#it clear that what I enjoy about looking feminine is the ATTENTION. PEOPLE PAY SO MUCH GODDAMN ATTENTION TO PRETTY WOMEN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spinningwebsandtales · 1 month

Text

Imagine Cheering Up A Depressed Andy

(Slight) Andy X FemReader

Ratings: T+

Warnings: Drinking, insults, mentions of death, slight spoilers

Word Count: 1.7k

(A/N:) I am obsessed with Undead Unluck right now and I had to write a self indulgent Andy fic! I do ship him and Fuuko really hard but Andy is too perfect not to crush on. So while I have a ship I still want to enjoy some reader inserts with this handsome and unhinged dude! So this happened as I was so excited about a little of Andy's past getting animated! I had a little too much fun with the dialog too but I hope you all enjoy it! Until next time happy reading!

~Countess

Being a bounty hunter had it's perks though it was one of the toughest jobs offered in the growing country you live in. You had met your fair share of folks and about took out as many as well. The types of people you hunted, weren't like the upstanding citizens in normal towns you passed through. So they really weren't missed and kept their would be victims safe another day. You had just gotten finished with a particularly large bounty, so after collecting your reward you made the decision that you deserved a much needed break. Heading over to the next town, you carved yourself a place for the next two weeks or more.

After a week into your relaxation a stranger blew into town you never met before. He was a quiet character and it seemed like trouble drew to him like flies to a carcass. He was aloof and refused to speak much. Questions were answered with simple answers and he never gave more information than necessary. Even renting a room in the tavern/inn you were occupying had become awkward as he refused to answer the majority of the owner's questions. Only made worse when he was a coin short of the payment to stay. Without a word you dug into the pockets of your well worn pants before flipping it to the owner with amazing accuracy. He pocketed the man's payment quickly and the stranger turned around taking in your feminine form as you downed the rest of your glass and tipped your hat. Standing from the chair you made your way up the stairs, ignoring the jeers from the men below, your curiosity piquing the more you stayed close to the gray haired man.

A few more days passed by and still the gray haired stranger occupied the same space as you. He kept his distance, though he acted indifferent you could tell he watched his surroundings with an attentive gaze. The card in his forehead was a mystery that was driving you crazy. And even though the numerous tavern girls seemed to flock to him, he had no interest. The only thing he seemed to enjoy was the brawls that would break out, the majority of the time it was men starting arguments with him. The fights didn't last long and he always came out on top. He didn't joke. He didn't laugh. He rarely said a word. And despite yourself you found yourself sitting closer and closer to him every night. He was a mystery and you could feel the sad loneliness rolling off of him in waves. You should have ended your reprieve then and there. Left town and went back to what you were good at. But something deep inside nagged at you. You couldn't leave this man alone and part of you dreaded that you were going to pay a steep price for your curiosity.

The next night after finishing your meal, you went to the bar ordering two drinks and paying for them. The heavy glasses not the only weight as your heavy heart pounded in your chest. The enigma of the man sitting in his normal spot, pushing around the scraps on his plate. He didn't even jump or look up as you thudded the glass before him. After a few seconds, you cleared your throat, loudly. You didn't take kindly to being ignored, especially when you were doing a good deed. Those were rare and if this man had any sense he would be grateful.

He looked up, blue eyes dull and full of caution. It made you suck in a breath as he looked handsome far away, but up close he was stunning.

"Drink," you asked and he grunted in reply. Knocking the chair at his side back with your boot, you parked yourself right next to him throwing your slender legs up and crossing your ankles on the table top. Knocking your glass against his hard, you took a loud long guzzle. You sighed before gazing at him, waiting for the same.

"Not very ladylike are you," he asked simply.

You shrugged, "Not particularly. Can't afford to be in my line of work. Are you going to drink that or not? I paid for it and I won't let it go to waste."

He chuckled, though the mirth didn't make it to his eyes. He finally picked up the glass giving it a healthy swig.

"Good boy," you cooed and he glared.

"You buy drinks for men often?"

"Nope," you picked at your nails. "Even sad puppy dog eyed men get ignored by me. So you should feel very special. You tugged on my dried up heartstrings."

"They're not that dry then," he scoffed.

"Keep talking and that beer will disappear."

"Yeah," he took another drink. "Down my throat anyway."

You glared harder taking your feet off the table to lean in closer, "I may just shove that glass down your throat too while I'm at it."

He bared his teeth, "I'd like to see you try."

You shot upwards, snarling at him before quicker than a flash, he hooked his foot on your chair leg tugging it forward. The sturdy wood hit the back of your knees, crashing you back down into the seat. You sat stunned for a moment, unused to people gaining the upper hand on you.

"Simmer down I was joking," he rolled his eyes. "Whatever you do for a living sure did take your sense of humor."

"And here I thought the sad washed up sap no longer had one," you retorted quickly.

"I may be lost in thought but I can keep up with the best of them," his gaze darted back to you. "Just remember that."

A few tense moments passed by and the patrons that had watched the exchange between you both, started to relax. Even the owner had been tense as he didn't want his establishment wrecked by a fight between the two of you. With your glass empty, you stood to go get another one, when his hand wrapped around your wrist. Pouring the rest of the liquid that remained in his glass into yours. You sat there stunned at the kindness.

"I've had enough," he shrugged.

Your finger circled around the smudged rim as you now didn't know how to act around him. Many people didn't treat you nicely and if they did they always wanted something or take advantage of you.

"Got a name," you finally asked the curiosity not leaving you alone.

"No."

"Where you from?"

"Don't know."

"Well you're just a well of knowledge. Good chat," you rolled your eyes. "Guess I'll just call you bigmouth."

"Please. Don't."

"What," you grinned deviously, "do you prefer idiot? Maybe moron? Boring?"

"I get it," he waved a large hand.

You pouted thinking that would have gotten a rise out of him.

"Just call me Vic," he replied confused where he pulled that name from his mind.

"I think I rather call you bigmouth," you stated.

"Don't care."

Crossing your arms while slumping in the seat, you were starting to get annoyed for the lack of progress. The longer you spoke to Vic, the more your curiosity grew instead of shrinking.

"Soooo wanna share why you got such a long face over here," you asked.

"I rather not," he seemed to shrink further into his shell.

"Fine. I'll tell you something about myself first and then you have to at least give me something."

Vic shook his head but waved for you to continue. He remained quiet letting you have a moment of victory as you wouldn't let up until you got some bit of information from him.

"I'm a bounty hunter," you showed him the badge that normally hung between your breasts under your shirt. "Been all over this country and taken out many criminals. Been needing a break so I've been staying here."

Vic nodded, "I've been travelling myself. Taking out my own class of criminals with my team."

"Where is your team," you asked and immediately regretted it as he stiffened.

He looked away, emotion clogging up his throat a little bit, "They're dead. They were killed thanks to a barmaid who saved herself. I was the only one who survived."

That was one of the main reasons you refused to recruit on your missions. You didn't want to lose anyone and it was hard for you to get along with others very often."

"Sorry to hear that."

He shrugged again, "So I rather travel alone. It hurts less."

"That's the main reason I travel alone. Nobody to mourn and if I get turned into bird food. Then nobody is around to mourn me either."

"That's a sad existence," he replied.

"You chose the same existence as me," you pointed out, laughing into your mug.

He chuckled and this time the amusement made it's way to his eyes, "I guess I did. But it doesn't mean I don't make friends along the way."

"Are you calling me a friend there Vic?"

"We're drinking together aren't we," he pointed to the two mugs.

"I think I'm doing the majority of the drinking here," you said matter-of-factly.

Without another word Vic gave the owner the sign for two more drinks. He nodded getting to work filling two more glasses.

"My hero," you cooed kissing his cheek quickly. Vic sat there stunned for a few moments. You grinned smugly as you felt like you got some revenge for the seat ordeal he just pulled moments ago. Despite never trusting easily, you found yourself comfortable around Vic. He still had so many things left to uncover and you knew as soon as your time was up in town, you both would go your separate ways. But for this night and the last moments you and him would enjoy each other's company. Vic watched you closely and despite telling himself not to get close, he couldn't keep that promise to himself. You were too fascinating to him and he felt himself falling. Needing to know more, needing to get closer. He knew that it would end and that would be that, but for these quiet and blissful moments he would allow himself a chance to enjoy something good and fun. Until he was finally able to find his purpose or he found the death he craved. He hoped to find more people like you through his long journey, but this was your chance and you both wouldn't squander it.

#Andy X Reader #Andy / Reader #Undead Andy X Reader #Undead Andy / Reader #Undead Unluck #Andy Imagine #Undead Unluck Imagine #Imagine #My Writing

17 notes · View notes

why-what-no · 2 years

Text

Pretty Vicious

Pairing: The Corinthian x Feminine Man!Reader

Warnings: Bigots, Violence, Swearing, use of the term “fairy”

Summary: The Corinthian is pleasantly surprised when he meets a man at a bar and they get into a fight with some terrible guy. They promise they’ll have to plan to do it again.

Requested by: @logan-strong (God, I’m so sorry this took so long to post. I was going through slight burnout, and then I had to go to work 🤷‍♀️)

The Corinthian didn't usually pay much attention to other people, especially humans. They were pests at worst, food at best. But (Y/N)... the Corinthian had to admit he was intrigued by him.

(Y/N) was a very feminine man, skirts and crop tops. Not caring what other think, or the status quo. It wasn't something the Corinthian saw every day. Not since crop tops on men went out of fashion in the 90s (which the Corinthian hadn't been too happy about).

But even with that, the thing that interested him the most was (Y/N) was their utter fearlessness. When the two of them first met, it had been in a bar, the type of bar that he knew wasn't exactly safe for someone who dressed like (Y/N).

The nightmare was fine with it, even enjoyed the man's look. He may have lived on earth for a century, but he couldn't exactly judge others for being strange. He was a murderer, but not THAT much of a hypocrite.

But he knew humans had hang ups about wearing the "wrong" clothes. People who were usually aggressive.

And then the Corinthian realized that he underestimated the human. When some asshole said some asshole things to (Y/N), he didn't get scared or anything like that.

No, his reaction was quick and vicious. Grabbing the chair beside him and swinging it at the man's head. No hesitation.

Of course, the man's friends stepped in. Trying to defend their fallen comrade. So, the Corinthian decided to get in on the fun, siding with (Y/N).

"Well that was fun." The Corinthian said a few minutes later, after they got kicked out of the bar. "Nothing like a bar fight to get the blood flowing."

(Y/N) looked at him, face bloody. Chuckling, he nodded. "Very true. We should do this again sometime."

"We definitely should."

He raised his eyebrow at the nightmare, not expecting agreement. "Should I give you my number, then?"

A grin appeared on the Corinthian's face. Knowing that the man was flirting with him, and very glad about it. "Absolutely." He told him, looking forward to the next fight.

***

The Corinthian's phone rang. "Hey, it's (Y/N). Don't know if you remember, we beat the shit out of some guys at a bar a week or two ago?"

"(Y/N)." The glee was clear in the Nightmare's voice. "I've been wondering when you'd call. Thought you'd forgotten about me."

"Oh I could never." Oh, the human was definitely flirting, the Corinthian thought. "Listen, I've got no plans this weekend. Wanna get drinks?"

"Just text me the time and address. I'll be there."

The two of them met up as planned, both of them buzzing with anticipation for another fight.

(Y/N) was as well dressed as ever, fierce eagerness in his eyes. As for the Corinthian, he finally found a human he wasn't planning to kill.

After all, (Y/N) attracted possible victims to the two of them like flies to honey.

"We don't want a fucking fairy here." Some barfly took the bait. This macho man, swaggering up to them (or stumbling, he was fairly drunk) spoke. “You and your… friend,” He said friend like he meant to stay a much less nice word. “Don’t belong with proper men.”

“Proper men?” (Y/N) leaned back on the counter, grin vicious. Fake charm oozing from him. “Like you?”

“Yeah.” The man tried to hard to me intimidating. Puffing out his chest, standing straight.

But (Y/N) just brought their drink to their lips. “Well that’s a shame.” He said, before taking the drink and throwing it on the man.

“You-” The barfly was about to say something, assumedly something extremely bigoted. But he only managed to get one word out before (Y/N) gave the man a quick knee to the crotch.

The Corinthian and (Y/N) got their fight, (and got kicked out of another bar). As they got thrown out, neither of them could stop laughing.

“Oh, the look on his face.” (Y/N) chuckled, holding himself upright against a wall

The Corinthian nodded, smirking at the man. “It was gorgeous.” He stepped closer, until he was standing over his human. “Can’t wait until the next time.”

The grin on (Y/N)‘s told him that he know exactly what the Corinthian meant. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

“Well maybe you’ll call me sooner this time?” He teased.

“Or you could call me.”

That was true. The Corinthian chuckled once more, leaning down to kiss (Y/N). At first gentle, but quickly turning rough.

He was definitely going to keep contact with this human.

#the sandman #the sandman x reader #the sandman corinthian #the corinthian sandman #the corinthian #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x male reader

215 notes · View notes

vibratingskull · 6 months

Text

Unwanted visitor

Part1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Tags : alcohol consomption, brawl, bit of blood

FemaleReader x Thrawn

You're at a soiree in your boyfriend's apartment, and you receive a visit late at night...

You tug your dress to smooth and flatten it. You turn in front of the mirror, observing through every angle. You let Nath…Arzel choose it for you, trusting his sense of fashion and what a woman of the upper crust should look like. He even convinced you to redo your entire wardrobe and brought you shopping at his expense. The clothes are not really your style, but they are feminine and adult, you’ll get used to it eventually. But for now you’re not, and you swear this dress makes you look like a fool. You take a glimpse of him in the corridor.

“Arzel! Does this dress make me look like a badly stuffed sausage?”

He holds your hand as your spin on yourself to show him off.

“Roween… You are absolutely sublime. You’re a living apparition…” He holds your side tenderly and kisses your forehead. “You’ll blind them all, do not worry about anything.”

You breath, calmed down. Your confidence comes back, and you smile at him. He gently guides you to the dining room of his million credit apartment. Far more spacious than your medium size apartment that he generously pays for you, this place makes you feel small. You watch as the droïds dress the table with experts hands, you envelop yourself in a modest shawl, not knowing what to do.

"Demat my friends. Welcome !" The clear voice or Arzel rose behind your back.

You turn to see his friends arriving with big bright smiles. You stay in the backgrounds, not knowing them really well. You can name them but not much else. That doesn’t stop them from embracing you like life long friends. You gladly embrace them back, appreciating this sensation of belonging and love. A lady even kisses you on both cheeks. You let her do it with a patient smile, you get used to familiarity as time goes by.

Arzel places himself next to you and seizes your side delicately.

“To anyone who might not know her already, this is my pearl : Roween.”

Your face heats up, being suddenly the center of attention, you bow your head respectively to your guests, welcoming them properly into the penthouse.

“So it’s her? The pearl?” Say a ginger woman who you recognize being the one talking with Admiral Wiskovis back when you entered the church.

Arzel nods with a confident grin. They all look at you with kindness and actual respect in their gaze, and another thing… Envy. Like they would like to devour you and take your place. You would lie if you said you didn’t like that, to be at the arm of Arzel as so many advantages and perks, authority and respectability is just one of them. If only your subordinates looked at you more like that, you’d have less problems at work. You shake your head, thinking of work will just bring headaches, now is the time to enjoy yourself. You mix with your guests, talking of everything and nothing. The ginger woman gestures to you to join her and her little circle.

“So it is you, The pearl? I knew I saw you somewhere, you’re the little impertinent person who eavesdrops on people's conversation.”

You feel the fire on your cheeks instantly.

“I was only trying to find a good angle to approach a superior and build my network.” You defend yourself.

She chuckles.

“And you came a long way! You are now a lieutenant commander of the Navy, not a nobody of a junior lieutenant. I congratulate you, from the depth of my heart.” She bows her head a little.

You thank her for her praise and accept a glass from her hand.

“But I realize we’ve never been properly presented ! I am Divi, Brigadier General of the Imperial Army. We should stick together as women of the Empire.” She clinks your glasses together, you’re impressed, acceding to her rank is not an easy feat . “Smile! This is Arzel’s dinner but this is as much a celebration of your success in your honor.”

“Thank you, I’m pleased to meet you all.” You say, trying to maintain your composure in front of such high ranked people. The rest of the women nod at your words, welcoming you warmly in the group.

“I have to say, you made yourself desired. Arzel is really pleased to have found you and talks a lot about you. He has great plans for you and the church.” Say one of them.

This warms your heart, Arzel hasn’t been really demonstrative with his love lately, knowing he talks like that about you is a reassurance.

“Well, I do too. I hope to be able to dedicate even more time to it and convince some of my friends to join.” You exclaim excited. “This is such a great cause, we must spread it as much as we can!”

“My! My! What an energetic recruit. Arzel has the eyes for those people.” Divi laughs with you.

And suddenly her demeanor change.

“Well even if you don’t participate in the church influence, you still be part of its… pleasure.” She licks her lips ever so slightly but you see it.

You froze for a second. She looks at you like a prey, and for a split second the rest of the group too. Encircled by lionesses, you can’t walk back to retreat. You gulp.

“What did you say?”

“Hmmmm?” She asks innocently. “I tend to ramble when I have drinks.” She laughs heartily.

You’re taken aback by the shifting attitude.

She puts her arm around your shoulder and pushes you close.

“But we have to warn you. You’re not the first to swagger at the arms of our Arzel. Know this : there have been a lot of called for this position but few have the guts to endure what comes with being with him.”

You frown and snarl. You’re not an innocent little kid, but a ranked warrior of the Empire.

“I think I can handle some boring dinners and insipid discussions with politicians, thank you.”

She shakes her head, chuckling. She lowers her voice to a tone of confidence.

“You are cute, Roween, but you have no idea what you set your foot into. It’s been 6 years since you are with us but you don’t know everything, of it’s inner circle. But it will soon end, soon you’ll play a big part in what this church has to offer. And it will be grandiose.” She squeezes your shoulder tenderly, almost encouragingly. “But your role will require sacrifice.”

You raise an eyebrow, what is she on about? Is she already drunk? You look at her incredulous, and a bit lost. To say she confuses you would be an understatement. Your mind works at full speed to connect all the dots.

“When you say a lot have been called for this position, you’re talking about Ashcorah?” You demand, remembering the frail disoriented woman that approached you when you exited the church the first day.

Her eyes sparkles.

“Shhh. Keep your voice down, you won’t make friends talking about this traitor.” She warns. “Yes, I’m referring to her, among other things… Poor creature, we haven’t been nice to her.” She sounds remorseful and her gaze get lost in the void.

“What happened? Why did she have to leave?” You whisper.

She shruggs.

“She had the bad habit of putting her nose everywhere, and later she stopped believing in our shared goal to reunite all the races. She started spewing lies about our community and talked against it. She left on her own accord as much as we dismissed her.”

She looks at you with a little grin, readjusting your dress’s shoulders.

“I like you Roween. I’ll pray for you for what is to come.”

She winks at you but you sense no friendliness behind it.

She let you here, confused. You rehash this whole scene in your head. She said I will take part in… pleasure of the inner circle? A terrific question flashes in your mind. What if… what if the church has some… freaky, pervert sex circle ? That sounded idiotic but the question makes its way through your mind.

“Everyone! It is time to dine!” Arzel calls everyone.

He takes your hand and gently guides you to your chair, next to his, obviously. You try to smile the best you could, but feel it deformed as a grimace as the question still haunts you. He’s enough of a gentleman to not formalize himself. Everyone takes place and the droïd start bringing the dishes, you try to calm down and smell the delicious scent of food and spices. You’re particularly drawn to a plate of meat.

Arzel waits for everyone to take what they wanted and is served a glass of alcohol to stand up from his seat and raises his glass.

“I thank you all for coming to one of my famous dinners! I regret to not receive you at my mansion on Tyrahnn, we would have more space than this miserable shack!”

Everyone chuckles.

“I would like to dedicate this dinner to the wonderful woman who shares my life, my pearl...” He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You blush instantly. “And our great Beleg that can’t be with us tonight. But he’s working for the peace between the races, so he’ll be forgiven.” He winks. “I also regret that our friend the Admiral Wiskovis cannot be with us because of an attempted murder on his person.” You turn your head and realize a seat is indeed unoccupied. “We will pray for him tonight. I have great news for you tonight! With the Beleg we’ve decided to bless our friend Vez with an honorable name.” Your eyes open wide. Vez will finally get his name? What great news. “After debate, we visited him and decided to grant him the honor by seeing his new pieces of art inspired by his life with the church. Such devotion couldn’t go unrewarded.”

He raises his glasses high, and everyone imitates him.

“I declare Vez one of us!”

“One of us!” You all recite and take a sip of the drink.

This reminds you about the moment you too received your name. All this ceremonial startled you a bit, but it is much funnier when you get to do it. You seize your cutlery and cut through your meat. You take a large bite. It’s strong and fondant, immediately melting on the tongue and deliciously spiced. You notice Arzel’s looking at you with a little smile.

“It is absolutely delicious. What is it?” You ask.

He winks.

“That’s my little secret.”

_______________________________________________

You’re completely and utterly…

drunk.

You look at the city blurred by the speed of the limo as your head drums. You squeeze the hands of Arzel that gently caresses it with his thumb. You sigh, regretting all those glasses of wine. And most importantly, you have a question turning obsessively in your head.

“Everything is alright, my pearl?” He asks

“No, I mean yes! It’s just… I drunk too much.”

He chuckles.

“It happens.”

“Nather ? Can… Can I ask you something ?”

“Sure, Roween. Ask away.”

“Does the church have a … a private circle?”

He seems to think a little.

“I won’t go as far as calling it a private circle, but in a way I would say yes. Unfortunately, even with benevolent organizations an upper crust appears organically.”

“And does this circle… Does weird stuff?”

He looks at you dead in the eyes.

“What are you trying to say, exactly?”

Your mind is only white noise at this point and you have difficulty articulating a correct sentence. You spurt out nonsense.

“Does the circle use sex slaves for perverted stuff?!”

He looks at you with eyes wide open…

And burst out laughing.

“Where did you get that idea?” He tries to ask, shaked by the spasm of his laugh.

“Divi insinuated… things. That I would participate in the pleasure the church will provide…” You feel ashamed to ask such a thing, but with the alcohol it was eating you alive.

He holds his sides, trying to calm down. He coughs and retrieves a contained composure.

“Divi… Always spoiling the fun.” He wipes a tear off his cheek.

You look at him frowning, not taking kindly that your anxiety is laughed at.

“Nather, I’m serious.”

He clears his throat a last time.

“Well, we got a special ceremony arranged.”

“A ceremony?”

“A feast.” He reluctantly admits. “And I planned for you to be the main attraction.”

You eyeball him.

“That’s all?”

“Yes!” He chuckles “I don’t know how you could believe I was running a sex circle…”

You pout. It’s true in insight it sounds terribly stupid. That the man you love run a sex dungeon would be the height of irony.

Because…

Since the 6 years of you together…

Nothing happened.

Nada.

And you’re quite tired of taking care of that alone. A bit of help could be amusing. You take back his hand and squeeze it. You gulp. You terribly need some action tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but your feeling bold and a well known fire start spreading deep down your core. You breathe deeply.

You finally arrive at your place, and Azrel, ever the gentlemen leave the limo to open you the door. You step up the car and press yourself against him. He pepperes kisses on your cheeks.

“Do you want to take a last drink at my apartment?” You ask lascive.

“Didn’t you drink enough?” He smiles.

“You know what I mean…” You open your coat to reveal your low necked robe he chose for you.

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“That is not happening, my pearl. Not tonight.”

“Are you sure?” You trace the low cut with your fingers, giving him bedroom eyes, licking your plump lips.

He closes back your coat in one swift movement.

“Roween, you’re drunk. And I refuse to take advantage of that.” He kisses your forehead “Go home. Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He shushes you away and you comply, shuffling along.

You start to climb the stairs, and glance back at him. He waves you goodbye, wrapped up his expensive black fur. You sigh and enter the building.

You’re so miffed you go to your bed without removing makeup and just put on an oversize t-shirt. You collapse on your bed, tired and unnerved, you roll inside your corvers like a cocoon and wait for sleep to come. You turn and yourself several times. You hear a shuffling sound and put a pillow on your face to muffle any other sound. It would work except for the next sound you hear is much closer.

You open your eyes wide open, instantly sober.

That shuffling sound…

Was your door.

Someone is inside your apartment.

You didn't give the code to anyone except Arzel, but why would he enter your apartment like a burglar?

You slowly rise from your bed, stress making you shake all over the place. You curse yourself, your weapon disappeared with the crash of the Zephyr, you didn't come and claim another one yet. You search your comlink.

Nothing.

You must have let it in the living room.

Where the intruder is.

You try to get back control over your breathing, but it is difficult. You slip into the corridor with an idea. You press yourself against the wall to the electrical panel of your apartment, you turn your head towards the living room and see the light ar on and a shadow moving. You switch the lever and the lights are out. You hear a distinct curse coming from the living room.

You walk towards the room on tiptoes, and lean to observe it. With the rays of the moon you can distinguish your table and chairs, your sofa and télévision and a humanoid form that has nothing to do here. You focus and hear another respiration.

"(y/n)?" The woman knows your name but you don't remember this voice.

You see the form move, like it's searching something and as such slowly approaching your direction.

A little more…

"(y/n), I'm here to talk…"

Like hell we're gonna talk, you think. You feel all your senses screaming and a cold sweat behind your neck.

She takes three other steps and you dive, grasping what you suspect to be her side and an arm. She yelps in surprise, losing her balance she grips you, you seize the occasion to throw your knees in her stomach. She bends forward with a groan of pain, but manages to pull out from your grip. She throws her fist that that you receive in the face. You totter holding your jaw. She throws it again but you manage to avoid it and seize her whole arm to make her roll over your shoulder. Like in training you, you think. She crashes on the floor, cutting her breath. You seize what you think is a chair, and crash it down on her.

She stops moving.

You kneel to find a breath. She's still alive. You reactivate the lights and come back to see your assailant.

It's Ashcorah. Ashcorah.

You look at the limp body laying on the floor, unsure what to do. You’re panting excessively because of the adrenaline and you feel yourself shaking all over. You have to sit down and breathe deeply in and out, focusing on your breath to not hyperventilate. In shock, you extend your hand towards your comlink on the table and try to join the only peoples that come to your mind.

________________________________________________________________________

You hear a gentle knock on the door.

You go open with wobbly legs. You open to see Thrawn, as well put as ever standing out in your landing.

“Greetings.”

Still shocked, you just nod to him. He enters your apartment and assesses the situation. You notice his chest moving up and down rapidly like he is out of breath.

“Did you run?” You ask with a shaky voice.

“You said you had a problem.”

You slowly nod again, biting your nail. He kneels next to the unmoving body.

“Do you know her?”

“Very little…” You said, sitting back, looking at him investigating.

“Do you have a rope?”

“I… I have some stockings…” You blabbed.

“It will do.”

You hand him the piece of clothing and he ties her hands in her back before rolling her on her back and searching her vest. He pulls out a blaster pistol.

“Looks like she came accompanied.”

You see the weapon and immediately burst into tears. That is the last straw. This is too much for you. The alcohol, the intrusion, your violated intimacy and now that! You bury your face into your hands, and cry your heart out. You feel a hand on your shoulder. You raise up your head, your vision blurred by your tears.

“I am sorry, (y/n).” He says softly.

You don’t think and dive, pressing yourself against him. You wrap your arm around his chest, bury your face in his neck and cry. You feel him stiffened under your touch but doesn’t say anything, he lets you soak his perfectly clean uniform. You ugly cry like there is no tomorrow, digging your nails into the fabric, you feel him caressing your back, slowly, gently…

“Everything is gonna be alright.”

He cradles you delicately. You hug him tighter.

“I am here…”

He moves away, holding your face with both hands he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb wiping away a tear.

“I will not let anyone hurt you.”

You sniff, locking eyes with him. You find comfort in his red glowing pupils, a familiar sensation. You feel his breath on your lips.

“Thank you sir.” You manage to pronounce between sobs.

He rests his forehead against yours, caressing your cheek. You inhale his scent and start to calm down. Your conscience starts yelling at you, too close, too familiar, unprofessional…

But it is so reassuring to have a friend’s shoulder to cry on. Like it was at the academy. You miss those simpler times.

“I can’t sleep alone tonight…” You say, sniffing between each word.

“This is understandable. This house is not the safe place it used to be for you.” He breathes deeply. “Maybe you could come to my place and-”

“I’m here my pear!!” Arzel yells.

You part immediately like one man. Arzel shows up at the door, panting with some friends of the church behind him. You both raise on your feet, Thrawn moves away from you at a respectable distance. Arzel runs to you, seizes your face and starts inspecting you at every angle.

“You’re not hurt?” he demands

“No, I’m okay…”

“Thanks Maker!” He pulls you into a hug, and notices Thrawn. “What are you doing here, you ?” He pulls you closer, putting himself between you two.

“(Y/n) called me in a panic, saying someone creeped into her home.” Thrawn politely responds.

Arzel gazes descend on Ashcorah, still laying but slowly coming back to her senses. He snaps his fingers and your friends seize her, forcing her on her feet and escorting her outside.

“Did you call the police?” Thrawn asks.

“No need to bother them.” Azrel answer at your place

Thrawn frowns.

“It is very unsafe if I can permit myself, Governor.”

“No you cannot. It is a private matter of the church and we can handle it ourself.” You press yourself against Azrel, watching the feet of Ascorah trying to prevent being taken away by your friends. “As for you, thank you for your help but you’re not needed anymore. You can leave.”

Thrawn looks at you and nods, heading toward the exit.

“Well, it is out of the question you sleep alone tonight, my pearl. I’ll stay with you.” He murmurs caressing your hair.

But you don’t really listen, your mind wandering elsewhere. You push him away and run into the staircase.

“Sir!” You yell.

Lower, Thrawn raises his head to you, frowning. You descend the stairs to meet him.

“Hum… I have a friend who showcases in a small gallery. I thought we could go there… As a thank you for helping me tonight.” you fidget your hands.

Thrawn nods lightly.

“This is a delicious idea.”

You nod back enthusiastically like a child being congratulated.

“Well, goodnight.” He greets you moving away.

“Goodnight, sir…” you respond, looking at him walking away.

____________________________________________________________________

You hiss, feeling pins and needles spread in your cheeks. Arzel continues dabbing the cotton wool on your cut.

“Stop moving, or it will go bad.”

“It stings” you snarl.

“I’m sure you can support it.” He chuckles, taking the medicine away.

You sigh, rubbing your wound.

“Tell me… What’s gonna happen to Ashcora?” you ask

“I told you, we’re gonna take care of her. You don’t need to worry about anything. You can sleep safe and sound.” He answers.

You look down, shoulders low. This answer doesn’t satisfy you. You hug yourself, trembling. the image of this blaster pistol flash in your mind and you shudder. You feel a hand slide under your chin, forcing you to raise your head. You look at Arzel's inquisitive gray eyes.

“Come on. It wasn’t so terrible. Can you smile for me?”

You muster all your courage to offer a half convincing grimace mimicking a smile. He grins.

“That will do, my pearl.”

He kisses your forehead. His scent spreads to your nose and you breathe it deep.

You can’t meet his eyes, because at this moment,you’re longing for another man.

You bury your face into your hands, but all you can see in the dark is red floating eyes.

@Bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics

16 notes · View notes

steven-in-pedagogy · 10 months

Text

Day 29

Gender performance was something that cleared a lot of confusion in my mind and tried to reasearch more on the subject but was really hard to understands Butler´s way of writing.

youtube

But this video really helped me understand it better.

the surveillance that people are put under forces them to act, dress, accessorize in a certain way according to their gender.

I know understand the reason i had a constant feeling of being watched my whole life. Growing up as a cis-gender boy knowing that i liked boys and was interested in "feminine" lead me to nitpick my behavior so that people would not tease or think of me as "less of a man" or just ostracize me. Even when i came to terms with my attraction for boys, which is kind of a step out of gender norm, i still found myself trying to not act as feminine because i always heard comments like " you can like boys but acting like a f*g is taking it too far".

People around me taught me that girl behavior is bad that it was basically an insult. But that never stopped me from liking Mermaids and shakira growing up, from paying close attention to my neighbour sewing. Even though i enjoyed it i would hide most of it.

When i graduated from the catholic schooli was in, i finally had time to explore my gender and stop caring about the survaillance i am constantly under. it still scares me when people stare at me in public, i am afraid that they might hurt me for not fitting in the norms or them finding out that i am not cis and hate criming me. But i have learnt that i do not owe them anything and under no circumstance i should be afraid of not fitting in with people that at the end day do not know what kind of person i am.

the pokemon franchise may not be the most inclusive one but having characters like the one above (James) was someone who ,despite being the villian, i really looked up to because regardless of him not exactly fitting in the norms it did not matter because he was valued by his friends by what he could do and his potential.

#Youtube

0 notes

pumpkinspice-prouvaire · 2 years

Note

18, 19, or 39 for the writers ask? :]

I bet u thought I forgot about these, right? Hehehe. I mean, I totally did, but anyways

This one is a long boi so it's under the read more

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage. I asked aro-enj to pick a passage for me because idk man!!! And conveniently they were already reading this fic so this is what they went with

"You know you don’t have to put on all that stuff to impress me, right?” he tells Enjolras softly, “I think you’re stunning no matter what you wear.”

Enjolras looks up at him and smiles. “Oh, I know. But I kind of like it. I actually feel good in it, which I didn’t expect, and it’s always nice to say fuck you to gender, right?”

“Right,” Grantaire agrees.

“And,” Enjolras’ eyes fall back to the documentary, even though they’ve barely been paying attention to it, “I like the way you look at me. When I’m wearing that stuff. And,” he looks up, and the look in his eyes is just a little too mischievous for Grantaire’s liking. “I like when you drop stuff because you’re too busy staring at me. It’s funny.”

Uhhh okay let's see... I know putting Enjolras in lingerie is kind of a ✨hot take✨ sometimes, and I get that. People sometimes tend to associate lingerie with femininity, and occasionally you'll see a male character wearing lingerie who kind of has a submissive personality? And to be clear that's totally fine, he's a fictional character it doesn't matter THE SLIGHTEST BIT. It's just not my personal headcanon for Enjolras, so I kind of wanted to make it clear that he was doing this because he wants to murder gender and dance on its grave, not because he wants to slot into a traditionally feminine and or submissive role, or that he was just doing it to make Grantaire happy. I feel like I've explained this very badly but....bon appetit

Oh! Also!!! He likes it because he likes that Grantaire thinks he's hot/pretty/beautiful/sexy/whatever else. Just because he's ace doesn't mean he doesn't want his boyfriend to find him attractive, and everyone likes the self esteem boost of knowing someone can't take their eyes off you, right? That's what Enj is getting out of this.

Also, they're fucking cute. Established ExR is so fun to write, I spend so much time putting them in situations where they get together. It's so nice just writing them existing as a couple <3

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going? I used to do a lot of writing back when I was like 15, 16? Mostly original, although there was some fanfiction. Then one day I just kind of stopped? No real reason, just kind of stopped feeling creative and lost interest and I guess did other things?

And then I started again in 2020 because of quarantine boredom!!! I fell down a nostalgic les mis fic rabbit hole that I haven't managed to pull myself out of yet lmao, and decided to do it myself

I don't know where I'm going??? I'd love to get a decent idea and start writing original fiction again, but there's nothing really jumping out at me right now and I'm content enough to keep writing my blorbos in the meanwhile

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up? Because I know that even if I wanna throw the entire thing in the bin right now, if I persevere I'll always get to a place where I'm more or less happy with it, and if one person enjoys it then it's all worth it <3

#answered #v slowly getting to these lol #i suck we all know this

1 note · View note

kingdaddydaichi · 3 years

Note

One of my favorite stories I’ve ever read is “Lessons Learned”. So I would like to request something similar with a mixture of Hard dom/ Brat tamer Bakugou ❤️‍🔥 Take it in whatever direction you want, I know I’ll enjoy it however it ends up 😏

@ssplague, bestieeee! Tysm! 🥺💕 I'm sooooo fucking sorry it took me so long to answer your ask! It made me weak the first time I read it! I've got so many other wips I should probably be working on rn, but I finally said FUCKIT! I nEED this in my life rn!

I LOVED writing Lessons Learned - god! It was hard to get through tho. Nearly every time I sat down and started working on it, it always ended the same way and that's all I'ma say rn! 😈

Yes. I see your HardDom!BratTamer!Bakugou and raise you Jealous!Exhibitionist!Bakugou. 💅🏼💋

I hope it's worth the wait...

MINORS 👏🏼 DO 👏🏼 NOT 👏🏼 INTERACT 👏🏼

The Performance 💥 HardDom!BratTamer!Jealous!Exhibitionist! Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader 💥 NSFW

Warnings: slight dubcon, Dom/sub dynamic, possessive dynamic, exhibitionism, marking, circle jerk, creampie, absolute filth

Word Count: 2.9k

It was half past 9 when he walked through the door at the well-to-do club where you'd been enjoying down time with some of your friends. He kissed your cheek and sat down in the half-circle booth next to you, putting his warm, athletic arm over your bare shoulders.

"How long you been waitin'?"

"Maybe an hour?"

He looked down, grumbling. "Got here as soon as I could". He glanced at you with his bottom lip poking out.

You propped your cheek on your hand and smiled at him, rubbing his arm. "I know, babe. It's perfectly fine, I understand".

"Ay, Bakubro! You finally made it!", Kiri yelled from across the table.

Katsuki snarled at him. "Yeah! Some of us have to actually work for a living!"

At that very moment, the cocktail waitress stopped by the table to take Katsuki's order and Mina yelled, "Yes please, for the love of god, get that man a drink!"

He growled at her before turning back to the waitress. "Four fingers of whiskey straight, no chaser".

She scampered off and everyone fell into the chatter and laughs they'd been sharing when Katsuki arrived.

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

You were on your way back to the table from the restroom when you felt fingers against your elbow and a voice behind you say, "Hey, (y/n)!"

"Oh hey!" It was a young man a few years younger than yourself who worked in the same office building as you. "Fancy seeing you here". He appeared to be with a couple of friends judging by the prying eyes peering from behind him, smirking.

"I know, right? I've been here a few times, but I don't think I've seen you here before".

"Really? I come here quite regularly and I've seen you here before".

"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I just haven't been paying attention".

"Don't worry about it! I just thought I'd say hi this time".

"I'm glad you did! Maybe I'll see you again the next time I'm here". You waved your fingers at him and started back towards your table again only to see Katsuki's eyes about to burst into flames as he watched you approach.

When you sat down, he leaned in. "Who's he?"

You waved him off. "Just a guy who works in the same building as I do".

"What did he want?"

"Nothing, just wanted to say h-"

"Bullshit". He placed his hand over your thigh under the table. "When a guy looks at a woman the way he was looking at you, trust me baby, he wants something". His large, rough hand squeezed the meat of your thigh beneath it. It hurt and you gripped his wrist in an effort to keep the whine in the back of your throat from escaping. The rest of your party was too close in proximity...at least one or two of them would've heard you. "I don't like it when other guys look at you like that". He dragged his fingers upward, taking the hem of your skirt along with them.

"Katsuki, get ahold of yourself. They're just looking...it's not like they're touching me".

He put his mouth to your ear. "Fuck it. Let 'em look". His hand moved further up your skirt, parting your legs enough that you could feel the cold draft of air against your dampening panties. "It'll just give me every reason I need to show them who you belong to".

His eyes shifted away from yours and you followed them to see what he was looking at. The guy who had just been flirting with you was watching as your husband's hand worked between your legs. His eyes flicked to Katsuki’s whose dark, lopsided, toothy grin spread across his handsome face, pleased that he was making himself clear to the other man that he had already laid his claim on you.

His pinky grazed your clothed, wet slit and you squirmed in your seat, trapping his hand between your thighs hoping it would make him relent. "Stop it, Katsuki", you growled at him.

But he twisted his wrist until he was able to push your panties aside with two of his fingers. He sank said fingers between your inner folds, coating them with your clear slick before curling them upwards to flick them over your hardening clit. You shuddered under his touch as he locked eyes with the other man, making sure he was watching when Katsu raised his fingers to his mouth, sucking them both off at once.

You glanced down to see Katsuki's cock pushing against the fabric of his slacks, tight against him in his sitting position. Showing other men that you belonged to him had always put him in a rut. You used the situation to your advantage and knowing he wouldn't follow you with a half, but nevertheless large, erection for everyone to see, you stood up in one fluid movement, turning away from him and strutting to the bar.

As you waited for the busy bartender to take your order, you noticed the rather strapping gentleman who stood beside you, looking down at his glowing phone screen.

"What can I get for you ma'am?"

You looked back at the bartender, who'd finally spoken to you. "Oh, um- (favorite drink)-"

"On me", the man beside you said.

"Yes sir", the bartender said before turning to his task.

You looked again at the handsome man beside you - taller than Katsuki, but he didn't exude quite the same confidence he did. Then again, not many people did.

"Thank you, you didn't have to do that".

"I know". He gave you a smug, sidelong look. "I wanted to".

You tried to hide your smile, but fuck. His sexiness could easily go head to head with Katsuki's. You watched his eyes travel from your face down to your toes and back up again. You could almost feel your possessive husband's fiery eyes burning a hole in your back.

You turned to face the gentleman beside you, glancing over at the blond in the process. When you focused your gaze back to the man beside you, Katsuki stood up and started stalking towards you. His dick still wasn't completely soft yet, but he didn't care. He probably wanted the man next to you to see the bulge in his pants, using it to his advantage during the impending exchange at the bar. Not many men had a bigger cock than Katsuki and he knew it.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, squaring his hips off at the other man, most likely willing him to notice his size. "Let's go".

You pushed back against him. "Stop Katsu, I'm not ready to go yet".

He locked eyes with the man beside you and put his mouth right up next to your ear. "Would you prefer I fuck you right here on this bar to show everyone who your slutty pussy belongs to? Because I will! You're already wet and aching for my cock, aren't you, pretty girl?"

He was NOT bluffing. You knew your Dom. It had only taken him once before to show you that he was not above covertly pulling his dick out and pushing it inside your hot cunt while standing behind you at a crowded bar, much like the one you were standing at now.

The bartender sat your drink down on a small napkin, but Katsuki pushed it back to him and said, "Oi! Throw this one out and make her another one". He glared at the taller man beside you. "ALL of her drinks are on me, got that?"

He slid two thick fingers inside the plunging neckline of that little black number you wore, carding your hard nipple between them as he rutted his hips against your bottom. "Well?"

A part of you wanted him to fuck you then and there with the other man watching. But you'd never let it actually go that far. "Katsu, please go sit down and I'll be over after I get my drink since I have to wait longer for it now". You rolled your eyes.

He leaned back, his vermillion eyes searching yours until they locked onto the feminine form brushing past your shoulder. He reached out and stopped the cocktail waitress in her tracks, leaning down to her ear, whispering something. Without another word, he calmly walked away and sat back down at the table.

Stubborn as you were, you held your position at the bar. A couple of minutes later, out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement near the table where Katsuki was seated. The same waitress was now leaning down and whispering in his ear, her lips less than an inch from his face. He caught your gaze and smirked before turning his face towards hers. For a second it looked like he might actually kiss her. You were relieved for about half a second when she stood up and started walking away from him, only to watch him stand up as well and follow her up the stairs into the private VIP area.

Now it was your head that was about to explode. I know he did NOT just invite a fucking cocktail waitress to the VIP so he can fuck her! He turned the tables faster than a cheap hooker turns tricks on the streets of Vegas. You knew how other females looked at him. Hell, males too! That girl was probably 10 years your junior too, barely old enough to be serving alcohol. And now you watched as she led your husband up the stairs.

Drink forgotten, you marched your pretty, indignant ass right up to the 2nd level, ready to snatch a bitch up by her hair only to find Katsuki sitting on the couch, alone.

"Seems you're a petty, jealous asshole too".

Relieved, you plopped down on the couch next to your faithful husband, putting your arm over his waist as he pulled you in and kissed your forehead.

You lowered your head to his chest only to notice once again that his cock was pressing against the confines of his pants. You stroked him through the rough material as he raised up, pushing his erection closer to you, physically begging for more of your touch. You palmed him a couple more times before unzipping his slacks and pulling his cock out. He wasn't fully hard yet, but if you had anything to do with it, he was going to be standing at full attention in less than a minute.

You lowered your head further and pushed some spit through your ruby lips onto the angry head of his dick. He watched as you lowered your mouth and swirled your tongue around the smooth texture of his tip before sinking your lips down around him, taking as much of him into your mouth as possible. Not easy, but you're a blow job champ determined to take all of it for the team.

Only a couple of minutes passed by when Katsuki pulled you off his cock. You raised your lusty gaze to see the two men who'd flirted with you standing side-by-side, eyes as big as half dollars at the sight of your tits hanging out of your dress with a fat string of saliva hanging from your bottom lip. Your face snapped to Katsuki who had a shit-eating grin on his face. "What the fuck, Katsuki? Why are they here?"

"Because I had them brought here to watch and see under no uncertain terms who the fuck you belong to!"

Your protest was cut short when Katsuki flipped your body around so that you were facing the back of the couch. He pushed your skirt up around your waist and hooked your soaking panties with his thumb, pushing them aside and holding them against your ass cheek. "I suggest you hold onto something, you bratty cockslut!"

"Baby, no, I don't want them to see-". You averted your eyes from theirs.

Katsuki gave his thick cock a couple of strokes before pushing the head against your weeping entrance.

"Katsuki, you can't-". Your words failed you as he sank his meaty cock inside you.

He looked over at the audience of two, who were enraptured as they watched your husband pull himself nearly all the way out before gliding himself in balls deep again. He set a rhythm, making sure that the two guys who'd had the audacity to flirt with you could see the striations of your slick along his length as he fucked you. The younger of the two, the office boy, had been palming himself through his pants.

"Oh my god, Katsu! They're watching us!"

"I know, that's the fucking point!" Maintaining his pace, he looked at them. "You understand now that she's mine?"

Their mouths moved, but no sound came out. Katsuki pounded his thighs against you harder, a sharp clap ringing through all 8 ears. "Answer me!" The taller man's erection was now evident through the fabric of his pants.

"Y-yes, I un-understand", one of them mustered while the other one could only nod.

Katsuki's wet balls were slapping your clit now, and you whimpered "Katsu? Baby?"

He wrapped your hair around his fist, ignoring your mewl. He never broke eye contact with the men who'd made passes at you. "Tell her who the fuck she belongs to".

The younger one had pulled his cock through his open zipper, jerking off his smaller dick with his eyes locked on the point where your body met your husband's.

"Look at her!", Katsuki commanded. Both pairs of eyes met yours, their dry mouths hanging open. "SAY IT!"

They both jumped. "Y-you...belong to h-him", said the younger man who had been jacking off.

"The name's fucking Bakugou! Fucking say it!"

The same guy said, "You b-belong to B-Bakugou!"

By this time the taller man had pulled his dick out too, much larger than that of the other guy, but he still didn't hold a candle to Katsuki.

Katsuki's eyes darted to his. "Say my fucking name!" Your pussy was sucking him hard and his voice nearly cracked.

"B-Bakugou..."

"That's right...Bakugou. It's her last name too, you fucking beta. Don't you ever forget!"

The man's eyes drifted over to your pussy just in time to see the pink ring of flesh around your husband's cock begin an undulating cycle of flexing and relaxing. "Nnn-Katsu! G-gonna cum!"

Your thighs tightened and your hips stopped rocking back against Katsuki's, but the clamping down of your vaginal walls only got stronger as you unraveled around your husband's weighty cock.

He pulled back on the fistful of your hair, still plunging himself deep within your quivering cunt. Smarmy as ever, he looked at the taller man again. "Who does this fucking pussy belong to?"

"Y-you! I-I mean, Bakugou!"

"You're goddamn right it fucking does". Katsuki's groan escaped on the tail end of his words.

You could feel his cock tensing up inside you, such was his size. "Katsu?" Your body had turned to putty as you tried to hold onto what little shred of dignity you had left. "Cum for me, Katsu!", you whimpered.

"Why the fuck should I?"

"C-uz I want y-ou to mark m-e!" Your eyeliner smeared across the leather material of the couch cushion.

"That's a good a reason as any", he said before shifting his eyes away from the small circle jerk and back down to you. "Ah fuck, baby, yeah. I'll fucking mark you alright!" His eyes darted back up to that of his audience. "Gonna make sure my musk saturates you so they can fucking smell me on you!"

Drool seeped from your open mouth against the cream-colored leather. Your tits swayed and your ass cheeks rippled from the sheer force of Katsuki's relentless thrusts.

"Ah fuck, baby, gonna fill you up with my seed! So fucking full of it you're not going to be able to hold it all in!" Katsuki's hips snapped against your ass one last time before locking up, his ass flexing, relaxing, flexing, relaxing, flexing.

The younger man who'd been jacking off whined quietly as he blew his load onto the carpet beneath him.

"Nn fuck", the taller one groaned.

Finished with his orgasm, Katsuki pulled his cock out, bouncing under its own weight. He pulled your hips around to put on display the creampie he'd left behind inside you. The taller man, still tugging on his cock, watched as your pussy clenched, causing some of Katsuki's seed to ooze out of you and drip onto your ankle. That's all he could take and he came rather loudly, his cum nearly hitting you on the first release, such was the power behind it.

Katsuki frowned at both of them. "She's fucking mine. Don't you ever fucking forget it. Now...get the fuck OUT!"

They barely got their sticky, softening cocks back in their pants before retreating downstairs to no doubt go straight to their respective homes and have existential crises because they just orgasmed while watching another man fuck and cum inside an attractive woman. Porn was one thing, but Katsuki's show of dominance had hit different. And they had to wonder if they were wrong for it somehow.

Meanwhile, your husband helped you pull yourself together at least enough to make it to the car to take you home.

And with the privacy window partially cracked open, the driver was able to watch as Katsuki lapped up both your fresh slick for him, as well as his own seed as it continued to leak out.

#ask and you shall receive #hard dom bakugou #brat tamer bakugou #jealous bakugou #exhibitionist bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki #bakugo #katsuki x f!reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #dynamight #katsuki thirst

361 notes · View notes

cuquitalocita · 3 years

Text

nothing like customer service |rowaelin month- day 1|

rowaelin masterlist

an: starting it off with a requested part two (prequel??) to this fic. hope you all enjoy and happy rowaelin month!

word count: 3,406

Of two things, Rowan Whitethorn was one-hundred percent certain.

One: he never should have applied for college if it meant getting a job like this to stay afloat.

Two: he didn’t get paid nearly enough to deal with customers like the woman in front of him.

It was six in the morning, Rowan wagered. It probably wasn’t the woman’s fault she was so cranky. But it most definitely was her fault that she was choosing to take it out on Rowan on only his second day of work at the local cafe near campus.

Rowan sighed, attempting not to show his rising frustration with the black-haired woman who had confronted him moments before, yelling with all she was worth. The sun wasn’t even out yet.

“Ma’am I-”

“Maeve.” Rowan allowed his posture to drop a smidge as his boss’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. The smaller man had to step beside Rowan to even be seen but by the raise of his brows, it was clear Malakai was familiar with the woman. “What seems to be the problem this morning?”

The tense smile Malakai wore faded as Maeve turned her dark gaze on him, her eyes glittering. “It seems your new hire is quite useless, Malakai,” she hissed. “Can’t even make a simple cup of coffee.”

Rowan was trying his best not to growl as Maeve locked eyes with him once more and gave him a cold smile. She knew damn well he hadn’t been the one making coffee. But it seemed this woman just wanted to see the world burn. Rowan knew something else he wanted to see burn too.

“That would be my fault, I’m afraid.”

Rowan nearly jumped at the new feminine voice that sounded behind Maeve, clearly belonging to another woman. He didn’t need to see her to know she was younger, her voice almost musical compared to the deep rasp of Maeve’s.

He stayed still as Maeve was lightly pushed to the side, revealing a girl he knew to be about his age. Rowan swore his breath caught in his throat as he took her in, wondering how he hadn’t noticed her on campus.

She was absolutely stunning.

Golden blonde hair ran down her shoulders and covered her head with a beanie, just showing the red tips of her ears due to the fall wind and the tips of her cheeks and nose were stained red from the cold as well, almost making it impossible to see her freckles if one hadn’t been focused on her face.

Rowan was.

But what truly caught his gaze were her eyes. Bluer than he had ever seen before, he was just able to make out the golden ring around her pupils which somehow emphasized the pink of her lips.

She smiled easily as if there was a single thing about Maeve that was even remotely amusing, and shot Malakai a knowing look. Unsurprisingly, her smile was truly breathtaking.

The girl pointed to the coffee in Maeve’s hand- apparently loaded with enough cream and sugar to “kill a small animal” and locked eyes with Maeve. “I wasn’t paying attention when they called the order number and it seems you grabbed mine. I believe this-” she held up a small cup of coffee that looked jet black. “-is yours.”

“Miss Galathynius.” Maeve seemed to almost hissed the words. “Isn’t it a bit too early for me to be dealing with you this morning?”

The girl didn’t balk, only raised a single brow in amusement as she adjusted the beanie on her head. “Always a pleasure running into you, Professor.” The small smile she wore would have infuriated Rowan had he been on the receiving end of it. Instead, it had him biting his tongue to keep from laughing as he looked between the women in front of him.

He knew Maeve had looked familiar. He now recognized her as the statistics professor at the University.

“Well,” Maeve didn’t respond to her. She turned back to Rowan with a glare that had him sitting up straight, his face unwavering. “Apparently you owe me a new coffee and I’ll be on my way.” She addressed the young man behind Rowan who quickly burst into action, a look of sheepish guilt on his face.

Rowan handed her the coffee quickly enough and Maeve was headed to the door. She turned back to the blonde woman, shoving her sweet coffee into her hands with enough forced to knock over a small person or severely warn her had the coffee not been capped.

“I expect to see you in class this afternoon, Miss Galathynius.” The saccharine smile the girl returned held a spark of mischief. “That is if you deign to show up.”

“I’ll be the one with a pen in my hand.”

The bell rang out loud as the door smacked shut behind her. Rowan shook a little as some of the fall wind went up his back.

“Bitch.” Rowan barely heard the muttered word uttered by the woman in front of him.

His head whipped around as he took in her eyes that were glued to the door that had just shut.

“Aelin…” Rowan had forgotten Malakai was even behind him. He turned to see the older man watching her with a warm smile. She returned it with a sheepish smile of her own as if caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, even though she sounded anything but.

The girl- Aelin finally turned to Rowan, pinning him with her blue gaze. She gave him a polite smile and it was made very clear to him that this woman could have anyone wrapped around her finger in a matter of moments. It slightly infuriated him. She was probably one of those people who believed she was entitled to everything in the world around her. That she could bat her pretty lashes and it would be done.

“Can I just get a blueberry muffin?” She held up the coffee Maeve had shoved into her hand. “I guess I already have my coffee.”

“Not thanks to you,” Malakai chirped as he walked back behind the counter. “I wonder, Aelin, do you go out of your way to infuriate the poor woman?”

Aelin looked ready to burst as she bit her lip and looked down at her feet, shaking her head. “Nope. That’s just a perk.”

Malakai snorted as Rowan rang up her order.

She made to pull out her wallet to pay but was stayed by Malakai’s hand. She glared at the older man as he waved off the cash. “Malakai-”

“No, Aelin, what have I said?”

“But I don’t work here anymore! I should pay just like everyone-”

“And you have,” he insisted, shaking his head with a tone of finality. “Time and time again. Now take your muffin and get out of my new hire’s face.”

Rowan jerked at the mention of him and Aelin smirked as she looked at him, her gaze running over his body. “Trust me,” she scoffed. “I bet he’d love for me to be in his face.”

Luca choked on whatever he was eating as a dark blush attacked Rowan’s face. He attempted to cover it up as he leveled her with an unimpressed look. “Not likely, Princess. Don’t you have a class to go to?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?” she replied.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then why does my answer concern you?”

Rowan shrugged. “It doesn’t. But if Maeve’s reaction to you was any sign, you need all the academic help you can get.”

In what seemed like a second, the playful girl in front of him was gone. Her blue eyes hardened and she scoffed a cold sound, ruffling back into her purse and pulling out a small handful of coins. She dumped them furiously into the tip jar.

“For the great service,” she snapped.

She was out the door without taking her muffin.

Surprisingly enough, Aelin was back the next morning, ordering the same shock-inducing coffee with the same bright smile on her face. But this time it was Luca at the register, and the stumbling boy seemed to be in a wonderful conversation with her before she turned to Malakai.

“Maeve’s a bitch,” was all she said.

“Takes one to know one,” Luca chipped in from his spot by the register. Aelin shot the boy a venomous glare that quickly had him turning back to the customer in front of him. Rowan hid his smile as he gave her his back.

“Oh shut up, Luca. You’re not even out of high school yet.”

Aelin threw her hands up in frustration, her blue eyes sparkling with a look Rowan was starting to think about more and more often. “What am I supposed to do? I’m an arts and humanities major!”

“I think you can deal with Maeve for another semester and then never see her again,” Malakai said unhelpfully.

“If I don’t set her classroom on fire first,” she muttered, causing Rowan to bite his tongue. There was no doubt in his mind that Aelin would do it.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I better get going if I want to make it to Hammel’s class on time. Thanks for the coffee again.” She raised herself out of the stool.

Before she could make her way to the door, Rowan shoved a bag into her hand, his face stoic. Her eyes flared with indignance before seeming to check herself.

She eyed it warily before taking it gently and gazing inside. Aelin eyed him with pure bemusement.

“A blueberry muffin,” Rowan stated. She raised her brows once more.

“I can see that.” She placed a few coins in the tip jar.

It was times like these that Rowan was sure he wanted to quit his job.

A young college girl stood in front of him sporting ridiculous-looking pigtails and a University sweater, and Rowan was more than sure he wouldn’t feel bad if he were to kick her out at that very moment.

It was the third time this week the annoying brunette had decided something was wrong with her order and felt the need to comment on it. Rowan could admit that she had been quite polite about it, but he couldn’t care less when they were in the middle of another morning rush.

“Luca,” he barked out, causing the teenager to spin around quickly with wide eyes. “Make me a small caramel latte. Quickly,” he enforced as he set to work. Rowan turned back to the girl in front of him as Luca shoved the new coffee into his hand.

He gave her the coffee along with her money back and watched with rigid stillness as the girl tipped him and turned to leave the coffee shop.

Aelin watched him from her table in the corner, shaking with silent laughter at his tense shoulders. By the time the bell rang signaling the girl had left the shop, Aelin was holding a new blueberry muffin in her hand and gazing at the doorway. She turned back to Rowan as his jaw seemed ready to snap.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” He met her gaze with a raised silver brow.

“For what?” he snapped. “She complained. For the third time this week.” Aelin threw her head back and laughed.

“Oh, not for the order,” she smirked. “I meant for tolerating you.” Her blue eyes twinkled. Rowan turned back to prepare another order so she couldn’t see the twitch of his lips that almost looked like a smile.

It was another four days before Rowan saw her again.

She was back later than usual- this time in the afternoon on a Wednesday, and the cafe is basically empty apart from a few other college students. Unlike them, she gravitated straight to the bar top and dropped all of her heavy textbooks with a loud huff.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind being an accomplice to arson?” she mused. Rowan was glad she couldn’t see the smile on his face as he prepared a coffee with his back to her.

“Only if I get to light the flame,” he deadpanned as he handed the coffee off to the student it belonged to. He watched as Aelin dropped her textbook before catching it with her other hand.

“I’m sorry-” she choked out a laugh. “Did you just make… a joke?” Rowan said nothing but gestured to the clear cabinet of pastries in front of him, asking her what she wanted. Aelin pointed to a blueberry muffin in the window cabinet. Rowan bagged the muffin silently, pretending not to notice Aelin’s gaze on him or the insistent yearning to look at her. He handed her the muffin and Aelin took it without a word, the two working in silence until Aelin shoved her textbooks back into her backpack and dropped a few coins into the tip jar.

Rowan’s words stopped her with her hand on the door handle.

“Thank you.”

It’s raining the next morning Rowan sees her. Fall was finally in full swing and Rowan had taken to wearing long sweatshirts that covered up most of the tattoo in his arm to keep him warm, much to Luca’s dismay. The kid claimed it was ‘way too cool to cover.’

Aelin walked in around her usual time, closing her umbrella with a large snap, and barely acknowledged Rowan as she walked up to the counter.

“Same as usual?”

Her response was a small silent nod and Rowan set to work, enjoying the amiable silence between them. But it was strange for Aelin. She was usually so chipper in the mornings and usually, she was the main thing that woke him up. He didn’t think he liked quiet Aelin.

“Are you…” he cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

Aelin’s eyes shot up to his own, surprise coating her features at his out-of-character question. She paused the movements of her fingers as she looked at him before shaking her head and continuing.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, smiling a little bit. “I just hate the rain. It’s so glum.”

“Nah.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of them. “Rain is pretty cool actually. It’s like… a reminder. That the world isn’t always pretty. And yet it still goes on another day.”

The look of shock coating Aelin’s features had Rowan immediately feeling insecure and he realized he hadn’t meant to speak so honestly. But as Aelin’s smile softened, and she placed a few coins into the tip jar, Rowan allowed his own to turn up at the corners.

Maybe he hadn’t regretted it.

“All good customers today?” she asked. Aelin had returned during yet another afternoon during a rare time for her, with a sweet smile on her perfect face. Rowan groaned as she dropped a few coins into the tip jar.

“I think I’d like to take you up on that arson offer.”

Aelin is brooding today, Rowan notices the next morning as she glared down at the thick red ‘D’ on her paper. She had walked in without her usual brightness, her smiles dim, and her small talk bland. Rowan was too much of a coward to admit it more than bothered him.

He observed her silently and ignored her glare, simply glancing between her face and her paper before clearing his throat.

“You look beautiful today. I mean, not that you don’t look beautiful every day but…” Rowan didn’t think he had ever floundered for words harder in his life. He could feel a deep blush creeping up the back of his neck but was more than happy to see the tension in Aelin’s shoulders drop as a girlish smile covered her face. He wasn’t counting, but he swore she dropped more coins than usual today.

Rowan waited until the door shut behind her before he gazed out the window, more than pleased to see a matching blush on her own cheeks as well.

It had been a week.

An entire week since Rowan had last seen her, and he would be lying if he said it wasn’t bothering him. It was damn near embarrassing how often he perked up at the ring of the door every time someone walked in, only for them to slump back down when he realized it wasn’t the blonde he had been expecting.

It was the middle of the day, the cafe relatively empty as Rowan gazed pathetically at the unmoving door. He jerked up as Malakai slammed down a tray of blueberry muffins next to him. He looked at the younger man and sighed.

“It’s her finals week,” he said as if that explained everything.

“Hmm?”

“She has her statistics final tomorrow and I told her to stay away and study. That’s why you haven’t seen her.”

“She can study here,” he couldn’t help but point out. Malakai only rolled his eyes.

“I hate to break it to you Rowan, but you aren’t the only one who gets distracted when she studies here.” The blush was back attacking the back of his neck in full force and Rowan turned away and began restocking the muffins.

The thought had crossed his mind more than once- if what he and Aelin had could be anything more than just friends. But he had dismissed the thought as quickly as it had appeared. He liked Aelin- she was kind and funny and hardworking from what Rowan could tell.

“You know she’d say yes,” Malakai supplied knowingly.

“What?” Rowan pretended to brew some more coffee.

“To… whatever it is that’s going on between you two. She wouldn’t say no, Rowan.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he did know. The fact had hit him in the face like a truck at high speed and the realization almost had Rowan dropping the pot of coffee on his feet.

He was in love with Aelin Galathynius.

“Rowan!”

The man in question barely had time to look up and see a wisp of blonde hair before a smaller body was thrown at him in a full hug. He felt the breath leave his body although it had nothing to do with the weight of the girl in his arms. No- he had been waiting months to have her here.

Aelin smelled like lemon verbena and it was difficult for Rowan not to inhale the scent that was directly in his face as his nose touched her silky hair. He tried not to squeeze her too tight as he had no idea what was happening. Although he did feel Aelin let out what felt like a giggle as she finally pulled away, not leaving his arms as she looked up at him.

She held up a thick stack of paper that read ‘STATISTICS FINAL EXAM.’

And next to it was thick red A-.

“I did it!” She was beaming at him.

“You did it,” Rowan repeated, unable to look away from the paper. But then it hit him. “You did it!” Lifting her up and squeezing her even tighter, Rowan spun Aelin in a circle, delighted in the laugh that sprang out of her. He wanted to record the sound and listen to it every night.

Finally, he put her down but once more, he refused to let her go. Aelin made no motion to move away either.

“All thanks to you,” she smirked. “Who knows what I would’ve done without my study buddy?” Rowan didn’t register anything she was saying. He was too busy looking at her mouth- at her perfectly pink lips and how much she wanted to kiss them.

She was saying something-

“Go out with me.” The words sprung out of their own volition. Aelin stilled in his arms, looking up at him with a raised brow before a brilliant smile cracked through.

Rowan didn’t think he was breathing as she reached up and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek, his skin burning at the contact. She grinned.

“It took you long enough.”

Before he knew what was happening, Aelin had turned away and placed a few coins in the tip jar.

He didn’t need to count them to know it was quite a bit more than usual.

the prompt was: i just realized i’m in love with you

taglist:

@story-scribbler

@rowaelinismyotp

@live-the-fangirl-life

@claralady

@surielandiareendgame

#aelin galythinius #rowan whitethorn #aelin #rowan #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin modern au #tog #sjm #throne of glass #rowaelin month

130 notes · View notes

heloisedaphnebrightmore · 3 years

Text

Important asset [Billy Russo x Reader]

Title: Important asset Pairing: Billy Russo x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 22 April 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: My first Billy Russo fic, I hope it's not that bad, I'm still trying to get a hold of his character :) Summary: [x] Being a former military personal gives you the opportunity to work for Billy’s company. Becoming a very important part of the company provides you with an even closer relationship with your boss. However, he seems to be deliberately dancing on your nerves, increasing your already built-up frustration.

Ben Barnes and Characters Masterlist

Masterlists | Marvel Characters Masterlist

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Working for Anvil felt like a safe place. After serving your country for years, coming back from your last tour turned out to be more difficult than you could have anticipated. Protecting important personals and working as security wasn’t something you wished to do, but after starting the job, working along with people who have been through what you have, your view of the company has changed. The job was different, but the people you worked with have given you more support than anyone, including your family, friends or your therapist for that matter.

Joining Anvil wasn’t easy, the requirement process raised some issues that you had to overcome. The physical part didn’t offer any difficulty, but the mental exam seemed to present some obstacles. It wasn’t until your second try that you have been approved and joined the team. That was when you met Mr. Russo, CEO and founder of Anvil. He was just as handsome as you have heard, and he had a way with words. He was confident and knew just how to use his charm. Even if you wanted to deny your sudden interest in him, you couldn’t have.

It seemed that even if he didn’t look at you as a woman, he certainly found your abilities interesting. You didn’t just become one with the team, a crucial member, but also became one of Billy’s most important assets. Having both good communications skills and excellent combat skills meant your worth in Billy’s eyes have grown and provided a great deal of opportunity for you to stay beside him. Officially you weren’t an assistant, but unofficially, Billy liked to give you a nice amount of work, keeping you close by from early morning to late afternoon or evening, sometimes past 10pm.

“Mr. Russo,” you called out to him as you walked behind him in a narrow corridor of the Anvil headquarters. Billy turned around, adjusting his tie with a confident smirk across his face. “I heard you were looking for me,” you added as you finally arrived beside him, glancing up at his handsome features, looking very professional in his expensive suit. You wanted to look feminine and pretty, instead of being dirty and sweaty, wearing a pair of tracksuits, but sometimes your work required you to look more worn out than you wished to be. He had a certain aura that kept pulling you towards him, but as confident as you were in your abilities to protect your country and your people, you were just as uncertain about your appearance when you appeared in front of Billy.

“Yes, I have. Care to explain why I can't reach you on your phone?” He asked, his features unimpressed with your lack of availability.

“I was training, I can’t possibly bring my phone with me everywhere,” you replied frowning, but you quickly adjusted your expressions, before he could have scolded you. It was clear that he wasn’t happy with your reply, but he dismissed it after all.

“Come to my office at 1700 hours. I have a couple things to discuss with you,” he replied in an authoritative manner.

“I have to train the new recruits at 4,” you explained, but he just shook his head.

“Ask someone to replace you,” he stated firmly, accepting no objection. But you took your job very seriously and even though Billy was your boss, often you found yourself going against his decisions just to spite him.

“I can’t do that,” you stated, lips pursed to emphasise your objection. “There’s no one to cover me,” you added. His firm stance and sharp inhale reassured you that he was anything but happy with your answer. He took a step forward, forcing you to take a step back and collide with the wall behind you. Your chest felt as though it was a small box, containing only a small portion of oxygen, its lack of tightened your throat, starting your heart off in a dangerous pace, pounding hard against your ribcage. Billy’s presence always made you feel as though you couldn’t breathe. A simple gaze in your direction, a confident grin, his low, deep voice calling your name made you weak at the knees and left your mind wandering to paths you should have never gone to, causing thousands of butterflies to erupt in your belly.

“I’m your boss and I can change your schedule whenever I want to. I want to see you in my office at 1700 sharp, or else—” he didn’t finish the end of his sentence, but you were sure his ideas were entirely different from yours.

“Or else—?” It escaped your mouth involuntarily, receiving a low growl from Billy, a threatening aura, still it didn’t frighten you, if anything it encouraged you further. “I think we both know you will not fire me, Mr. Russo. I’m a very important asset to your company. I am a very dedicated employee and therefore I will try to adjust my schedule to fit your request, but I cannot promise anything, unless you personally can provide someone to take over from me,” you replied in a challenging manner, earning a questioningly raised brow from Billy. Trying to read his face you couldn’t decide if he was actually considering helping you or he was planning how to murder you in the spot.

A heavy sigh left his lungs, but he didn’t back away. “I will send Simon to cover you,” he said between gritted teeth.

“That is absolutely brilliant, I’m so glad we are on the same page,” you exclaimed with a wide grin across your face as you turned around to leave the man behind. However, before you could have left, he grabbed your arm and pulled you back against him, your palms landing on his hard chest, feeling every inch of each fine muscle under your touch.

“Pay attention to your attitude because it has gotten out of hands recently and you are standing on a very fine line,” he whispered, his breath tickling your cheeks. Indeed, you have been rather free with your words and actions around Billy, and you knew you were playing with fire, but it seemed that was the only way to get his attention.

“I might be pushing some boundaries, but my only intention is for the company to work effectively, to produce people that do their tasks efficiently meanwhile wearing Anvil’s name with pride. If I neglect my duties and ignore my job, even if it’s for your request, what use am I to the company?” you asked with a certain pride. Whilst your intention was to object to Billy once again, to be somewhat bratty, every word that left your lips were true. Anvil has given you more than you could have ever wished for and not even Billy could stop you from making this company one of the most well-working organisations.

Billy took a sharp inhale, trying to decide whether you were just being spoilt once again, because you were indeed aware of your own worth, or if the company really took priority in your eyes. His nod reassured you of the latter as he let go of your arm.

“I like the way you are thinking, but it doesn’t excuse your attitude. You are an important asset to the company, but not irreplaceable. By the time you come to see me in the afternoon, try to get rid of it,” he spoke sternly, before he shook his head and offered you a cocky grin as he turned around and left you in the corridor. You couldn’t stop the tiny smile from appearing in the corner of your lips, his expression reassured you that you were anything but invisible in his eyes.

As you were leading a shooting session for your team, Billy interrupted your practice, clearing his throat whilst leaning against the doorframe, watching your people. You looked at your watch, afraid of being late, but according to your time, you weren’t even anywhere near the time you were supposed to be in his office.

“Keep practising,” you instructed them as you walked back to Billy, whose arms were folded in front of his chest, his eyes following every step you took towards him. “Is everything okay?” you asked as you stopped in front of him.

“Hmm,” he replied with a simple hum and a single nod. He seemed to have something on his mind, and you were sure he would soon voice his opinion. Biting his lip, he grimaced slightly. “Your team needs more practice,” he added nonchalantly. Your eyes widened and you quickly turned around to check on the targets. Indeed, there were some errors, but you were overall satisfied with their performance, they were former members of the US Armed Forces after all. Inhaling sharply, you turned back to him, staring at his expressionless face.

“Is this really why you came here?” You asked with a questioningly raised brow.

“I was just wondering how useful you are to the company since you have been walking around voicing your importance. Just like you did in the morning, if I recall correctly,” he shrugged casually.

“Let me see if I understand. After all I have done for the company and for you, now you are checking on my people and my progress, questioning how much we are worth to your goddamn company?” You hissed in anger. Billy seemed to be on a roll attempting to piss you off at any given time. Usually, you could keep your act together, but he has done nothing but insulted you that day and he was very close to reaching your limits. You stared into his eyes and in the lowest, most threatening tone you could manage, you continued. “Listen to me Russo, I can take a lot, I’m quite a resilient person, but I’m very close to walking out of here and never coming back. If you would like me to leave then say it, but if not and you would like me to keep working for you, then let me do my job and leave me alone for the rest of the day,” you exhaled sharply and after a deadly gaze directed at your boss, you turned away and joined your team. Your blood was boiling from the amount of anger he could bring out in you, as if he found your frustration entertaining. Although you expected him to come after you and give you a monologue about humbling yourself, by the time you looked back towards the entrance, he was long gone.

It was already 5pm and Simon was nowhere to be found. You instructed the new recruits to take a 5-minute break from the exercises you have given them as you rocked from one leg to the other trying to calm yourself, slowly exhaling and inhaling. Preparing for the scolding you were about to receive from Billy, your blood pressure had risen. You groaned as you saw Simon run through the door, heavily apologising for his lateness. Shaking your head, you walked up to him and instructed him about the details of the recruits’ further training. By the time you were supposed to be in Billy’s office, you were jogging across the narrow corridors of Anvil, trying to minimise the nagging Billy was about to give you for not arriving in time.

“You are late,” you heard his voice as you opened the door, grimacing at the harsh tone. Billy didn’t even look up from his desk, his eyes were attached to the paperwork he was signing off.

“Not my fault,” you added, walking up to the table and sitting down across Billy.

“I told you to be precise,” he groaned, unhappy about your lateness.

“Next time send someone who actually appears in time,” you retorted, feeling fed up with his continued scolding.

“Once again you have that attitude,” he cleared his throat in frustration.

“Russo!” You shot up from your chair, placing your hands on his paperwork, staring straight into his eyes. “I’m aware that I have a slight problem with my attitude, but I don’t think it’s fair that you blame me for something I had no say in. You have asked Simon to replace me, still at 5pm sharp I was still in the training hub alone with the recruits, because he was late,” you replied firmly.

“I don’t think I have asked for an excuse, so why do I have to listen?” He asked with a deep frown, slowly standing up from his chair, his stance projecting authority. But at that moment, you couldn’t care less. Your blood was rushing through your veins, your built-up frustration threatening to reveal itself. As if Billy’s mere purpose was to dance on your nerves. And he was successful.

“Billy,” you called his first name with clenched teeth. You have gotten used to calling him Mr. Russo or Russo, even though you were close to each other. However recently he has been deliberately annoying you and you couldn’t take it anymore. Indeed, you wanted to get some kind of reaction out of him with your brattiness, but receiving the same attitude didn’t seem that entertaining. You knew you were supposed to be professional when you were working, even though he made it his mission to piss you off, but you just lost your self-control. “I have done nothing for this company but work my ass off to help you. When you asked, I had to be at two even three places at the same time. I have no life, because every single free time and day off I’m supposed to be having, I have to spend here to help you. I don’t mind, because I love working here and I want to make this company a better place. But you are the one talking about my attitude, even though I have never asked for anything in return?! Have I ever asked for a raise even if you dumped hours of work on me? You keep me here from early morning to late evening and I’ve never once complained, still you dare to talk about my attitude? Please, tell me what your problem is with me, because recently I feel like it’s your mission to get on my nerves. At this point the only thing I can think of is that you want me to quit because that’s the kind of hostility that comes across from you,” you huffed releasing all your frustration on your boss.

“You—” he wanted to speak up, but you didn’t let him. It was your time to talk, and you didn’t even give him a chance to object.

“No, I’m speaking,” you interrupted him, earning a sharp inhale from the man. “I understand that I’m only a mere subordinate, and I know I should not have the attitude that I do take on sometimes, but I am still a human and I don’t have to deal with your moodiness on a daily basis,” you hissed. “Tell me honestly, is it your mission to get me to quit? Because at this point you are very close to forcing me to resign and—” you had no way to finish the sentence as Billy grabbed the back of your neck and pulled your lips against his, earning a moan from you. He only let go of you for a second to get around the table, his movements quick as though he was a lion hunting down his prey. He attached his lips to yours once again, pushing you up on the table and positioning himself between your thighs. He sneaked his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his other hand firmly holding you close to him by the back of your neck, wanting nothing but to reduce the proximity between the two of you.

“Do you ever shut up?” He asked, breathing heavily against your lips. “I hear nothing but your continuous yapper,” he groaned as he laid his forehead against yours, massaging random patterns on your thigh. “Why on earth do you think I have given you so much job to do, you dumb woman? Can you be any more oblivious? I didn’t just dump all those random tasks on you and left you to do them, did I? I stayed behind with you, isn’t that, right?” he asked through gritted teeth. “You really know how to get on my nerves, and this certainly isn’t how I imagined this to come out, but you make it impossible for me to keep my cool,” he inhaled slowly, forcefully pulling you closer to him as he stood between your legs, making you moan at the contact. “I’m going to give you two options now,” he stated as he took a step back, giving you space to think. You can walk out that door, act like nothing happened and we will go back to being a boss and an employee. Or you can stay, and we continue what we started. But then there’s no turning back. I don’t just let go of what’s mine,” for a moment you ran the options through a logical part of your mind, that screamed for you to walk out the door. But you couldn’t possibly listen to the voice when you could finally be Billy’s after you have done so much for the man you longed for.

You grabbed his belt and pulled him between your legs, whispering against his lips. “Close that door,” Billy’s jaw clenched and without a second to waste he stood by the door, locking it behind him and getting back to you in haste, capturing your lips with his hands exploring every part of your body.

“So, have I become irreplaceable now?” You asked with a proud, overly confident grin as his hands tried to remove your shirt impatiently. His eyes darkened at your words, his hands stopping mid-air.

“Don’t get cocky with me,” he groaned, grabbing your jaw and connecting your lips once again, trying to get you out of your clothes. Whatever Billy called you for was long forgotten for the rest of the evening, you were busier with each other’s company.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglist is in a reblog from now on.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #anvil #billy russo x reader fanfiction #billy russo fanfiction

236 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.05

10/28/2020

Preparations

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 6,652

Warnings: angst, slight smut?, language, fluff

A/N: Thank you everyone, for putting up with my emotional ass. After some thought, and when I was feeling better and not so sad (?), I really didn’t wanna make those of you keeping up with the story wait for the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy this one and if you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other blogs or sites.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The city is lively with beautiful Asgardians rushing about their daily lives. In the time since it’s completion, New Asgard and its inhabitants have settled into a routine. New lives on a planet now once again full of growth, community interaction, and celebration when the time is right.

“We’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow.” Brunnhilde says, reaching forward to tap the shoulder of the man driving you both. “Stop here.”

“Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” You ask, startled as she throws open the back door of the sleek black sedan.

“No. I have other things to prepare for the wedding and then I have to check in on my Valkyrie. Your escorts will meet you at the shop.” Brunnhilde assures you.

“But-”

“Bye!” She smiles at you and slams the door in your face.

You sit there, confused and at a loss. Your anxiety begins to mount when the driver, a handsome young Asgardian man with long braided black hair, clears his throat and draws your attention to the front.

“Shall I drive on Your Highness?” He asks, glancing in his rearview mirror at you.

“Um…” You’ll never get used to that stupid your highness stuff. “Yes.”

“Very good, Your Highness.”

“Can’t you just call me, Y/N?” You ask, feeling awkward.

“No.” He says, a smile on his face. “I cannot. I can see why his Majesty has chosen you.”

You’re surprised by this statement, and you’re pretty sure it’s insolent maybe? You don’t know because this is all new to you, but you don’t really care either way.

“Why?”

“You don’t remember me?” He asks, as he drives down the street.

As they pass, the Asgardians stop in their walking or talking or errand running to watch you drive by. Some of them smile with excitement, even moving with the car a few steps before stopping.

They’re all dressed normal. Asgardian garb abandoned to fit in on Earth. Not all of them. Some still wear their own clothes. Some of them wear a mixture of both. It’s a mish-mash of two cultures and you understand the need for a human Queen a little more.

“No.” You shake your head, giving the driver your full attention.

“I didn’t think you would.” He admits, smiling still. “You were very nervous when I first drove you up to the palace. Quite literally shaking in your pretty shoes.”

Was he your driver then too?!

“Alas, I understand his Majesty’s choice because you were the only woman that sat in my car and spoke to me. You may not have been aware enough to remember me, but you were very kind. Very concerned about me despite the stress you were in.” He looks in his rearview mirror again, meeting your eyes. “My wife gave birth, by the way.”

“Oh!” Your mind is struck with an unfocused conversation, hazy but you remember the pregnant wife. “I remember!”

You’re way too excited about remembering and the driver chuckles.

“Was it a boy or a girl?” You ask eagerly.

“A girl.” He smiles. “We’ve named her Luta.”

“Congratulations!” You exclaim gently, so happy for him.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I’ll tell my wife you said so.” He promises.

“I’d love to meet her.” You hope, leaning forward to get a better look at the side of his face.

“I’m not sure that will be possible. You’ll be terribly busy, and my wife is also with our little girl.”

“What if I came to pay her a special visit?” You really want to meet her.

“If you could find the time, Your Highness, my wife and I would be happy to receive you.” He smiles.

“I’m sorry if you told me last time we met, but what is your name?”

“Armod, Your Highness.” He tells you, turning down a second and smaller street.

The people are still dense, gathered around stalls and smaller shops as Armod drives a little slower to keep a careful eye on the families attending what must be an early morning market.

You take it in as quickly as you can, devouring the sight of these beautiful people and in return they turn to watch you go by.

They turn to each other, have quick and silent—to you—exchanges before a few of them begin to turn and wave.

Nervous, you wave timidly, smiling because you can’t help it. It isn’t a conscious decision.

The side street is so packed with stalls that it makes it impossible for people to follow the car at the speed it’s going, even reduced.

You’re a little grateful. You don’t want to get mobbed without someone else here to dilute the excitement.

“The people are very excited to see their future Queen.” Armod explains, “Forgive them their exuberance.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint them.”

As the crowd thins out, and Armod pulls the car into a gentle stop, he shakes his head, “Trust me, Your Highness, you won’t.”

Your car door opens. Into your view slides a pale white hand, luxurious suit jacket sleeve barely hiding the equally expensive white button-up underneath.

“Your Highness,” greets a familiar voice.

Taking his hand, Loki pulls you from the car, helping you stand and even reaching down to adjust the long train of your right sleeve.

The dress is sparkling blue, a body-hugging gold silk dress underneath the top sheer voile blue layer on top. The right sleeve is long, ends at your wrist, with a train that flows down at an equal length to that of your skirt. The left side is sleeveless.

You’re nervous about the deep V of your bodice, the scrunched-up shoulders of your dress carefully balanced there but too precarious for your liking.

With he sun out, the chill in the air isn’t so bad, but here in the shade of what must be the bridal shop, you shiver.

“You look lovely.” Loki smiles.

“I look stupid.” You counter, feeling very exposed and not at all pretty with how tight the dress feels.

“Allow me to politely disagree.” Loki takes your hand and leads it around his elbow as become aware of the people gathering around to catch a look at you. “I think the crowd would agree with me.”

“Can we go inside, please?” You beg, waving at the small group as other begin to flock from their spots at distant stalls to join the crowd.

“Of course.” Loki taps your hand then escorts you into the shop.

You relax a little once you’re inside and warm.

A middle-aged looking woman moves towards the two of you, her hand subtly stroking a large fold of crimson fabric on the low center shelf before she reaches you and then dips into a low curtsy before rising and grabbing her hands to hold at chest level.

“Good morning, your Highnesses!” She exclaims, gushing to an embarrassing degree.

“Good morning, Gorm. How are you?” Loki asks politely.

He doesn’t seem truly interested in her answer, but he waits kindly while she flusters with the honor of his polite concern.

“I am much better now that you and our King Thor’s lovely intended have arrived. Such an honor to meet you, Your Highness.” She says, addressing you directly.

“Thank you.” You reply, startled by her a bit. “It’s so great to meet you.”

“Tell me, Gorm, have you received His Majesty’s instructions on the dress we’d like?” Loki checks.

“Oh, yes, Your Highness! I’ve been working non-stop on several options since I received them.” She assures him, gesturing back towards a doorway past a long wooden counter with a modern cash register and signature pad for credit cards.

“Excellent.” Loki smiles. “Now, while I hate to do this to you, love—do you think you can handle a few hours alone with Gorm to do your fitting?”

“You’re leaving?” You ask, once again shocked, just like with Brunnhilde.

“I’m afraid I have several other things to do for the wedding and with the Earth and Asgardian ambassadors eager to have the wedding as soon as possible, I have to take every chance I can get to run these errands. Not like I have anything better to do…” Loki’s voice is slightly bitter, but only for a moment before he taps your hand again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back long before you’re finished. Gorm doesn’t leave anything to chance with her gowns and this one is the most important one you will wear in your life. We have to get it right, don’t we Gorm?”

Gorm is already nodding, her blonde graying hair flowing like waves across her shoulders as she does. “Oh, yes, Your Highness. I will make sure that not only will the dress fit His Majesty’s expectations, but you too shall feel beautiful and like the dress was made just for you, Your Highness.”

“There you are.” Loki smiles. “I’ll be back.”

He pulls your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before letting it go and moving towards the door, leaving you and Gorm to stand awkwardly for a few moments after the door shuts behind him.

“Shall we?” She gestures back towards the doorway and since there’s no way to get out of this, you fix her with a nervous smile and nod.

“Yes.” You sigh, and follow her, making sure to hold onto the counter as your round it so that you don’t trip on your train.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stomach absolutely growling, you slip your arms through the sleeves of the dress you’ve pretty much settled on.

The past five hours have had you step in and out of two other dresses three times, and this one a total of eight times. Each time so that Gorm can make alterations to length and cut and detail.

It’s surprising to you that this particular dress should need so much maintenance when it’s the simplest of the bunch.

You’d fallen for it almost at first sight but had tried the other two more frilly dresses to appease Gorm since Thor had requested something feminine to counteract the armor you’d be wearing on the day.

Armor you had no idea would be required in your wedding until Gorm explained the necessity for bodices without much flair.

“Alright, Your Highness,” Gorm smiles at you, holding the dress low and open for you to step through. “Once more, and then I think we are done.”

You let her slip the dress over you, layer after layer of smooth satin with one final crepe layer on top. The dress is eggshell white, soft, and easy on the eye.

Some white fabrics nearly burn your retinas, but this one is pleasant to look at.

It stops just around your shoulders, leaving them exposed. The neckline curves down with your bust just a little making the top look like a heart, the point of which is followed all the way down with a line of stitched white buttons.

They’re purely decorative because behind you is where Gorm stands to zip the dress closed.

She closes a small clasp and then folds out the layers of skirt around you.

It’s not as long as the blue dress you wore here today. Simpler and easier to walk in. The sleeves themselves are long, which you appreciate very much in this weather. Every bit of the dress now settles along your curves just right.

“Oh, this was the right choice, I think.” Gorm smiles wide. “You look beautiful, Your Highness. His Majesty is a very lucky man.”

You smile in return, flattered by her words for a moment because you forget that Thor has been with Jane all morning. As you remember, your smile falters then fades as the worries you had this morning come rushing back.

“You don’t like it?” Gorm asks, reaching down to stroke the long and beautiful skirt.

“Oh, no. I love the dress, Gorm. I’m just…worried about His Majesty liking it.” You smile at her, to reassure her. She’s done such amazing work. You might have her make all of your gowns from now on. Unless…?

“Gorm? Were you the one that made the dress I came in wearing today?” You wonder.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m afraid I did not have that pleasure.”

“How much of an imposition would it be if I made you my sole dressmaker? His Majesty has bought me some gowns to wear when appropriate, but I don’t feel like they’re my style.”

“Oh, Your Highness! It would be an honor to be your personal dressmaker!” She’s so flustered that she excuses herself and vanishes into the front of the shop to get her water.

You turn your gaze onto yourself in the mirror, all three angles looking back at you.

The dress really is unbelievably beautiful. You would never have thought that this dress and its style would have looked good on you, but it fits around your curves so seamlessly. This dress was literally made for you and it’s very noticeable.

As you turn around one final time, a small chuckle from the doorway pulls your eyes away from your reflection.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t put up such a fight over this.” Loki moves towards you, stopping a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You should have seen me wrestle with the other two.” You sigh. “Can we go? I’m so hungry.”

Almost as if on cue, your stomach growls.

“Yes.” Loki nods. “We can go. I’ve got lunch waiting for you back in the palace.”

“Is Thor back?” You hop off the box you’d been standing on, grabbing your skirts and then dropping them to cascade around your legs like a milky waterfall.

Loki’s smile falter. “I’m afraid not. But don’t worry, he’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

You’re so disappointed you wander away from him into the dressing room to change back into your blue dress without giving him any sort of answer.

He’s got you in the car, your forehead resting against the glass of the window, lost in thoughts of Thor and Jane when he speaks to you again.

“Might I ask you a favor, sister?” He probes gently.

Him calling you his sister makes your stomach tumble.

You have a brother! How can you ever explain this happiness?

“Sure.”

“I hope you don’t find me insolent, but-” He hesitates, thinking about the words he’s about to say hard before he meets your eyes and that seems to strengthen his resolve. “Don’t fall in love with Thor. Not yet. Don’t let him pull you in right away.”

“You think he’ll leave me for Jane?” You wait, watching as Loki thinks through your accusation.

“Not exactly, but yes. I suppose that’s a possibility I hope you can avoid.”

For a few minutes while Armod drives you back to the palace, you say nothing. You consider his request and the honest concern that he seems to have for you.

As Armod pulls into the large multi-car garage at the back of the palace, you turn to Loki and stare sadly.

“I can’t make that promise, Loki.” You shrug. “It’s already too late for that.”

“You love him?” Loki realizes.

“No!” You deny, “Not exactly. I don’t love him yet, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t very fond of him already. He-he kissed me last night.”

Loki’s brow furrows.

“A lot actually. He begged me to try and love him just as he would try to love me. I promised him I would try.” As if you’ll need to try.

You’re already hopelessly possessive over him. Maybe not him as a person, but rather those kisses he gave you. Those are your kisses now. Those thick arms he held you in, those are your arms—your hugs!

And now he might be in the United States giving those very things that are now yours alone to Jane who wouldn’t even marry him?

“It’s too late.” You reiterate, feeling absolutely lost.

“Come on, Your Highness. Let’s get you a late lunch.”

~~~~~~~~~~

If there isn’t a trail across your floor after all of the pacing you’ve done today, you’d be surprised.

“This won’t make him come back any faster.” Brunnhilde points out.

“Do I really have to model the wedding dress for him?” You ask, twisting your fingers nervously as you move up and down your room.

“I think it would be good for him.” Brunnhilde explains. “And yes. He won’t see your armor until the day of the wedding, but the dress will help make it more real for him. He needs that. So do you.”

“It’s already real for me Brunnhilde.” You lift your thumb nail to your teeth and nip, like a nervous pup, stopping at the heavy doors of the balcony.

They’ve been thrown open and the chilly air filtering in makes you shiver.

“Hilde.” Brunnhilde corrects, then moves to take a long wine-colored woolen shawl and drapes it over your shoulders as you stare out at the bustling city.

You can hear laughter, lots of merrymaking. The Asgardian people know how to enjoy their free time, but you’ve seen how hard they work too. As a whole. Loki assured you on the way home that there are just as many lazy time wasters among them as there are humans.

“Why are you fretting?” She sits at the desk, staring up at you with curious dark eyes.

“Because he’s been with Jane all day.” You lash out.

It’s not a scream, just pure exasperation. And immediately, you feel sorry.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh, dropping your hand but pulling the shawl around you tighter.

You notice it finally.

“Oh, thank you.” You really feel bad now.

“You’re acting like you’re already in love with him.” She teases, not caring one bit about your little tantrum.

Through the corners of your eyes you look at her, avoiding her piercing look.

“Y/N…?” She wonders, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

“I don’t love him, alright? I just…” You sigh. “No one’s ever kissed me before.”

Your feel your neck and ears burn, scorching with embarrassment as you admit just how much of a maiden she’d found for him.

“So, you really are a virgin?” She gasps, leaning almost her entire body along the desk to look at your face.

You frown at her. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No.” She hakes her head. “No, not at all. You’re just so…well, you’re beautiful.”

The laugh that slips through your lips is sudden and honest.

You stare at her, shaking your head because you don’t believe her one bit.

“I’m serious!” Hilde assures you, smiling and amused by your reaction. “It’s a little bit of a shame that you haven’t been fawned on before.”

The sprinkle of sadness in her voice exposes her real meaning and it wipes away all traces of flattery.

“You mean, it’s a shame that I haven’t been with someone who will really love me because they choose to? And not like Thor because he has to?” With a bit more desperation, you look for Armod’s car, needing to see Thor.

Everything that happened last night feels like a dream. Made up in your mind to make it easier to marry Thor. Was it a dream?

You don’t remember him telling you goodnight. You have the vague memory of falling asleep with your head on his shoulder but you’re not sure how real that is with how hazy it feels.

What if his kisses had been a hopeful wish?

You bite your bottom lip, the heat and weight of his lips still fresh in your memory.

It can’t have been a dream. It felt so amazing. You could never have imagined the way it felt for him to invade you the way he did, pulling your body against his.

“He doesn’t come by car, y’know?” Hilde says, sitting back in her seat.

“What?” You turn to her, eager for explanation.

“Thor?” She gestures at the sky outside, drawing your eyes away from the city in the distance and up to the stars. “He flies here on Earth. It’s faster than flying by plane, but not by much. He’ll be going straight to his room as soon as he gets back.”

“Oh.” Your disappointment is suffocating and because you have no reason to keep freezing to death, you close the balcony doors.

With the cold shut out the heat from the hidden vents in your room saturates your shawl and envelopes you in a cocoon of heat.

“He might not want to see me tonight.” You accept, knowing that even if things went as best as they could have, Thor will still be heartbroken.

Having to give up on a relationship he had been so invested in? Even if he’s been unhappy with it lately, it must be difficult.

“No. He might not. But he has no choice. The wedding is in three days, so we have no time to wait for him to be ready to see you. We need approval on the dress.” She explains, leaving no room for argument.

Which is a shame because you would rather not see him all torn up about Jane. Not that you wouldn’t like to give him comfort. But you doubt that seeing you is something Thor would want. Not when it’s your fault that he has to break up with Jane to begin with.

“You know what? I’ll go check to see if he’s back. Gorm already sent us the dress. I’ll have Estrid help you put it on.” Hilde rises, moving out of the room without waiting for you to agree.

Five minutes later, Estrid moves into the room, her arms cradling your beautifully crafted wedding dress.

“Shall I do your hair too, Your Highness?” She asks, and lays the dress on your bed, the color such a beautiful contrast to the deep plum colored sheets.

“My hair?” You look in the mirror and the fancy thing they’d done with it this morning is falling apart. “No. I’m okay, Estrid. Thank you.”

“Very well, Your Highness.” She smiles kindly then moves towards you and takes your shawl.

You turn for her and she begins to unzip your blue dress, your mind on Thor and the mood he might be in when you see him again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The hesitation is in more than just your fist, hovering over the dark wooden of Thor’s bedroom door. It’s tall. Taller than it probably needs, sitting within a stone arch decorated with stunning golden engravings.

You’re not sure why Brunnhilde left you to do this alone. Loki is busy with something secret that he doesn’t want to share with you yet.

Not wedding related. He says it’s important and it involves you to some degree, but it’s not necessary for you to know until it’s necessary for you to know. Which is a circle-jerk kind of logic that you’re kind of annoyed by.

He’s nicer than previous opinions of him have made him seem. You suppose that has to do with the growth he’s made since he was last on Earth.

New York hadn’t been a great time for Loki, and he could only go up from there.

Brunnhilde had also neglected to tell you how Thor was feeling. Or looking? Either would have been great before you committed to coming up here on your own.

Thor’s bedroom is at the highest point of the palace. That is, highest save for the last floor which is mostly a defense tower full of weapons and a constant guard to keep Thor and his future wife safe. Which is now gonna be you.

Unless you go into his room and he tells you that he can’t stand being without Jane and rejects you and this pretty dress and you have to go back home to live just as you had before you met him. Only now with his kisses in your mind, his massive body pressed to yours, you won’t be able to get over the future you’d been promised.

How had you gone from refusing to marry him to wanting nothing more than to be his wife and even if all he was able to give you was one of those stupid kisses from last night, you’d be satisfied?

You drop your hand, almost with your mind made up to give up and just go back to your room because you don’t think you have the nerve to go through with seeing him today.

The part of you that disagrees, that remembers last night and wants more lifts your hand and knocks on his door.

In shock, you wait until his voice comes through and finally take a breath.

“Estrid? Is that you?” Thor’s voice sounds tired, not broken, but you can hear the weight in his heart by the sound of him.

You open the door and peek in, just one eye and the room is astoundingly beautiful.

If you weren’t so scared of what you’ll find in Thor, your jaw would drop ant the stunning image. To the left are two doorways, one is open, and you can see a large bathroom within. At the center of the room is what looks like a small kiddie pool, recessed into the floor, but probably deep enough for Thor to stand in?

There’s a part on this floor that’s shaped strangely from the outside and wonder if that’s what it is. The floor is dark stone tile, smooth and probably treated for waterproofing. Along the far wall of the bathroom, you can see a long wooden bench, dark oak like all of the other woods in the room from what you can see.

The toilet must be somewhere to the left where you can’t see from where you stand.

The other door is shut but since there is only an ornate set of drawers to the right of it, you assume that inside must be a large closet.

To the right of the room is a large bed. Large bed. You’ve never seen one so big.

It must be a California King? Which you’d stumbled upon in your search for mattresses when you’d first moved into your home. An accidental find and completely unnecessary.

That is, until now, when the thought of Thor laying in your very normal sized bed flits across your mind and suddenly the large King makes much more sense.

The bed is covered in soft looking gray flannel sheets. The comforter is gorgeous too, luxurious in its cotton ball soft appearance. Black with golden swirls and lines stitched across the top and bottom. The number of pillows is silly. All sizes too. Large ones at the very back and then several smaller ones until the ones at the very front are for mere decoration only.

Despite the more rustic look of the walls in the dark oak and stone base, the bed and furniture is slightly more modern in design. The headrest is cream white, ridged, and padded, as is the foot of the bed, but flatter than the headrest.

Two bedside tables hold various books on one and a lamp on the other. Behind the bed is a wall with a great big tree carved, flowing the length from top to bottom.

You swear you’ve seen that somewhere before.

The entirety of the wall opposite the doors to the room is made up of windows. Each window has been thrown open and the floor to ceiling curtains flow in the cool breeze.

They avoid the small breakfast table, laden with an untouched plate of the chicken you’d had for supper. On the other side is a large heavy looking desk. It’s sturdy. Big like Thor with papers and scrolls and folders. A laptop sits shut at the center and in the chair turned to face the left side of the room sits Thor with his shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees, hands supporting his face as he keeps it covered.

His body tells you everything you need to know about how he’s feeling and though you hate it, after so much worrying about what you’d find in here, you’re grateful to finally set eyes on him.

“It’s not Estrid.” You say gently, afraid to speak any louder and disturb him more than he already is.

His head whips towards you, faster than you expected.

Your hands go numb with nervous energy as he stares at you, his electric blue eyes scanning you very slowly from head to toe, then back up again. He takes his hand as he does so, covering his mouth with it, stroking his beard slowly as if fixing it.

Taking the opportunity, you note the plain jeans he’s wearing, the white t-shirt that stretches across his wide chest and strains to keep him covered. The hem of his sleeves struggle to keep his biceps contained. His golden hair is windswept, short as it is, it sticks in all directions.

He looks so good, so perfect, except for that sadness on his face.

You can’t bear to ask him anything about her.

“Gorm is lovely.” You tell him, forcing a smile and a quick nod.

He meets your eyes with his own, dropping the hand he’d used to shield his mouth and allows both his hands to dangle between his knees.

“She’s the best in the city.” Thor nods, devouring your dress again.

He suddenly rises and you teeter backwards with the sudden rise.

He steps towards you, his feet falling heavy on the floor.

You really like the way he struts towards you. There’s a slight sway to his hips.

Lips feeling dry and cracked, you freeze as he moves past you at the last moment.

The sound of him sitting on his bed pulls you around to look at him and he sighs, reaching his right arm up towards you.

With a swallow, you move towards him. The luscious short train of your skirt follows in your wake, flowing like water.

When you’re within reach, his places his hand on your waist, pulling you closer until you’re standing before him. He takes his other hand and places that on your waist too, making your breath shallow.

He looks up to meet your gaze.

Hands balled into fists; you wait. You’re not sure what he needs. What you need from this moment. You’re only sure that you’re glad you don’t seem to have dreamed up last night.

“You look beautiful.” He says, voice penetrating into your chest to restart your heart at double the speed.

“It’s a little simple.” You observe, remembering the other much frillier options.

“It suits you.” He lets his hand trace down along the side of your hip, stealing your breath before sliding his hand back up to your waist.

He gives you a little shake and you reach out to place your hands on his shoulders to keep from losing your already fragile balance.

“Brunnhilde told me that you were very anxious today.” He sounds worried, his brow puckered, eyes crinkled at the corners from concern.

You shrug for him, intending to play off the exact amount of worrying you’d done today because you don’t want him to know how invested you already are.

“I ended it with Jane.”

“You don’t have to-” You begin, but Thor makes a dismissive noise in his throat and cuts you off.

“I owe you an explanation.” He nods. “When I gave you that ring on your finger, I became your intended. Officially ending things with Jane was only out of respect for who we were when we were together.”

“Thor you really don’t have to tell me about your breakup with Jane. It’s private. It’s before me. Whatever happened between the two of you today is now in the past.” You sigh, trying not to think about what kisses might have been shared.

Maybe more?

You make a mental note to never hold it against him if he ever tells you that he slept with her today.

He was hers long before you agreed to marry him.

“I want to be honest with you.” He sighs. “I want us to be open with each other. I want us to talk about anything that may be troubling us.”

“We will.” You nod, giving his shoulders a small squeeze. “I promise.”

“Then tell me what you were worried about today.”

You already regret your promise.

“I thought about what you must be feeling. Wondered if you might change your mind.” Answering honestly is actually cathartic. Though you usually do it on reflex, choosing to do it feels nice.

Thor only watches you, waiting for you to get it all out, his large hands caressing the sides of your waist and making you tingle.

“Keep going.” He urges you gently.

“I’m embarrassed.” You admit, and Thor’s face relaxes a moment, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips.

He doesn’t prompt you again, just waits.

There’s a peace in this silence of his. An acceptance. A sense of time to just be.

“I was afraid that I’d imagined last night. I don’t remember falling asleep. I just woke up and it was this morning. And last night was so…” You stop, realizing that as much as you’ve thought about last night today, for Thor if there are any kisses that he wants to hold onto today, they’re probably from Jane.

This fact suddenly hardens your heart and resolve. You reach to grab his wrists to pull his hands off of you, but he doesn’t budge. You couldn’t move him if you pushed as hard as you can.

“It doesn’t matter.” You brush it off. “You probably want to just be alone and I was told that you need to approve the dress? So, tell me what you think, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Have I upset you?” He asks, face shifted back into that slight pout he’d been wearing before.

“N-No.” You shake your head.

“Then why do you want to leave so quickly?” He demands, voice rising in pitch at the end.

“I just…after today, I just thought that maybe you’d want some space?”

“Then you aren’t angry with me?” He checks.

“No.”

He leans forward and presses his head against your stomach, eyes shutting as his arms wrap themselves around you and pull you closer.

You don’t quite know what to do with your hands, so you stand there, holding them over his shoulders, fighting the desire to hold him back.

“I’m so tired.” He admits to you, and it settles in your heart.

You drop your arms, resting them against him before you embrace him, hands splayed along his wide back.

He exhales, relaxing against you. “Thank you.”

“For what, Thor?” You whisper, too overcome with all this hugging to speak any louder.

“For hugging me.”

Your heart breaks for him, and you hold him tighter.

“May I be honest with you about something?”

“Yes.” Here it is, the truth about Jane and him today.

“These moments with you have been the most enjoyable and special moments I’ve spent with anyone in a long time.”

Does it really matter if he slept with Jane today? Kissed her? Hugged her?

Was he this sweet with her too?

“I love you in this dress.”

You sigh, the first three words of that declaration sending your heart into a frenzy.

“You do?”

“I do.”

You smile, liking that very much.

Thor’s blue eye shifts with electricity, literally, and he pulls you down onto his lap with a demanding grip on your waist.

Your arm is still around his shoulder, the other moving down to rest over his hand which he brings around to rest on your lower belly.

“Are you happy?” He wonders, catching your fingers within his.

“Relatively.” You nod. “I’m still worried.”

Honestly, right?

“Why?” He laments, caressing your waist.

“I’m liking you more and more too quickly.” You sigh. “I don’t want to disappoint you or the people. I want to do well. Both in our marriage and with the kingdom.”

Thor caresses your side, then slides his hand down further, large hand sliding along the fabric of your dress down over your thigh.

There’s a subtle tickle between your legs. It startles you and you have to physically force yourself to relax.

“You’re already better than anyone else I might have chosen.” Thor whispers, leaning in closer until his lips are pressed to your ear.

You remind yourself that you made him promise not to do anything he doesn’t want to do. No forcing himself to be affectionate if he doesn’t feel it.

“Thor…” You gasp, just a flurry of the air left in your lungs.

“I’ve been thinking…” He admits. “Since I left you last night, about how we might be able to prepare for our wedding night.”

How do you breathe again? Where does the air go?

“Do you trust me, cherub?”

That pet name hits you just as fiercely as it did the first time and all you can do is nod.

Thor suddenly throws you back over his arm onto the bed. Landing with your head on the pillow, you gasp, chest rising and falling dramatically as you struggle to catch your breath again.

He leans down and hovers over you, waiting as you do, staring into your eyes.

“I’ll make certain you know this is not a dream.” He promises, then leans down to press his lips against yours.

You sigh, grateful for his taste as if it were a drug, removing an ache you’ve been feeling all day. Your arms come up on their own, trapping his torso down on yours as his hands trace your sides slowly.

This time you’re the one seeking more, pressing the tip of your tongue against his lips until he opens them and kisses you back.

He inhales your kiss, breathing in until you hear the vibration of a moan rip through him into you and you have never felt your body burn this way before.

You want him to make more sounds like that. Over and over if possible.

He pulls away too quickly, making you lift your head to follow him, but you fall back onto the bed, gasping for breath.

“Do you really trust me?” Thor checks again, his hands moving down along your sides until they stop at your hips, hands flexing and squeezing.

You’re shifting on his sheets, body squirming from energy you don’t recognize.

You know that he probably needs to be close to someone like this after today. After whatever he lost with Jane, even if he won’t let you see just how much it really hurt him, he probably needs this closeness.

“Yes.” You breathe.

With one hand he reaches down, staring into your eyes as he does. He finds the bottom hem of your dress and flips his hand underneath, then takes hold of your ankle.

He turns to face your feet, sliding down to the end of the bed then removes the flats you’d switched into, along with the thick socks you’d found to fight the cold.

It’s so chilly in here you shiver.

“You won’t be cold for long, cherub.” He promises.

After dropping your shoes on the floor, he rises then crawls onto the bed to where your feet are, grabbing hold of your ankles to pull your legs open a little.

“Easy.” He tells you gently. “You’ll still be a maid on our wedding night. This will be just a taste.”

He flips your skirt over his head, disappearing from view.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, curious and just as nervous until you feel the pressure of something wet slide up along your slit and you throw your head back, an uncontrollable moan ripping through your lips.

You hadn’t realized the taste would be for him.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #marvel fanfiction #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fic #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x you #king!thor x you #a wife for thor #a wife for thor pt05

687 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

*bursts through the door* Hello Nat, I am here to request some chubby/fat reader smut with Diavolo. Perhaps a more possessive and less reclusive Diavolo who spots reader and has to have them?? Headcanons or a scenario are fine, of course. Thanks!

[opening hours] - diavolo x chubby!reader (4k)

The rules for one special customer at your bakery get you into a situation that you’re not all that mad about, actually.

[NSFW, minors do not interact. Diavolo x Reader. AFAB reader, explicitly fat/chubby. No pronouns used, but Diavolo refers to reader with feminine pet names. Possessive/jealous sex. Power imbalance (he IS the Don of Passione). Brief references to reader’s lack of self-confidence/body-shaming in their past.]

The trouble had started with the bakery's unnofficial opening hours.

You had been told when you started working here that you opened ten minutes earlier than you were supposed to, but only for one specific customer. When you had expressed frustration at not knowing who this customer was and how to identify them, the owner and her son had looked at one another and then back at you.

"You'll know if you meet him," she'd said, eventually - and that was all.

Oh, you're paid for those extra ten minutes, of course - you're paid very well, honestly, for a job that you like working and that pays in all of the leftover sweet treats you'd like at the end of the day. The owner - Francesca - is polite and careful and clucks about you like a mother hen, which is nice considering how far away you feel from home. But after six months of working at the bakery and not coming across this mysterious customer once, you resign yourself to the fate that you're never going to see him.

Things, though, can change in an instant. Tiny little occurrences that feel like nothing at the time can shape your life more than you ever realise. For you, that occurrence had been the morning that the pink-haired man in a crisply pressed suit had walked into the bakery at seven fifty two in the moring and stood by the counter.

At first, he had not spoken. He had simply looked at you, bright green stare coloured with something that made your skin feel hot and prickly. He had rested his fingertips on the counter, tapping black lacquered nails against the glass.

You are used to being looked at. You have been looked at your whole life; generally not favourably. Hell, you have even been looked at behind the counter before, as people snickered behind their hands to their companions that 'no wonder this place sells out of the good stuff so fast, with someone like that working here--'. Your cheeks heat up under the man's intense stare, wondering if he's about to say something to you--

And then, he does say something.

"You're new."

His voice is low and smooth, like fine wine being poured in the dark, and against your will your heart begins to beat a little quicker. You nod. His painted lips curve in a smile that's all danger and elegance.

(It's normal, you tell yourself, to be very aware when someone near you is handsome. It's normal to have your breath taken away, to find yourself shaking a little, to feel warm and strange - and it's even more normal, you think, when you consider that something about this man makes him special.)

"You won't know my usual, then." He says, and you shake your head wordlessly, offering him an apologetic look that seems to amuse him just as much as your newness.

He directs you (cappuccino, cornetto) to his regular, his eyes not leaving you for a moment. It's strange, to be so watched - most customers can't wait to get out of the bakery with their gains tucked neatly under their arms. Very few of them look at you beyond a cursory bark of their order and a nod as they leave. This man, though . . . his eyes do not leave you for a moment.

You bag up the cornetto in one of the pale paper bags and are about to punch the numbers into your cash register, when the man leans over the counter and grabs ahold of your wrist, his grip strong and firm.

Your breath catches at the power with which he restrains you. His suit sleeve rolls up to reveal an intricate tattoo of black inked designs that starts at his wrist and (from what you can see) continues further and further up.

"That won't be necessary, carina." He says, his voice smooth. Your own voice wobbles a little as you reply;

"B-but--"

He raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by whatever it is you're doing. You don't think it's that amusing that you're attempting to get him to pay for what he's bought, but alright then.

"You're cute," he tells you, without flinching. Those lips remain turned up at the corners in a smirk that makes you feel as though you don't know what the hell you're doing. The compliment wraps around you, heated and nervous - men, in your experience, do not often say such things to people who look like you - and certainly not so quickly after meeting you. "Ask Francesca why I don't pay, if you must. Have a good day - I'll see you tomorrow."

You don't realise you've been holding your breath until the door has closed behind him.

You also don't realise how much the promise of seeing him again sounds like a threat.

--------

You find out, incidentally, why he doesn't pay - and the information makes your cheeks flame at how brazen you must have seemed, trying to insist he was going to pay. You tell Francesca exactly what happened and her face creases in concern. At first, you think she's going to tell you off - you wouldn't blame her for firing you, after finding out that you disrespected the Don of Passione like that.

It turns out what she's worried about is the staffing. You are not scheduled to do a morning shift tomorrow. She expresses fear, too, that he spoke to you and smiled at you and stared at you so intently.

"Normally he doesn't look at any of us," she frets. "That's not the kind of man you want the attention of, you know?"

You laugh off her concerns.

"It's probably nothing like that anyway," you tell her. "He was just amused I didn't realise who he was, I guess."

Her worried face does not ease.

--------

(He's not pleased to not see you behind the counter the next morning, Francesca relates to you. He asks after you. He asks your name. He asks when you're next working. And though you know that it's dangerous territory, you cannot help but be flattered).

Diavolo - that's his name, one he gives you over a shared cornetto the fifth time he comes in for his regular order, and it's a name you're told not to repeat to anyone with a gaze so intense that you feel like a butterfly pinned to glass.

Diavolo looks at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. As if you are an item on the menu that he can purchase at his leisure, and he is merely waiting for the right moment.

You're light-headed and flattered and warm around him, a pulsating edge of danger beating below the surface that you ignore for the sake of enjoying someone being interested in you. Sometimes, the fear grips you as it has so many times before that he's flirting with you as a joke, or you're reading too much into things - and then, he leans across the counter to wipe cream from the corner of your mouth with a thumb or leans in so close to you that you can see the slightest sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks and your breath catches and all of your thoughts go entirely out of the window.

He drops compliments easily to you. He mentions the colour of your eyes, the fullness of your mouth, the way your hair falls - once, he mentions how you fill out the button-up shirt you're wearing with the top three buttons undone with approval clear in his voice and gaze and you go all over hot and nervous and unsure, something that seems to amuse and please him no end.

(It’s hot, in Naples. You were not intending to gather his interest. Still, the next morning you have four buttons undone.)

You think that it's harmess flirting. After all - Diavolo is the Don of Passione. You're nothing compared to him; he is a shrine. A statue in a beautiful garden, with worshipers at his feet. You are a fat bumblebee buzzing past the statue - sated, and comfortable, but inconsequential. You assume you're an amusement to him - just a little distraction in a morning, that's all.

You don't realise how wrong you are until you're on a closing shift one evening with Francesca's son. His name is Stefano, and he's perfectly nice to you, if a touch over-eager - desperate to please. He's a little younger than you, with an earnest face and a rushed way of speaking that means you sometimes have to ask him to calm down. Francesca hints, occasionally, that he has a crush on you - and you laugh it off, as you so often do when anyone expresses any kind of interest in you.

Only, tonight he is more nervous than usual. He messes up people's orders. He spills coffee and espresso and cappuccino left right and centre - his hands shake and he fumbles over the names of regular customers who he's known half of his life.

While you're closing up, you ask him, carefully and delicately, if something is wrong. You don't know what you're expecting, as you and he walk to the front door of the bakery together - but Stefano pauses, and touches your arm.

"I've just been balling up my courage, I guess," he says, twisting his lip to one side.

"For what?" You ask, trying to sound interested though one of your hands is digging deep in your coat pocket to try and find your keys. You swear that you left them there this morning. Your hand moves to your bag. Stefano takes a deep breath.

All at once, his words come out in a jumbled rush.

"To-ask-you-on-a-date."

You blink at him.

"Um," you say, succintly. "To ask . . . me?"

He nods emphatically, moving closer to you. He's about the same height as you, so your noses come too close for comfort - the hand in your bag stays there, limply, as you try and process what he's saying.

"You don't have to answer right now," he says, his voice still pitching erratically. "But yeah, I think you're pretty and nice and I'd just-- I'd really like to take you on a date or something, i-if you think you'd like that? You don't have to! You don't have to answer right now, I just--"

He's babbling, and you're trying to keep the thread of the conversation, your mind working in overdrive - and then he moves his head forward and kisses you. It's a nervous little peck that lasts only a moment, before he steps back with his cheeks flushed red and pulls his coat closer to him.

"Okay, yeah, I'll see you tomorrow--" He says, and then he's stepping out of the door and letting it click shut behind him without even waiting to see how you respond to the kiss.

You're not sure of how to respond, honestly. You stand there, the breath knocked out of you, for a few moments. His lips had been dry and quick on your own, and you hadn't felt . . . to be honest, you hadn't felt anything.

No point dwelling on it. Your fingers scramble around the bottom of your bag for your keys, as you try and ignore that your heart isn't thumping the way that it does when Diavolo is near you. Stefano is a nice boy. He's your boss' son. He isn't, as far as you're aware, engaged in any shady business like you know Diavolo must be--

For God's sake. Your keys are not there. You resign yourself to making your way back to your apartment and trying to beg someone else in the building to let you in so that you can get the key you leave under the plant pot by your front door just in case of things like this as you step outside of the door, locking up the bakery behind you (thank God that key has remained where you thought it was)--

Only to step straight into the warm, solid chest of a man.

Fear seeps through all of your bones as you nervously look up to see what kind of person you have angered. You are already dredging up a thousand apologies when your eyes meet Diavolo's keen, green ones.

He doesn't look how he usually does when he sees you. Ordinarily, he's amused and elegant and pleased in a quiet, self-assured sort of way. Tonight, though . . . tonight, Diavolo's eyes burn hot and bright and angry. There's a ferocity in his face and the set of his mouth that makes you feel like he's captured your ability to breathe in a bottle only he has access to.

He speaks.

"Who does that boy think he is?" He asks you, voice low and cool like black velvet - and then, he leans down and kisses you hungrily, and this time you feel a hundred things.

------

You go with him, heady and intoxicated by the way his mouth had felt upon yours and the way his hand had gone around your waist, squeezing the generous curve of your hip as if he wanted to grip you by them and pin you against a wall right there and then, in the centre of the city. You think, judging by the way he had looked at you when the kiss had broken, he would have - if he had not had an image of mystery to maintain.

Instead, he says (his normally velvet voice hoarse);

"Come home with me."

It is not a question. It's a demand - and luckily for him, you are in no mood to decline. You sit beside him in the back of a car (a screen between you two and the driver), and Diavolo's hands are all over you even there.

"I can barely wait," he murmurs, hungrily, into the curve of your shoulder and neck as he lathes kisses over your throat, marking you with his dark lipstick. "Oh, bella, if you even knew how much I've wanted you--"

It's hard not to be dazzled by the knowledge that he wants you. A man like Diavolo - in his sharp suits and ties, surrounded by servile underlings, rings on his fingers that cost more than you make in a year - wants someone like you. It's hard not to be carried away by how hungrily he mouths at you and how beautiful you feel under that piercing green gaze, when you have not often felt beautiful in your life. Your body in the past has been a source of shame and sadness - under Diavolo's grazing palms and questing fingertips, though, you feel transformed.

You tumble out of the car and are pulled along with impatient hands by Diavolo, not letting you take any moments to enjoy how beautiful his home is. Sure, the pillars are marble and flowers drape from the windows in hues of crimson and purple, but there is a different purpose for the two of you now - you are barely aware of anything around you as you're tugged into the first bedroom Diavolo finds.

You're breathless again as you're tossed on the bed underneath him. Things are moving so quickly - but you have no complaints, as Diavolo immediately has you pinned beneath him, his muscular weight self-assured as he leans over your prone form to beg from you another hungry kiss. His teeth tug at your bottom lip, demanding entrance instead of asking; and you yield to him. His hands grasp your hips, holding you with fervent frustrations bubbling under the surface.

He breaks the kiss to say, every syllable of his words dripping with jealousy.

"You're mine. You know that, don't you?"

You hadn't known it before tonight - but with the way his hands are already going to your uniform, pulling open the buttons with little care (you hear one of them skitter onto the floor), it's no longer a question.

"I didn't," you breathe, and he snorts. His fingertips are cool as he slides them up the curved softness of your stomach, pausing just beneath your breast.

"You will," he vows. "After tonight, carina, you'll realise there's nobody else in the entire world for you but me."

Your body shivers under the promise of his words. You shiver harder as he slides your work shirt off of your shoulders, tugging it away, dropping it on the floor along with the button that you assume you will never see again. As his hands slide into the small of your back, cool where you are boiling warm - and you hear the snap of your bra being undone and suddenly you are bare before him in the room.

He looks down on you in satisfaction.

"There," he coos, his hands covering your breasts (they are not quite large enough to cover the round flesh, but they fill out his grip in a way that seems to please him). "You look much better without the ugly uniform. Something so lovely deserves beautiful things only to adorn them--"

A gasp is bitten back as his thumbs rub your nipples, coaxing the nubs to hardened points. You press your thighs together beneath him, your cheeks heating up at how your body responds to him in gooseflesh and slick.

"You should never have to wear clothes," Diavolo muses, as he gathers himself onto his knees and your work pants are the next to go. "It's a waste, to not have your body where I can see it."

Diavolo lavishes hungry, possessive attention on all of the parts of you that you have never gotten along with. He does it with his hands, massaging and petting and gripping - and then, he leans down and he uses his mouth and you're squirming beneath him, the heat gathering with the wetness between your thighs almost unbearable.

The curves of your hips are mapped out - the soft flesh of your thighs. The pillows of your upper arms, the roundness of your stomach, all of the places you have thought of as fleshy and unattractive seem like a siren's call to Diavolo. He kisses you, leaving marks of his lipstick everywhere - and occasionally, he pulls back and whispers things against your skin that have you hot and needy.

"Mine," he murmurs, as he sucks a blue-purple lovebite into your collarbone.

"Il mio tesoro," he whispers, as he kisses you on the mouth hard and his hands go to strip off his own suit jacket.

"You belong to me," he says, and suddenly he is shirtless and you are staring at the sculpted muscle of his chest and the intricate tattoos on his arms. You have no complaints - you look up at him above you, a big cat playing with his prey, and all you can do is swallow and nod.

"Good," he breathes, "you're going to be so good for me, hmm?" His hands alight on your thighs and you spread them without him asking, displaying the damp patch on your silken underwear and making his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. "For me, amore?"

You avert your gaze and do not answer - but that's enough of an assent for Diavolo. He laughs as his fingers curl into the garment, tugging them down your thighs (you shiver at the sensation of slick fabric clinging, just for a moment, against your sodden folds).

"I'm a lucky man," he says to you. "I've always been lucky, you know . . . but you may very well be my luckiest find."

Your thighs are urged further apart, until Diavolo can settle between them, his weight heavy and self-assured. What is between your thighs, too, is subject to Diavolo's piercing gaze - but he is not critical. He is merely . . . hungry. Intoxicated. You know that, arguably, Diavolo has all of the power here - and yet you cannot help but feel as though it is you who is really in control.

One of his fingers slides over your sex, gathering your slick on his fingers, winning the chase of your hips as he slides from clit to perineum and back again. You pant aloud, a soft whimpering noise falling from your lips against your will.

"Look at you," he murmurs, enthralled. "Look how you respond, all for me--"

Your fingers clench in the sheets beneath you as Diavolo presses one finger inside you, slowly, letting you adjust to the feel of him inside. You know that he is longing to fuck you with them vigorously - you can see it from the set of his shoulders and his mouth. He is practically buzzing with unrestrained tension. But he keeps his calm, pumping the lone finger in and out of you (you are wet enough that the sound echoes around the room, mixing with your laboured breathing). Occasionally, he buries his finger inside you almost to the hilt and you gasp at the cool sensation of one of his rings pressing against your entrance. He looks amused, his lips curved into a smirk - but he remains solid. He does nothing, in fact, until your hips buck up and you whimper;

"I can take another one, please--"

"Good," Diavolo purrs, his voice persuasive. "Of course you can, cara. Yes. You'll take all of me, won't you?" A second finger joins the first, scissoring you open with slow movements. "You're going to be so good for me. You're going to forget about any other person in the world when you're speared on my cock--"

Your body heats up in embarrassment and pleasure all over. The way his fingers rub inside your channel makes you squirm, your hips wriggling underneath him, your lungs barely able to contain your breath. A tight, hot ball of tension is making itself known low in your stomach, familiar and yet unfamiliar all at once.

His thumb brushes over your clit and your body jolts. Diavolo chuckles under his breath and pulls out his fingers, accompanied by a wet gush of your arousal that seems incredibly loud to your ears. You watch as Diavolo brings his fingers to his mouth and his tongue darts out to taste you.

Your lower body gives a throb as he drinks in your slick like fine wine, as he utters forth a low groan of pleasure. He looks at you with dark-lidded eyes.

"Amore," he murmurs, all soft, quiet words with a steel edge. He shifts, and something hot and silky and damp brushes across your thigh that you realise is his cock. That same body part is positioned with his thumb and forefinger, at the tight entrance to your sex. "Just relax . . . I'll have finished making you mine soon enough--"

His hips move. You're pushed open, his cock deep and thick - your hands come to cling to his shoulders instead of the bedsheets, your voice coming out in a broken little wail.

It is not that it hurts. Diavolo has prepared you, and you are slick and needy enough that there's only the briefest stretch of discomfort - but it is more that Diavolo's cock inside you feels so right. You feel so full and possessed and owned, and you never thought you would need and adore it as much as you do.

You feel like nothing more than a piece of Diavolo's property, a treasured jewel that he wants to lock away and keep for himself forever - and you love it. Your legs lock about his hips without him even urging you to, determined to have him sink inside you as deep as he can go - and Diavolo groans chest-deep at the feel of it.

His hips move, sliding his cock deep and then shallow, enjoying the feel of you tightly engulfing him.

"You're perfect," he growls, lowly. "Tight, hot, wet -- and most importantly, cara . . . you’re mine.” He sighs, pressing himself impossibly deeper inside you so that your toes curl. A pleased rumble in the back of his throat. “You feel so good." He pauses, before he says, demanding; "Tell me how I feel."

"B-big," you hiccup out in between breathless moans and soft, needy pants. "L-like you're filling me up--"

"Tell me, little coniglio . . . do you like being filled up by me? Belonging to me? Having me . . ." His fingers skitter over your breasts, leaving hot trails of fire behind him. The heat low inside you is just burning hotter and hotter, your head swimming with all of the new sensations. "Lay my claim on you?"

You nod. You're babbling, your hips stuttering against his. Everything feels far away from you, now - earlier on that night feels like a fever dream. You can't remember how it felt to be anywhere but beneath Diavolo with his cock drilling deep inside you, making you feel needed and claimed and unmistakably his--

"Yes," you cry out, as his other hand moved lower, brushing your stomach, your mound - parting the lips of your sex so his fingers can rub firm circles on your clit.

There's that heat again, threefold - tumbling over and over itself until you feel fireworks set off behind your eyes and Diavolo's cock pumps harder inside you, your channel squeezing and constricting around him inside you. You're so busy coming, in fact, that you almost don't hear him murmur;

"Good. Because it's something you're going to have to get used to now you're mine."

#this . . . got away with me #diavolo x reader #not sfw #writing #afab reader #power imbalance for ts #possessive #jealousy #ladynonon

216 notes · View notes

salemfrogtrials · 2 years

Text

The Skirt

I made a text post a little while back about Damian wearing skirts. Here's the fic. (This could potentially be a part one of a series of fics about Damian with skirts and dresses, so just let me know if you'd like to see more.)

Word count 1616 words, enjoy!

This was stupid. Childish, even.

So why. Why couldn’t he open the door? It was simple, just open the bedroom door and walk downstairs. Don’t pay attention if they stare, because to be honest, it doesn’t matter what they think.

It absolutely does but he won’t admit that to anyone.

It’s quite simple, he thinks to himself. Standing there, staring at his own reflection in the mirror, he can recount the whole ordeal in his mind near perfectly.

Grayson had convinced him that going out and doing something would be a good bonding exercise, and although he had originally declined, he’d agreed after the second time the older had asked, albeit with a (fake) irritated huff.

They’d gone to different stores in and around the city, walked through a park Grayson had insisted was full of interesting wildlife (Damian would never admit that he was correct in that sentiment.), and eventually went for ice cream.

It was all rather ridiculous, the whole day had been.

It was actually a nice day.

On the way through the different stores, they passed one particular store with different dresses and skirts in the windows. There was one skirt, a rich emerald green circle skirt in the window that had particularly caught his eye.

He didn’t say anything, instead looked up the store once he was home online, and to his surprise and possibly delight they had a website to order online. So, he’d found a measuring ribbon, figured out what size the skirt should be, and ordered it.

And now, a week from the whole “incident” it had arrived, and he had ironed it to the best of his abilities, and put it on. He had felt that the skirt was flashy enough, and so had just paired it with one of his black button downs, tucked into the skirt, and his normal black dress shoes.

In his humble opinion, he thought he looked nice. He knew he looked nice, even. That wasn’t the issue.

Though he had never worn any skirts or outright dresses in the league, he’d worn garments with close enough hemming and designs that he may have well. He most likely could have, too. Grandfather did not exactly subscribe to most western beliefs about what made something strictly feminine or masculine, and mother would never be angry over something so small as the length of some fabric. It was never an issue with the league, and therefore he didn’t really see it as anything bad.

America, Gotham, was different from the league, though. Some of the most popular American beliefs would have the same people he saved from night to night take one look at his skin tone and run in the opposite direction. It was quite clear that if he were not related to Bruce Wayne, Gotham would have attempted to eat him alive more than once by now.

The point is, while he knew this to be a nonissue, he could not be sure how father or anyone else would react. The culture here seemed to be that once a garment reached a certain length, only one kind of person could wear it. It was ridiculous, but if father and the others had grown up with those beliefs, they were likely to still subscribe to them.

In that case, there was no reason for Damian to really have this skirt. If father was sure to disapprove and the others would surely mock him for it, and he did not need it, there was no reason for him to have bought it and put it on.

Except, well...he was slowly realizing that maybe there was. He was allowed to want things. He’d slowly been adjusting to doing things just because he could. It wasn’t like he was running around doing foolish things like his peers or ignoring his studies, of course. But he had slowly come to realize that if he wanted something, and it wouldn’t harm anyone, that it was okay to want it. He glanced at the fairy lights strung above his bed in the mirror’s reflection. They sat as almost a reminder of that sentiment.

So there was a reason for him to have this, then. It was okay for him to have this. Just one small thing that made him happy, made him smile.

So really, who cares if they laugh?

He desperately cares because he knows he cares about what his family thinks.

“Damian? Hey, are you coming to-”

He turned around at the sudden intrusion, instinctually grabbing the closest weapon, a knife sitting on his desk.

“Out.”

“Whoa Dami, I-”

“Out, Grayson!”

As soon as the door was closed, the boy crossed the room and locked it, letting his hand rest on the door knob for a moment.

Quickly, he tugged the skirt off and put on a pair of jeans instead, folding the skirt up and placing it on his desk, under a sketchbook and some random papers.

Of course he should have locked the door beforehand. How could he be this stupid? Now even Grayson would mock him.

Okay, maybe not mock him. Maybe sit him down and gently try to explain why this was wrong, he may even offer to return the skirt to the store so Damian wouldn’t have to, and just judge him silently. Maybe Damian could convince him to keep this whole thing from father. Maybe-

He was pulled from his thoughts by a light knock on the door. “Dami? Can I come in? It’s fine if you don’t want me to, I won’t be mad.”

Damian paused for a moment to consider. On the one hand, he didn’t want to have this conversation. On the other hand, it was bound to happen, but if it happened later, father would surely be involved.

He unlocked the door.

The click of the lock was audible enough to let Grayson know he was okay to enter, and as he did, Damian moved to go sit on his bed. Never one to avoid tradition, he looked at the spot between Grayson’s eyes to appear more respectful, a trick he’d learned as a boy to avoid eye contact. Grayson spoke almost as soon as the door was closed.

“I didn’t know you wore skirts.”

“I don’t. Won’t. I just thought...I liked the way it looked, that’s all.”

Grayson hummed thoughtfully, leaning against the wall with a nod of acknowledgment. “Do you wanna tell me why you panicked?” The words were spoken without any type of malice or venom, like pretty much every other conversation they’d had as of late. It was a genuine question, Damian realized. Not meant to mock, just gain answers.

“I did not panic, I just told you to leave my room.”

“And then you changed clothes. There’s also the fact that you’re my brother and I’ve learned how to recognize fear in anyone, especially you.”

Grayson stopped himself, and Damian recognized the look on his face to be his so-called “thinking face”. Of course. He was trying to think of a gentle way to say this wasn’t okay. Damian had never been one to be ashamed of his culture, but this wasn’t cultural. Grayson wouldn’t be openly upset over a cultural, well, anything.

Damian, had this been something any deeper than a skirt, would have argued. But it wasn’t, so he didn’t.

“I will return it to the store. I do not wish to embarrass father, or any of you for that matter.” He turned away from the older and stalked towards his desk, lifting the sketchbook and papers to grab the skirt, lifting it up with a soft swish as it brushed over the desk.

Grayson seemed upset.

“No! I mean, if you really want to of course, you can. But you don’t have to. I’m not...upset. I thought you looked nice.”

What?

“You can wear whatever you want, as long as it makes you comfortable, Dami.”

Damian turned to face his brother.

“It’s my understanding that boys should not wear skirts or dresses.”

“If you’re a rich white old guy, sure.”

And, well. Okay. So even if Grayson himself was Romani and not white, that did nothing about how father might see this.

Somehow, of course Grayson knew what he was thinking and managed to answer his unasked question.

“Bruce won’t hate you for something like this, Dami.”

“...But the press-”

“The press in Gotham hates everything. They hated me for not being white, hated Jason for not being rich, hated Tim for having Autism, and hated Duke for the same reason they hated me, whether they said it outright or not. Cass was too quiet, Babs was too mouthy, and Steph was the same. None of us have found favor with those stuck up rich assholes. It’s kind of a rite of passage. Their opinions mean jack shit.”

“And the others? What if they-”

“They won’t. I promise you, Dami, they may be a bit surprised, but that’s it.”

“And Pennyworth-”

“Is older but took me to get my first binder. He’s just as accepting as the rest of us. Point is, you don’t have to wear the skirt if you don’t want to, but if you like it, you shouldn’t get rid of it. Okay?”

Damian nods, and Grayson stops to give him a once-over before sighing and reaching out to ruffle his hair, and Damian smacks his hand away, albeit somewhat payfully.

“Okay.”

When he finally does make his way downstairs for breakfast, it’s after changing back into the skirt. And just like Grayson promised, he is only met with acceptance.

Maybe it is okay to want for something every once in a while.

~~~

I could potentially add more to this, but this is what you get for now. Send an ask or leave a like/comment if you want more, I'm always up for some writing.

Stay safe, loves!

#damian wayne #batfam #batfamily #dick grayson #bruce wayne #Batfam Writing

13 notes · View notes

kreidewaltz · 3 years

Note

indigo + hands + semi 🛐 happy 200 ily!!!

NOT MY FAULT | S.E.

about. after seeing hand pictures on pinterest you couldn't stop. it's hard when he teases you about it, but it's his chance to show what he feels when he's with you.

word count. 1.7k

genre & warnings. female reader, fluff, friends to lovers, timeskip, feminine nicknames, comedy.

author's note. not me projecting semi hcs on my head to this fic oops i hope you'll like this and uhm pats myself bc this isnt suggestive uhm ok i got too excited to post this, not proofread but will be beta-read later woof

"aren't ya bored? scrolling through pinterest?" your friend says while you tear your gaze from the phone and briefly look at him. you kick his knee playfully while telling him to shut up and bury your chin on the fluffy blanket you have. he snickers quietly before going back to strum on his guitar, and nod his head along to the sound. you roll on your side and hover the blanket on your body, making yourself more comfortable in his room—which is a mess right now, you noted.

"what's one thing you like physically in a person?" you said while narrowing your eyes at him. chuckles slip past your lips when he tenses at the question, he puts his guitar on the floor gently before lying down on the bed on the opposite way. and he pushes his feet on his fluffy blanket to tease you. not cool you thought while you look at him, getting red to keep his laughter to himself.

"their eyes. there's something about it you know, staring deep in their soul—" he wanted to give a serious answer but it's you. it's also his time to show how hilarious he is despite his calm and stern demeanor. you became acquaintances in third year when he was in shiratorizawa. because your friend invitied you to their game, she rambled about shirabu a lot while you're only focused on him.

"good one but shut up, you talk like you read on wattpad." you sigh to act annoyed because of his silly antics but your heart is beating loudly in your chest.

"what about you? should i expect you to say it doesn't matter because what matters is what's on the inside?" he wiggles his brows with a smirk painted on his face and he knows your patience is melting like an ice under the sun. you groan to the pillow and push your head in it, you have the urge to hit him somewhere and tie him on a chair if you're being honest.

"whatever! uh, i pay attention on the hands." you huffed after and snuggle to the blanket, getting drowsy of the cold weather. his brow raised in curiosity, he watches you sit up and arch your back to feel that pop of your bones when stretching. an idea forms on his head while stretching his arms forward. he does random poses and movements to his hand, and pretended to grab the lightbulb from the ceiling.

"yeah. i bet you're looking at my hands when i play." he emphasizes by doing grabby hands in the air, and you get a clear view of the details on his hands because of the light. your eyes widen seeing the veins prominent in his hands. his hand is similar to the hand pins you ogle to in pinterest earlier which made you blink your eyes repeatedly. who in the world would get excited about hands, your best friend's hands in the first place? you think to yourself and you deny your mind because you knew what the answer is.

"totally not, eita. you're dreaming." you shuffle your feet to annoy him on purpose before you make yourself comfortable on the bed. you hover the soft blanket over your shoulder, and you’re thankful that he isn’t teasing you anymore. you shut your eyes slowly and bury your head deeper on the pillow, and the last thing you remember imagining in your head is holding hands with semi in a picnic somewhere before you knock out.

"hey bubs, wake up, there's dinner." you feel someone shaking your shoulder which made you groan and bury your head to the pillow. a whine leaves your lips and pat the bed to find another pillow, your mind and body are laced with grogginess. no matter how hard you pry your heavy eyes open, they shut close and lets you wander to dream land in peace.

"i'll stay here until you get up, i won't literally drag you out of the bed again, sleepyhead." semi chuckles when he looks back on that memory a few months ago. he intentionally denies on his mind that he didn’t caress your cheek and the corner of your mouth gently while you’re sleeping. when he hears your prolong groans while spreading your feet like a starfish, he snickers quietly to himself before walking towards you and watches you intently.

"mom bought your favorite." he whispers and amusement flashes across his face when you he sees you turn around and squint your eyes. ten minutes, your voice raspy when you murmur that before slowly resting your back on the headboard. you pat your cheeks repeatedly since the sting will wake you up and force you to do your morning routine, this is your way to make yourself move and it works, not always though you noted. semi glances at you quickly when he hears the shuffling off the bed before grabbing his guitar and strum the strings softly. after playing around with his guitar, he picks up the trash present everywhere on his room and organize his papers which consist of lyrics he thought of at an ungodly time, and themes he wants other people to appreciate.

"let's go?" you watch him flinch at your voice and your bright eyes fall on his left hand gripping his desk tight. the silence becomes awkward but neither of you said anything, you knew why he was holding on to the table (the veins becoming visible in his hand). it is to regain himself after being alarmed because of your voice. he turns around before nodding quietly, shoving his hands on the pockets of his sweatpants. while you're going downstairs, you got the opportunity to stare at his arm and seeing his veins made you gulp before turning away, clearing your throat to relieve the atmosphere.

"ah! dear, here's your favorite. semi said you're hanging out so here!" his mom giggles after seeing the flash of confusion in your face. you laugh along with her while slowly rubbing your stomach over your sweatshirt, the hunger you're repressing earlier is coming back. he's behind you while his mom prepares the utensils and he begins the soft rubs on your back with occasional light pats before sitting on the table.

"thank you!" the excitement shining in your eyes is making the boy beside you look away and rest his chin on his palm. he begins to magine how satisfying it would feel if he made you feel like that—happy and content. you and his mom get lost on your conversation before he takes small bites of the food and he keeps glancing at you with a grin forming on his face.

"semi played earlier, he's really good." his mom's laughter echo the dining table. your cheeks go red because you didn't mean to slip the compliment easily from your lips. you didn't dare to look at him, not when you openly admired your best friend in front of him, and his mom which isn't making the situation any better.

"i bet he is! he's already my rock star!" when you hear him curse under his breath, the embarrassment you felt earlier disappeared. you laugh along with his mom and clutch your stomach, enjoying that he's a little awkward with cheesy nicknames. you secretly change the topic and distract his mom with your interests, and your heart bursts when you feel his foot hit yours lightly. you know he's having a hard time to say thank you but you kick his foot back, the smile on your face widening. you're lost in your own bubble that you didn't see him looking at you with a soft look in his eyes. he goes back to his food and stare at his plate, the thoughts in his head overlapping on what to do, he couldn't be alone with you because he'll do something. whatever, goodluck future me, he thought.

"don't even say anything about that." you said when you see him opening his mouth while settling yourself on his bed. a sympathetic smile goes on to his face before plopping beside you, grabbing the remote to play a series on the television. even though this is his chance to tease you and push you to your limit, he decided against it since he knows the feeling of slipping up when you had no intention to do so.

“you pick today.” he puts the remote in your palm and your heart begins to beat wild in your chest because of your hands touching for a few seconds. you grab it too tight and you check the movies and series shown, and you picked a classic, romantic series since you know you wouldn’t pay attention to it. semi’s fingers are playing with yours, occasionally squeezing your fingers to get a hilarious reaction from you. the introduction plays on the television, but your senses are focused on semi’s hands and the one ring that’s on his middle finger which you secretly like.

“what do you feel now?” semi’s voice getting lower while he whispers, but his eyes are looking somewhere, just not at you. before you could question him, you feel his hands loosely intertwine with yours and rest it on his lap. your body froze while your eyes fall on his face, but seeing him looking to the other side and feel the beating on his wrist makes your heart swell in content. that voice of his replays on your head repeatedly and it worsens the heat blooming on your cheeks. he rubs his thumb on your palm and he’s secretly pleased with your reply, “i’m okay.”

“whatever you say, honey.” a smirk comes to his face when he watches you pull the blanket to your face, and he tightens his hold on your hand before you could try to pull away. he uses his other hand to pat your head and you playfully roll your eyes before resting your head on his shoulder, knowing what he wants. after six months of pining for each other but don’t have the guts to say it, you’re delighted that he did something to boost your friendship on another level. you snuggle into the crook of his neck further, and bring your hands together and peck his knuckles lightly. he ignores the pounding on his chest and opted to say something instead, that he knows will bring exhilaration and brightness in your eyes.

“good thing i named my new single six months.”

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #semi eita x reader #semi eita x y/n #semi eita x you #semi eita oneshot #eita semi x reader #eita semi x y/n #hq x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenario #[✰] kei7ime works

73 notes · View notes

earthfire-75 · 3 years

Text

Kashmir

Chapter One, Part Two: Kashmir (The Trick is to Keep Breathing)

Author’s notes: co-written with @nature-and-music , beta-ed by @lady-jane-revisited

A lopsided smile tugged at his lips, “I’ll get them for you.”

“No thank you Robert, Grant gave me the money and I’ll pay for it.”

“Oh please, just one of them then?”

I shook my head, “No it’s fine. Besides, we need to head back.”

He pursed his lips and huffed, “Alright, if you say so.”

The purchase was completed and it was time to head out, however Robert was speaking to the woman behind the counter; or flirting no less. She nodded her head and wrote something down on a note by the dresses that he brought to her.

“Thank you darlin’, have a pleasant rest of your day.”

I chuckled, “Giving her the number to your hotel room?”

“Not exactly, Anjelika. Come on we better hurry, the party’s going to start soon and you still need to do your hair and makeup,” he informed.

Somewhere along the line, we lost the other three band members. Robert took me to the hotel they were staying at, figuring they would all meet up there anyway. He let me borrow his bathroom to change and do my hair and makeup.

“What kind of party is it? Formal or informal?”

“Well, I’m wearing a suit, if that helps?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ok.” I picked out the longer dress and started getting ready. I could hear Robert rummaging around in the other room and assumed he was doing the same. I just finished when Robert knocked on the door.

“I need the mirror, love. Gotta comb out my hair and beard.”

I flung the door open, grabbing the comb from the counter. “Don’t you dare take a comb to those curls! Tell me you have a pick.”

He swallowed. “Technically? I left it at home?”

I didn’t say anything else, but grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the common room and to the couch. I then sat, pulling him down next to me. It was then I noticed what suit he was wearing, and still with his beard. Fuck! He wasn’t yet wearing the jacket, but he had the vest on and the top two or three bottoms of his shirt were left undone. Now it was my turn to swallow hard as I leaned in with the comb to fix his beard. Then I started to run my fingers through his hair carefully.

“If you forget your pick again, use your fingers, not a comb or brush. You could ruin your curls otherwise.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Now, we should probably get going.”

We both stood and, as Robert grabbed his jacket from the arm of the couch, we left the hotel room and headed downstairs. “The party is being held in the hotel restaurant,” Robert informed me.

At first, the party seemed more like a meet and greet with the other roadies and their tour manager, who seemed unimpressed that I was “some bird” Jimmy picked up off the street. But none of the boys were having it. Robert happily reassured the crew that I was indeed more than “some bird,” that in fact I was assigned to be a part of the touring as well. To be equipped with the behind the scene matters and the roadies would simply need to learn to live with this sudden change. Being the new kid in town was never easy, and I was feeling beyond self conscious about this, however I had to keep my intrusive thoughts at bay. New learning opportunities would be coming up and it was all a matter of learning the ropes. Even if a fair amount of the crew thought of me as another to be shared among the members of the band, especially with Robert since he had locked arms with me.

The party started off fairly quiet at first as we all sat down at our tables to listen to a congratulatory speech from Grant. He had nothing but high expectations for everyone involved and that this tour would be bigger and heavier than the previous one. I felt a hand touch my lap and I followed the arm to see Robert’s concerned expression. I gave him a little smile to reassure him that I was alright. The last thing that I needed to do was interrupt Peter in the middle of his talk, and right before my first day no less.

A line was formed as everyone made their way to be serviced by the chefs. All manner of succulent cuts of meat, freshly cooked fish, bubbling champagne, and assorted hors d'oeuvres were ready to be served. Everything looked so delicious and oh so appetizing, I just simply couldn’t believe my eyes. As we stood in line, I overheard Jonesy and Jimmy mention something, although it was hard to hear amongst the chatter of Robert talking to Bonzo.

“How do you suppose they’ll feel about touring?” Jimmy asked.

Jonesy shrugged, “Well, hopefully their antics won’t take away from the show. And your guitars won’t get demolished as well.”

Jimmy scowled, “If he even thinks about touching any of my guitars, I’ll bash his head in!”

“If you do, she’ll end up giving you a black eye. You know that she has a bit of a ‘short’ temper,” the bassist chuckled. “Besides, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Well you're the bass guitar player, none of your things will be obliterated,” Jimmy whined.

Bonzo joined in, “Not unless a certain someone decides to shove a cherry bomb in the strings.”

Jonesy smiled and rolled his eyes, “Well I suppose I’ll just need to stand close to Thunderfingers won’t I?”

Guitars being destroyed? Cherry bombs? My curiosity peaked, however I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation. At least not until I knew a little more of what or who they were referring to. We made our way to the table and enjoyed our delicious food and sparkling drinks. The champagne flowed like rain down our throats as the appetizing meals made our mouths water. A few questions were directed to me regarding how I was feeling about the new job and I answered honestly.

I smiled meekly, “Well I’m very excited about this. This is going to be something different for me for sure, but I’ll do my best.”

“You will darlin’, you will,” Robert smirked as he patted my hand. “So how long have you been playing and singing?”

“Well, for a while actually. I just picked up a few lessons from my dad and just… learned a bit on my own.”

Jimmy noted, “I did a bit of session work when I was a lad. Learned a few things myself along the way.”

Robert butted in, “Well I hope we can hear more of your singing and playing while on tour. I think you’ll sound wonderful, and the audience will love it.”

I felt myself clam up a bit at the prospect of playing before a live audience, even though it was a touching notion on Robert’s part. I didn’t think it was necessary to get myself even more involved than necessary, especially since a fair amount of the road crew weren't exactly pleased with me being here. I gave Robert a little smile and a shrug and let him know that we could put that idea on the back burner.

“I’m curious though…who were the three of you talking about earlier? You mentioned something about guitars being destroyed?” I asked. I had hoped they would have said more by now, but since they hadn’t and my curiosity was getting the better of me…I had to ask.

Jonesy laughed a little. “Interesting wording. We were talking about another band who will be touring with us. Interestingly enough, they are called The Who. They’ve got a habit of destroying their equipment. Jimmy was concerned it might spill over to ours as well.”

I know of them, of course and of that particular habit, though I had thought they had stepped doing so by this time. Then again, it's a different universe, likely also a different timeline. “I see,” I said instead. Looking at Bonzo, I got his attention. It was as good a time as any to talk to him, but I didn’t know what the other boys knew.

“Bonzo? Can we talk? Alone?”

“Uh, sure. Looks like there’s a spot at the bar surprisingly clear of people.”

We got up from the table and walked over to the bar, ordering ourselves a drink before I started the conversation, but Bonzo beat me to it.

“So…yer a Nightbane too?” He asked with such nonchalance.

“Yeah, I am. So are you. Do they know?”

“Yeah, they do. Rob found out first. He was there during my Becoming. Scared the daylights out of ‘im, but it was like he still knew it was me. Jimmy found it ‘fascinating’. Jonesy took it the worst, almost left the band when he first found out. But he came around.”

I nodded in acknowledgment and downed my drink. How did the fact that they all knew Bonzo was a Nightbane make it both a relief and up my anxiety about them finding out I was one too? Would they be able to accept the creature beneath as easily as they had with Bonzo? Granted my other form wasn’t monstrous in the traditional sense, yet, I still worried it would scare them off at best.

Bonzo smiles a little. “Don’t worry, Jonesy might freak out a little, but I really don’t think you need to worry about Rob and Jimmy at all.”

“Thanks, Bonzo.”

Someone cleared their throat behind us and we turned to see Robert. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but the other bands just showed up. I thought you might like to meet them, Anjelika.”

He stepped to the side and I found the members of The Who standing there, looking at me. I knew each of them by name and face, even as they introduced themselves, though I did a double take as my eyes landed on the shortest member. There, with the same blue eyes I had seen so many times before, was a very feminine looking Roger Daltrey. Now I know I’m not in my own universe…

“Rogina Daltrey,” she introduced herself to me, her blue eyes never leaving mine.

“Anjelika,” I responded back with a smile and she in return gave me a smirk.

“Bonzo!” Keith uttered, a drink in one hand as he hugged his fellow drummer, “You gained a few stones since last I saw you.”

Bonzo rolled his eyes as he chortled, holding his head in a strong arm grip. Keith complained that his champagne would fall out, but that didn’t stop Bonzo from treating him like a sibling. “Moonie, why don’t you and the lads say hello to our new friend here, yeah?”

John and Pete made their acquaintances, Keith was able to give her a little wave of his hand until Bonzo finally let him go and gave him a good slap on the back.

“You’ll have to excuse Keith, he’s a bit loonie as you can see,” Pete explained. “So what brings you here?”

“Well I’ll be going on tour with the band, and it looks like I’ll be seeing you four as well.”

Rogina interjected, “Is that right? What will you be doing?”

“A roadie, so I’ll be around helping with getting everything ready,” I mentioned.

“She might even do a bit of performing as well,” Robert mentioned proudly.

I was silent as The Who stared at me, my throat becoming dry. I tried to play off his comment as a joke, “Good one Robert. He’s just kidding-”

Rogina tilted her head as she looked at me, “Are you sure? Because if you can sing, we’d love to hear you.”

My heart was pounding, all I could give her was an unsure shrug, “Um, another time… maybe. Say why do you all go get something to eat, the food is very delicious here.”

Keith was already off to find himself a plate, with John closing in behind him. Pete kept himself occupied with discussing business matters with Jimmy and Grant. Rogina on the other hand decided to stay and talk a bit more. Everything about this Roger was pretty much the same: The height, the golden corkscrew curls, ocean blue eyes, toothy grin, muscular arms, and stylish clothing. Still it was odd speaking with her, considering the obvious factors such as a slightly higher register in her voice and the presence of breasts that protruded from her suit.

“So how did you manage to work with Zeppelin?” Rogina asked.

I tried to answer as best as I could, “Oh well… you see Jimmy let me know that a spot was available actually.” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her that Jimmy had found me like an abandoned cat in an alleyway that he felt sorry for. A little of me to say, but still I couldn’t seem to add that in.

“Is it true what Robert said about you performing? I mean you seemed awfully quiet when he brought it up.”

I sighed at the question, barely keeping myself from pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m quickly learning that Robert's a little like a puppy…very excitable. I played a little bit for them to prove that I know what I’m doing with the guitars. Something came over me and I sang a little bit too. I never agreed to playing in front of anyone else. Let alone in front of a huge audience.”

Rogina’s smile softened at that. “He really is, though I’m sorry to hear you won’t be playing. The offer is always open and I meant what I said, I'd love to hear from you. if you change your mind.”

I returned her smile and I knew I was going to love this version of Roger too. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

G made his way over with a couple other people, one looked vaguely familiar, the other I didn’t recognize. “Anjelika! I want to introduce you to Ahmet Ertegun, owner of Atlantic Records. He’s here to support the boys. And this is Alice Cooper, joining us on the American leg of the tour.”

Both men stuck a hand out for me to shake. I took Ahmet’s first who placed his other hand over mine gently. “I must thank you for joining the road crew, dear. Though, I must admit, I was shocked to hear you were a woman. Forgive me, I mean no offense, it’s just never been done before.”

I smiled at Ahmet, trying not to take offense. It may be a different universe, but apparently the ‘70’s were still the ‘70’s. Turning to Alice, I shook his hand next, barely recognizing him without the makeup.

“I don’t know if shocked is the word I would have used, but I guess I am a little surprised. Didn’t figure I’d see a female roadie for another decade at least. Don’t get me wrong, I love that women are getting more and more involved in rock. And if anyone gives you any shit, just say the word.”

My smile grew wider at Alice’s genuine words. “Thank you, I appreciate that. Though, I assure you, I can handle myself.”

“I’m certain you can, but the offer is still on the table. I would like to stay and get to know you a little more, but I need to get back to my girlfriend. It was nice meeting you, Anjelika.”

“I’m sure there will be time to get to know each other more on the road and it was nice to meet you too.”

“Fair enough. See you tomorrow, then.” And with that he was off. G and Ahmet soon excused themselves to go talk to the boys and I was left at the bar once more with Rogina next to me.

Rogina sighed, “I know this must be all new to you. Believe me that being a woman involved in rock and roll seems to weird people out, especially guys.”

I gave her a reassuring grin, “Yeah, I’m sure you probably have gone through a lot.”

Rogina took a sip of her flute, “I may have a few stories. One of them involves Keith actually.”

I leaned in, “What happened?”

“Well let’s just say he thought that he could get away with copping a feel. He lost a couple of teeth that night,” Rogina chuckled. “The bastard will never live that moment down.”

I wasn’t sure if I could share a laugh with Rogina, even though she was able to find humor in such a terrible situation. All I could muster was a nervous smile and a nod.

Rogina took another sip of her champagne, rested her head on her palm, and pondered, “So is this your first time working with Zeppelin?”

“Yes actually. And I hope that I’ll do alright while on tour,” I admitted.

“I think you will,” Rogina claimed with a warm smile. “So what would you like to drink? The champagne is alright, but I think I’ll get a whiskey instead.”

I was taken aback, “Oh well… a beer sounds good.”

Truthfully, a Nightbane could easily drink any of these mortals under the table. As to how I would do against Bonzo, a fellow Nightbane, well that would be a matter for another day. Still I was grateful knowing that Bonzo could understand, and hopefully the remainder of Zeppelin, Who, and Cooper would as well. However it was too early to let the rest of them know. In time I would say something, only when the moment felt right.

As we waited for our drinks, I felt a strange looming presence behind me. My throat went dry the moment I turned around to see John Entiwistle, the Ox himself, towering over the two of us. Rogina on the other hand casually remarked, “I thought you were supposed to be babysitting our dear boy.”

“Well quite frankly I need a break from him,” John mentioned with a deep chortle. “I think as long as nothing blows up tonight, he’ll tire himself out eventually.” He gestured to the bartender and asked for a glass of cognac.

Rogina nodded and asked him, “Where did Pete go?”

“Probably talking some poor bastard’s ear off about Lifehouse,” he laughed.

“Oh come on John, the man just wants to share his work to the world,” Rogina noted.

John leaned in towards me, “She says that, but even she gets tired of his songs about teenage angst.”

Rogina scowled at him, “I do not.”

John raised his eyebrows, “Keep telling yourself that Rog. It was Anjelika right?”

I nodded, “Yes John.”

He responded with a handshake, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well”, I responded with a return of his handshake. “I take Keith's handful?”

Rogina and John laughed. “That’s putting it mildly some days.” John admitted.

“I swear the man can’t not cause trouble in some fashion or another for even a few hours.” Rogina adds.

“I think there’s some unspoken rule that drummers are all crazy,” I chuckled.

“That explains everything, actually.” John said with a chuckle of his own. Rogina just shook her head.

I looked up to see the time on a clock on the wall. Midnight. Where had the time gone? “I should head up to get some sleep, I want to be up early to grab a few things I forgot earlier today from the drug store across the way. Besides, I’m assuming the roadies will be up earlier than the bands to pack up the buses.” Downing the last of my beer, I shook John’s hand again. “It was nice meeting you.” I set the empty bottle on the bar and left a few bills before turning to Rogina. “Thank you for the beer.”

She surprised me by pulling me into a hug instead of giving me a handshake. “Any time. And I’ll add to what Alice said earlier. Anyone gives you any trouble, let me know, I’ll kick their ass.”

“Thank you. But I really need to go.” With that I went to find G to figure out where I would sleep tonight. I found him still with the boys, though it appeared that Ahmet had left. I explained to G that I wanted to get to bed and why, but it was Robert who interjected.

“You can stay in my room for tonight,” Robert offered. “The rest of your things are still there from earlier.”

I had forgotten about that. Hesitantly I nodded in agreement, even if I was worried about what the other roadies, especially Cole, might say. “Alright, as long as this doesn’t become a habit. Just for tonight.”

I could see the disappointment behind Robert’s eyes, but he agreed. “Here, take my key, just leave the door unlocked so I can get in later.”

Nodding, I took the key and thanked him before heading upstairs to the room, getting as comfortable on the couch as I could.

@brownskinsugarplum76 @m-faithfull @jimmys-zeppelin @lady-jane-revisited @firethatgrewsolow @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @callmethehunter @tremble-and-shake @tophats-n-lespauls @princesspagey @tangerine-page

#led zeppelin fanfics #robert plant fanfiction #the who fanfiction #roger daltrey fanfiction #fem!roger daltrey #alice cooper fanfic #robert plant x reader x roger daltrey #no smut #yet

23 notes · View notes

lost-in-fanfic · 3 years

Text

The Woman - Thomas Shelby x Reader (Part 1)

A/N : I could not get this idea out of my head so I’ve had a go at writing it down. I hope people enjoy it :) I want to do the idea justice so am going to split into parts. Not my GIF and I don’t give permission for anyone to use my work.

Warnings : Reference to past abuse, mentions of murder, to be honest the usual things you’d expect from a Peaky fic.

A brief summary: (Y/N) has come to Small Heath with a job to to, a job she’s done before, but never has she come into contact with anyone like Tommy Shelby.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word Count: 1464

Walking into The Garrison that night none of the Shelby family noticed anything untoward, there was the usual smell of stale smoke mingled with the scent of working men and the sounds of drunken conversations, but nothing to suggest any danger. They made their way into their private snug and Harry, the bar keeper, followed quickly behind with glasses and a bottle of Irish whisky.

What they should have noticed was the man in the corner, on the opposite side of the front door to the snug, with his head resting on his left hand, his hat pulled over his eyes, a glass of whisky in front of him and lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. If any of them had noticed him, they would have seen that the man apparently drinking himself into a stupor had his cigarette dangling from surprisingly feminine lips.

(Y/N) had decided upon disguising herself as a man, when going to The Garrison that night, as soon as she had arrived in Small Heath the day before. Part of her job, her survival mechanism, was to blend in. She would simply become part of the surroundings allowing her to go unnoticed until it was simply to late for the person, she was watching to do anything except surrender. Most of the time the fact she was a woman worked in her advantage, men seemed to pay so little attention to women that she could slip past all their protection and defences with just a smile. The Garrison, however, had not struck her as the sort of place a woman could sit quietly and not draw attention to herself.

Another part of her job was research, and she was very thorough. When the Shelby’s had walked in, she had known exactly who was who. Polly was easy to spot, the strong matriarch commanding the room as soon as she entered, a woman who was used to respect. Next were Arthur and John, the eldest and the third of the brothers, both had a smile on their face and a glint in their eye that suggested they were there for a good night. Last in was Tommy Shelby himself, he was the only one whose eyes even passed over (Y/N) as he scanned the room. (Y/N) could not help but admit to herself that he was just as handsome and intimidating as she had heard and yet he was the one she was here to kill.

(Y/N) tried to never lookback in life, the past held no happy memories for her so why dwell in it? Growing up in an orphanage, where there was no kindness or love, it had been a case of become hardened to pain or break. The first person she had killed had been in self defence when she was 14, she did not even know his name. The home, if you could call it that, she had been living in at the time was being visited by one of their generous benefactors and he had decided that the cost of his donation was her. Well (Y/N) had other ideas about that and when he laughed at her asking him to stop, she had swung a log from the basket next to the fire at his head. The sickening crack and the way he fell to the floor should probably have made (Y/N) vomit, but instead she took his wallet, rings and watch and climbed out the window.

Since then, she had grown a business in an underground and dark world and what she did, she did well. There were rules of course, every business had to have rules, she would not do anything if a child would see or be at risk, she would always do her own research, get half the money upfront every time and never meet with a client face to face so they would always assume she was a man. Who would ever look for a woman when they were expecting a hardened hitman? The most important rule, however, was that she would not kill if she didn’t think they deserved it. For example, she often took care of abusive husbands whose wives had grown tired of abuse, but she had refused a job offered to her by a Lord who wanted the man his daughter had eloped with killed. The Lord had written that his daughter had been tricked and was stuck in the marriage against her will, but (Y/N) had done her research. Watching them from a distance it was clear they were in love and happy, so she had returned the money, refused the job, and warned the couple just what the woman’s father was capable of.

Being in Birmingham for over 24 hours had allowed (Y/N) plenty of time to investigate what sort of man Tommy Shelby was. His reputation was known even in London where she lived, but she had not been hired to kill him because of his reputation. There was a story, a specific reason that she had been given, to justify what she had been paid to do, and until she had checked out if that story was true, she couldn’t make the decision about whether or not to carry out the hit. She was staying at a boarding house run by a lady called Mrs Bathurst, who had thought nothing of renting a room for a week to a young woman who was in Birmingham to visit friends and attend a job interview. Mrs Bathurst was a lonely woman, who after a few gins had a loose tongue, last night she had happily regaled (Y/N) with stories she had heard at the market about the leader of the Peaky Blinders and how he had almost been brought down by a woman.

Putting out her cigarette and drinking the remnants of her whisky, (Y/N) took a piece of paper out of her pocket and a pen. Scribbling a quick note and folding it up she walked out of The Garrison, completely unnoticed by every man in there. Across the street she saw a boy kicking a ball against the end of the row of houses. Recognising him as the youngest Shelby she quietly walked up to him. “Finn isn’t it?” the boy jumped at her words turning around to face her he was baffled as to why the woman was dressed like a dock worker. “Who’s asking?” he said, puffing out his chest and standing up as tall as he could. “I’m a friend of Tommy’s, I forgot to give him this, but I’m in a massive hurry would you run it into him?” (Y/N) held out the note to Finn, her voice was so calm and confident that Finn didn’t even doubt her, but he had learnt enough to know nothing was free. (Y/N) chuckled to herself “I’ll give you a sixpence to do it. A bob if you don’t read it” Finn smiled and held out is hand “Shilling” he answered. Pulling the shilling out of her pocket and handing it to him with the note she smiled and walked off down the street.

Tommy leant back in his chair not really listening to what Arthur and John were arguing about and certainly not paying any attention to the look he was getting from Polly. It was a mix of worry and expectation and she had looked at him like it for the past year. Ever since Grace had left. Finn suddenly burst through the snug doors a look of glee on his face. “Look I got a shilling of my own,” he said holding it up for his brothers and Aunt to see, “I earnt it myself, so can I bet with it tomorrow on the horses?”

“No, you bloody can’t.” snapped Polly, Finn’s face falling. “What did you do to earn that shilling then Finn?” Tommy asked looking at his brother, a feeling of sympathy deep in him, he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of a snapping Polly. “Lady give it me, said I could have it if I gave you this and didn’t read it. Funny lady though, she was dressed up like a docker.” Finn held out the note to his brother. Tommy’s brow furrowed as he took the note.

Mr Shelby,

I have been hired to kill you. Before I decide if I will, I would like to meet you.

9am tomorrow in The Garrison, just you or I won’t come. I promise not to kill you in the meeting.

Tommy bolted out onto the street and looked around, but it was useless, there were simply to many people around to know who to look for. He had already decided though, he would be back here tomorrow morning at 9am.

@comebackjessica

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fic #peaky blinder fanfic #cilian murphy #tommy shelby x reader #by order of the peaky blinders

98 notes · View notes

thelastspeecher · 3 years

Text

Eggs and Pollywogs

This is the final ficlet I’ll be posting for my Nixie AU. Not because I won’t write anything else for it or anything like that, but because I’m going to be focusing my writing attention for the Nixie AU into making a multichap! I’m hoping to finish a couple of my WIPs before I start posting the Nixie AU multichap (which I’m titling “Amphibious Tendencies”), so it might be a little while. But I’m excited to clean up and expand my lil ficlets and make it into a multichap.

But I was already working on this ficlet, and since the last one ended on a bit of a cliffhanger, I finished this up so that y’all could have some Quality Egg Content. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

Water splashed Stan’s face. He sat up, spluttering.

“Good. Yer with us,” Fiddleford said flatly. Stan wiped the water out of his eyes. “Yer lil faintin’ spell made Angie cry.”

“Fidds, that’s a lie!” Angie protested.

“You cried.”

“I have a lot of emotions right now,” Angie argued. Stan got to his feet. Angie reached for his hand. She brushed her thumb across his fingers. “You all right, darlin’?”

“Yeah, I think- I think I am.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. He swallowed. “So, uh, the egg in the jar, it’s-”

“Your offspring, yes,” Ford said. At some point while Stan was passed out, Ford had obtained the jar and was looking intently at the egg floating within it. “Hmm. I wonder if all nixie eggs are this cherry blossom color.”

“Cherry blossom? Ford, it’s fucking pink,” Stan said.

“I was specifying the shade of pink.”

“Whatever.” Stan turned his attention back to Angie. “Did you- did you lay it or something?” Angie nodded. “That had to have sucked.” Angie laughed softly.

“It most certainly did. I wouldn’t have disappeared fer so long fer no reason.”

“I suspect that it should hatch in a handful of months,” Ford interjected. “Shorter than the regular human gestation of nine months, but longer than the regular frog gestation of a month or two at most.” Angie rolled her eyes.

“I know how long it takes frog eggs to hatch, Stanford. I’ve got a doctorate in herpetology.”

“Thank god,” Stan muttered. “We’re gonna need your expert smarts when the kid hatches.” He grimaced. “My kid’s gonna hatch from an egg.”

“I’m sorry,” Angie said quietly.

“Why?”

“Yer kid’s goin’ to hatch from an egg ‘cause I’m the mother.”

“You being the mom is a good thing, Ang. I’m glad I’m having a kid with you,” Stan said. Angie smiled.

“Did you lay any others?” Ford asked. Angie sighed.

“No. Just the one.”

“Odd. Water sprites like nixies tend to spawn. Maybe you only laid one because it has a human for a father. Or maybe because you aren’t a full-blooded nixie.”

“Spawn,” Stan croaked, his voice cracking.

“Okay, that’s it.” Angie took the jar from Ford.

“Hey! I was examining that!”

“‘That’ happens to be my child,” Angie snarled. “You can examine my baby when I say it’s okay. And right now, my child, my boyfriend, and I are goin’ to find somewhere private. It’s darn difficult to have a serious conversation about us bein’ parents with ya interruptin’ every minute.”

-----

Stan and Angie walked down the dock. It was the middle of the day, so they weren’t alone at the lake, but they had decided it was still a better place to talk than the house. They sat down at the end of the dock, their legs dangling over the edge.

“Can I, uh, can I see the egg?” Stan asked quietly. Angie handed over the jar. Stan removed the lid to look more closely at his unborn child.

Not really unborn. She’s gonna hatch, so, unhatched, I guess.

“Are you all right?” Angie asked, just as quiet as Stan. Stan nodded.

“Yeah. I’m just, uh, trying to, y’know, come to terms with this. I didn’t even know if I’d be able to have kids with you, since you’re a frog,” he said. Angie chuckled softly. “And now…now I’m gonna have a daughter.”

“Wait. Daughter?” Angie asked.

“The egg’s pink. It’s gonna be a girl,” Stan said, matter-of-fact. Angie stared at him. “You’ve heard of pink going with girls and blue going with boys before, right?”

“I- yes, but I highly doubt that’ll translate in this way,” Angie said.

“I’ve got a feeling about it.”

“Hmm.”

“My gut feelings are never wrong, Ang,” Stan said firmly. “We’re gonna have a little girl.”

“Well, there is a 50% chance yer right,” Angie said after a moment. She reached for Stan’s hand and laced her fingers with his. “Do ya have any idea what names ya like?”

“Molly,” Stan said immediately. Angie quirked a small smile.

“Ya had that one locked and loaded.”

“I’ve wanted to be a dad since I was a teenager. I’ve thought about what I wanna name my kids,” Stan said with a shrug. Angie’s smile broadened.

“I like Molly, too. And if the lil one turns out to be a boy…”

“It’s a girl.”

“Ya don’t want to hear what I think we should name our son?” Angie asked.

“I mean, it’s not necessary, but go for it.”

“I was thinkin’ we could name him after you. Stan Junior.”

“I- you- you wanna name your kid after me?” Stan croaked. Angie leaned against him.

“Our kid, darlin’. Not mine. Ours. Why wouldn’t he be named after his father?” she said tenderly. Tears sprang to Stan’s eyes. He brushed them away roughly.

“Yeah,” he choked out. “Yeah, that sounds- that sounds good.” Angie stroked Stan’s cheek. “I don’t think we should still be living with Fidds and Ford when the kid hatches.”

“I reckon yer right ‘bout that.” Angie’s eyes widened. “Oh! So, durin’ my time explorin’ the lake, I stumbled across somethin’ incredible.”

“What?”

“There’s some nice-lookin’ caves behind the falls. There’s plenty of room fer a full fam’ly to live there. And there’s even some natural pools of water fer eggs or nixies to sleep in.”

“Huh.” Stan thought on that for a moment. “We wouldn’t have to pay rent.”

“Nope.” Angie rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know if it’s a good long-term solution, but I think it’s definitely a decent one fer right now.”

“Yeah, and it’s better than living with our brothers…” Stan grinned at Angie. “I think that we can live in a cave like frogs.”

Angie beamed.

-----

Stan watched anxiously as Ford removed the egg from its jar to examine it. Every instinct he had was screaming to rip the egg out of Ford’s hands. Ford gently set the egg into a bowl of water.

“She’s getting very large,” Ford commented. Angie rolled her eyes.

“Really? You, too?”

“The egg is the color associated with femininity.”

“Assignin’ pink ‘n blue to gender is a human construct, Stanford,” Angie said shortly. She, Stan, and Ford were in the basement lab at the house, where Ford and Angie were making their regular observations tracking the egg’s development. Angie was the one who suggested that Ford track the egg’s development with her, an opportunity he jumped at.

“I suppose we’ll find out when she hatches.” Ford carefully turned the egg over. Stan winced. “You’ll need a larger jar to transport her soon.” Angie sighed.

“Here’s the thing. I can’t find any bigger jars. I think that this is the last time I’ll be able to bring the egg over. From now on, it’ll have to stay in the cave pool.”

“Nope!” a voice said. Everyone looked over. Fiddleford had arrived, carrying something. He strode over to Angie. “I whipped somethin’ up fer ya.” He handed the item to Angie. She looked it over doubtfully.

“Uh, a tote bag?” Angie asked. Fiddleford chuckled.

“That’s just one of its uses. It’s multi-functional, o’ course.”

“Of course,” Stan muttered. Fiddleford ignored him.

“Think of it as a portable version of the tank I made fer ya. When ya zip up the top, it’ll keep water in perfectly, without any spillin’. Ya can carry it over yer shoulder, on yer back, or even on yer front.” Angie looked up curiously. Fiddleford beamed. “That’s the best part, I think. If ya wear it on yer front and tuck it under yer clothes, it’ll give the impression yer expectin’.”

“That’s actually a great idea,” Stan said. “Angie and I have been getting a bit worried about people noticing we have a kid when she was never pregnant.” He waved a hand. “Sure, adoption exists, but there’s no way the kid won’t have either my nose or Angie’s. She’s gonna look like us.”

“Thank you, Fidds,” Angie said. She smiled. “This really is great.” Fiddleford’s smile broadened further.

“Speaking of which traits your daughter is going to get…” Ford said slowly. Fiddleford frowned.

“What makes ya think the pollywog’s goin’ to be a girl?” he asked. Angie sighed.

“Stan and Ford are stuck on the egg bein’ pink.”

“Stanford, that don’t mean jack.”

“In my professional opinion-” Ford started, his voice rising.

“What were ya goin’ to say about traits?” Angie interrupted.

“I- ahem.” Ford cleared his throat. “I wonder which traits from which forms will pass down.” Angie frowned thoughtfully.

“Elaborate.”

“In your native form, you are blonde, like Fiddleford,” Ford said, gesturing to Angie’s caramel-colored hair. Stan rolled his eyes.

“The guy who said my kid’s egg is ‘cherry blossom’ thinks Angie and Fiddleford have the same hair color,” he muttered. Ford blinked.

“They’re both blonde.”

“Yeah, but in different ways.”

“Stanford, ignore him,” Fiddleford said. “Finish yer thought, please.”

“Right. As I was saying, Angie, you are blonde when in human form, but as a nixie, you have black hair. I’m curious as to whether your daughter will have black hair or blonde hair as a human.”

“Or brown hair,” Angie said. Ford frowned.

“Why would she have brown hair?” he asked. Stan cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Dumbass, I’m the kid’s dad!” he shouted.

“Ah. Yes. Fair point.” Ford looked at Stan with some concern. “Are you all right?”

“No, my genius brother is an idiot,” Stan retorted, crossing his arms.

“Not-” Ford huffed. “Your voice sounds…off. Do you have a frog in your throat?”

“That’s racist,” Angie mumbled.

“I mean, I don’t have a frog in my throat right now,” Stan said. Fiddleford and Angie turned beet red. After a moment, Ford flushed as well. Stan snickered. “Nah, I think that I’m just getting used to living behind the waterfall.”

“Why would that alter your voice?” Ford asked. Stan shrugged.

“I mean, I haven’t been able to fully dry off since we moved there. Don’t you get sick if you stay wet?”

“Not necessarily,” Ford said.

“He’s fine,” Angie said. “Can we please finish lookin’ at the egg? I’m eager to try this here bag Fidds made.”

“Yes, of course.” Ford and Angie turned their attention back to the egg. Fiddleford joined them as well. Stan leaned against the wall, deciding to observe from a distance. He uncrossed an arm to scratch his neck, unaware of the thin slime that briefly oozed from the itch.

-----

“Stan!” Stan looked up from his attempts to shave, using one of the cave pools as a mirror. Angie beamed broadly at him. “C’mere!” Stan wiped his face clean, got up, and joined Angie at the pool she had designated for the egg. “Look!” She pointed at the egg.

“Uh, what am I looking at?” Stan asked.

“The lil pollywog is swimmin’ in the egg!” Angie gushed. Stan sat down and leaned in to look closely at the egg. His eyes widened. Sure enough, the dark speck inside the egg was moving. “I reckon it’s a bit like when someone pregnant first feels their baby kickin’.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d say that we’ve only got a couple months ‘fore the lil one hatches.”

“Wow, that soon?”

“Yep.”

“Damn.” Stan smiled as he watched the tadpole swimming around inside its egg. “Holy Moses, I’m gonna be a dad soon,” he said quietly. His eyes widened. “I’m gonna be a dad, but I’m not married.”

“Oh,” Angie said, sounding surprised. “That’s right. We ain’t married.”

“We should probably do that at some point,” Stan said. Angie laughed softly. “What?”

“I’m just imaginin’ my fam’ly gettin’ invitations to a wedding where they haven’t even heard of the groom ‘fore.”

“Wait.”

“Oh. Oh no.” Stan and Angie stared at each other. “I never told my fam’ly ‘bout ya.”

“We’ve been dating for months! We’re gonna be parents soon!”

“I- well-” Angie spluttered. “Have you told yer fam’ly ‘bout me?” she shot back.

“Touché. But you talk to your family a lot more than I talk to mine.”

“Yeah.” Angie rubbed the back of her neck nervously. “There’s just- a lot has happened very quickly. We first met a lil over a year ago, ‘member?”

“That was only a year ago?”

“A bit more,” Angie corrected.

“Still.” Stan looked back at the egg. “Damn. We moved fast.”

“Apparently.” Angie groaned, kneading her forehead. “Oh, Lord. They’re all goin’ to blow their gaskets.”

“Especially when you mention the kid,” Stan pointed out. Angie groaned louder. “I wonder how easily we’ll be able to get the kid to look human…” After a moment, Angie nodded.

“Good point. Maybe we wait to mention we have a child until that child can hide its gills.”

-----

Stan scowled as he watched Lute stare at the egg. Angie had called her family to let them know she had a serious boyfriend about a month ago. Earlier that week, her older brother, Lute, had showed up determined to find out Stan’s “intentions” with his younger sister. Before Stan knew what was happening, Lute had discovered Angie was a nixie, as well as the existence of the egg.

And now, he’s in my home, gaping at my unhatched kid like it’s the star freak in a sideshow. Stan cleared his throat.

“All right, are you satisfied?” he asked tartly. Lute nodded, still staring at the egg. “Great. Now-”

“Is it s’pposed to be movin’?” Lute interrupted. Everyone looked over at the egg. Sure enough, it was rocking back and forth in the small pool. Stan looked at Angie. Her eyes were wide. She quickly got into the pool with the egg.

“Are you all right, honey?” she asked quietly, stroking the egg. The egg rocked more violently as the tadpole pushed against the membrane. Then, before their eyes, a tear formed. “Oh my- oh my goodness.” The tadpole slid out of the egg, into the water. Stan fell to his knees by the side of the pool.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. Ford, Fiddleford, and Lute knelt as well.

“I think we just watched our new niece or nephew get born,” Ford commented. The freshly hatched tadpole, the size of a human newborn, was swimming happily around the pool. Unlike Angie, whose nixie skin was green, the tadpole had mottled brown skin, and, like a regular tadpole, had a tail instead of legs. “Angie, is your child male or female?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure,” Angie said after a moment. She caught the tadpole with her arms, hugging it close. “Determining sex of amphibians isn’t easy to do.” Stan sat down and dangled his legs in the pool.

“C’mere, Ang.” Angie came over, still holding the tadpole. Stan looked down at his child, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Most of the tadpole’s features in nixie form were very similar to Angie’s. There were a couple differences, namely that the tadpole’s nose looked like Angie’s human one, not her nixie one. The only other difference aside from skin color, was the tadpole’s eye color. Brown, not blue. Stan smiled.

The kid’s got my eyes.

“Hey, kiddo,” Stan said quietly. The tadpole looked up at him curiously. “I might be a human, but I’m still your dad, got it?” The tadpole blinked. “Good work, babe. The kid’s just as gorgeous as you are.” Angie chuckled softly. Stan leaned over and kissed her. The moment his lips touched Angie’s, a strange prickling sensation spread across Stan’s skin.

“What in the-” Lute muttered. Ford swore softly. Stan broke off the kiss to look at their audience.

“What, you’ve never seen a guy kiss his gal?” he demanded. His eyes widened at the suddenly much lower pitch to his voice, as well as the change in tone. Fiddleford and Lute’s jaws dropped.

“Ya don’t sound like a smoker no more,” Lute said after a moment. He gestured to Stan. “Maybe it has somethin’ to do with whatever just happened to yer skin.”

“My skin?” Stan looked down at his hands. His jaw dropped. His skin was soft and slimy like Angie’s, mottled brown like their tadpole’s. “Uh…”

“I warned you, Stanley,” Ford said. Stan looked up at his twin. To his surprise, Ford looked more amused than upset. “I warned you that if you continued to interact with Angie in nixie form, you would become a magical creature yourself.”

“That’s what just happened?” Lute asked. “But he don’t look anything like Angie or the, uh, the pollywog! His skin and voice changed, that’s all.”

“Okay, I need to get a good look at myself,” Stan muttered. Angie scooted away so that Stan could use the pool to look at his reflection. Stan leaned over, staring at the water. Like Lute had said, his features had remained the same, though his skin was now of the same texture as Angie and the tadpole. His face and the front of his body were a pale brown, with dark brown mottling around his sides. “I look like the missing link between myself and Angie.” Angie snickered softly.

“This is just an intermediate stage,” Ford said. “I have no doubts that you’ll soon complete your transformation into a nixie.”

“Huh.” Stan looked up at Angie. “Guess you don’t get to hog all the fresh bait now.”

“Pardon?” Lute asked. Stan looked over his shoulder.

“You’re still here?” he drawled. Lute scowled.

“Stan’s got a point,” Angie said. “Would the three of you mind leaving us alone for some quality time with our little pollywog?” Ford, Fiddleford, and Lute got up.

“Ya best bring that lil one of ya over first thing tomorrow, okay?” Fiddleford instructed. Stan waved a hand airily, noting absently that thin webbing stretched between his otherwise unchanged fingers.

“Yeah, yeah. Now, beat it.” Their brothers left. Stan looked at Angie. He winked. “Hey, babe.” Angie giggled. Stan removed his clothes and slid into the pool with Angie. Angie, still holding the tadpole, scooted over to be next to Stan.

“Given your color and the little one’s color, I wonder if our kidlet might be a boy,” Angie said, stroking the tadpole.

“Are you sure?”

“No. But it’s our best lead. So until we have some other piece of evidence, should we call the kidlet our son?” Angie asked. Stan grinned.

“I’ve always wanted a son, so, I’m down for it.”

“Hmm, or maybe you’re just happy because the name we came up with for a boy was Stan Junior,” Angie teased. She kissed his cheek. Stan felt another strange tingling, but this time, concentrated around his hands and feet. He looked down at his hands. They were now large and webbed like Angie’s. “Whoops.”

“Eh. I’m gonna turn all nixie at some point,” Stan said with a shrug. He looped an arm around Angie’s shoulders. She leaned against him. Stan stroked his son’s bald head. “Junior, I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. Angie smiled.

“So am I.”

#I'm sooooooo excited to turn this into a multichap y'all have no idea #but I'm going to finish at least one WIP before then. maybe two. we'll see. I've got some irons in the fire at the moment #(btw yes. Stan does pass out after he sees the egg that is his kid lmao)#Nixie AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Fiddleford McGucket #Angie McGucket #Stangie #ficlet #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks #(btw the things that are mentioned to have occurred but don't actually appear in the ficlet?#I'll be writing those things and scenes out for the multichap #just in case anyone was wondering why there are a few more summaries than I usually do in my writes)

29 notes · View notes