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kechiwrites · 6 months

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property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.”

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven - “Steve, please” - was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time.

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve.

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs.

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again.

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown.

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air.

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness?

No. That’s not quite right.

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore.

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

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quinloki · 1 month

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Canon Characters vs OC vs x Reader

Disclaimer: This is just my two cents, and my perspective on things, and I'm not trying to lay down the law for everyone. I needed to just put this to words though, in order to sleep.

I was thinking about this because of a post I saw, and some, we'll say, kind of useless comments associated with the post. Mean-spirited stuff.

Normally, in one ear and out the other, but the vibes just kicked me off down a rabbit hole of sorts an I wanted to try to put some of my thoughts to words.

First, some style vibes:

Canon x Canon Canon/Canon stories are, to me, like reading an episode of that show. I'm sitting down in front of a TV or whatever, and I'm experiencing the story As A Viewer. I like this style because I don't really have to expend much energy and I just kind of roll with whatever's happening. Generally some sort of 3rd person perspective.

OC x canon OC/Canon stories are like being on a carnival ride. I'm sitting in a car on a roller-coaster, and maybe the OC is sitting next me. I'm experiencing the story more deeply than strictly canon stories, but my connection with the OC is no deeper than say, my connection with Katniss Everdeen when I read The Hunger Games. Sometimes 3rd person, sometimes first person.

Reader x canon Reader/Canon (or Reader x/ OC) is like putting on a VR helmet. I don't get much physical input about the "Reader OC" because I'm experiencing the story through their eyes. I don't expect the reader to be me, but there's a bigger feeling of immersion to be had. Some description might happen cause it's relevant to the story, and it's still a type of ride, I can't jump the rails on the roller coaster, after all. (Even with a VN you still follow the tracks). Sometimes first person, sometimes second person (I'm partial to 2nd person perspective, but that's just me).

I love Fan Fiction, I love it. All of it, and man even more than anything, what I love is that I'm going to dislike 80% of it. Because that 80% was written for someone who is not me. (Hell, that number's probably closer to 99% if we're looking at ALL fandoms, but I digress).

Second - The VENT:

What got me the most in the post that prompted this, was someone saying "Bring back the Mary Sue OCs!" and then they went on to describe something more detailed, and I just -

Look, respectfully, fuck you.

The point is, you're not going to be happy no matter what. Whether it's "mary sue" OCs, or x readers, or alternative universes, or a ship you don't like, you're going to find something to be unhappy about.

Cause people have been bitching about all styles of fan fiction since the first "You've Got Mail" chimed in 1991. And until 1998 and ff.net you really had to hunt for it, and until 2007 and Ao3 the idea of tagging a fic for any reason wasn't really a thing. Every click was a surprise! \o/

I just have seen the same song and dance a dozen times. It's exhausting. People become okay with OCs and decide x readers are the enemy, and before that OCs were *all* Mary Sues and cringe and people who made OCs were the enemy, and before OCs people who wrote even a little OOC were the enemy, and people who wrote AUs were the enemy, and you can write fan fic but it HAS to be Canon Compliant, and everyone MUST be in-character at all times - "They would not fucking say that" was the enemy.

Look, just please - please - in any capacity, stop it with the "All X style of story telling is crap" mindset. There's over a dozen different ways to do x readers alone. I know 20 x reader writers and I don't think any of us have the same style, preferences, or vibes.

I've had a lot of comments along the lines of "I thought I hated x readers, but I really loved this." on a few different fics I've written. Sometimes it's not the style of the fic, sometimes it's the style of the writer, and my Brother In Christ - you're going to have to read some awful shit to shuffle through the thousands of writers out there to find the vibes that resonate with you.

Ostracizing entire swathes of fan fic because you need something to be "The Enemy" so you can lift up something else, and then bitching you can't find anything new to read seems like a personal problem.

And I know y'all are scrolling by TONS of posts that don't interest you, every day, as a matter of course. So don't give me that "clogging up the tag" BS, because we deserve to be here same as anyone else in the fandom.

#quin grumbles #I'm so aggravated I don't even really know how to tag this #like almost 30 years of it I'm just so done #I just wonder what amazing stories we're not getting #cause of some fucker using Mary Sue to belittle someone #or someone beating someone else over the head with plot armor because their protag survived something terrible?#How many “Oh.” moments have been missed because someone criticized the very concept of reader insert?#I'm way past my usual bedtime so I'm just rambling at this point #and I am being meaner than I'd like #but JFC #I'm not going to let people's bullshit opinions stop me or anyone else from writing if I can avoid it.#Write what you want #gush about it #talk about it #TELL ME ABOUT IT #IDGAF if it's cringe or overpowered or broken or flawless or an OC or a reader with a name or WHATEVER #If it brings you joy #then do it #and if people are too mean to scroll by it when it's not their thing #and then complain like they're entitled to do so #block 'em.#and tell me who they are so I can block them too #then write more #cause I promise it'll bring someone else joy too

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hoodharlow · 1 year

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My Dad's Biggest Fan

AN: one thing about me is imma post late lmao

Requested? No, an anon was asking if I was gonna write but they never followed up lol

Warnings: mentions of the flu and being sick (reminder that covid doesn't exist in any of my works) and smut (talks about anal and how to make it good)

Word Count

Beto shook Jack’s shoulder, startling him awake. He looked around, seeing that they were in front of Miriam’s parents' London home. It was the house Miriam’s dad lived in when he played for Chelasea. Jack remembered the first time he visited he got way too excited at all the Chelsea memorabilia. He got out of the car and grabbed his things.

After the Grammys she got the flu from all the traveling she did. Jack knew she was upset that she got sick. For one because she rarely got sick and the second because it pushed back production for her movie. She got lucky and her Poison Ivy movie didn’t get the chopping block back when Warner Brothers scrapped several DC projects.

Jack felt partly guilty had he not asked her to go to him to the Grammys, she wouldn’t have gotten sick. He was going to fly out later in the week for the BAFTAs since Miriam was nominated for her role in The Lies We Vow To and The Batman also got several nominations. He had a few priorities back in Louisville that he needed to oversee but fortunately his parents were able to take over so he got on the first flight to New York from Louisville then flew out to London to surprise Miriam. He had packed some things to make her a ‘get well soon’ care package and a valentine’s day basket.

Last valentine’s day she mentioned how she always wanted a corny basket filled with her favorite things. Jack got her some valentine day themed socks, her favorite valentines candy, a custom tennis bracelet from his go-to jeweler (Alex Moss), a pair of custom pink and red New Balance 550s with her name stitched on the back, and some lingerie. He was going to mail a few days ago so she could have it by the fourteenth, but he didn’t. He also bought matching Valentine's Day headbands with hearts floating on springs. When they were in Santa PBarbara, they stopped at Rite-Aid for ice cream and they took a bunch of selfies with the headbands.

Jack entered the home and Daisy immediately yipped and barked. He motioned her to be quiet. He set his things in the hall closet and took off his shoes and coat, storing them in the closet.

“Where’s Miriam?” he asked Daisy.

Daisy wagged her tail and trotted up the steps, leading to Miriam’s room. She got on her hind legs and pawed at the door knob.

“I got it from here.” Jack said, scratching her head.

Daisy went back downstairs to her bed in the living room. Jack opened the door and slipped inside carefully, not to make any sounds to wake Miriam up. She was fast asleep, face smushed in her pillow and her curls were out of her braid.

Jack walked up to her to check her temperature and was met with a pungent smell. He looked around the bed and found a small container of vaporub laying next to her. He picked it up and saw that it was nearly empty. He knew he did well in buying a few for her care package. He set the vaporub on her nightstand and grabbed her phone, putting it to charge. He saw the iPad he got for her birthday a few months ago on the corner of her bed and checked the battery. It was at 45% and in Miriam’s eyes it was basically out of battery. Jack looked around the bedroom for an extra charger and saw it was plugged next to her vibrator. He connected her iPad and made his way downstairs.

He grabbed his suitcase from the hall closet and grabbed all the things he got to assemble Miriam’s ‘get well soon’ care package. He bought her a teddy bear from Build a Bear with a ‘get well soon’ t-shirt, a package of the citrus honey of Halls cough drops, honey Robitussin and the nighttime kind, a tissue box, some loose leaf teas, her favorite snacks, fuzzy socks, and a forest green sherpa lined blanket. He set it on the dining table and made his way to the kitchen.

He checked the fridge and pantry to see if he could make her some soup. He found the star-shaped noodles Miriam used to make sopita and the Knorr for flavor, in addition to a bunch of veggies. Miriam wasn’t a huge fan of chicken in her sopita, so Jack wasn’t worried about it. He also knew that she always kept broth in the fridge for when she made soups, noodles, sauces and red rice. He tried to replicate the sopita as best he could.

Once it was done he went to the couch to hang out with Daisy until Miriam woke up. He pulled out his phone and took it out of airplane mode. A bunch of calls and texts appeared. He checked in with his parents and team, letting them know he landed and was at Miriam’s house. Eventually sleep took over and he passed out on the couch.

Jack woke up to the sound of loud rumbles and car engines in his ear. He opened his eyes and saw Miriam was laying on top of him. Her face was nuzzled in the crook of his neck while she hugged him tightly. He slowly moved, careful not to wake her, and grabbed his phone. It was almost noon. He landed around nine in the morning.

“Why are you here?” Miriam said, sensing that Jack woke up.

“I wanted to see you.” He said, rubbing her back.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” she blubbered. Her bottom lip quivered. “Go home, Jack.”

“You’re being hyperbolic, bro. C’mon, let’s eat some soup.”

He pushed the blanket off her shoulders and lifted her up effortlessly. He set her down on a chair and made his way to the kitchen. He heard a few sobs and turned to where Miriam was sitting. She was hugging the teddy bear while crying face down.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked with concern as he approached her.

Miriam wrapped her arms around his neck and cried harder. “I fucking love you.”

Miriam was the definition of an iPad kid. After she ate her sopita, she showered, cried because Jack wouldn’t join her, and she settled on the couch playing Candy Crush on her iPad while simultaneously watching Youtube. She leaned over to Jack, who was holding her travel mug with ginger lemon tea on one hand and in the other he had her hot cheetos with lime and hot sauce he was spoon feeding her, and took a generous sip of her tea.

She was feeling much better after eating some sopita and showering. She felt a bit congested but it didn’t compare to the last few days. She thought she was going to die a few days ago because her nostrils were clogged. Now only one was.

“Is that my hoodie?” Miriam asked Jack, after feeling a few drops fall from his curls.

“No, it’s mine,” he said. “I thought I lost it when I was doing my Europe tour.”

“I would never steal your hoodies.” she blabbed on.

“Miriam, you’re wearing my ear-X-tacy hoodie right now.” he nodded at the hoodie she wore.

“And what about it? You know what,” she pulled away and took off his hoodie.

“Miriam–”

“Here.” she tossed him the hoodie. “Pa’que no estes chingando.”

She leaned away from Jack and continued playing on her iPad. Jack rolled his eyes. He knew she was playing and continued scrolling on his phone. He switched out to twitter and saw his notifications flooded with Miriam’s fans, and some of his, calling him out for cheating. He went through a few posts until he figured out that his ex, Kourtnee with two Es, had made a post a few hours ago claiming that he flew out to see her. She even posted a mirror selfie holding onto someone with a body shape and hair similar to him while she was in an ear-X-tacy hoodie similar to his.

“What the fuck?” he said out loud.

“Que paso?” Miriam asked him.

“Look at this shit.” he said, showing her the post.

After Forecastle a few fans found out she was an ex and they followed her in case she posted about Jack. Which was pointless because she hadn’t posted about him until now. And it was to make up lies about him being with her.

“What a fucking weirdo.” she said, taking his phone to read the post.

She looked at his phone in her hand and a lightbulb went off. “But you’re lucky you have an EGOT, minus the Tony of course, award winning girlfriend.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked her skeptically.

“Just go along with it.” she said, fluffing her curls. She pointed at the original ear-X-tacy hoodie. “And put that on.”

Miriam pinched the inner corners of her eyes, tearing up. She rubbed her nose, so all the bodily fluids in her moved around, making her sound congested. She switched out twitter and pulled up his instagram. She leaned into Daisy who was camera ready. She went on instagram live, not looking at the camera.

"Hard to think when I'm under you, tell you all of my dirty truths." Miram sang 'obvious', her favorite song off Positions. She then sang 'Imagine', "Kiss me and take off your clothes… imagine a world like that."

Jack looked at her confused. One because she randomly started singing Ariana Grande and two because she switched songs from two different eras. He was also amazed that even in her ill state she was able to sing beautifully, minus the whistle note of course. From the corner of his eye he saw that she motioned to keep up. "That's not how it goes." He laughed.

"How do you know?" She frowned.

"Because you're singing two different songs, Miriam."

She scoffed at him then looked down at the screen, tearing up, like the true professional she is. “Jack, my heart filters disappeared.” she pouted as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I just had them.”

He walked behind her so he was in the frame. “Bro you’re on live.” He said ending the instagram live and sliding it out of the feature so she can see the heart filters.

Miriam composed herself and took a quick selfie of her and Daisy with a heart filter, posting it to Jack’s instagram stories. She knew that there was at least one fan that was able to screen record her live and would post it later. She handed him back his phone and picked up her iPad. “I want my hoodie back.”

The following morning Miriam felt 100% better. She called the production team letting them know that she could be on set, but they said that production would resume the following Monday since there were a few others that got the flu. She apologized for getting people sick, but they reassured her it wasn’t her fault, explaining that it was the second wave of flus and colds.

Since she woke up before Jack and she got out of bed to get started on the Valentine’s Day festivities. She changed into some cute lingerie. It was a sheer pink bra and thong set with small red hearts all over. She also added a matching garter belt. Originally she bought it because she made Jack a cheesy boudoir book of explicit pictures of herself, with the guidance of Urban. He said he would have helped her but he didn’t feel comfortable seeing her in lingerie, so he just let her use his camera and printing materials. She felt slightly annoyed since she had the book shipped to Jack’s house in Louisville. Had she known he was going to be in London with her, she wouldn’t have it shipped. Though luckily, she was close with an up and coming designer and she was able to get Jack some clothes. She didn't want to give him solely pussy for Valentine's Day.

She put on Jack’s baggy long sleeve and his sweatpants over it before making her way downstairs to get started on breakfast. She was making red velvet pancakes with cream cheese icing from a recipe Claudia gave her, along with some eggs, bacon, and toast. She used a cookie cutter and poured pancake mix in them to make heart shaped pancakes.

As cheesy as it was, she loved Valentine's Day. She loved everything and anything that was heart shaped and pink and/or red. Truthfully she never had it properly celebrated until last year with Jack when he took her to Santa Barbara for the weekend. The year before that, when they barely started talking, he sent her her favorite flowers ‘just because’ when she was filming The Batman. She loved Jack and appreciated that he went out of his way to let her know that her love was mutual.

She felt his arms wrap around her chest and his lips sponge kisses all over her face.

“When I said that I wanted breakfast in bed, I meant me eating you out.” he said, grabbing her hips to spin her around so he could kiss her.

“Jack, my pancakes are gonna burn” Miriam giggled.

“Fine, you do that while I get your present ready.” Jack said, kissing her once more before he went to the hall closet.

Miriam finished up her pancakes and the other rest of the food. She placed it on the breakfast table and set the table.

Jack popped his head in through the walkway. “Can you close your eyes, please?” he asked.

“Fine.” she said, covering her eyes with her hands.

She heard things being placed in front of her and felt Jack’s hands guide her to a chair, slowly sitting her down. He stood behind her and grabbed her wrists, slowly pulling them away from her face. Miriam opened her eyes to a bunch of presents, instantly tearing up.

"Jack," she barely managed to say before bursting into tears.

“You’re crying again?” He asked her.

“Why are you so fucking thoughtful? Why can’t you be like my exes and make me the gift giver?” she said through her tears.

“Because you deserve the whole world and more. Now stop being dramatic and open your presents.” Jack said, patting the basket.

“Let me get your present first before I open what you got me.” Miriam said.

She jogged to her room and got the black gift bag and her iPad. She took off her clothes and put on a silk robe over her lingerie. She came back down and handed Jack the bag.

“You first.” she said, as she searched for the album of the pictures she used for the boudoir photoshoot.

Jack opened the gift bag, pulling out a few pieces of clothes. He knew the clothes were high quality, but he did expect more from her. She had given him clothes before but she usually put more effort into giving him something meaningful like when she gave him a rare pair of Reeboks from his childhood.

“Okay, I’m gonna be honest and tell you that this is a last minute gift.” she confessed. “I didn’t know you were coming and I shipped your gift to your house in Louisville.”

“Oh that makes more sense.” he joked. “What did you ship?”

“I made you a boudoir book?” she said, sliding the iPad to him. “Here are some of the pictures I took.”

Jack leaned in to get a better look. He swiped through the pictures getting harder with each picture.

“Can I post this?” he asked, showing her the picture of her in an all black set with black stockings. There was a small red heart-shaped pillow cleverly covering most of her ass.

“Go for it.” she said.

“Thank you for the spank bank.” Jack said, pulling her to a kiss.

“Okay my turn,” she said excitedly, pushing Jack’s present and her iPad to the side.

Miriam reached for the first box closest to her. She carefully united the red ribbon and opened the box. It was a lingerie set. She gave Jack a look and turned to him. She untied her robe, dropping it to her elbows and revealing that she was wearing the same set he just bought her.

“I’m taking it back to the States and returning it.” he said, covering the box.

“The hell you are!” Miriam said.

“It was expensive,” he argued.

“You can have multiple pairs of 550s but I can’t have the same lingerie set?”

“I get that shit for free.”

“Then that means you have more than enough money saved and a lingerie set isn’t going to hurt your bank account.” Miriam said, reaching for another box.

Jack rolled his eyes and let her continue to open her presents. While she gushed and cooed at the presents, he typed up a caption for Instagram. He slid it to Miriam so she could proofread it. She looked teary eyed.

“You’re such a shoftie.” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissed all over his face. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” he mumbled against her lips.

Miriam pulled away and went to check on the water she put to heat on her SMEG. Jack took back his phone and decided to delete the caption, rewriting the caption that reflected his true unserious self.

@'jackharlow: happy valentine's day to the reason why I'm always bricked up

@'mdm: what happen to the long ass caption you told me to proofread

->@'rando: that's what bothers you, not that he posted a slutty picture

->@'mdm: don't act like you haven't seen my ass and chichis on the movie I did with Oscar Isaac

@'lilnasx: now that's MOTHER

@'russ: let me be quiet

->@'medegutierrez: you must be over 5'7 to get at Miriam

@'kehlani: SHE

@'theestallion: I'm coming to you as a woman

@'tinashe: you don't know me but that’s my wife

See all 32,453 comments

Jack was well aware that Miriam liked to go all out and loved dressing to a theme. What he didn't expect was for her to dress like an actual heart. Granted it was a YSL coat, but still. He tried his best not to laugh at her while she struggled to climb in the SUV. They went out to a high end pub who claimed that they had the best burgers and fish & chips for dinner. The food was alright. They've had better food elsewhere, but the company was nice so they were able to overlook the unsalted fries.

Once finally settled in the car, Miriam took off her coat, throwing it back in the trunk. She fixed the velvet gloves that went with her black Ermanno Scervino mini dress.

"What?" She asked, feeling Jack's gaze on her.

"Nothing, just admiring you." He shrugged.

"Oh," Miriam giggled, evidently flustered.

She felt her cheeks warm up as she tucked her hair behind her ears. She cuddled to Jack's side and hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for being here." She said, looking up.

"There's no place I'd rather be." He rubbed her back.

The couple fell into a lazy makeout session while Beto drove them back to the house. Miroam had one leg draped over one of Jack's as she cupped his face. Jack on the other had arms loosely around her waist. Beto tried to let them know when they got home but they were too preoccupied with their tongues to hear him. So he left the car keys on the driver's seat and went to the guest house reserved for the staff. Though he did leave the lights on in the garage before he left.

Jack pulled Miriam’s leg over his lap so she was straddling him. She pulled away, smoothing out his creme cashmere sweater. She didn’t want Beto to yell at her for not wearing her seatbelt. She looked toward the road only to realize she was in the garage.

"When did we get home?" She asked, looking around the garage.

"We’re back? Damn that was fast." Jack said, fixing his pants.

They got out of the car. Miriam texted Beto that she brought the keys in and thanked him for driving them. She set her phone down on the counter and went to the breakfast table. Earlier on their walk with Daisy, Jack and Miriam found a doughnut shop and Miriam bought a box that spelled out 'best dick ever' as a gag gift for Jack. When they got home she ended up gagging on Jack's dick. She also bought a baker's dozen of heart-shaped doughnuts to stay on theme.

Miriam picked a doughnut with pink icing and made her way upstairs. Jack was walking out of the bathroom, now dressed in the white tracksuit he wore for some scenes in the 'Like a Blade of Grass' music video when she got to her room. She hugged him from behind and offered him the last of her doughnut, which he happily ate.

She hopped on the bed. The bed was tall. It reached her waist since it had two rows of drawers plus the box spring under the actual mattress. Jack joined her in bed and began scrolling on his phone. Miriam frowned at the lack of attention she was getting. Jack usually had her under him and in seconds he was working her into her first orgasm.

It’s not like he was tired. It was barely nine. The whole day they’ve been very affectionate and had sex a total of four times and that’s not counting the times they went down on each other. She even let him fuck her in the ass. It really confused Miriam on why Jack was being awkward.

She got off the bed and changed into one of Jack’s shirts. She did her nighttime routine and climbed back in bed. She attached herself to Jack, slipped her hand in his sweater and rubbed his tummy.

“You want to finish the movie we were watching last night?” Jack asked, pushing her hand off him so he could get the tv set up.

They were watching ‘She’s the Man’ but Miriam ended up falling asleep when Viola was getting her guy makeover.

“Sure.” she said, unenthusiastically.

Jack set up the BluRay player and got back in bed. He took off his sweater, staying the white under shirt, and sat against the pillows. Miriam sat in between his legs and pulled his arms around her. He couldn’t concentrate on the movie. Not when Miriam was pushing her ass against him every five minutes. He groaned internally as she placed one of his hands on her thigh, close to her core. It took all self control, but he pulled away and placed his hands on the back of his head.

Miriam turned around and crossed her arms. “What’s going on?” she asked him.

“Nothing.” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“Bro, I’ve been giving you hints that I want you to touch me, but you keep moving. Did I do something? You’ve been acting all weird since this afternoon. Every time I want to take things further, you change the subject. If you don’t want to have sex that’s fine. Just tell me.”

“I hurt you earlier.” he said softly.

“When?”

“When we were having anal. I saw you looked uncomfortable and when I tried to stop you kept telling me to keep going. I felt shit like shit because I never want to put you in a position where you think you have to keep going for me.”

It wasn’t their first time doing anal, but it had been a while since they did it. So Miriam understood why it felt a little awkward, but she did enjoy it for the most part.

“Jack,” Miriam wrapped her arms around him and kissed him reassuringly, “I swear you didn’t hurt me. It felt a bit uncomfortable, but there's nothing a little more lube can fix.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m positive.” she said, kissing him once more.

They continued kissing while Jack laid Miriam on her back. He kissed down her neck and pushed himself up. He got off the bed and grabbed Miriam’s ankle, pulling her to the edge of the bed. She squealed and sat up. She sat up and took off her shirt, revealing her naked body to him.

“You’re so beautiful, Miriam.” Jack mumbled against her lips.

“You’re only saying that because I’m naked.” she said, slightly flustered.

“I mean yeah, but you’re always beautiful. You just happened to be naked right now.” he said, running his hands over her body.

“You’re such a smartass.” she laughed.

“It takes one to know one.”

“I love you.” Miriam said.

“I love you too.” Jack said back.

He leaned over her and kissed her. He pulled away and tugged his sweats and boxers down to his ankles, awkwardly kicking them off to the side. He stood over Miriam, running his hand over his cock. He could selfishly jerk off to Miriam’s body and come all over her tummy and breasts, but he also desperately needed to be in her. He grabbed her hips and lifted them so they were at his level. He guided his cock into her. They both moaned in pleasure as he slowly entered her.

“Good?” he asked Miriam, as he did a few shallow thrusts in her core.

“Mhm.” she moaned.

Jack nodded and gripped her hips as he began to fuck her. He wrapped one of her legs around him, bringing them closer as he took her. Since he was standing, he reached forward and used one of Miriam's shoulders to anchor himself as his thrusts sped up.

Her breath hitched at how good it felt. Jack must have noticed, and continued thrusting in that spot. The familiar feeling came over her once more. Miriam was about to come, and Jack knew it. His thrusts got more precise, hitting where she needed him. She pulled him down so he was fully on top of her, and wrapped her legs and arms tightly around his body. She clung onto him as her orgasm came over her.

Still in each other's arms, Jack slightly lifted himself off Miriam’s body. Their chests panting as they tried to catch their breath.

“Did you come?” she asked him breathlessly.

“It’s okay.” He shrugged her off.

“Jack,” she gave him a pointed look. After a few seconds, she smiled mischievously. “Wanna fuck my ass again? You can have a do-over.”

“Miriam,” he began.

“Please.” she pouted, making ojitos at him.

“Don’t twist my arm, damn.” he joked.

She pointed to her drawer. “There’s condoms and more lube in my drawer.”

Jack hugged Miriam tighter and kissed her shoulder. They just finished showering. Their second attempt at anal was more successful than the first attempt earlier in the afternoon. Jack even used one of Miriam’s toys to make the experience even better for her. Now they were cuddling as they rewatched ‘She’s the Man.’ They had to rewind what they missed when they started having sex.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, rubbing her hip.

“I’m a little sore, but it’s okay.” she reassured him, bringing one of his hands to her mouth for a peck. “Thank you for asking though.”

They continued watching the movie. Jack even got into it, laughing a little too much during the scene where Viola is teaching Duke how to talk to girls in her normal voice while dressed as her brother. Miriam smiled proudly because the only reason why Jack even gave in into watching the movie was because it had soccer in it. If she was being honest, she saw a lot of Duke in Jack and not because he’s a tall white guy who played soccer. Personality wise too. Both Duke and Jack were self aware, a little funny and very kind people. She’s attracted to that so it’s no surprise to her that her boyfriend is a lot like her first character crush.

She reached for her phone, realizing she should also post for Valentine’s Day since Jack posted her. She picked a picture of her and Jack when they were filming Nail Tech since the one year anniversary of its release is coming up and a picture of the doughnuts she bought for him. She was going to make a love felt caption like she always does but she decided to return the same energy Jack had for his post.

@'mdm: my dad's biggest fan cream filled all three holes or whatever he said on side piece so I got him doughnuts <3

@'user: what three holes?

@'jackharlow: you can't even post a recent picture of us 😒

->@'mdm: you just fucked my ass, stfu and be fucking grateful

@'zendaya: the caption 😭

@'saintclauds: miriam te pasas

->@'medeguiterrez: don't act like this wasn't the suggestion you sent the group chat

@'alinahunter: i was just gonna say this lmao

@'russ: what do I have to do for donuts

->@'jackharlow: go to a krispy creme

@'juanonjuan10: prima let my bro have a bone 😭

@'jordynwoods: girl 💀

@'winnieharlow: my faves 🥰

See all 23,983 comments

Taglist: @cherryxcreme @heavyhitterheaux @carma-fanficaddict @youngharleezyxo @youngharleezy @babyharleezy @that-90s-girllll @alinaharlow @whywontyoulovemecami @meyocoko @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @webinurcloset @gassyandsassy1 @jackharloww @awhore4moree @noescapricho-essentimiento @a-moment-captured @neon-lights-and-glitter @purecinnamonextract

#jack and miriam #jack harlow #jack harlow smut

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misspearly1 · 2 years

Text

Day Ten: Creampie - Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels

Kinktober22 List

WC: 2.5K Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Jealousy from reader & Jack finding it hot. Soft Dom!Jack. Smut. Unprotected PIV. Creampie. Fluff. AN: Ok, for the longest time I was worried that writing for Jack would make me want more, and it has. I was correct to think that haha. I really enjoyed writing for think sexy southern man (it's the accents, it has to be lmao) and I can see myself writing more for him in future. Hope ya'll enjoy, my loves <3

Working as the assistant of a very important figure in the New York Statesman building isn’t all as glitz and glam as it sounds.

You were chosen - amongst so many other, more suitable, candidates - to be Jack Daniels assistant. Apparently something about you in particular was so special that he just had to have you be his personal run-around; answering his calls, taking messages or patching them through, collecting his mail, organising his weekly schedule, grabbing his lunch or his coffee every hour of the damn day.

Whatever it be that makes you excel in your job role more than others, all you really saw yourself as was Agent Whiskey's errand girl. That was until one day four months ago when the man showed what you really mean to him - which was more than you assumed at first. Jack saw you the very first day you arrived for your interview. You stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb, sitting amongst men and women who looked like they were fresh out of the modelling industry, while you looked a little nerdy.

You wouldn’t say that you look nerdy, but just comparing your style to theirs, you were seriously lacking the sexy look, and during your interview - which wasn’t even hosted by Jack - they took one look over your resume and gave you the job on the spot. No questions asked, just stated the monthly salary, and it’s a lot, gave you a time and date to start then sent you on your merry little way.

At the time, it felt like you were making a deal with the devil, as if there was a catch somewhere hidden in the contract, however after showing up to your first day of work and running around all day after Agent Whiskey, doing each and every normal errand that he could ask from an assistant, you quickly started to think you had struck gold instead.

Then, as more and more time passed working alongside Whiskey and not under him, you grew a bond, a connection to him that felt odd at first but became something beautiful. He’s always been a gentleman, right from the beginning, which you appreciate a whole hell of a lot considering the horror stories you’ve heard from friends about their bosses being disgusting sleazeballs.

So you therefore suppose that’s where your attraction to Jack began to blossom, just having the bare minimum of respect that you deserve. But it wasn’t just the bare minimum either, it was more. Jack included you wherever he could, asked for your help and opinions, though he kept you out of the physical side of his line of work, you spent a lot of time in his office, helping him crack cases - which wasn’t really a part of your job, but you enjoyed nonetheless.

Jack gave you days off whenever something came up, drove you home or picked you up whenever you had car trouble, offered you to join him during lunch, or asked to join you, continuously praised your work efforts and still does, brought you along to work meetings, big social events or fancy dinners with the cities officials. You didn’t just get a job in the New York's Statesman tower, you joined the Statesman - joined the family.

And for one whole week, when a woman arrived at the office, you felt like you were just Jack's run-around because of jealousy. You instantly became aware of your attraction for your boss during that week because you were jealous of the woman who was stealing his attention from you. Her presence made your work boring and what it should be in the first place, because Jack was too busy with her, instead of you.

Unfortunately, the jealousy bubbled up the surface and your thoughts spiralled, tricking yourself into believing you were just Jack's little errand girl all along, that he was just sweet talking you enough to not see that you were his slave that does everything he asks - but that wasn’t true, none of it was. That woman that was ‘stealing’ all of his attention was named Ginger Ale.

She flew in from another branch in a different state, bringing with her, a new shipment of upgraded tech and the reason she stayed for the whole week is because she has family here. And besides, Jack and Ginger Ale have worked with each other many times in the past, however he hadn’t worked with her since you joined, therefore you didn’t know about her.

But it’s besides the point, your jealousy blinded you from seeing reality, blinded you from seeing the way Jack tried to include you on numerous occasions but you ignored them all through your stubbornness. You fucked up royally and even contemplated looking for a new job, over thinking the whole situation once again as you though Jack would hate you for your sudden change of attitude.

However, you once again, could never have been more wrong. After thinking calmly and not with your insecurities, you took the right approach and talked to Jack, apologizing for your actions, explaining where they come from and why, then told him that however he likes to deal with it, you would understand.

Jack dealt with it by bending you over his desk and fucking some sense into you all night long until sunrise. Then, like the gentleman he always was, he bought you a clean set of clothes and breakfast, then shared a long three hour chat detailing how he has always had a crush on you, that he understood why you reacted the way you did and he is absolutely not mad about it either. In fact, he even went as far as sharing that it was hot and turned him on like crazy.

Though you blushed red like a tomato for a good chunk of that morning, feeling embarrassed for getting jealous in the first place, the man went above and beyond to banish you shame forever. He asked you there and then if you’d like to skip past all of the fuss around dating and just be his lady. And at that point, after spending half a year working alongside him, you pretty much already were his lady, therefore your answer was an immediate yes.

This conversation with Jack took place four months ago now, and you’ve never felt more emotionally secure. Still working alongside him, more like his partner rather than his assistant, you’re a team now. And at the end every working day, he calls you into his office for your ‘reward’ for all of your hard work before heading home together.

Even right now, as the clock nears the end of your shift, you can feel his gaze on you from his office. Though you don’t look up at him, you can just see in the corner of your eyes how he’s waiting to call you into his office. Your legs squeeze together at the thought, lips roll together to hide your blushing smile and your sex pulses with anticipation for your reward.

“Babygirl.” Jack calls and your whole body shivers. His voice was dark and sickly sweet, making you yearn to hear him whisper all the loving phrases you adore directly into your ear. Turning your head to meet his wanton gaze, you smile upon seeing him leaning against his desk, legs spread slightly with one hand held over his thigh. “Yes?” You answer, pretending like you don’t already know what he wants.

The man simply smirks in return. Although there was a softness to his expression, make no mistake, the feral look in his eyes speaks to you. Lifting his hand and beckoning you with a finger, you nod to him and pile up your paperwork on the desk before wheeling your chair backwards.

Fixing your skirt as you walk towards him, you prepared ahead of time today and didn’t bother wearing any panties. Just to receive your reward easier. Now standing before him and between his legs, Jack reaches out and pulls you in by your hips, asking. “Busy day today, huh sugar?”

“Yes. It was indeed.” You sigh breathily. Resting both your hands to his chest, you toy with his suspenders, skimming your fingers up and down the fine black leather. Smirking upon remembering how he used them last week to spank your ass, it caught Jack's attention and he asked what you’re thinking about. “Oh, just about how much you love me.” You shrug, happily.

Upon feeling his warmth sighing breath bellow across your face, you lift your head and gaze into his deep brown eyes. The corner of his bearded lip turns upwards with a smile, looking down at you through half lidded eyes, Jack nods once. “I love you a lot.” He whispers, then shoots you a wink as you continue to play with the suspenders. He, too, was thinking about how he used them last week right here in this very office. “Ready for your reward, sugar?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you try to hold onto some dignity, but your giddy smile betrays you. Jack chuckles softly, then lifts his hand to hold your chin with his thumb and forefinger, gently pulling you in to close the gap. Full, natural pouty lips sealing over your with a light peck at first, you tilt your head to the side and part your lips, inviting him to deepen it, which he does.

“Oh, babygirl.” He sighs into your mouth before slipping his tongue inside, swirling it around with your own. You whine from the sensation and your eyes close instantly, relishing the way he kisses you so passionately. Dragging your hands up his cotton shirt, your fingers slip underneath his jacket as you caress his shoulders with a massaging squeeze, the action drawing out a groan from him. Music to your ears.

Dropping his hands to your ass, Jack begins bunching up the fabric of your skirt and grunts with surprise when he feels your bare sex against the pad of his fingers. You feel him smiling against your lips, delighted that you wore no panties today. After grabbing a satisfying amount of handfuls of your ass, he breaks for the kiss and looks down to his belt buckle with one raised brow.

“Hm, allow me.” Humming, you take his silent request and lower your hands to untie his belt as he continues to grope your ass, his fingers slipping between your legs and touching your most sensitive area. It was distracting, causing your actions to be halted for a moment as he rubbed your clit. You sigh frustratedly, bucking against his hand while trying to open his pants.

“So needy.” Jack teases in a whisper, smiling from the pleasurable distractions he was inflicting. After unlocking the flask shaped buckle, the Statesmen’s logo imprinted on the metal, you then move onto the zip of his jeans and pull it down, watching as his bulge pushes through the opening. “I am indeed.” You retort playfully, then palm his cock over the fabric of his boxers, your chest swelling with pride upon hearing his choked grunt.

A few moments later, it became apparent that Jack was now the one feeling so needy as he swiftly turned you around, the action making you gasp out a giggle, excited for what’s to come. He pulls you into his lap, then lines himself up at your entrance and pushes only the tip inside. “Sit on it, sugar.” He asks, not so patiently.

Leaning your head back to his shoulder, you lift your arm and wrap your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss before sinking down on his cock ever so slowly. The stretch was intense, always, but you adjust very quickly and rotate your hips. “Jack…” You gasp into his mouth from the fullness of him buried deep inside of you. “I know, darlin’.” Is all he says in return, almost with a smug tone, as if he knew how good it feels for you.

Moving his lips in sync with yours, Jack holds onto your hips like they were his own personal love handles, his fingers carefully digging into the flesh to move you back and forth off his cock. “Holy fuck.” You whine, breathing heavy ragged breaths into his mouth from his movements.

Already clenching around him, your tightness draws out another choked grunt from his throat. Jack can be very vocal when he wants to be, but sometimes he holds back and just simply focuses on all of the pretty noises you make for him. “I w-want…” You stutter, tilting your face away from him to look down at your body.

“Use your words, baby. Go on, tell me.” Jack whispers. Burying his chin into your neck, he, too, looks down at your body and feels you fighting against his grip on your sides. You take over. Squeezing your thighs together, you take control from him and start thrusting back and forth. “Oh, there you go, darlin’.” Jack praises directly into your ear, gritting his teeth from your quick, hurried movements. “There you fucking go, Y/N. Don’t stop.” He growls.

Crying that you're close to him, Jack drags his hand down your stomach and slips his finger between your folds, locating your clit quickly. Your hand lands atop of his, holding him tightly as you toss your head back, mewling from the added stimulation. When he feels your legs shaking against his, he holds his free arm across your breasts, pinning you close to him as he bucks forward. “Jack!” You sob with the stars erupting behind your eyes.

“Let it all out, sugar.” He groans into your neck, grinding into you with his own climax reaching its peak. Jack keeps his cock buried to the hilt, painting your pulsing velvety walls with ropes of his creamy white seed. “Fuck! That’s it.” Grunting with each last few rolls of his hips, he spills every last drop and places his lips to your ear, whispering shakily. “That’s it, Y/N. Take it all, baby.”

Whimpering and writhing against him, he was still rubbing nameless shapes on your clit, overstimulating you and prolonging your high. It felt too good and quickly became too much. “H-honey.” You manage to blurt, shaking your head as you pull his hand away from your cunt. Resting now, you sit in his lap and steady your breathing.

Jack wraps his arms around your front, kissing your neck softly to bring you back down from your high. “Did so well, sugar.” He praises, smiling against the skin between your neck and jawline "gotta keep it inside though, otherwise I'll have to full you up again."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, hon." You laugh softly, then let out the weakest whimper as you lift your hips, feeling his warmth escaping you. "Oops."

Tilting your face again to meet his gaze, you shudder under his smirking smile, giggle lightly at the sight of his dark, dreamy eyes, filled with fire and lust. "Oh, I see. You want more." He says while ever so carefully grinding his hips, making an absolute mess of your cunt as his cum oozes out of your entrances. "I'll give you more, sugar but first, what do you say, hm?" He groans a question.

“Thank you -" You release a heavy sigh, a sound mixed with amusement and exhaustion that satisfies Jack. "- thank you for my reward, baby."

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost @janebby @faceache111 @sleepylunarwolf @tusk89

All Pedro Pascal Character Content: @joelsflannel @mswarriorbabe80 @readsalot73 @allthe-ships @avengersftspn @hb8301 @scorpio-marionette @squidwell @sunnshineeexoxo @trickstersp8 @graciexmarvel @tanzthompson @bbyanarchist

Kinktober Tag: @scorpio-marionette

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sugarushsuga · 1 year

Text

Stay there, I’m coming to get you - #83

Genre/Au's: Smut, PWP; Hockey player AU – Friend with benefits(?)

Paring: Taehyung x F Reader

Words count: 2329

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Smut; Fingering; Dirty talk; Public sex; Car sex; Pining;

Synopsis: Taehyung is friends with your best friend’s boyfriend, what doesn’t make you both very close, beside the hang outs and constant teasing each other. But when you need help, he is there to help you, not once but twice in a roll.

Author note: If I didn’t procrastinate I would have it done much sooner. This is Tae’s bday piece. Also is part of my milestone drabble game, the ask for it went to void when Shay’s old blog did it too (Tagging the current one @egocypher) but I never forgot about it.

Masterlist

The ringing tune on your ear makes you anxious, is the third time you call Lolla’s phone, and it rings until voicemail. You know she is enjoying the victory party, but you need her right now and as your best friend it’s her duty to pick up the phone.

Her cheerful voice comes through your ears when you reach her voice mail again. Hanging up you sigh and let your head rest back on the wall. Something you would never do in a different situation. But despair is starting to fill your body and you don’t know what to do. Lolla has been your best friend since middle school, and you both have always looked out for each other, especially after going to college.

You both made a pact that whenever one of you went out on a date, the other had to send a text after the first hour, to know how things were going, if thing are so-so, a call in the next half hour, if things are bad a call right away to give the receiver an excuse to maybe ditch the date or have the friend come.

Today she didn’t send the message, she is celebrating the school’s hockey team classification to the nationals. Her boyfriend is part of the team. You were invited to their celebration, but you’ve already had plans with some other friends. Actually, now you’d say they are just acquaintances, you hoped to become friends.

They are like the cool group from your major, you have a few different classes with most of them. They were the ones who approached you, talking with you here and there, one at a time, in different classes, greeting you whenever you crossed paths on social occasions, until they asked you for lunch and then to hang out at a bar.

You press Lolla’s name again hoping that fourth time's the charm and she’ll pick up the phone.

Maybe you are taking too long in the bathroom, but you don’t really care right now.

The tune rings in your ear for the fifth time, another two times and it’ll reach her voice mail.

“Lolla?” You ask as the line connects and noise comes through the phone.

“No! Y/L/N, Lolla can’t come to the phone right now, she’s having her soul sucked off through her mouth right now!” The cheerful raspy voice, that usually makes your knees weak, says through the line.

“Oh!” You sigh, letting your shoulders drop.

“What is it?” The male voice asks.

“Nothing, I- “

“Wait a second!” He says. You can hear him talking with someone, some excuse me’s and indistinct noises until the voice comes back clearer. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you out with your new friends that are, oh so much cooler than us?”

You mentally curse Lolla for running her mouth about it to Seokjin’s whole team about why you weren’t going out with them after the game. “Yeah,” you roll your eyes.

“So, is it true that you ditched us, to hang with some unknown, much cooler group than us?” He chuckles.

“Hm… I didn’t ditch,” you say trying to explain.

“You just thought they were much cooler than us?” He teases again.

“No, Taehyung. I just…” Your voice fades. You don’t have any excuses; he is right on his teasing, and you just want to find an excuse to leave.

“If you are calling, things aren’t really that nice right now, right?” His voice comes softer, and the teasing is gone.

“I don’t have any excuses to leave, I came here with them. I'm not very familiar with this area and I’m unsure how to leave by myself.” You admit, voice lower as you sigh, remembering you put your own self in this situation.

“Hm, well, lucky for you, here it’s not very fun either. Stay there, I’m coming to get you!” His voice once again has that cheerful tone.

And just like that he is gone.

The line goes mute.

Taking the phone away from your face you see he hung up.

Sighing you get out of the stool and practice a smile on the mirror, you debate yourself if you should try to fix your hair that was sticking to the wall or just leave it. Deciding to leave it you walk out of the bathroom, back to the table where your new “friends” are.

They are talking about the significance of life or something else, you don’t bother enough to join the conversation, just sitting there sipping on your drink waiting for the ice to melt so you can have it for longer. You don’t want to risk getting drunk around people you aren’t close to or very comfortable with.

Twenty minutes later half of the Hockey team burst through the door of the bar with Lolla guiding them.

“Y/n!” She cheers loudly, “what a surprise to find you here!”

She has her phone in hand and Taehyung trailing right behind her looking at her phone over her shoulder. They tracked you. And you thank the gods the day she set up the sharing location app so you both can know where each other are especially when one is out on a bad date. And today you are the one out on a bad date.

“Hey!” You try to sound surprised and not let your happiness show.

“What a coincidence!” Lolla greets your group of friends with a smile.

You look around and there is half a hockey team around the table, Lolla standing with Seokjin by one of your sides and Taehyung on your other side.

“Oh, I think the bar is full.” Jen, one of the new friends, says in a discreet sneer.

“Oh, really?” Lolla responds looking around at the very chill and not full bar. “Yeah, I guess it is. We won’t be able to stay here.”

“But the bar is not full…” Namjoon comments.

Seokjin punches his friend on the shoulder, not even trying to hide it. “Yeah, it’s full, I guess we’ll need to take our victory party home.”

“Yeah, let’s do it guys!” Taehyung says by your side. “Y/n, do you wanna come? It's a free ride home, plus it will be fun, you know all our parties are fun.”

You look in between your friends and your new group of friends and nod. “Yeah, I’m sorry guys, I'll take their ride. We talk on Monday, okay?”

Getting up as you talk, you put the money for your part on the table and follow the hockey players out, Taehyung has your bag on his hand as you follow him.

The rescue is a success, but now you are worried about how you will all make it home. It’s hard to get an Uber or taxi around the bar, you’ve tried to call on through the app many times before calling Lolla.

The group stops by a minivan, it has the Hockey team name on it together with the college name. Jungkook, one of the youngsters of the team unlocks the driver’s door and opens the van. Telling everyone to get in.

He sits at the driver's place, with Yoongi and Namjoon by his side on the front. In the middle roll goes Seokjin, Hoseok and Jimin with Lolla on Seokjin’s lap and her legs over the other guys' laps. Taehyung goes to the back roll and offers you his hand, you follow and ends up sitting in his lap between their gaming gear.

You worry about the safety of all of you, but everyone else seems too hype and happy to care about it. There is loud music, and they all are talking at once as Jungkook starts the car.

Taehyung gently pulls you back against his chest. “I need to put the seat belt around us.” His voice is low and sends a shiver down your back.

Resting back, you let him pull the sit bet around you both, strapping you to him. His hands rest awkwardly on the edge of the seat, surrounded by helmets and other equipment.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, turning towards him. Your nose brushes his jaw and for a reason you don’t know you keep your voice low in a whisper.

“What do you mean?” He asks just as quietly as you did.

Running your hands down his forearms, you cover his hands with yours, to realize he is gripping the seat. “You can touch me, you know?” Pulling his hand, you rest them on your thighs with yours. “Are you embarrassed?”

“Embarrassed?” Taehyung asks without a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

“You are getting hard.” You laugh softly, nuzzling his jaw.

“Well, my dick doesn’t really understand that all this wiggling isn’t for our benefit.” He sighs.

Relaxing with his words you make yourself more comfortable against his body. “If it makes you less embarrassed,” you say still holding his hands. “I'm getting wet just by feeling your dick.”

The darkness of the car and the way Taehyung’s breath catches gives you confidence to slip your intertwined hands in between your tights feeling the warmth of it. You part your knees a little more to have more room in between them. You can feel his fingers almost brushing over the wet lacy of your panties. Maybe it is the thriller or the alcohol from the drink you had at the bar or could be the fact Taehyung is basically dicking you through his pants at every bump the car gives, but a new wave of arousal makes you wetter.

Taehyung lets go of one of your hands, letting it travel over your body, smoothing the fabric of your dress, placing his hand flat over your stomach and caressing his way up to your boobs. Gently molding them, fingertip running circles over your covered nipple but not adding quite enough pressure. You whimper his name, and he chuckles in response.

“Taehyung please,” you ask.

“Y/n, this is the nicer way you’ve ever talked to me in all these months since we’ve met.” His voice is hoarse in your ear.

Twisting your body, you manage to turn enough to kiss him, his lips are soft as his hand moves to your throat putting some pressure on it as his tongue explores your mouth. His thumb caressing your damp inner thigh. Your body reacts at its own accord, legs parting further to give his hand more room.

Biting his lower lip, you moan. “Taehyung.”

“God, I’d love to see your face when you moan my name like that.” His breath tickles your neck as he trails kisses over it. “And I’m not embarrassed to feel how wet you are all over your tights.”

“It could be over your hands if you made a move.” You sass.

The confidence comes over the darkness, the music that was turned up. You feel like the car is getting hotter and the air thicker. You don’t know how long the ride is still going to take but you need something to happen, or you won’t ever be able to look at Taehyung’s face again.

“Can you be a good girl and keep it quiet?” Taehyung asks while placing a kiss under your ear. His knees moving your legs further apart.

You eagerly nod in response to his question, but his hand doesn’t move any closer.

“Taehyung, if you don’t know what to do, I can do it myself. You just need to stay still.” You provoke.

“Y/n, someday I’ll fuck this pretty mouth of yours and you won’t be able to be such a brat.” His lips find yours again as his fingers manage to push your panties to the side and two of them slip inside of you at once.

You regret promising to stay quiet as Taehyung shallows your moan. The wet sound coming from his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy is all you can hear, over your friends' laughs and the music. If anyone pays attention, they’ll know what you both are up to in the back seat.

“Your pussy feels so good. Warm, wet and tight.” Your hips roll against Tae’s fingers, you bite your lip hard to keep your moaning quiet as the hot pleasure builds up in your lower stomach.

Letting your head drop back on his shoulder, you want to close your leg at the same time you want more of it. To shy away from him at the same time you want more of Taehyung.

“Are you going to come, all over my hand? Squeeze my finger in your pussy and give me a taste of what it will feel like when I have my dick buried inside of you?” Taehyung parts his knees further, spreading your legs and exposing his finger inside your pussy.

As your moans and whimpers start to get louder, he covers your mouth with his free hand. Making his fingertips brush your spot and his thumb caresses circles over your clit, sending hot pleasure over your whole body, making you tremble and shiver, as your orgasm rips through you, making your eyes roll back, your back arch and your body feel boneless.

Taehyung keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you until the spams are gone and you are just a sweaty mess slumped against his chest. Kissing your forehead, he gently slips his fingers off of you. “Open your mouth baby.”

Confused but too content to question him as you do as told. Parting your lips, Taehyung places his wet fingers on your tongue, and you lick it, feeling the bitter salty taste.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll taste you when we get home, I promise I’ll clean up the mess I made in between your legs.” He says, lips moving against your neck.

“Tae- “

The music cuts off abruptly, and your entire body freezes, eyes widening as Taehyung quickly pulls his fingers from your mouth and unpins your legs so you can close them.

“Does anyone wants McDonald’s?”

100WTSILY - Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated.

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frostandflamesfanfic · 1 year

Text

Letters from Santa (Dad!Steve Harrington x Reader)

Letters from Santa (Rated G)

Pairing: Dad!Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Warnings: None!

Summary: For Day 9 of Stevemas; A continuation of Letters to Santa, little Amelia can't wait to get her letter back from Santa Claus to prove her point to a classmate. What happens when one day, just a few days before Christmas, your husband discovers a very special delivery from the man in red himself.

“Did it come?” Amelia asked as you opened the door to your car and helped her into her carseat.

It’s a question that she has been asking you for weeks now. Ever since Steve promised that if she was really nice to Santa in her letter, she would hear back. Now this was all she was worried about when you came to pick her up from preschool after your shift.

Amy pouted, just as she’d done every time she asked and you hesitated to answer her.

It always broke her heart when you had to tell her no. She had so much hope instilled in her by her father. From the minute she was lifted up to release the envelope into the special red and green mailbox (which just so happened to be a direct line to Santa that appeared every time the girls were ready to contact him), she was so excited to go back to school with her response. To find out it hadn’t come yet completely crushed her.

A sigh escaped your lips, just as it did every time you watched her facial expression morph into one of pleading. Except this time, it was accompanied by a cheeky smirk you hoped your twin daughters wouldn’t detect as you strapped Em in her carseat. “I’m sorry, bean,” you apologized before slipping into the driver’s seat. “Nothing in the mailbox yet.”

You watched your daughter’s arms slump from your view of the rearview mirror. Emery reached over to gently pat her sister’s arm. “Itsokay, Amy,” she soothed. “Soon! Like Daddy said.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, another small smile toyed upon your lips as you began to make your way back home. “Soon!”

Little did she know how soon it would be…

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“Are those my girls?” Steve’s voice called from the kitchen when he heard the sound of the front door opening up.

“DADDY!” two familiar voices cried out.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel and slung it over his shoulder before he poked his head into the hallway. A smile stretched its way across his face as he noticed you attempting to balance two small backpacks in one hand, one light-haired toddler on your hip, and another dark-haired toddler vice-gripped to your right leg.

It was a sight Steve would never tire of seeing every single day of his life until the day he died: you with his family– your shared family that you were growing together. He knew he found the right person when he told you his dream and you didn’t laugh. You didn’t mock him, challenge it, or make him feel as though it was overall stupid. Instead, you thought it was admirable to want to have a family to love and protect after not truly having one for so long.

While you had made him promise that the two of you would grow your family slowly, given the time off needed and your current finances… God, he couldn’t wait for the day you could carry another little bundle of joy through that front door. Maybe even two.

“Somebody was asking about the mail again,” your voice broke through his thoughts, dragging Steve back to the present. He watched as you placed Amy down on the hardwood floor and dropped their backpacks by the door. A stray piece of hair fell into your eyes and Steve had trouble battling the desire to walk over to put it back in place.

The aforementioned child padded her way over toward him, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Did it come yet, Daddy?” Amy pressed.

“What?” Steve raised his hands and let them flop dramatically against his thighs. “No ‘hi daddy?’ or ‘I love you, daddy, how was your day?’?!”

Em took that as a sign to detach herself from your leg and connect with his own. “Hi Daddy!!”

Steve looked down with a fond smile, hand reaching down to ruffle her light brown copper curls. “Hi, squirt.” He diverted his attention back to the lighter haired girl beside him. “I thiiiink I can remember seeing something when I checked the mail this afternoon. Had an awful lot of stamps. Think it traveled a long way to get here.”

An expression of pure joy lit up the young girl’s face. “REALLY?”

“It’s for you and your sister,” Steve replied with a smile and a nod. “I put it on the kitchen table.”

He almost fell flat on his face with the amount of force Em used to run away from his leg.

You laughed as you wrapped your arms around his waist to steady him. “Whoa,” you said between giggles. “Easy there, tiger. Who would’ve thought a four-year-old could take you out faster than an angry Byers.”

“Oh, low blow.” Steve pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. He then pulled you into a tighter hug, relishing in your form against his own. It was a feeling he could never tire of and he was glad to know he would never have to know what it would be like to live without it. “How was your day?”

“Long,” you mumbled against his chest. “Glad to be home.”

“I’m glad you’re home too.” Steve pressed a few more kisses against your hairline. With you here, he felt safe. With you, he was home.

“Whatcha making for dinner?”

You felt the vibrations of his laugh in his chest against your face. It filled you with a warmth better than any coffee or soup ever could. “Well I was trying to make some Italian, but I got a little interrupted by-”

“HE’S REAL!” Amy’s small voice came in from the kitchen. There was a smattering of footsteps that tore down the hall as the two girls came over to the two of you, the envelope waved in the air. “He’s really real, Daddy! Wote me a wetter like you said!!”

“ME TOO!” Em shouted, not to be outdone by her sister.

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised with a smile, arms still wrapped around you. “I thought that return address looked familiar.”

Within seconds, two envelopes were thrust in his direction by some very tiny hands. “Can you read it, Daddy?”

A quiet groan escaped your lips for Steve’s ears only as you needed to detach yourself from his hold. He couldn’t help the grin on his face as he plucked the envelopes from their hands and began to ceremoniously pull the notes from their confinements. He cleared his throat and began to read:

Dearest Amelia and Emery, You can only imagine how thrilled I was to receive your letters this Christmas. Mrs. Claus and I are doing just fine up in the North Pole. Although, I do miss the cookies over there in Hawkins. I don’t suppose you have any more of those chocolate chip ones you left for me last year, do you? The reindeer were so disappointed when I only gave them the carrots (they were so good, I just couldn’t share!). It’s funny you should mention wanting a doll for Christmas this year. I think the elves might have something like that being cooked up in the workshop. About the puppy…I think I’ll have to see what I can do. I’m not sure if you know this, but for extra special requests like these, I need to check in with a few more of the elves. I think I just heard a clatter from the stables. Rudolph’s been getting a bit impatient now that we’re so close to Christmas. We just can’t wait to visit you in Hawkins again this year!! Don’t forget about those cookies and we’ll see you soon! Sincerely, Santa Claus

“Well, would you look at that,” Steve said with a low whistle once he finished reading. “What does that signature say, girls?”

“SANTA CLAWS,” both girls shouted in excitement.

Em bounced around the room, causing Steve to wonder just how many sugar cookies she had eaten at the preschool’s holiday party. Amy looked absolutely over the moon, eyes shining at the piece of paper held in her father’s hand as though it was the most precious jewel. She tugged gently on his pant leg, arm outstretched.

“Can I have it, Daddy?” she asked softly.

You tilted your head to rest against Steve’s shoulder. “What do we say, bean?”

“Please?”

Steve smiled and knelt down to hand the letter to her. “Here you go, squirt,” he said softly. “Told you he wouldn’t let you down.”

Amy hesitated for a moment before she threw her arms around his neck. The ends of her short hair tickled at his nose, but Steve didn’t move. He simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held her close. He could feel her beaming smile against his shoulder and knew his heart was going to burst from the sweetness at some point. “Fank you, Daddy,” she whispered.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he said and he meant it.

On the day his two little miracles were born, Steve made a promise to himself and to them. Anytime his little girls needed him, he would be there. They needed help with a school bake sale? He’d stay up until four in the morning to make sure they had treats to sell. Someone breaks their heart? He’s there to break their bones with a bat.

Steve Harrington was never going to let his girls stop believing in the things that brought them joy, because he sure as hell will never stop believing in them.

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

Author's Note: We're almost there guys! Just three sleeps until Christmas. Honestly, I'm surprised I got this far. I won't lie to you all, there might be a bit of a delay on fics being posted, but the final three fics will be written and posted as soon as I'm able! I have two more days to write -- let's keep our fingers crossed these ideas will start to write themselves after a while. In the meantime, Dad!Steve is back and ready to protect his little girls. I honestly love this version of Steve and it still makes me smile to think about how we've all collectively decided he's a girl dad. Great job everyone!

If you liked this story and want to see more like it on my blog, make sure to leave a comment, tag a friend, and reblog this post. Likes are appreciated, but it's the other types of interactions that really help me out as a writer. It spreads the word about my works and lets me know what types of content you like to see, motivating me to keep writing/posting! If you want updates on Stevemas or the rest of my fandom-related ramblings, maybe consider giving my blog a follow! We're nearing another big milestone, so start sending me ideas for things you'd like to see for a celebration.

Until next time, my little sparks! <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound, @theelmgrove

#steve harrington fanfic #steve stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #twelve days of stevemas #ficmas 2022 #dad!steve harrington #frostandflamesfanfic #joe keery #joe keery imagines

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eddiemunsxn · 2 years

Note

How you meet for Henry x female reader plz

Fluff plz

— cherry blossom.

masterlist. / nav.

❰ warnings. fem!reader, slight angst (blame hawkins lab), surgery scene (blood, wounds), there’s lots of fluff i promise

❰ word count. 2.6k

❰ note. if he just…had a healthy, soft connection with someone he might not have ended up as a moist walnut

danny elfman’s “ice dance” heavily inspired the last scene! 🥰

Trading off a concrete, jungle city for miles of trees and open sky had an unexpected change in pace. Everything from buying groceries to drinking coffee was done slower and more deliberately than in a bustling city.

Hawkins had that cafe sense of community; sitting down with someone they’d known since preschool, which meant the small town was like a knitting circle. Word got around.

Your arrival in the suburban neighborhood drew eyes like flies to a corpse. Especially your work clothes. Blank and professional, it was off putting. You didn’t have patterned scrubs or with characters, but a callback to the second world war; a white ward dress and hat.

Fitting, since your new job was established after that war, built as an X with only one road in and out. Secluded in the woods, barbed wire fences cradled the building. It didn’t have windows, but was covered with chain mail-esque grating, and atop the roof, disks jutted out like a cluster of white mushrooms.

You slowed your car at the gate, and provided your identification tag to the military police. Looking through the many eyes of the gate, something cold breathed down your throat; spreading like food coloring throughout your body.

The other thing you learned about small towns—they weren’t safer. There was a preconceived notion of them being more secure than big cities, but the opposite was true.

Your job was the most perilous thing in Hawkins. In your history of government work, little fazed you, but when you first saw the children, lined up in order of height like Russian nesting dolls, it weighed down your heart. Their names were numbers. Their childhood was white walls, bloody noses, and tests.

“Children,” Brenner said. “This is your new nurse. Say hello.”

In unison, they greeted, “Hi, miss (Y/N).”

Their voices were innocent, but in their spare time they spied through closed eyes and compressed animals to death. They were being trained to kill people.

In a backlash of pre-teen rebellion, one of them had accidentally killed the previous nurse. It wasn’t their fault to lash out in such a way, seeing as where they were being raised and how they were treated. It frightened and saddened you.

But one person, an orderly, was very human with them. You didn’t know his name, but you had watched how he interacted with the children. He never stood over them, looked down at them, or watched them with the stiff demeanor of a prison guard. He was always eye level, sitting on the floor, or across from them in a game of chess.

Without windows to look outside, he became their idea of sunlight; bright at every angle in their days, and warming the cold, emotionless space within the otherwise colorful walls.

Some of that light shone on you, calming the tightness in your chest. You wished to feel all of it. To know him, and to be of some comfort to the children like he was.

The gate peeled open, and you eased your car through—just as you now encouraged one of the children through the door of the rainbow room. Hand on his shoulder, you walked in with him, and your heart hiccuped as the orderly, standing in the middle of the room, turned to you.

He neatly held his hands at his abdomen. His hair, swept in waves, recalled the color and sheen of gold pearls, contrasting his alabaster skin. He made you think of Apollo. Suitable. A god associated with the sun.

“Feeling better today, are we?” He tilted his head, his small smile dimpling his cheeks.

The child nodded.

“Great, why don’t you join the others? You've got some catching up to do.”

The child left your side, and the orderly’s eyes were drawn to you. He approached, and your heartbeat became more quick and pronounced against your chest.

His eyes held the inviting warmth of summer’s first day, but little did you know his heart was the shape of the devil’s forked tongue. Funny how he always wore white, which symbolized purity.

“We haven’t properly met.” He extended his hand out to you. “I’m Peter Ballard. And you?”

“Y/N.” You took his hand, but he was the first to squeeze. He held your eyes, entrancing you with how kind he looked, and how he kept your hand in his. “I’ve been meaning to say…” You trailed off, but he waited, patient, and smiling thoughtfully.

“The way you…interact with them. The children. It’s so human, which might be strange to say, but…no one else has that connection to these kids, not even Brenner. You sit and talk with them. You listen.”

“I used to be very close to the first one they brought in. I knew him well.” Peter stepped closer to you, dipping his chin to keep eye contact as his height grew more over you. Goosebumps traced up your spine like a sensual hand. “But I haven’t gotten to know you. And I want to.” He quieted his voice. “If you’ll let me.”

You marveled at him, lips parted. A worded response refused you, and you nodded.

The brightness in his broad smile echoed in his eyes. He looked relieved.

Peter made sure he lingered in your thoughts, whether in the moment, or when you were apart. You attracted him like flies to a dead body, and he was all over you with subtle touches—standing so close your hips brushed, walking by you and his hand kissing yours in passing.

He once removed a stray thread of your uniform stuck to your chest, letting his fingers draw along the curve of your breast. He was neat and orderly, after all. At least, that was your excuse.

It wasn’t just physical touches. His eyes always sought you out, admiring you as though you were his favorite flower in the garden, as he did now. The children blurred into the background with you around, his central focus.

“Where were you before Hawkins?” He asked. He always had an abundance of questions for you. About you.

“Macon, Georgia.”

“Is there something you miss about it?”

“Only one thing. The cherry blossoms. Each spring, Macon turns into a pink fairground for the International Cherry Blossom Festival, with amusement rides and blossom-themed events. I miss it. The trees were always so beautiful. Especially at night. And I loved sitting beneath them when the wind would blow the petals away.

“I never fit in well with others. I’ve always been reluctant in new places, believing them to be indifferent to how everyone and everything else treated me. Because I was different. With the cherry blossoms, I found…” Your throat closed like a fist, and hurt crawled into your chest; talons writing burning marks.

It wasn’t easy to convey something which could not be conveyed in words. It was in your bones, and could only be felt in those same bones.

Pain’s language was pure presence—pure feeling. Like reading braille. One would have to reach into you and feel the cracks on your bones, the rough texture of uneasy healing in order to understand.

“Solace…” Peter murmured. He looked at you differently this time. A wound recognized another wound.

Vision blurred, you met his eyes.

“I know.” He spoke so softly, with so much understanding it proved a balm to your raw nerves. “My label was ‘broken’.”

“How did you…?”

“Cope?” He lifted his brow. “My solace was black widows nested in a vent. They fascinated me. Comforted me in how misunderstood they were. Like you and I. But then I was take—” Peter cut himself off, swallowing hard, tendons swollen as scratches in his neck. “Forgive me. Memory is a rope around the neck.”

Taken?

“Can you do something for me?” This time, he looked straight on as if to appear indifferent to anyone watching. “I want to show you something, but I am unable to without your help.”

“What is it?” You asked, mirroring his action.

“Meet me after the children are asleep. The infirmary.” He tucked his hands behind his back, and left your side.

Doors shutting, and keys jangling in the locks resounded in the hall. The children were put in their rooms, numbered like their wrists.

You waited in yours, the infirmary, for Peter. What would he ask you to do? Why did it need to be in private?

The door opened, and Peter slipped through.

You strode toward him. “Peter, what’s this about?”

He held his index finger to his plush lips. “Softly.”

“Peter…”

He lowered his hand. “This place is a prison, Y/N.” He spoke slowly in his mellow tone. He wanted to emphasize each word, their importance—to sew them into you. Intricate patterns required the most steady needle. “Everyone here is a prisoner, not just the children, but the guards, too. You. Me.”

Your eyebrows squished together, and you looked down. Words evaded your mind as sudden coldness pricked your core. You hugged yourself, cupping your elbows.

“You may have a home to leave to at the end of the day, but they will always have you—body, and mind, like they do me. And they will kill you.”

You looked back up to him, eyes wide.

“Or electrocute you into mental paralysis if they so choose. What they do here will always be above your life, no matter what you do for them.”

Your stomach quivered, and sweat leaked from the lines of your palms. You believed him. Why else would he approach you with this? The government was always fucked—you didn’t need a reminder, but you never thought, as a nurse, you’d end up in this end of it.

“I’m not trying to scare you.” Peter gently took your hand in both of his, squeezing in promise. “I want to free you from this hell, and the children.” He lifted his brow. “They don’t belong here. You’ve seen, day after day, the brutality. I’ve lived it, too, and they don’t want to let me go. But you can help me, and I can help you.”

They hurt him? Christ. Your heart stuttered at the thought. “What you said before in the rainbow room, or…almost did. Were you…” You winced. “Taken by them?”

“A long time ago, when I was Henry Creel.” He released your hand, leaving a shadow of his warmth on your cold body. “They took my name, and then they took something else from me.”

He angled his head, and drew his hair back, exposing his neck. He touched a scar there—or, rather, what was below it—in him. Something the size and shape of a pill. He was able to push on it, and it rolled up beneath his skin. “Brenner calls it Soteria. It weakens me, tracks me.”

“You want me,” you said softly. “To take it out?”

Peter angled his head back and looked at you, but you saw Henry Creel. Eyes blue as Morning Glory flowers, softened by his silent pleading from the weariness of being Peter Ballard.

He had been bound to these eyeless walls, and the colors of him were flushed white—his individuality and freedom taken. All he had left was that yellow light, that sunlight you always saw radiating from him. What else could he do but try to cling to a color that meant warmth when he never received it in any form. All he had left was the meaning.

You released a breath you had been holding. “Okay.”

“Remember, you can’t hurt me more than they already have.” Henry lay on the bed, and pulled his belt from his waist, bending it into a loop to bite between his teeth.

On a stool, you sat next to him, holding a scalpel. He angled his head, exposing his neck again, and you leaned to him, brushing your fingertips along his skin to push his hair away. You touched the edge of the scalpel to the scar, glancing up at Henry with a silent apology before you drew a clean slit.

He shut his eyes as you had to trace the incision with the blade once more, due to the thick scar tissue. Blood drooled out from the cut, and you switched the scalpel for tweezers.

As you dipped them into the wound, Henry stiffened, and the cords in his neck bulged. You massaged the pill-like device upwards as you pushed the tweezers deeper to grab it.

Henry bared his teeth, and you imagined they’d leave imprints in the leather of his belt.

You clamped the tweezers down on Soteria, and pulled it out. Slick with blood, you held it up in front of you, brow furrowed. What did this thing do? Why did Henry need to be weakened? Did the other orderlies have one?

Henry relaxed beside you, letting the belt fall from his mouth. He worked his jaw, loosening it. His tolerance for pain made your heart heavy. Why did he have to go through so much of it?

He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his eyes bearing into the device trapped in the jaws of the tweezers. “Who knew such a small thing could be a nuisance.” He grabbed Soteria from the tweezers, and stood from the bed, unconsciously walking away as he admired the device as though it were a rare jewel.

He looked over his shoulder at you, his thumb and index fingers patchy with his own blood. The sunlight in him was brighter than before. “Now I can show you.”

Henry walked you to the doors of the rainbow room, but he trailed behind, letting you approach first.

You turned to him—him, standing there all proper again, hands hidden behind him. Your incredulous look made him smile. He gestured forward with a nod, encouraging you.

Reluctant, you faced the doors, and your spine grew sensitive under his gaze. What could there be to show in here? You grabbed the handle and pulled.

Then you felt a cool breeze, and heard the wind ruffle branches, heavy with billowy pink blossoms. You drew in a breath, and the slightest, sweet smell, faintly of lilacs, caressed your lungs.

You stood in a tunnel of Cherry Blossom trees. Looking up, a blue sky veined the pink canopy.

Like making a wish on a dandelion clock, the petals blew away from their branches, and drifted around you as pink snow.

It was exactly as you remembered it—as if you had stepped into the memory itself. Third Street Park in Macon.

Happiness—golden, wonderful happiness gave you wings. You felt so light on your feet.

But as you looked around, you didn’t see Henry, and your smile faded. Your heart hesitated. “Henry?”

“I’m here.”

And then you were okay, relieved, at the sound of his voice—soft and comforting. Since you met him, you often felt strange, or abandoned, without his nearness. You had longed for people before, but not like this.

You turned, and he stepped toward you, holding all of his tenderness for you in his eyes. How blue, how much brighter they were because of you—like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

“How are you—how is this possible?”

Henry’s eyes dropped, and you looked down to his overturning wrist. He pulled away his sleeve, unveiling bolded numbering against a map of blue veins.

001.

You understood now. They took him because he was just like the children. Except, he was patient zero. The first of them.

You held his wrist, thumb grazing the numbers. Your brow furrowed as you remembered all his pain associated with that branding.

“It’s alright,” Henry murmured, reaching his free hand up to cup your face.

You nuzzled his hand, touching your lips to his palm.

Around you, petals gathered like snowflakes, carpeting the ground in pink. Some clung to your hair, and his golden waves.

He rested his forehead against yours, your noses kissing. “It’s you and me now. I’ll keep you safe.”

#henry creel x reader #peter ballard x reader #001 x reader #henry creel x fem!reader #henry creel imagine #peter ballard x fem!reader #peter ballard imagine #001 x fem!reader

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subwaytostardew · 6 months

Note

how would the twins feel about the flower dance?

Ingo likes it! He's quite interested in the valley's customs. Emmet on the other hand...

Emmet hates it, but he finds fun elsewhere. It doesn't really matter if he likes anyone or not….. he's just nosey for the sake of it.

Joltik is having fun, too!

Their rejection dialogue was actually the first lines of dialogue we wrote for them... It took months to come back and finish writing dialogue for the festivals. We were originally thinking that they would be more reserved and reluctant to join, but they would have become more comfortable by then. The first Flower Dance they attend would take place after they've lived in the valley for almost a year, since the Railroad doesn't open until Summer 3. They both used to be tucked away in the corner... now they're spread out and Emmet is stalking people in plain sight like usual.

Rejection/marriage under the read-more.

- Rejection Lines - ▲ Ingo ▲

"I see… my apologies, but I will have to refuse. I simply do not know you well enough to embark on this cab with you at this event. Thank you, however, for considering myself as an option. Perhaps the other townsfolk may be more inclined?" ▽ Emmet ▽

"No. I am Emmet. And I am not going to dance with you. Talk to someone else."

- Alternate dialogue when married to Ingo -

▲ Ingo ▲

"You look as astonishing as ever, dear! If you would be so kind as to indulge me, I look forward to coupling with you upon the tracks of the Flower Dance."

"Embarrassing as it may be… ever since I had learned of this festival, I had fantasized endlessly about engaging in its customs with you."

"If you wish to head upon those tracks, it would be my pleasure to accept your request!"

▽ Emmet ▽

"Hey. You're here to dance with Ingo, right? He's been practicing. It was verrrry annoying when he first made me learn all the customs. It's funny now that I know how lovesick he is about you."

"I hope you're ready, too! I am on picture duty with Joltik. He wanted to preserve his memory with you forever. He's so cheesy like that. Smile!"

Joltik

"Emmet gave me a verrrry important task! I get to be on camera duty when you dance with Ingo!"

- Alternate dialogue when married to Emmet -

▽ Emmet ▽

"Darling! You’re going to participate in the Flower Dance, aren’t you? I will be your partner. Yup. Even though I don’t like the dance. It’s weird. My legs do not like bending that way. You know that. But I will still be your partner for it. Yup."

"You know my favorite part of the Flower Dance is watching the other townsfolk be nervous about rejection. I don't want us to be part of that."

"That doesn't mean I want you to try to get rejected by someone else. I can decline if you really, really want to do that part. We do everything together as a two-car train."

"I can't risk you coupling with someone else. Don't ask anyone to dance with you. I'm watching. Joltik is, too. They will be verrrry sad if you do. Don't try it. You don't need anyone else."

"If you don't want to dance here, we can dance at our terminal station. Later. Just the two of us. With more fun moves!"

"It would not be nice if you coupled with someone else… But I trust your judgment. I am here for you. We can dance, or we cannot. The choice is yours. I'm yours, too."

▲ Ingo ▲

"Though he may complain quite a bit, Emmet would indeed be pleased to oblige in your request to couple with him during the Flower Dance!"

"He has actually been quite nervous that you wouldn't enjoy his company as your Flower Dance partner… His train of thought is not headed in the right direction…"

"But I have confidence that you'll quell his unfounded worries once again!"

"Emmet will also not take kindly to your cab diverting tracks from him. He was never the fondest of sharing…"

"Please refrain from entertaining the idea of dancing with anyone else. If you do, I will not hear the end of it… There should be no need for me to console him afterwards."

Joltik

"Are you going to dance with Emmet? He put me on camera duty, just in case!"

"I want to use the camera! It's fun adding to Emmet's scrapbook! He feeds me batteries when we do!"

"It's okay if you don't dance! I'm taking pictures anyways! I'll get lots of batteries later!"

#mail car connecting line #subway to stardew #subway to stardew terminal station #submas #ingo #emmet #I'm sorry this took so long to answer!#EDIT I JUST RELIZED INGO'S PICTURES WERE OUT OF ORDER

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takadanobaba · 11 months

Photo

Stardew SubMas Holiday P.2

Sand might be hard but Nimbasa has seen its fair share of snow. Making a snow train is definitely something the twins make every year, if they had their Deport Agents then you could also expect a few snow cabs behind it!

#submission #subway to stardew #mail car connecting line #THANK YOU AGAIN @KRAKENGOGGLES #THIS IS ADORABLE!!!#I LOVE THE SPRITEWORK ON THE TWINS AND THE TRAINS SO MUCH!!#EVERYONE LOOK RIGHT NOW

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novorehere · 2 years

Text

I’ve had this very silly idea in my head for quite some time now, and finally, FINALLY it’s finished. I proudly present to you: yet another set of Obey Me headcanons. But this time, with a twist…

(Warning: contains vore, specifically of the soft, harmless variety. Just in case someone stumbles across this on accident. If so, I’m genuinely sorry in advance.)

The Scenario:

Life is hard for an exchange student in the Devildom. Especially so when you’re only a foot tall and covered in fluff. Knowing this, your fellow exchange students at Purgatory Hall have prepared a gift for you! One fateful day, you receive a surprise package in the mail addressed from Solomon and the angels. Inside you find a shiny new bow and bell enchanted with a protection spell in case of emergencies. After all, a tiny sheep such as yourself could get into all sorts of trouble in a land full of demons. But it turns out the charm came with an unintended side effect. Your new bow begins to change color depending on which demon brother you last spent time with, and no one can figure out why. The pattern is seemingly random, but after a while it eventually clicks. The bow changes color depending on who ate you last.

How will everyone react to this news?

______________

Lucifer:

-Starts connecting the dots almost immediately.

-The fact that your bow immediately turns red right after he asks you to take your shift guarding the fridge tells Lucifer everything he needs to know. No wonder you two were late to dinner again…

-The next time he calls you up to his office for “punishment,” he makes sure to test his little theory. Sure enough, for the rest of the day your new accessory is as blue as can be.

-This is entirely unacceptable.

-Immediately goes to Solomon and demands that he remove the charm. Unfortunately, the side effects can’t be removed without completely nullifying the protection spell. Then again, you could always just… not wear it anymore. But that would be putting you in an unnecessarily dangerous position. And Diavolo would be so upset if something preventable happened to one of his precious exchange students under his watch.

-Despite all of this, Lucifer’s heart can’t help but to swell with pride as you walk about the House of Lamentation sporting a deep royal blue color. His color.

-The rest of the demon brothers aren’t aware of the implications just yet, but Lucifer knows it’s only a matter of time. And when that happens, he won’t be able to hide his private indulgences… But until then, Lucifer fully enjoys watching you go about your day. It’s like his little secret.

-Lucifer quickly discovers another silver lining to the whole situation- It allows him to easily keep tabs on his brothers and their whereabouts.

-Mammon says that he stayed after class at R.A.D. to help clean up? MC’s bright yellow bow says differently.

-It’s honestly pretty convenient, and his younger brothers have no idea how he keeps catching them in the act. Perhaps this whole arrangement isn’t too bad after all…

Mammon:

-Notices your bow starting to change depending on who you’ve been spending the most time with lately… which obviously means it’s charmed to change colors depending on who your favorite brother is! Right??

-Immediately starts hanging out with you way more often. Carrying you around, buying you gifts, taking you out on dates… (He’d never call it a date though, you’re just hangin’ out! THAT’S ALL!)

-Visibly distressed when your bow never turns yellow. What else do ya want from him, huh? Money??

-Finally gets his wish after a satisfying night of hogging you away in his belly. At first he doesn’t even realize eating you was the reason it happened, he just chalked it up to the two of you finally bonding enough to get it to turn yellow.

-Is extremely pissed when the next day you come to dinner with a shiny pink bow.

-After violently harassing Asmo, Mammon finally figures out the truth. He becomes super flustered and defensive, claiming he never actually cared about their stupid bow anyway. (Spoiler alert: he does care. A lot.)

-As much as Mammon tries to hide it, he loves watching you walk around wearing his color. Now everyone can see that you belong to The Great Mammon!

-It’s hard for him not to get a little bit jealous now that he can tell exactly when his brothers get a turn with you. The avatar of greed will specifically make a point of gobbling you up just to change it back. He was your first man, and Mammon won’t let you forget it!

Leviathan:

-Leviathan doesn’t really understand what all the ruckus is about. A color changing bow? What’s the big deal, huh? If it did something cooler like transform into a magical ninja weapon he’d be a bit more interested.

-Once he hears from Mammon that it changes color depending on who you like the most, he’s a bit more interested. But obviously it won’t be turning orange anytime soon, who would want to hang out with a weird otaku like him anyway?

-Levi figures out the truth one night while the two of you are cooped up in his room. His stomach had betrayed him, growling loudly and messing up his game. And THEN you had to go and tease him about it, then one thing led to another, and… there you were, curled up in his belly while he (attempted to) finish the last level of Bad Demon Slayer.

(L-Listen, it’s not like he wanted to or anything, you were the one who offered, and-)

-His face turns a deep shade of crimson as soon as he spits you up. There on your chest is your bow, which is now a very obvious bright orange.

-It immediately clicks, and Leviathan is mortified. How many people know about this?? He can’t just have you walking around the house wearing his color for everyone to see! He’ll just have to get Beel to eat you or something-

-Now that he knows what the colors really mean, Levi can’t help but to feel a teensy tiny bit jealous. Ok, a lot jealous. He tries not to, but it’s literally in his nature as the avatar of envy. Especially when Mammon actually starts bragging about how often your bow turns yellow one night after he’s had one too many glasses of demonus.

-The day after you and Mammon hang out, your bow will often turn orange. To the surprise of no one, and the embarrassment of Levi.

Satan:

-A mysterious color changing bow? How peculiar...

-Satan knows very well that some charms can have unintended side effects, but he’s never read about anything like this before. It seems benign enough, but just why did his idiot brothers have to go and turn it into some ridiculous popularity contest?

-However, when there’s a mystery to be solved, Satan can’t turn down the opportunity to show off his sleuthing skills. Leave it to him to figure out the real reason your bow is changing. Detective Satan is on the case!

-At first he suspects it has something to do with the last brother you spent time with. He notices your bow turning yellow after Mammon squirrels you away somewhere, and blue after getting called up to Lucifer’s office.

-However, his hypothesis is debunked when your bow stayed the same color even after an all-day shopping trip with Asmo… Very interesting indeed.

-Wanting to get to the bottom of this, he leads you up to his room where books on charms and spells are spread out all over his bed in a messy heap. Looks like he’s been doing all kinds of research and wants to test a few theories with you.

-A “few theories” turns into a whole night of experimenting, and soon you’re both absolutely pooped. Luckily, he has just the spell for that too. All that sleuthing worked up quite an appetite after all.

-And well well well, would you look at that… Imagine his surprise when you come back out wearing a shiny green bow. It seemed so obvious an answer that Satan is a bit pissed he didn’t put the clues together sooner.

-Now that he’s put two and two together, the implications of you walking around wearing his brothers’ colors hits him like a truck.

-So that means Lucifer… Oh hell no.

-You begin to notice Satan specifically offers to let you “unwind” with him whenever he notices your your bow is blue. To him, Lucifer’s annoyed face when he realizes and tries not to seem like he cares is priceless. It gets to the point where Lucifer specifically calls you into his office to change it back out of spite.

-This continues on for quite some time, and at one point Satan even gets Belphie in on it. The two even changed their group chat name to the “Anti-Blue League” for a while... Dorks.

Asmodeus:

-Ooh, a magical accessory that can change colors? Someone is jealous!

-Immediately asks where you got it so he can buy one too. Sadly, even Solomon isn’t quite sure why your bow is changing colors.

-So then all that nonsense about favorite brothers was made up all along. Boo. Of course, Asmo already knew that. Because if it WAS true, your bow would always be an adorable shade of pink, just like him!

-Asmo doesn’t eat you very often, but as soon as he spits you out and sees your cute little pink bow he is absolutely squealing with excitement!

-Makes sure to compliment how well it matches your wool as he combs and blow-dries you clean until you’re a cute little puff <3

-Absolutely adores watching you walk around wearing his color. Shamelessly makes sure to draw attention to it too. “MC looks so cute today! Doesn’t that bow suit them? Oh, it’s pink today? I didn’t realize, tee hee~”

-Can and will use the bow to make silly excuses of why he has to eat you. Of course you want it to be pink during your devilgram photoshoot tomorrow, right?! Green wouldn’t match the new outfit he was planning on wearing!

-Loves embarrassing his brothers by teasing them about your bow’s color. “Oh, looks like you had fun with MC in your office, didn’t you Lucifer?” “Guess Levi got a little hungry last night, hmm~?”

-Everyone hates it. So much.

Beelzebub:

-Like Leviathan, Beelzebub doesn’t really care about all the ruckus at first. He also heard the rumor from Mammon, and Beel has never been one to care about popularity contests.

-It does make his heart happy once he realizes how often your bow turns red. You really like him that much? :’)

-Beel’s a sweetheart, but admittedly not very observant. He doesn’t realize what’s happening until Belphie quietly comes and tells him one night. (He wasn’t sure why his comment mentioning that your bow had been turning blue and green a lot lately made everyone spit out their drinks at the dinner table.)

-In fact, he’s actually the last brother to learn about the true nature of your bow. The whole situation doesn’t really bother him though. He’s never been terribly embarrassed about acting on his cravings like his brothers tend to be.

-Plus, no one really seems to mind when your bow is his color, so he’ll just keep doing what he’s doing. He thinks you look cute in red anyway.

-Does get a little happy when he sees that your bow is purple, because that means you and his twin are getting along :)

Belphegor:

-His twin telepathy combined with the fact that your bow conveniently turns red right after his brother’s hunger pangs suddenly vanish leads Belphegor to suspect the truth fairly quickly. He knew Mammon’s rumor was bogus from the beginning, anyway.

-Of course, he has to test it out for himself before he can be sure. Stealing you away to the attic room one night, Belphie shamelessly swallows you down and falls asleep before you even get a chance to complain.

-Is extremely amused the next morning when he coughs you up, your bow a rich shade of purple. Suddenly the way his older brothers are acting makes a lot more sense.

-Thinks the whole thing is kinda funny to be honest. It’s a lot easier to tease you now. Oh, you let Mammon eat you?? You really need to up your standards, MC.

-Can’t help but feel a little smug as you eat breakfast after spending the night together, your purple bow visible to everyone at the table.

-Will feign ignorance if anyone points it out. What, it’s just a purple bow. What’s the big deal? Is there something you want to say, Lucifer? Hmm? I didn’t think so.

——————

(That’s all I’ve got for now, perhaps I’ll write a continuation with the side characters at some point… we’ll see 👀)

#op #this was originally just a stupid little idea and then it turned into a whole entire thing #for the three people who care about this. enjoy #shall we vore #soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #my writing

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greenmenace · 2 years

Text

Titanic X Octogoblin AU

Chapter 1:

(Feel free to ask to be tagged in the next chapter! Thank you for reading and feedback is always appreciated! I hope you enjoy! :D)

April 10th 1912

“This way! All third class passengers must be lined up in the health inspection queue before they can board the ship! Ma’am, ma’am! Over here! This way please!”

A health officer called out among the gigantic crowd of hundreds and hundreds of people across the dock, his own voice nearly drowned out by the amount of excited and busy voices in the air. The overflowing crowd of people gazed in awe towards the colossus of a ship floating in the harbour of Southampton, waving towards their loved ones that were also waving farewell upon the deck of the ship.

The spectacular vessel that was named Titanic was not moving yet, but she had already proved herself to be the most magnificent ship of all. The biggest and grandest one that floated tall above the surface of the water below and above all the small people stood gazing at her majesty.

She was the ship of dreams, practically royalty as her presence impressed all who took their first look at her. The ship seemed to stretch on and on by the dock, eight hundred and eighty two feet and nine inches long. She was a spectacle to look at and would certainly make a mark upon history itself.

Carriages full of first class luggage being pulled along by horses were trotting down the dock, making their slow path through tens of people and through the next, heading for the main terminal where cargo was being lifted and placed into the storage hold of the ship beneath the bow. Vans filled with bags of mail and parcels were attempting to safely drive through the thick crowd, constantly beeping at people constantly in the way.

“Big boat, isn’t she, Penny?” A father no more in his late thirties had asked with a bright smile to his nine year old daughter that was comfortable in his arms, clutching her doll as her curious eyes stared with fascination at the ship. They were patiently waiting to board and were in the third class queue, but at the same time they were enjoying the sight and were amazed by the scenery.

She turned her head to look at him as if he had told her a joke and giggled.

“Daddy, it’s a ship!”

“You’re right.” He nodded, grinning as he planted an affectionate kiss onto her youthful chubby cheek, one that made her laugh even further.

However her gleeful laughter was cut short as a sound of a car horn emerged into existence, startling her for a brief moment as she turned herself around and looked behind her father’s shoulder to see the source of the noise.

Three very elegant and polished cars slowly made their way through the seemingly endless crowd, honking at them countless times so that the people wouldn’t get themselves accidentally run over and under the wheels. The cars shortly stopped in front of one of the boarding gangways connecting Titanic to her dock.

The passenger door to the fashionable car opened, revealing a young man dressed in a finely fitted black suit with a silver grey waistcoat and a green patterned tie, with an emerald green overcoat and a dark brown walking cane in his black gloves to complete his pristine appearance. His sandy blonde hair was combed back neatly as his shining blue eyes marvelled at the ship nearby. His thin face was sharp, with high and almost pointy cheekbones to accompany his also soft pointed nose. And his narrow mouth was stretched into a mostly thrilled crooked grin as his eyes landed upon the sight of the Titanic.

Behind him stepped out his father who he resembled most of and seemed to be nearing his sixties rather fast. The older man was dressed in a black pinstripe suit with a black waistcoat with a black bowler hat on top of his faded blonde and greying hair. His own deeply blue eyes had no amount or trace of joy in them, clouded with intense disappointment as he looked over the ship that seemed to stretch for miles. His face was covered with thick wrinkles, especially with his eyebrows that were often creased with frustration and deep thought.

“So this is the ship they say is unsinkable then,” He commented as he adjusted his hat and glanced towards his young son who’s eyes examined every possible inch of the ship he could be able to see. “I still don’t see what the excitement is all about. The ship we sailed to here was no different to this one, Norman.”

The amazed smile upon Norman Osborn’s face quickly vanished as fast as it had come, revealing the amount of tiredness that he had been holding back for seemingly a while.

“Father, it’s much bigger than the previous ocean liners we have sailed upon,”

Norman attempted to convince his father, but most of him already knew that that was an impossible venture. His father did not share any of his likings and interests, and would definitely not be intrigued. “Grander than the Mauretainia. It’s the largest ship ever built. I hear the engines are especially state of the art.”

“And the suites?” Amberson Osborn questioned, raising a pointed brow as he crossed his arms. “Luxurious I hope or you will never again have the luxury of having me listen to your suggestions again.”

Norman sighed with a nod. “Yes, father. I’ve studied every bit of the ship’s construction since we first arrived in Britain a month ago. I’m highly certain you’ll be comfortable. We’re in first class after all.”

“Don’t speak the obvious son," His father shook his head and complained as his eyes flashed with the emotion of annoyance. “You know full well that I don’t enjoy that along with hearing you babble on and on about those tedious interests of yours.”

The young man closed his eyes for a brief few seconds, keeping his composure in check as sending a rude remark towards Amberson was guaranteed to end badly.

“Of course, I’m sorry sir.”

“Good. We’d better hurry then, I’d like for a hot cup of tea on board after all that travelling. Benjamin?”

Another older man who had been chatting with one of the boarding officers turned to face Amberson who approached him. Benjamin was a former constable, but now loyally served as the Osborn’s personal bodyguard. Norman hadn’t enjoyed his presence the moment he was hired at all. It was as if he was an identical copy of his father, though only sharing most of the personality. Benjamin had a sour wrinkled face and bushy black eyebrows. His black hair that was streaked with grey strands was trimmed and parted neatly. He was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit with a white buttoned shirt and a brown bowtie around the collar.

“Sir?”

Amberson pointed towards the large crates of baggage that were tied on the backs of the cars and tapped the wheel of the vehicle that he had exited earlier with his own jet black walking cane. “Ensure that the luggage makes it to my suite and ensure my car is lifted into storage. I’d hate to part ways with it.”

Benjamin nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Amberson gestured towards the gangway board with the point of his cane expecting for his son to walk forward however he rolled his eyes with frustration when Norman did not seem to be moving as if he were frozen to the spot, but he was merely taking yet another look at the grand Titanic. Watching the smoke rising tall from each of the four smokestacks on the ship, the greyish black colliding with the blueness of the sky. The older man sighed with impatience as his gloved fingers quickly hooked around his son’s forearm tightly.

Norman slightly jumped with surprise at the sudden contact, his eyes quickly looking down at his father’s hand and then above to his mildly irritated face.

“Come along, Norman. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for us missing the voyage back home to America, would you?”

“No. I’m sorry.” His son shook his head.

Amberson removed his grip and watched as Norman took one more quick look and proceeded to approach the gangway with his father following just behind him.

“Right,” Benjamin tapped the boarding officer’s shoulder and brought out a slip of paper from the pocket of his coat. “These trunks from all three cars to the first class parlour suite rooms B-52, 54 and 56. And this car to be lifted and placed into the storage hold.”

Norman stepped upon the wooden gangway, holding onto the rail as he continued his way entering the ship. Within him, most of his enthusiasm for finally boarding the unsinkable ship was soon covered with confliction and dread with each step closer.

Dread for what had laid ahead of him waiting til the day where he would step back into America once again. Above all else, he was a perfectly raised gentleman thanks to his father’s great efforts, with everything he could possibly need. He was rich with an impossibly endless amount of money.

But he felt as though he had no complete control of his life.

He was to be engaged to a woman as soon as he was back in New York, an arranged marriage to a complete stranger. All ordered by his father of course just like every single aspect of Norman’s life. And Norman had naturally no say in the matter. He was currently twenty two, and already Amberson was rushing him into the grabbing hands of marriage.

Norman was convinced that soon after he had gained a wife, his father would be pressuring him to have a child with her and God only knew what his father would do with a grandson or granddaughter.

It was terrifying. And Norman Osborn felt like he had wanted to scream out. To lash out at everything and at the invisible iron shackles that chained him to his father.

He knew nobody would listen to him though.

Stepping through the open passage leading into Titanic, Norman let out a breath that he didn’t realise that he was holding in.

A steward by the door greeted him with a wide smile. “Welcome to the Titanic, sir!”

“---the engines are ahead of their time, Curt! Hopefully at some point during the trip back to America we’ll be allowed down into the engine room to take a look.”

Out of the crowd of thousands of faces of young and old, a taller young man appeared with three large brown suitcases in his hands. He was dressed in a long dark brown overcoat with a dark grey suit underneath, with a black tie on top of his neat white shirt. His chocolate brown hair on top of his head was curly despite his past attempts of fixing it. His dark brown eyes were wide with excitement and anticipation as he glanced behind him to look at his friend, though his eyes were hidden by black oval glasses.

Otto Octavius and Curt Connors slowly walked their path through the crowd, making sure they weren’t rudely bumping shoulders with people in their way as they drew closer and closer towards their destination, the Titanic. Otto held one of Curt’s suitcases with his own two ones as Curt unfortunately could only manage one as he had lost his right arm up to his elbow long ago.

Curt was dressed with a grey overcoat on his shoulders and a hazelnut brown suit with a lightish blue tie with a black bowler hat on top of his head completing his look, his face overpowered with excitement as he eagerly followed behind Otto.

“My fingers are crossed!” Curt exclaimed with a shout so that the words of the crowd didn’t hinder his words. His feet had a slight joyful bounce as he walked. “I’ve been looking forward to finally boarding the ship on this very day!”

Otto turned his head back, sending an eager smile back towards his friend.

“So have I! I’ve been hearing every single person raving on about it for so long that it’s beginning to give me a headache!” Otto uttered with a chuckle, looking upwards to take a quick look at the Titanic that was becoming closer and closer. “A few minutes ago someone had told me that God himself couldn’t even sink the Titanic!”

The two momentarily halted in their tracks as a horse drawn carriage walked in front of their path, but they took the moment to quickly admire the ship. She was absolutely magnificent, like they were staring at a work of art on a canvas. Art that belonged in a museum! The sight didn’t seem real and yet there she floated gracefully in the harbour. Otto wanted to study the Titanic from top to bottom, wanting to see every inch of the ship and how the grand vessel was carefully constructed.

“I think it’s this way to board the ship.” Curt gestured with a nod of his head, his eyes staring towards the second class gangways that people were walking upon. He momentarily turned to face Otto. “You have the tickets?”

Otto nodded. “Yes, they’re both in my pockets. Let’s hurry!”

Quickening their pace, Otto and Curt carefully continued moving closer, being patient for other passengers in front to board the ship before they could. Otto made sure Curt was in front, aiding him up the steps as they began to walk on top of the gangway. The levels of excitement continued to grow with each second, and Otto’s smile seemed that it could last forever. He looked up and the Titanic was a giant. It was so much taller than he expected!

From his and Curt’s position down below, the ship was towering over everything in the world, it even looked like it reached the very sky where the fluffy white and silver clouds would weightlessly float.

“Tickets please, you two?”

Snapping back into focus from being so immersed with the impressive height of Titanic, Otto carefully placed his suitcases along with Curt’s one on the floor of the Titanic when they had both entered a moment ago, he brought out his and his friend’s tickets from the pocket of his overcoat and gave it to the steward for him to check. The man quickly looked over both tickets, being sure that they were in fact the correct tickets which was quite obvious that they were.

“That all seems well, welcome on board to the Titanic, gentlemen!”

The steward smiled after he had quickly examined both tickets, allowing the two to go on forward.

After passing their thanks to the kind man, Otto and Curt had begun to make their way down the staircases and into the hallway of the second class staterooms where one of them would be occupied by the two.

The fresh paint and the sweet cleanliness of the carpet nearly overwhelmed the sense of smell in Otto’s and Curt’s noses as they headed down D-Deck, walking past rooms and politely greeting other second class passengers on their way. The baggage in the men’s arms were beginning to make their shoulders ache, so they hurried as fast as they could to eventually rid the weight. The white corridors were polished, almost seeming to belong to a royal castle instead of an ocean liner. And the carpet floor was beautifully patterned.

The corridor was warmly lit, inviting a sense of homeliness and comfort into the air as Otto and Curt walked down, briefly looking upon the numbers on top of the doors.

“D-53…D-53…” Otto muttered as his eyes looked at one door and then to the next. His brown eyes widened with accomplishment as his view finally landed upon the cabin that he and Curt was to be sharing. “Here it is at last!”

“Finally!” Curt smiled as Otto opened the door, the two happily entered the room. Sighing with delight as they both carefully placed their heavy luggage upon the floor. “I think I’m about ready to fall asleep.” Curt chuckled, rubbing the back of his aching neck.

Otto laughed in response, examining the room’s contents. It was a small cabin, a bit bigger and greater than the third class accommodations down below. There was a comfortable bunk bed in the corner of the room, the sheets neatly placed upon both beds and radiated with the smell of freshness. A chestnut dressing table with a wash basin along with a mirror was nearby. In front of the bunk was a luxurious velvet patterned sofa to which Curt placed his baggage on top.

“Not too bad, isn’t it?” Otto inquired curiously, feeling very satisfied with the room already even though he hadn’t even spent an hour in it yet. He hoped the bunk was comfortable!

Curt smiled, sitting down on top of the bottom bunk as he did a quick look around the room with his pleased eyes. “Yes, it has exceeded my expectations, that's for sure.”

“Don’t you want the top bunk?”

“No, I’m all too happy taking the bottom. I think I may actually take a nap."

"I don't blame you for that," Otto yawned, moving his fingers through his unruly curly hair as he then stretched his arms. "All that moving about with the bags since this morning has made me completely tired."

Curt chuckled with another yawn, before removing his suit jacket and folding it neatly upon the foot of his bed with his bowler hat laying on top. He then took off his shoes and left them on the floor as he raised his legs and laid completely upon his bed. He was out like a light in a matter of a minute with a light snore.

Otto smiled with amusement before unlocking one of his heavy bags, he took off his glasses and placed them upon the nearby dressing table as he began to unpack his clothes.

He was becoming more and more excited for the day where he and Curt would arrive in New York. A fresh start and a new life! There would be more and more opportunities to be discovered with science and Otto was absolutely exhilarated with that fact. Though a tiny part of him felt as though there was something missing in his life. Something that would feel as though it would add to it. He had no idea what it was or could be. He wasn’t really eager to find out but the feeling was curious nonetheless.

Underneath his clothes were a couple books relating to his passionate interest in science, books of physics and mathematical and scientific equations. Otto would have to find time to read them later, as he had unpacking to sort out.

“This is the main promenade deck.”

A male servant in his mid thirties informed Amberson who took a quick look out of one of the windows, observing the blue sky for the briefest moment. His wrinkled face was still full of disinterest as his eyes looked around the private deck. The white walls were panelled with dark wood, and there was a double set of doors that would connect to the main deck area where other passengers would socialise, which was near to the door that was connecting the suite to the promenade deck.

Sun loungers, small tables and potted plants decorated the deck, serving to provide a natural and comforting look. The warm sun shone through the windows where Amberson stood nearby.

“Would you be requiring anything else, sir?”

Amberson grunted and brushed him off in response, gently leaning to poke his head out from the window. “No, Bernard.”

The servant bowed in response with a nod, before heading off back into the suite where Norman was busying himself along with his maid in the main living room. There was a regal fireplace nearby, though no actual logs where they were supposed to be. Instead in its place was a heater that was not switched on as there was no need. The wood panelled walls were decorated with gold decorating every panel like little ribbons.

The carpet was cream and fluffy, with armchairs and loveseats sitting across the room. And a table with cutlery and pristine clean dishes that had never been used once before.

Norman opened one large suitcase that sat on top of the sofa cushions which nearly took up the whole space upon the sofa, revealing a few artistic, unusual and a colourful collection of masks that were carefully packed inside. His mood quickly lightened as he gently picked up one of the three that were inside, a mask that resembled a witch in some way. It was white and painted with golden stripes with popping eyes. It had an outstretched nose and sharp teeth with a pointing tongue.

As much as he didn’t enjoy the luxury of having an amount of money that was bound to keep in this position for the rest of his life, there was one good thing that came from having money like that. He was able to have the ability to buy such lovely artefacts. The only vivid colour in his life at the moment.

“Would you like all of them out, sir?” The maid asked as she examined the masks curiously.

Norman nodded, approaching the fireplace to place the mask upon the mantle in front of the mirror. “Yes, I think this room needs a bit of colour in it anyway. It’s too dull here. Too much brown to stare at.”

He then returned to his suitcase, leaning down to retrieve another. The next one was a vivid green, with another pointed nose and chin. It was widely grinning with sharped silver painted teeth. Its eyes were large and golden yellow and its ears were high just like its skull that was raised. The wooden mask was well aged, with part of the green paint being scratched off and damaged over time. Norman smiled, temporarily leaving the green mask on top of the table as he went to put out another mask on top of the fireplace.

The next one mostly resembled a gorilla in some way, around its black eyes were red with yellow highlights, and all around his face and upper lip were decorated with golden stripes.

“Good God, not those hideous masks again,” Norman heard a disgusted sneer from behind him and he glanced towards the sound of the familiar voice for a moment to see his father unsurprisingly leaning against the doorframe, sipping on his steaming cup of tea. “They really were a waste of money, son.”

Norman quickly rolled his eyes in response, thankful that his back was turned to Amberson.

“As I’ve explained many times, they’re fascinating to study. Not that you even cared about my opinions to begin with.” Norman replied, knowing that his father was very likely to be glaring at him right now, however he couldn’t care of the other’s anger right now. It didn’t matter anymore.

“If I might ask, what are these masks?” The maid curiously inquired, to which Norman was too pleased to answer as he never really got the chance to eagerly talk about his interests to anybody. Every time he had wanted to was quickly shut down by Amberson who firmly told him that would never be an interesting topic to discuss at all.

“They’re tribal masks from all around the world,” He answered with a small smile as he adjusted one of them on the fireplace and then turned around to retrieve the green one that he had left earlier. “I enjoy collecting them, I suppose it’s my hobby. This one is my personal favourite, it’ll go in my quarters.”

Norman picked up the wooden green mask and headed into his room with the maid following behind him with one of his suitcases in her hand.

His bedroom was big, a little smaller than the sitting room but still spacious and pleasant. The walls were still brown but instead of the gold decorations, the panels had large red patterned squares that were lined gold on the outside. There was a snug double bed in the corner of the room. The bedsheets were white and finely pressed and the four pillows at the head of the bed were large and fluffy. The bed frame was a dark wood and seemed as though it was reserved for royalty. In the centre of the room was a small deep brown table with two wooden chairs tucked in. Empty tea cups were sitting on top with cream napkins neatly folded.

A door nearby opened to Norman’s own personal walk-in wardrobe, where he would later be placing his clothes inside with the help of either the maid or Bernard. He always preferred to be busy with normal duties rather than wasting more extended time that he did not enjoy by being in the company of his father. Norman didn’t care if the maids and servants could easily handle the task, he didn’t mind doing it himself.

In front of the bed was a writing desk, with a golden lamp placed on top. Norman proceeded to approach the desk, and gently set the green mask upon its surface. Upon adjusting it and making sure that it was angled nicely, Norman stood there as his eyes turned to the floor for a moment, his head clouded with deep thoughts. The maid placed his suitcase down on the floor next to the bed and turned to him, a confused expression across her kindly face.

She wondered whether to approach him or not for a few seconds, and then she walked up to him and quietly cleared her throat.

“Sir?”

Norman blinked, shaking his head as if he felt a cold chill running down his spine.

“Are you feeling well?” She asked, gently holding onto his left shoulder with a worried gaze.

He nodded with another tired sigh, his right hand rubbing across his pounding forehead. For weeks on weeks, Amberson had been dragging him practically by the back of his neck to every little business trip he had arranged. And to every little pathetic party which Norman had pretended to enjoy for so long. It seemed never ending, the work meetings and the little meaningless parties. All of it expressed nothing, it accomplished nothing.

Of course, he could always decline the invites to the parties in the late night but that would result in yet another heavy argument and a vicious judging expression from his father.

“Yes,” Norman forced himself to answer, with yet another forced smile upon his face. “Just tired, that's all.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, no I’m okay. I suppose a cup of coffee would be nice though, Maggie. Thank you.”

The maid smiled and nodded her head, exiting the room as Norman’s smile faded away. He brushed off a speck of dust from the mask in front of him and then moved over to his suitcase on the floor where Maggie had placed it. Norman removed his emerald green overcoat and folded it over the bed. He then kneeled down and opened the trunk and began to unpack his clothing.

He had then heard footsteps entering the room, just stopping in the doorway. Norman could easily guess correctly that the steps had belonged to his father. He didn’t know how or when he was able to identify Amberson’s footsteps, though Norman didn’t really care to figure that out.

“Tomorrow night we will be joining John Jacob Astor and his splendid wife for dinner along with the rest of first class,” Amberson informed his son, removing his gloves from his hands and shoving them into his suit pocket. “They’re quite eager to be enlightened about your future proposal when we arrive in New York. They’ll certainly be receiving an invitation to the wedding, I’m sure.”

Norman’s fingers froze over one of his black waistcoats that he was pulling out from the suitcase, and his eyes closed though thankfully he had his back turned to his father.

“Must I come? You enjoy briefing people about it more than I do, father.” He asked, shaking his head as he opened his eyes. He knew that would probably make his father displeased, just like the many past attempts of asking.

“Do you intend for only one guest to show up for your betrothal to your future bride? I never taught you to be so rude and selfish, Norman.” Amberson spat, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He seemed to be so polite and well-mannered in public, but whenever he was alone with his son, his true colours began to shine as bright as the sun.

“You will be joining me, or else I will not be too happy with your misbehaviour and you can be sure that I will be quickly correcting it. You are aware of that, I’m certain.”

Norman nodded, recalling a past moment of his face burning with pain from Amberson’s hand connecting with it. The sickening feeling of the air being kicked out of his lungs. The brutal black and yellow bruises across his ribs which he would discover during the next morning. He knew how violent Amberson could immediately become in a matter of seconds, but Norman had grown used to it over time. Not even flinching when his face would be slapped or punched.

“Yes. My apologies for being rude and selfish,” Norman automatically replied. “I’ll attend tomorrow night.

“Good. Excuse me.” Amberson spoke carelessly, exiting the room and leaving a mildly ominous wake of air behind his footsteps.

Norman hung his head over his suitcase, what did it matter anymore? Nothing in his life had been proved to be worth living over. Not one single person cared about him, other than Amberson who Norman wasn’t really certain if his father even did in the first place.

Upon the thoughts, Norman’s eyes slightly widened as a dark endless pit sunk right into his stomach.

Did Norman’s life matter one bit at all to his father?

#;;fics #;;titanic au #willem dafoe #alfred molina #norman osborn #otto octavius #curt connors #octogoblin #octoblin #otto x norman #norman x otto #titanic #here it is everyone!!! CHAPTER ONEEEE!!!!#ENJOY!

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joezworld · 2 years

Text

The Devil in Disguise (1/5)

Traintober 2022 Day 21 - Strangers

Hey guys so I wanted to try making a character that was straight-up unequivocally evil, so here's that.

Summary - A multiple unit and a diesel meet as strangers. Or are they?

⅕

1991 - London

The sun had barely just crested the horizon, but the city was already alive with the sounds of progress. Cars, trains, and even aircraft moved about, giving the air a feeling of charged potential. Anything could happen in the Capitol!

In one of the many rail yards that dotted the city, a class 47 was being prepared for the day’s duties. She was freshly painted, and sparkled in her red and black Rail Express Systems livery.

You’ve got to look good in order to feel good! She thought to herself as her driver checked her over. As was expected, he found no defects, and after a brief stop at the fuel pumps, she was off, up the line a little bit to one of the MPDs where they kept the multiple units.

She’d been tasked with a very special job today, and it was going to be a real cracker, she could just feel it!

She rolled into the next MPD, a jaunty tune on her lips. The multiple units hissed at her, as they were wont to do - they worked long hours and had little chance for rest - but she ignored them. After all, as their better, she could make as much noise as she well pleased!

“Wakey wakey!” She tooted her horn gaily as she rolled up to a specific unit who had been parked outside the sheds. He at least had been washed, which made him more presentable than some of the scruffier looking units around. “It’s time to get up and be productive! All your passengers are waiting for you!”

“Oi! Knock it off! They’ve just only been withdrawn!” One of the newer, shinier, units called to her.

New he might have been, but a multiple unit he still was, and she ignored him with a cheerful flash of her perfectly done eyelashes. “Alright you… whatever your number is! Come on! We’ve work to do!”

“Do we.” The unit didn’t really seem interested in her, staring off into the distance with a set jaw. “And what work is that.”

“The testing!” She beamed, not letting a silly spoilsport of a multiple unit ruin her day. “For the push pull controls! If this works, they’ll take your lot and turn you into mail vans for me and my family!”

“Ah. How wonderful. You being linked to me.”

“Isn’t it just? Then we can be even more efficient with the mail trains because the driver can stand in your cab on the return journey! We’ll shave off loads of time!”

The multiple unit - he was a 307, now that she remembered - scowled deeply, didn’t say anything else as she was connected to him. They set off down the mainline without another word, her B-end cab leading the way, and she couldn’t help but feeling like she’d offended him in some way. Ah well, I probably woke him up too early. Not everyone’s as poised and perfect as me.

Perfect. That was a good word for her. She’d served honorably in BR for decades now, and she was being rewarded with testing duties! It was so exciting, being at the forefront of technology and progress.

So exciting, in fact, that she couldn’t keep a smile off her face all the way to Hatfield station. There, a group of workers met them on the platform, piling into the 307, before they set off a few miles more to Stevenage, where they stopped in a goods loop.

In between commuter trains, the 47 was run around her train, and backed down onto the 307, now facing towards London.

The men were very careful in linking the multiple unit connectors, poking and prodding the cables to make sure everything was secure. When they were satisfied that everything was set, they plugged the two together, and walked back into the 307, where they’d set up many different computers to monitor the connection.

“Can you hear me?” She asked down the connection.

There was a very long silence. She wondered if the unit had fallen asleep - after all, nothing could be wrong with her connections. “Yo-hoo! Everybody awake back there?”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” The 307 hissed, a caustic sound that boiled up out of the MU connection.

“What?” She recoiled from the cruelty of the tone.

“Of course not. The gas axe forgets what the steel remembers.”

“Beg your pardon?” She spluttered and coughed, totally blindsided by the 307’s anger, which was practically radiating through the multiple unit cables. “I’ve never met you before!”

“Oh give. It. up.” He growled, an angry sound. “You can change your number and your stripes but you can’t change your soul. I clocked you the moment you oozed into my yard like the cancer you are.”

“Come again?”

“The eyes are the window to the soul. I looked into yours and saw the devil that I saw last time.”

“WHAT LAST TIME?!” She all but shrieked. “WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?!”

There was a long and angry pause from the multiple unit. “You’re D1772. You rolled into my life so long ago I barely remember a time before.”

That was her old number… “Did something happen?” She wracked her memory for something involving these odd little electric coaches.

A scoff rolled down the multiple unit lines. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“I don’t!”

“Stratford. And Ilford. The 1960s.”

“I was at Stratford for a while, but I don’t recall Ilford at all. Wasn’t that where I got you from today?”

“Typical. You’re the inflection point of my entire existence and you can’t even remember it.”

“I suppose it was an important time for you, but for me it was just the 1960s.”

That got a response, a metallic roar that sparked and popped down the MU connector, causing her to jump, and sending men scrambling outside to check the connections as the 307 silently raged.

“Allow me to refresh your memory…” He seethed once he’d calmed.

The Great Eastern Main Line - 1959

A multiple unit scuttled down the line. His mission - a most unusual rescue.

The goods train hove into view as he rounded a corner near Stratford, the failed engine on the front leaking sooty smoke from places it should not have.

“Evening!” He called as he drew near to it. “Having a spot of bother?”

A smiling face looked back at him, the features achingly gorgeous even under a healthy dose of soot.

“I was.” she said, her voice a chorus from heaven itself. “But I don’t think I am anymore.”

“She was my angel. My beloved.”

Romance blossomed in the places management couldn’t see. The other multiple units and her own family covered for them as best they could.

They were based from different depots, but they made it work. A quick glance across the platforms. A ‘chance’ meeting in a goods loop, planned well in advance. The oddest station pilot duties anyone could imagine.

Whatever it took for each other.

“We had the world at our buffers. Our lives ahead of us.”

Big diesels began appearing more and more. Filtering in from other regions and other depots, they made their approach to Stratford. They were kind, in the upper-class way express engines strove to be.

One of them, a two-tone-green type four, newly outshopped by Brush, rolled into the yard sometime in the middle of the decade. Her beauty, exquisite. Her smile, measured in gigawatts. She listened when engines talked, laughed at their jokes.

She looked like an angel. Talked like one too.

“Then you slithered in.”

She soon had the yard eating off of the backs of her buffers.

Coaches wanted her to pull them.

Trucks worshipped the rails she rolled on.

Engines wanted to be her. Or be with her.

And even the multiple units, a little ways up the line at Ilford, took their chances at Aphrodite made metal.

Well, most of them did.

“You fooled them with your kisses.”

One unit in particular was too caught up in his own storybook tale to notice the God in his midst.

And so, he was the only one paying attention, when the yards started to break down.

First it was petty disputes, squabbles that elevated to massive heights out of nowhere.

Then it was rows. Screaming, abusive fights that tore through the sheds at Stratford. Engine against engine. Friend against friend. Brother against sister.

One night his love rolled into the multiple unit depot, tears in her eyes. Her family had turned against itself. She had no-one, or so it seemed.

“You cheated and you schemed.”

He should have known better.

A week later and it was like her troubles had never existed. She smiled at everything. Frowned at nothing. She spoke to him warmly, but he could see that her eyes hid something.

He spoke about it to his siblings. They advised he leave it; probably some horrible thing someone said, that she wants to forget.

So he left it.

And then she left him.

For her.

“Heaven knows how you lied to them.”

His world turned to black and white, all the colour leached out of it. His heart turned cold, and his words sharp. He blamed everyone for what transpired, most of all himself.

An outcast in his own yard, he soon became, exiled by his ever-sharpening tongue. It gave him time to think, and more importantly, time to watch.

Watch as a two-tone-green type 4 rolled into and out of his yard with impunity. How she spoke to his family with honored trust. How they listened to what she said.

How she said one thing to one group, and another to the rest.

How the arguments broke out as soon as she left.

How she did the same at Stratford.

How she turned his love into a simpering toady, parroting her cruel and thoughtless words like a shoddy impersonation of the real thing.

“You weren’t the way you seemed. You might’ve talked like an angel, and moved like an angel, but I got wise. I knew what you were.”

He paused, taking in a deep rattling breath.

“You were the devil, in disguise.”

The 47 had listened to the 307 go on and on, and was wracking her brain for where she’d heard this story before. “Hang on, was that you back in 1966?!” She laughed, a joyous and happy sound. “You were in love with that thing?”

The men gathered around the multiple unit cables jumped again as a single long spark arced off of the metal connector. They conferred with each other, and began wrapping more electrical tape around the cables, ignoring whatever their diesel was laughing at.

“Oh don’t be like that!” She hooted gaily. “It was an inferior being! Don’t tell me you actually had feelings for it?!! Ha ha ha! My word! Whatever possessed you to do that? Pity?!”

At this point, the men had mummified the multiple unit cables in thick insulating tape. There were no sparks as a result, but power surges of unknown origin popped up on the computer readouts. Because this was British Rail, the computers still output data onto huge rolls of paper via a printer, and with all the men standing outside, the powerful, anomalous, and off-the-chart readings were soon covered by more paper.

“I LOVED HER!” He raged against the diesel’s mockery. “I LOVE HER STILL! AND YOU - YOU MADE HER INTO A MONSTER!”

For three long years, he had to watch as the devil and her demon turned the lives of every engine and multiple unit - his included - in Stratford and Ilford into a living hell. Kind words were rationed, to be used sparingly, on passengers, managers, and the occasional visiting engine.

He tried, a few times more than he should have, to get through to his love.

It was not successful. Her mind had been warped and twisted from the inside out. Each time he left, a little part of his soul died, until all there was left was cruelty and spite.

One afternoon, almost a decade after they first met, they glared at each other across a platform, in London. She was bringing a group of vans into the station, for a post train to the north. He, a commuter train to Southend.

“I suppose you’ve got something to say like you always do?” She said, her beautiful face twisted into a mockery of the class 47’s trademark grin.

He wanted to tell her what he really felt - how he hated everything about his life, himself included, and that he wished that they’d never met, but at that moment, a gasping and clanking Standard 4 wheezed into the station with a long distance train. The sheer noise and calamity from his arrival made speech almost impossible.

“Yes!” He said, raising his voice over the steamer, looking her dead in the eye. “Fuck off and die!”

With that he whirred away, his pantographs sparking angrily.

He didn’t look back to see her expression, and he managed to put her out of his mind until he was on his way back from Southend.

Whirring into Stratford station, he looked over at the yard to the depot, and found her and three of her siblings parked in the out-of-use line.

“Another breakdown?” He called, a smile tickling his lips as he realized he no longer felt bad about needling them for their poor reliability.

“We’ve been withdrawn!” One of them shouted, his voice tinged with horror. “Just like that!”

“Not even a warning!” Cried another.

“They can’t be serious?” His love asked, still trying to come to grips with what was happening.

Again, steam was to break his composure. A tank engine, so filthy that he couldn’t even see the number or guess at a gender, clanked through the station, a line of sooty coaches clattering behind it. He looked at the filthy steamer - still earning its keep, then at his love and her siblings - sparkling clean from the morning washdown but set to be demolished now.

He burst out laughing - a cathartic, unsympathetic sound that caused his love’s face to crater in shock - and then left, not sparing them a second glance as he rolled towards Liverpool Street. “See you rotters in hell!”

“So?” The 47 asked, now thoroughly confused. “You hated them. As you should have. What has you so angry?”

Shocked and angry stammering met this. The power readings spiked again, and his pantographs fluttered on their springs.

He returned with the next service, unsurprised to see the devil herself near the out-of-use lines. She probably would get this undone, somehow, and then he’d be subjected to them all for a while longer, until something happened to get someone transferred to a new depot.

Honestly he didn’t care if they transferred him to the bottom of the English Channel at this rate.

What did surprise him was that the rest of Stratford's allocation of his once-love’s class - all ten of them - marshalled one behind the other in a line, the devil at the front.

“Right ho!” He heard her cry out in glee. “We’re off then! Next stop, the scrap heap! Say goodbye everyone!”

The horrified screams, begs, shouts, and pleas that followed the train as it rolled north broke his hatred like a brick through a window, and he sprinted after them once the signal dropped.

The signalmen must have been “in” on whatever was going on, because the train of the damned scuttled out of Stratford and down the line faster than he could chase it, and when he reached the point where the line for Southend diverged from the main, it was just a speck in the distance.

Several hours later, he returned with a heavy heart, and found an equally morose yard.

“They’ve sent her away…” mourned an 08. “Just like that.”

“To think they made her haul away all the rest too…” Muttered a 40.

“I can’t believe they’re all gone.” One of his brothers sighed.

“You mean she got herself a transfer?!” He gasped, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.

“The last time I saw you, or her, was that day.” He seethed through the lines, rage almost palpable. “You hauled them off to die, and did it with a smile on your face.”

The diesel rolled her eyes at that. “Well, I think I shed a tear or two. For appearance’s sake.”

“You sociopath. Was any of it real? Did you love her?”

“Because I wanted you to know exactly why I’m doing this.” The 307 said this out loud.

“No. Not really.” She said breezily, then paused for a moment. “Honestly I would've left her alone, but I must've felt like slumming it or something. She was fun, at least."

Inside the multiple unit, the printer and the computer sparked and coughed smoke from a power surge. Above, light bulbs popped, sending glass raining down onto empty seats.

She rolled her eyes at his rage, totally unperturbed. "You know, I figured out who you were like half an hour ago. Why’d you keep telling me this sob story?”

With the quiet swish of oiled springs, his pantographs lifted from his roof, and made the connection with the brand-new overhead lines of the East Coast Main Line.

Power surged through the multiple unit connection, and the 47 shrieked as she felt her throttle move on its own, her engine revving to full power as the brakes hissed off.

Men tried to leap onboard and take control, but they couldn’t reach anything before the train was moving too fast. Within a moment, they were out of the goods loop and onto the ECML, powering towards London, with nobody aboard.

Behind her, the 307 drew in power from the overhead lines, and surged backwards, pushing against the 47 as they began to roll forward.

To Be Continued…

#traintober2022 #traintober 2022 #traintober #ttte #fic #sentient vehicle headcanon #sentient vehicles #trains #british rail #dark #probably?

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thegreatwicked · 1 year

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Shadows of Deception Chapter Four

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

Final Note: This story is not meant for minors, you alone are responsible for what you consume on the internet. Minors DNI. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted elsewhere but please feel free to reblog.

Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

Wear the dress?

What dress? She wondered to herself as she read the text message again, the elevator dinged on her floor and she shoved the phone into her back pocket. Shifting the brown paper bags in her arms she struggled with her keys just outside her apartment. She wasn’t sure how Roman got her phone number but then again, it didn’t really surprise her. Roman Sionis came from a very well connected family and there wasn’t a single doubt that he had the resources to get what he wanted and he was certainly used to it.

What dress?

He hadn’t sent her anything at work in fact there had been virtually no communication since their tryst in her kitchen several days prior and although it seemed an odd gesture, it did sound like the kind of thing Roman would do; grand displays. He was definitely the type of man who would buy all the roses in a flower shop just to make a point, then again he was also the type of man to send a severed finger in the mail. She had no evidence to back that one up but she’d seen movies. No, if Roman had sent her anything at work he would have made sure she got it, he wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. It wasn’t his M.O.

The locks clicked and she entered her apartment, still wondering about the text message. She’d got it just as she stepped out of the car, for the last week whenever she got off work there had been a black car waiting to take her home each night. A courtesy of Roman. The driver had introduced himself as Lloyd and that he was to drive her to and from work and wherever else she needed to go. He seemed like a nice kid, and he definitely was a kid, couldn’t have been older than twenty one, clean cut, nice manners, friendly and professional. What was a kid like that doing working for Roman Sionis? It was a bit odd, but she was now fairly certain that Roman wasn’t going to kill her and she slept a little easier, though there were nights when she woke up in a cold sweat swearing she heard gunshots or smelled blood.

Nightmares. Just bad dreams. It seemed so stupid to be a grown woman still waking up from bad dreams. She’d often wondered how many bad things had to happen to you before you stopped having nightmares. How awful would things have to be before nightmares were more like movie trailers in your sleep.

Everyone had nightmares, she told herself. Everyone. Even Roman Sionis. Though his nightmares probably ran more like the upper 1% of wealthy first world problems. His favorite scotch was gone, or his suit clashed with his sunglasses. Really, what did scare men like Roman Sionis? Did anything?

She shook the thought from her head and went about putting her groceries away all the while having forgotten about the text message, now locked onto a train of thought regarding what scared men like Roman. She genuinely couldn’t think of anything and it wasn’t until she finished putting everything away, hung up her coat and put her keys in the dish she kept them in and headed towards her bedroom that she remembered it.

There, on her bed was something that stopped her in her tracks, the red mini dress she’d worn to Romans club. The same black clutch and black heels next to it.

That dress had been in the back of her small walk in closet, exactly where she’d wanted it to stay. In fact, she’d kinda thrown it back there the morning after the whole thing. There had been flecks of blood on it and it had a few popped seams from the physical altercation she’d been in. She honestly didn’t think she’d ever wear it again or ever look at it again.

But as her eyes scanned the dress she noticed something, it looked brand new. She picked it up and looked hard at the red fabric, but she couldn’t find any hint of blood splatter. In fact it smelled great, it had been freshly laundered and the popped seams repaired. But it was certainly her dress, the tag on the inside had a small black heart drawn in with a permanent marker, it had been one of the first nice luxury items she’d bought herself with her own money. She loved that dress, so a little black heart went on the tag.

It would seem that Roman had paid her apartment another visit. The fact that he had now broken in twice, that she knew of, no longer really bothered her. But his motives were a mystery to her right now. She looked at the heels, the scuffing was gone and they too looked brand new, even her little black clutch looked a bit polished up.

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed with a message.

Put it on.

She knew she was alone but she looked around the room and out the windows, not sure why she did.

She contemplated the dress and the events that had occurred the last time she’d worn it. She also contemplated what the consequences would be if she didn’t comply, but the request seemed harmless enough. And each day Lloyd picked her up in that fancy car she grew a little more confident that Roman didn’t want her dead, weirdly enough he was kind of growing on her.

But she still paced around the room for fifteen minutes before deciding to do it.

She’d fixed her hair up a bit and touched up her makeup opting for a slightly more smokey eye than her usual daytime look. He didn’t say anything about makeup or hair but she just assumed it came with the package. As her mentor had told her when she got into fashion photography;

Don’t even bother with the dress if you’re not going to nail the part.

Standing in her room in a matching black satin set she took one last look at the dress before stepping into it. The fabric clung to her frame and fit her just as perfectly as it had the same night, it wasn’t anything scandalous but it had been a favorite of hers.

Working in fashion she’d learned a few tips and tricks about clothes and a big one was that if you wanted to stand out, wear red. Red was a color most people were Instantly drawn to. It was a mini dress but not so short she looked like she was working a corner, a generous amount of thigh was visible. The neckline wasn’t salacious, it was a simple square neckline and offered no sneak peaks or excessive cleavage but it framed her bust nicely.

Red looked good on her and with her olive skin tone and black hair, it had often been the outfit she’d worn when she wanted to be the center of attention, which admittedly wasn’t very often. That night she’d wanted to be seen, she’d wanted attention.

The black heels gave her an extra three inches, and completed the look. She’d barely had a minute to assess her reflection when a heavy fist hammered in her door. She didn’t jump this time as she was becoming used to the sudden and thundering sound but she did do a double take when she opened it.

Zsasz stood outside her apartment, dressed up a little nicer than the last time she’d seen him. Black slacks a black jacket and a black t-shirt underneath it, he looked like a bodyguard. But she was fairly certain that was part of his job too.

“Ready?”

She nodded slowly. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer her, but he just nodded down the hall to the elevator. He looked annoyed when she didn’t immediately follow him, rolling his eyes slightly when she locked her front door and slipped the keys into her clutch.

“Club?”

He nodded as the elevator door closed, he didn’t seem quite as menacing as he had but he still didn't seem like he wanted to be there. His presence, however, was probably a direct order from Roman.

Zsasz wasn’t the chatty type so she didn’t bother trying to make conversation, the car ride was quick and quiet. Zsasz seemed like a bare minimum type of guy, one who only spoke when absolutely necessary, and definitely not one for chit chat.

It had been just as busy as the night she’d first stepped inside Masquerade Noir although this time she skipped the line and was ushered in through a VIP entrance.

Once inside, Zsasz vanished and she was lost once more in a sea of people. No one seemed to watch her or follow her, she had no idea where Zsasz had gone and she couldn’t see Roman anywhere. She was, however, fairly certain he was watching her.

No one was looking her way or paying any real attention to her, just another face in the crowd.

The club looked different to her now, and as she walked towards the bar she watched the bartenders. They were ringing in sales and measuring alcohol properly, she could see a city license hanging up in plain sight along with a liquor license.

The staff were friendly and courteous to the patrons, the bartenders didn’t seem to be over serving, no illicit deal looked like they were being struck for extra services or portions and the bouncers watched everything with a keen and professional eye.

Roman was right, by all accounts, he ran a legitimate business. She wasn’t sure why it surprised her, he had told her as much and it seemed an odd thing to lie about.

She reached into her clutch for her wallet, feeling the need for a drink when she came across a note written in a masculine yet elegant script.

Deja vu, kitten?

The note caught her off guard, it was only a note but somehow finding it in her favorite clutch seemed an odd sort of invasion of privacy.

“Anything to drink, miss?” One of the bartenders asked, a young and handsome guy dressed smartly in the club's uniform.

She took a second to answer but he didn’t seem annoyed or bothered by her hesitancy.

“Uh, bathrooms are?”

He gestured with his hand in the direction that was close to the same door she’d gone through.

“Just down the hall on your left, miss.”

She nodded her thanks and abandoned the bar, heading in the direction the bartender pointed out but moving past the hallway and instead opting for the employees only door. She cast a quick glance backward but saw no one watching, and she slipped behind the door.

The hall was empty and she remembered her initial concern of being followed and how she slipped off her heels to avoid making a sound. It felt like overkill to mimic her actions down to taking her heels off but she did and walked quickly down the hall as she had before, glancing back over her shoulder.

Did she honestly expect the same guy to poke his head in through the door and follow her? Of course not.

But that wasn’t why her heart was hammering in her chest when she rounded the corner into the storage room. She half expected to see Jimmy and his two men when she stepped inside but there was nothing.

No one.

No sign of the drugs she had seen, no evidence of blood on the floor. She even looked up to the ceiling but there was no trace of the stray bullet she’d shot upwards when she’d stumbled into Roman.

It had been less than three weeks since the whole thing had happened. She thought she’d be hearing the gunshots in her head or that she would smell the blood still but there was an absence of any sort or sensory information from the room.

This was so stupid.

She scoffed out a breath and shook her head, what was she even doing there?

There was everything she needed in her fridge for margaritas and here she was, in Roman’s club playing some weird game with no idea as to why.

She turned to leave, having had enough of Roman’s odd game and walked right into a hard chest, again. She didn’t shriek this time but she did jump, startled as hell.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Wearing the same black suit with silver accents and rose tinted sunglasses as he had that night. Zsasz standing behind him.

“The sign says employees only.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry!” Her immediate reaction was to apologize? She hadn’t planned that. Boy, Roman really did have her pegged right.

His face was contorted in displeasure, nothing about his expression said he was the least bit happy to see her. There wasn’t a single hint of recognition anywhere in his eyes. She was confused. What was going on?

“Looking for someone, Angel?”

She stammered for a minute trying to figure out what he was doing, but then a thought came to her.

Deja vu.

“No,” she replied slowly. “I, uh, I was looking for the exit.”

His expression softened slightly, but he still didn’t give any indication that he knew her.

“The exit is in the front, this is the back of the house and I don’t allow customers back here.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I, uh, was trying to hide from someone then I was going to leave.”

“And who would you be hiding from?” He was wearing those black leather gloves again, they made that sound that leather on leather makes as he clasped his hands in front of him.

“There was a guy out in the club, he was following me, getting a little too handsy for my taste. I just didn’t want him to follow me into a cab.”

Romans posture softened considerably, he seemed less pissed off boss man and more concerned club owner looking after a guests needs.

“What did he look like?”

“Um, white suit, black shirt under it. Black hair. My height.” She didn't actually remember his hair color or his height but she did remember the white suit, not many men could rock that look and he did not.

“A white suit?” He sighed out an exasperated breath. “I think I know the man you’re talking about. He sticks out and several of my staff have brought concerning behavior to my attention. That isn’t welcome in my club.” He turned to Zsasz, “Zsasz, find this man and have security escort him out. Inform him that is now on the blacklist and make sure he understands what that means.”

Zsasz nodded and left the room, leaving the two of them alone, just as he had before. He looked back at Belladonna and he pulled off the sunglasses. Something about those gloves, she shook her head when he started speaking.

“I’m very sorry to hear that your experience has been unpleasant but I hope it doesn’t put you off your appetite for a good time. Miss?”

“Belladonna Black.”

“Well, I take my guests' safety very seriously, Miss Black. Can I offer you some champagne by way of an apology?”

Jesus, he was convincing. She figured that by the way he’d dressed he’d had a flair for the dramatic, looked like that extended past his wardrobe.

“That’s not necessary, I think I’m just going to grab a cab and head home.”

He glanced up and down at her, shaking his head slightly. “Miss Black, I have to say, it seems a shame to waste such a gorgeous dress on an early night. And I do hate to see a guest leave unsatisfied.” This whole time he’d been gradually inching her back towards a wall, one he knew had a slight blind spot from the camera nearby. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to make your evening more pleasurable?”

Jesus. Jesus Christ. Her eyes darted back from his face to his hands as he pulled off those gloves of his.

“Did he cheat on you?” He asked, catching her off guard with an odd tone of sincerity in his voice.

Belladonna's face was etched in genuine confusion now, “How?” She didn’t tell him that, how did he know?

“You’re out, all dolled up, looking for attention, you just happen to have found it from the wrong man, and I’ve never seen you here before.”

She scoffed, that was for sure. “He left me. He’s getting married in a month.” Those words stung a little less than the last time she’d said them aloud.

Roman shook his head and raked his hungry gaze over her from head to toe. “Stupid man.”

Oh, hell with it. Fuck it all. She understood what was going on now and she couldn’t give a damn what anyone was going to say about her. She wanted to feel his hands on her again, wanted his mouth again. So she took it.

She hooked an arm around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

“Think you can look the police in the eye and lie to them? Say that you never saw Jimmy? That you let all your common sense go out the window and let a man like me touch you? Think you can pull off innocent?”

To hell with common sense. And to hell with the illusion of innocence, she may have been new to the whole shooting people thing but that didn’t mean she was innocent. The portrait he’d painted when they last spoke in her kitchen was too good to pass up. She could feel him smile against her lips and his hands on her hips smoothing her dress down before cupping her ass. The kiss was only a quick one and as he pulled back slightly she swept her tongue across his lips.

“Oh, kitten.”

“Why do you call me that?” She asked, her voice soft and filled with lust.

Roman smiled the type of smile that the devil himself wore when he was no doubt about to snatch a soul. He chuckled, pressing her into the wall, pushing his hips into hers before replying.

“I know a sex kitten when I see one.”

His lips crashed back onto hers, hungry. Demanding. Dominating. Fucking perfect.

Better than the other night in her kitchen, maybe it was the mini dress she was wearing or the fact that he was guiding one of her legs up and around his hip, grinding into her.

The friction was amazing and she could already feel her panties growing incredibly wet. One of his hands gripped her thigh, holding it where he wanted and another clever hand began inching her dress upwards. Not obscenely high but just enough that the black satin panties she wore were within reach.

A cool and surprisingly soft touch slipped between them and she moaned into his mouth when she felt his fingers caress over the dampening fabric.

Anyone could have walked around the corner and into the room they were in, it was a fairly large room. And she would not have done anything at all, ignoring them as what Roman was doing to her just felt too good to interrupt.

That hand of his stroking her panties painfully slowly, she didn’t care if she came off desperate so long as she came. Her hips bucked slightly and she jumped when she felt his fingers pulling the waistband of her panties down just enough for his hand to slip inside.

Oh fuck.

She’d watched this man kill three people in this room and he had her against the wall, tongue in her mouth and fingers stroking her pussy. Fuck, something was wrong with her.

Roman liked a verbal woman and while he was enjoying her mouth and those lips he wanted to hear every sound he could pull from her. He swept his tongue over her lips one more time before pulling back all together, and moving his mouth down her neck.

And he wasn’t disappointed with what he heard. She jolted occasionally as he varied his touches in a maddening pace, and she rested her head against the wall practically panting as she didn’t have his mouth to focus on now. Her skin flushed hot and cold as he left a wet trail up and down her back, occasionally nipping at her ear, tongue licking the shell.

Her chest heaved with the assault on her senses, and she was seeing fairy lights when she opened her eyes before they drifted shut again in ecstasy.

She couldn’t help how her hips bucked against his hand every so often when his thumb would apply a sinful amount of pleasure to her clit, then he would stop or slow or move his touch elsewhere.

“Fuck.” She groaned when he slipped a finger inside her stroking slowly, she now had a death grip on the collar of his suit jacket.

She audibly complained when he withdrew said finger but then drew in a sharp gasp when his thumb returned to tease her clit. After a few seconds she expected him to stop and was attempting to prepare herself for the torture it would bring, this was the type of man to edge a woman till she cried. But he didn’t, the sensations became more and more intense, he wasn’t stopping. He traced circles over and over breathing just as hard in her ear while he held her up as she was falling apart against the wall.

“Oh, kitten. Be a good girl for me,” She didn’t know what he meant, and she didn’t care. He could have whatever he wanted. “Come for me.”

“Oh my god.” She moaned as she bit her lip, yeah, she could definitely do that. “Roman..”

He smiled against her neck, he loved it when he heard women say his name like that. The sound of a woman desperate for release, they would do anything he asked. Power could be better than any narcotic. And sexual power was better than power itself.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His ministrations grew faster, he’d have her coming apart within seconds, the moments just before an orgasm came crashing down and their bodies shook and moans tumbled from their lips were the most delicious. He could feel it in the air, their desire. Their lips trembled, mouth often hung shape as though waiting for a scream to finish loading, legs quivered and their bodies stiffened. The whole process, the whole series of gestures was a spectacular show and Roman loved it. He smiled into her neck, biting down softly while he felt her body go through the same series of gestures.

And when it finally came, her body shook and clenched at his fingers. Her hands yanked harshly at his hair, pulling him off her neck and forcing her tongue into his mouth making a feral sound that shot bolts of lightning to his already painfully hard cock. Roman couldn’t contain his own moan of approval as she devoured his mouth aggressively.

He wasn’t sure that he expected her to be a whimpering mess if a woman but he hadn't quite expected that reaction.

His hand slowed, carrying her through the aftershocks that coursed through her body and gradually he slowed to a stop. As the warmth of an orgasm faded, her lips slowed against his to a stop, Roman released her thigh and removed his hand bringing his fingers to his lips.

His eyes were blown black, and the thread that held his composure was frayed but somehow he held back. He brought his thumb to his lips but swallowed hard when Belladonna instead sealed her lips over the digit, swirling her tongue while looking straight into his black eyes.

His gaze narrowed and his chest rose and fell in a deep and measured breath. One that suggested she’d just pushed him a little further than he’d expected. He was about to jerk his hand back when she released his thumb from her lips. He was sure that if she hadn’t stopped he would have thrown her back against the wall and hiked up that ridiculously short dress to fuck her like he’d mentioned in her apartment.

Roman shook his head and ran a hand through his hair while an internal battle raged. Roman ran trains on women but never in his club. He’d tie them up and make them beg for his cock. Relished in their cries as he withheld orgasms but none of that ever happened in his club. He was a stickler about that self imposed rule, but he had to be.

He growled when he felt her hands pulling on his belt and hated what he was about to do.

“Kitten,” he snarled as he held both her hands in his, pressing his erection against her. “Nothing would make me happier than to fuck you into oblivion against this wall while I make the whole club listen your screams as I wring orgasm after orgasm from you body till you can’t stand.” He punctuated the word orgasm each time with a not so subtle thrust of his hips. “But you’ll take what I give you, and you’ll like it.”

She huffed out an irritated and borderline andgry breath, nodding, and she stopped trying to touch him altogether. She didn’t bother trying to change his mind, even though she was certain she could talk her way into a rough and hard quickie against the wall, despite the fact that Roman had said he wasn’t a quickie type of man. All men had a breaking point and Belladonna was very adept in finding it. But while her mind was racing to find the combination of words, tone and gestures to get her what she wanted, the thought evaporated from her in an instant when he dropped down to his knees.

“Be a good girl and behave.”

Her dress was still bunched up to her hips and he tugged it back down, her breath hitched in her chest when she felt his hands slip under the fabric and his thumbs hook into the side of her panties. He seemed to know what she was thinking and he shook his head at her in the same way an admonishing teacher might if they knew an unruly student was about to mouth off. He slid them down her legs all the while maintaining a penetrating stare.

When he tapped her heeled foot, she stepped out of the garment and he rose back up, her back satin panties clutched firmly in his fist.

A wild look came over his face and he inhaled deeply before placing them into his jacket pocket.

“I’ll have Zsasz take you home,” he licked his lips and slipped his gloves back on, giving her one last kiss. “Keep those legs crossed, kitten.”

~~~

Roman smiled as he watched the playback of the storage room camera. He’d lost count of how many times he’d played it back, the audio was the best part. It captured every sound clear as day that combined with the souvenir he’d taken had been enough material for his spank bank for a while.

The camera didn’t quite catch them but enough that it was obvious what was happening.

He’d downloaded the video to his phone and found himself watching it and listening to it throughout the day. He’d also considered sending it to Belladonna, he wondered if she could appreciate it like he had or if she would be angry with him, he’d never been slapped in the face by a woman but he was fairly certain she would if he made a fool of her in public. In private, however, he knew a sex kitten when he saw one.

Some secrets should be kept secret, he decided. And then he restarted the video.

She’d choked out his name again when his office door opened and Zsasz stood looking down at him. Roman made no move to stop the video, Belladonna's moans filled the silence and after a moment he stopped the video.

“Is this a bad time?”

“Depends on what you have in the folder.”

Zsasz held out a decently thick folder to Roman, who stared at it for a moment before taking it and flipping through its contents.

“The last six months of Jimmys life in Gotham.” He waited for Roman to motion for him to sit down. Apparently he decided it was worth the interruption.

“Six? What happened to the whole year?”

“He wasn’t in Gotham. Not sure where he was or what he was doing but he wasn’t here.”

“You sure about that?”

“I asked nicely.” His tone indicated that nicely meant not so nice tactics.

Roman heaved out an annoyed breath, “Maybe you should go back and ask not-so-nicely.”

Zsasz nodded, reading Roman loud and clear.

“The timelines work if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Whatever could you mean, Zsasz?” Roman smirked, still looking at the file. Zsasz was pretty thorough, Jimmy had been arrested multiple times for petty crime, nothing too serious but serious enough that he spent some time in Blackgate. It looked as though in his most recent stint in Blackgate, he’d made some friends in high places.

“No wonder Jimmy found the balls to push drugs in my club, someone was backing him.”

“Any idea who?”

“Hard to say. His last shipment had Cobblepots credentials all over it, but Cobbletpot wouldn’t trust a piece of shit like Jimmy with that much product right away.” Roman set the file down and rested his head against his thumb and forefinger. “Who was his cellmate?”

“He had two.” Zsasz replied. “A guy named Vega, and another guy, Pete Jordan who oddly enough had an accident a few weeks after Jimmy became his cellmate.”

“Tell me about Pete Jordan.”

“Works for Tony Zucco. He’s a made man and a favorite of Tony’s. Had a lot of inside support but he didn't seem to like Jimmy. In his first two months Jimmy visited the infirmary at least half a dozen times.”

Roman nodded along, finding several medical and incident reports where Jimmy “fell” out of his bunk multiple times. Fell onto a fist, maybe.

Not that Roman cared about Jimmy's well being.

“What changed?”

“Sounds like Jimmy made friends with some of Cobblepots crew. Most of Zuccos crew was being released and Cobblepots men went in, seems like a power shift in Blackgate left a leadership role open.”

“And Jimmy made a new friend.” Zsasz nodded. “When was Pete Jordan released?”

“He wasn’t. Pete Jordan had an accident in the library, one that left him comatose. He’s medicated but the state can’t decide what to do with him since he doesn’t have any family and no medical facility will take him in.”

“Not even Arkham?”

“Not even Arkham.” Now that was something of an achievement. God knew Hugo Strange was always itching for new patients to ‘treat’. “A week later Jimmy gets a new cellmate and all visits to the infirmary stop at least for Jimmy.”

“Looks like Jimmy got a favor done for him and made some friends.”

“Could explain why he was pushing Cobblepots product in the club. He didn’t have a choice.”

Roman nodded.

“Still want those other six months?”

“No, new plan. Talk to his cellmate and find out what you can about what happened in Blackgate. I want to know everything that went on in there. Don’t be polite.”

Zsasz nodded again, and the office went quiet as Roman was somewhat deep in thought. Zsasz looked at the forgotten phone in his desk but quickly looked away when Roman noticed his stare.

“She’s different from your usual types.”

Roman smiled and chuckled, “Still worried?”

“It’s kind of my job.”

“Still think she’s a threat?” Roman asked as he played the audio and the sound of her moans and heavy breathing filled the room. He gradually pushed the volume louder. Zsasz shifted in his chair, he didn’t bother replying, he knew Roman was trying to make a point. The point being he would do whatever he damn well pleased.

“You’ve got something on her, she’s got something on you. Seems like you’ve both got a lot to lose.”

“But I don’t lose. People who bet on me to lose, lose.” Roman nodded with a smirk. He paused and looked back to the growing file he was accumulating on Belladonna Black. “Close the door when you leave.” Punctuating the request with the sound of his zipper.

Chapter Five

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