, I'll be back, bruv," he called to Lem with a smirk, then reminded the waitress, "double whiskey, lemon twist, on the rocks. And that Lemon Drop, please."
"Of course, sir, right on it," she agreed, Tangerine finally backing away fully. He typed you a new message,
meet me in the bathroom right now
Inside, it was decently spacious; unisex, six stalls, made of pristine marble, veiled fluorescent lighting, and there was a lock on the door - which Tan cared most about.
He planted himself behind the two other men at the walled-off urinals, hands clasping together in front of him. "Right, then, you two," he gestured between them, "got 'bout 30 seconds to finish yourselves and get the fuck outta here." He pulled the usual gun from his waistband, threatening, "Or I'll give you fuckin' fucks a show 'bout all them stories you love whisperin' 'bout. Yeah? How's that? Hey? Thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!"
They were barely zipped up and gone by the time Tangerine got to second 21; you entering right as the two were scurrying for the swinging-open door. You yelped a little, jumping out of their way, offering Tangerine a strange look and musing, "Uh, what was that? You fightin' in the privy, again?"
He put his handgun away as he stalked towards you, "Just makin' sure we wouldn't be interrupted."
"Tan, hell no, there's so many people!"
He yanked you from the doorway, making sure it was shut before locking it loudly. "Then we gotta be quick, don't we? C'mon, doll, real fast, bosses won't even question you bein' gone."
"I still have work - "
"Nah, nah," he pawed your gown's skirts upward, "you been teasin' me all fuckin' night, lookin' too fuckin' good - I can't wait, baby. Just look so Goddamn pretty, feels like I'm losin' my mind. Lemme see yah," he got the silk bunched around your waist, gasping loudly when he saw your panties. "You really did wear 'em... Like the good girl you are," he purred, one hand dropping the silk to run his hand over the strappy and lacy material you wore. "Swear I'll take my time with yah at home, the way I want - but can't do that here, just needa be inside yah, sugar, c'mere."
"Baby," you gasped when his fingertips ghosted around your cunt that was bare due to the crotchless cutout. "I only need a-a-a," you trailed off, panting when one finger suddenly plunged into your cunt, "ohhh, shiiiit. Yes, baby, oh, God!"
"Keep talkin'," He smirked, backing you up towards the marble counter. "C'mon, tell me off. Tell me what's more important right now, huh? More important than this? Is it work? Huh? Work got you distracted? Wanna get back t'it instead of bein' here with me?" The heels of your palms slammed into the pristine counter, whimpering when he pumped erratically. "Aht, here you go," he smirked, pausing to pull his hand free of your warmth; seizing your waist and helping hoist you back onto the sink's ledge. Your lips meshed sloppily with his, Tan letting you dominate the kiss because you were mewling - so desperate for him, you were nearly suckling on him; hands trembling as they held his cheeks with your manicured fingertips. When your legs instantly spread to accommodate Tangerine's hulking form, grinding your hips into him, he seethed, "Good girl," before sinking his digit back into your wet heat that halted your ministrations out of pure relieving pleasure.
"You're a menace," you panted against his mouth when you remembered reality, Tangerine's belt rattling open and his zipper teeth shrieking when you shucked them open. "Gimme," you whispered, reaching for him; dropping his pants the rest of the way to take his pulsing cock in hand. "This what you wanted? Right? Why you texted me? Interrupted me?"
"Exactly," he licked his lips before smashing them to yours in a suffocating kiss, always the one to help you push boundaries and do things you never thought you'd ever do if not for him. "Why're you so wet? Huh? Why's that? Had this on your mind, too, didn't'cha, dirty girl? Why else would you wear my favorite?"
"'T reward you for tonight," you panted, giving his cock a few pumps. "'S my scene, not yours, just so fucking proud of yah - for how you did, gettin' through it," you guided him to your weeping entrance after pushing his hand from you, both gasping when his cockhead notched on the lip of your cunt. "Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted, praising him as he sunk his hips into your own; effectively blurring your mind.
He grunted, needing a single moment to press his balls between you two as he waited for you to accommodate to his size. Forehead to forehead, your eyes remained shut; breathing the same air, feeling your insides fluttering at the size of him. His mouth was at your ear, demanding, "Tell me again, pretty girl."
You knew what he wanted, letting your legs spread a little wider and held onto his shoulders since this position didn't allow for much else. You whimpered, "You did so good tonight, baby. Oh, fuck, I'm so proud of you - you did so fuckin' good." He groaned and retracted his hips, beginning a brutal pace and messy rhythm to pump himself in deep strokes. You had to hold onto his upper arms now to allow him space to move. "Always so good for me, but tonight? Fuck - you're so good, Aaron. So fucking good - and tonight you were fucking amazing. I'm so proud, so fucking proud of you," you whimpered, his hands holding your hips so the counter could pose as leverage to allow him the angle to pound up into you while shifting you down on him.
"Almost there, baby," he begged, eyes all over. He loved the sight of your 'panties' still on; the criss-crossing of the straps and pattern of the lace still in place while his cock made a mess of you. Your gown glittered in this light, your skin tacky with a thin layer of sweat from your arousal that made him dip low and lick a bold stripe between your breasts. "Lemme see - lemme get a taste, doll, want you in my mouth," he muttered against your cleavage, still holding you on his cock as you pulled a tit free. You gave a shrill yelp when Tangerine surged forward suddenly and bit harshly on your budding, sensitive nipple; but it was in-sync with him changing the pace of his thrusting to something borderline painful.
It wasn't a secret he was well-endowed, there wasn't much to the imagination with the way his suits are tailored.
But having ten(plus) inches; fully swollen, engorged, jackhammering into you at this angle? It wasn't the most pleasurable at first, but with Tan licking, nipping, and sucking at both nipples now, you endured until moaning authentically. You were all but hanging off the counter by now, Tan the only reason you weren't on the floor; using upper body strength to hold onto him while slithering a hand toy your stomach to toy with your enlarged clit.
It took very little time of harsh pressure from your fingers to come undone, pleasure mounting to a crescendo before shattering your grip to reality. With a gasp, your hips humped into Tan's by your own blinding vocation; arms tight around his shoulders to remain upright as you milked yourself.
The contraction of your cunt was all Tangerine needed, and four slaps of his balls later had him doubling over and pinning you in a small slam, chest-to-chest, to the marble.
"Oh, my fuckin' God," you panted in appreciation.
"Shit," he realized, "shit, fuck, did I hurt you? Fuck - baby - "
"I'm not hurt," you panted, keeping a tight hold to refuse him from standing up, "just happy."
He deflated with a small chuckle. In your neck, he mumbled, "I can't feel my legs."
"Wanna sit?"
"Nah, not here," he mused, licking the sweaty skin of your pulse point. "Just had t'wear the li'l white ones, didn't'cha?"
"You get all worked up when I do."
"With good reason, should see yourself the way that I do - Goddamn, doll. My girl's divine, too good for these fuckers out here."
You were about to retort, but there was a loud, rapid banging at the locked door. "Hey! Hey! Whoever's in there! There's people that need in, you fucking arseholes! Get your dick wet at your own place, you broke bitches!"
You gasped and slapped a hand over your mouth as Tangerine finally stood off you, keeping you balanced on the counter as you sat up. "Oh, my fucking God, Tan! I-I-I-I'm gonna get fired! Oh, holy shit! This isn't happening!"
"No - "
"Aaron, we were literally just caught - "
"Hey, hey, just breathe," he paused, sighing as he caressed your cheek. "Let me handle this for us, okay? The way you protect me, let me protect you. Yeah?"
You nodded mutely, looking ready to burst into tears. After Tan pulled out and helped you clean up (ignoring the warm cum that dripped down your inner thighs), he simply wrapped you in his navy suit jacket, rolled up his crisp white sleeves, and pulled out his handgun. "Oh, baby, don't - "
"Trust me," he purred, arm secure around your waist. "Oh... Shit, hang on," he set the gun down to use his hands and fix your hair, your heart soaring by the sweet, domestic gesture. "I got'cha, pretty girl, one sec - there we go, yeah," he smirked, looking proud of himself. "Yeah, all right, there we go," he cupped your cheeks, "all perfect."
"Thank you," you whispered.
"Now, we're gonna walk out with confidence. Just don't stop, don't look at anyone. Actually, look a li'l smug," he instructed. "And we're just gonna grab Lemon and get outta here, yeah?"
You pouted lightly, "After I get the O-K from my boss."
"Nah, we don't ask permission, just forgiveness."
"Terrible philosophy."
"I prefer effective. Ready?" He asked, picking his gun up again. You nodded, latching onto him as his arm secured around you again, then approached the door. He unlocked it loudly and yanked it open, glare instantly taking over his expression as you were met with a gaggle of angry, grumbling patrons. "We got a fuckin' problem?" Tangerine sneered, his gun winking in the dim lighting; those who were waiting instantly backing off.
You did as he advised: didn't look at anyone, didn't stop, looked a little smug. He lead you through the throng of people, hearing a woman sneer under her breath - gasping when Tan turned his gun on her. "Tangerine!" You snapped, the people around you all freezing.
"Got somethin' t'say?" He taunted the woman, who shook her head. "No? You sure? Now?" He asked, shifting the weapon over to her date's forehead. She shook her head again. This made Tan smirk, "Jealousy ain't pretty on anyone, love. Keep your fuckin' mouth shut."
"Let's go, now," you insisted, tugging on his unbuttoned waistcoat to walk away together. "Can't shoot everyone who offers insult."
"No, but word will spread," he smirked. "Ain't nobody gonna say a fuckin' word to yah now. And if they do," he shrugged, "you'll tell me. All right, now, uh," he paused you both, nodding ahead, "that's a bit of my doin'. Question is, do we interrupt?"
You peered around a person or two until Lemon and a pretty waitress was in sight. She was giggling and grinning, the two deep in conversation; just enraptured and toying with each other's hands.
"We should probably let him know we're leaving. Maybe text him?"
"So, we are leaving, huh?" Tan smirked. "No more precious work to go run off to?"
Your lips moved beside his ear, licking the shell before speaking so your cool breath fanned over the wet skin, "I can't work with your cum leakin'."
His hand groped your arse cheek tightly, "If you do, I promise t'make yah my li'l Twinkie, huh? Fuck you all night, like you deserve."
"Oh, now you wanna stay? You fuckin' serious?"
"Yeah, but, now it's a game."
"You're a fucking menace!"
requesting rules and masterlist
Bullet Train masterlist
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