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whocaresstillthelouvre · 1 month ago

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Do You Wanna Touch Me?

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Pairing: Marcus Pike x Sex Worker Female Reader Words Count: 4,200 Summary: After getting his heart broken, Marcus Pike takes an assignment in Amsterdam. What started as an exploration of the red light district turns into choosing you, the most beautiful art he's ever seen. Warnings: sex work, erotic dancing, hand job, masturbation, fingering, oral (m receiving), reader wears makeup and a dress, marcus tries to escape his heartbreak, van gogh mentions, reader is college aged, dieter bravo exists in this universe

A/N: This was written for @baronessvonglitter's Fuck-tober birthday celebration. I was assigned Marcus Pike and "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett. Happy birthday Adriana!!! 💕

Here are the songs I refer to in the fic: “Do You Wanna Touch Me” by Joan Jett “Bed Chem” by Sabrina Carpenter “Streets” by Doja Cat “God Is A Woman” by Ariana Grande “Cinema” by Harry Styles “The Night Me and Your Mama Met” by Childish Gambino Masterlist

---

Marcus doesn’t do things like this. He’s a good man, a good son, a good brother, a good friend, and most of all, a good agent. And yet, he still walks down the cobblestone street that’s bathed in red lights.

LIVE SEX SHOW SEX TOYS SEX PALACE HIGH TIMES

What in the world is he doing here? Curiosity, loneliness, being so fucking horny he can’t focus on the case ahead. You’re a good man he tells himself as he ventures deeper into the crimson alleys, the shadow of shame following closely behind him.

“Hey handsome. Today’s your lucky day.” A blonde man winks, handing him a gilded envelope. “You’re invited to Galerij.”

Marcus blinks down at the golden envelope, looking up to find the blonde stranger already gone from his sight. He opens the envelope, revealing a simple invitation with gold embossed text.

Galerij, Amsterdam’s hottest art pieces. €400

He’s a damn FBI agent, and yet he’s too intrigued and desperate for a distraction to say no. He should know better, his badge weighs heavily in his pocket. He plugs the address into his phone with a sigh and makes the quick walk to the address listed, silently atoning for his sins as he passes the Oude Kerk church. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with any of the police officers situated, they might sense his shame.

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice intones. He looks up at the plain brick row home that stands out amongst the surrounding buildings covered in neon lights with windows full of girls in different levels of undress.

A small gold sign hangs above the unassuming black door. GALERIJ

He inhales deeply and pushes the door open. A bell jingles. Inside, an older looking woman with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp black suit sits behind a desk.

“Nederlands or English?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“English,” he answers, his throat tight. “Please.”

“Invitation?”

“Oh, uh, here,” he hands her the invitation.

Without any more acknowledgment, she gestures to a black leather chair near an intricately carved golden door. “Please take a seat.”

A bit of trepidation blooms within him as he sits down, but when he looks around, he realizes that this isn’t some seedy back-alley brothel. It can’t be that bad if the walls are covered in mahogany and the floor is marble.

The woman makes a quick phone call, speaking in a hushed voice. His palms grow sweaty. What the hell is he doing? This was supposed to be a quick exploration of something that’s always fascinated him… legal vices. Yet now, he's gripping the armrests as the same stern woman brings over a clipboard and card machine.

“Cash or charge?”

“Oh, cash?” he replies quickly, fumbling for his wallet. There’s no way he’s going to use a credit card around here, too many chances of his secret adventure getting revealed on a statement.

“400 euros.”

He opens his wallet and unfolds his money. 100, what are you doing? 200, what are you doing? 300, Marcus, seriously, what are you doing? 350, no seriously what are you doing? 400, damn, you’re really doing it.

Stern woman takes the money and hands him a gold pin with a simple G etched onto it. She hits a small gold bell on her desk, a singular ring sharply echoes across the small room.

He pins the pin to his chest, reminding him of all the times he used to pin the old Met Museum badge to his lapel when he was a young college student in New York. This is so much more different than that, he reminds himself.

The golden door opens after a moment.

A beautiful older woman in a dark burgundy skirt and matching jacket walks out with a smile lifting her dark red lips.

“Welcome to Galerij. I am Maud, the curator.” she greets, offering her hand. “What would you like us to call you here?”

He rises and shakes her hand.

Can’t do Marcus, can’t do Pike, can’t do Agent. He thinks of that one actor everyone tells him he looks like. “Uh–Bravo.”

“Very well, Bravo,” she opens the door, moving aside allowing him to walk through. “Welcome to Galerij.”

He steps into a stark white room. The floor is shiny concrete, a singular white table with two white wishbone chairs sit in the middle of the room, a stark contrast to the entrance room on the other side of the wall. Not exactly what he was expecting. The agent in him can’t help but think this would be a perfect place to kill somebody.

Maud motions for him to sit across from her. “Here you will make your decision on what piece you’d like. Gay or straight?”

He sits down, her question is a reminder as to why he’s really here. “Straight,” he answers, his nerves beginning to creep around him.

She nods. “All of our pieces are tested, clean, and practice safe sex. Your piece will tell you what they will and won’t do once you make your choice. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You will have twenty minutes, your time will start once you enter your gallery. A bell will ring every five minutes, your final bell will ring twice symbolizing your last five minutes. Do not be late. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Of course no photos or recordings. We ask you to not even have your phone out. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“I am,” he answers. His heart is pounding.

She nods and presses a button, a shrill buzz echoes through the room. A hidden door opens and a large muscle and tattoo clad man with buzzed black hair and a nose ring walks out carrying a red velvet-covered book. He hands it to Maud, before standing behind her like a silent guardian.

His heart races faster than he ever thought it could when she opens the book and pushes it towards him.

GALERIJ with the day's date is stamped on the thick page.

His fingers tremble as he flips to the first page revealing a photo of an olive skinned and brown haired woman clad in dark blue lingerie with delicate yellow stars embroidered all over it lying on top of swirled silky blue sheets. She’s absolutely stunning.

“This is The Starry Night.”

He nods, turning the page.

A pale skinned, petite woman with shockingly white blonde hair wears a light blue bra and lace panties while laying atop white flower petals. She’s just as beautiful as the first woman.

“This is Almond Blossom.”

He turns the page.

A dark skinned, dark haired woman sits against a yellow wall wearing two sunflower blooms over her ample chest. Her smile is wide, just like her eyes lined with bright gold glitter. She’s gorgeous

“This is Sunflowers.”

They all look like they just walked off the runway, all beautiful and alluring. He wonders what–or who–the next piece will be. He smiles to himself when he realizes they’re all named after Van Gogh. Of course he’d find himself in an art themed brothel… he just can’t escape work.

“Before you see my fourth piece, please know she’s a little different. You cannot touch her, only watch. Don’t let that sway your decision, she is our most popular piece.”

He braces himself as he turns the page.

He loses his breath when he sees you. There you are, sitting cross-legged against the same color wall as Sunflowers. He can just see a glimpse of your nipples under your sheer indigo bra. Your green lined eyes leer at the camera. He thanks all the stars in Starry Night for his chance to even get a look at you. He’s lost in time at how your skin glows against the golden wall.

“Wow,” he breathes out.

“I believe you made your decision,” Maud says with a knowing smile. “This is Irises.”

“Yes,” Marcus swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “Irises please.”

She nods and closes the book. “Pieter, let Irises know.”

“Okay Bravo,” Maud says with a smile and stands. “Pieter will come and get you when Irises is ready. Please do enjoy my gallery.”

“Thank you Maud,” he says, wiping his sweaty hands against the fabric of his jeans.

The fading sound of Maud and Pieter’s steps and a door closing leaves him all alone in the sparse room.

He hopes he looks good enough for you. His dark blue jeans are presentable enough, his plain gray v neck is clean, he thanks himself for spritzing himself with a dash of cologne before leaving his hotel. He knows he paid the equivalent of close to $450 for you to like him, but he still wants to impress you.

He checks his watch, five minutes have passed. He’s too afraid to bring his phone out, so he just stares forward, nervously tapping his foot.

This wasn’t his plan at all, he was just going to explore and sightsee, nothing more. No drugs, no sex, just curiosity.

The door opens. Pieter appears.

“Irises is ready,” he announces, his accent thick. “Follow me.”

He tentatively trails Pieter through the door walking down a hallway lined with doors. Ornate golden frames hang with Van Gogh pieces in each one. They reach the door with Irises hung next to it.

“Twenty minutes,” Pieter says flatly, opening the door. “Sit in the chair. Do not touch. You watch.”

Marcus nods, his heart slamming against his chest. His knees almost buckle as he steps inside the room.

It’s dark, save for a single spotlight shining down on a small stage, a lone purple velvet high back chair sits waiting for him in the middle of it. His shaky legs take him up the three steps before he lowers into it, hands clenching the wide armrests, trying to control his breathing.

He shouldn't be here–-he knows that. It’s too late for regrets now.

The click-clack of your heels echoes through the room when you step onto the stage. He’s too nervous to turn his head to see you. His body tenses, anticipation coiling all of his muscles tight. When you finally step in front of him, he has to remind himself to breathe.

You’re beautiful, the light catches on the sheer fabric of your dress. He can just make out the curves of your body, naked under light lavender chiffon. Your eyes are lined with deep purple eyeliner, ending into a cat eye at the corners. Your ruby red lips curl up into a knowing smile, almost as if you can see his desire for you.

Four thousand miles away from home and he’s just found the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. His cock begins to thicken, the shame of his paid for voyeurism adventure dissolving from his mind. You’re finer than any masterpiece he’s ever had to investigate.

“Hi Bravo,” you purr, your voice smooth and teasing, “Do you wanna touch me?”

He nods and coughs nervously. “Y-yes. But, I can’t.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips. “Good boy.”

His back tightens, a wave of heat flows down his spine and settles in his lap. For too long he’s disallowed himself from feeling this type of pleasure. Too busy, too sad, too heartbroken. What led him here feels like a blur. An exchange of glances, a subtle wink, an invitation. The black door, €400 out of his wallet, a white room, an open red velvet book, the long hallway, Irises. He allows himself to enjoy the experience just as you send him a wink.

You’re like his own little gallery show standing in front of him. A piece of art he doesn’t just want to see–but memorize.

—

You’ve only been doing this for a few months now. It really is the perfect side hustle to support yourself while finishing your art degree. You’ve been enamored with Van Gogh’s art since you were a child, a lifelong dream realized when you were accepted into the student exchange program at the University of Amsterdam. You made it possible, and now, working two nights a week in between coursework, you're making more than most of your friends earn in an entire week. Of course, only a select few know what you really mean when you say you work at a very exclusive gallery.

It’s a good job. Maud takes good care of you, vetting those who enter her establishment with her keen client recruiters on the streets. Pieter is always a buzz away, though you’ve never felt danger. Everyone needs an escape, some just agree to pay a premium for it. They call it the oldest profession for a reason.

Bravo. He’s your last customer tonight, and they sure did save the best for last. You watched him approach on the security camera, a smile formed when you noticed how much he resembled your favorite actor, you had plans for him. His wide shoulders, broad body, thin beard, and perfect head of hair almost made you think it was him, if it wasn’t for his eyes flickering around the room nervously. There’s no way Dieter Bravo would be anxious in this type of situation.

You press play on the stereo. A quick drumbeat starts, your steps keep tempo with it as you come back to stand in front of your client.

Turning around and bending over, your hips dance to the beat of the song as your hands roam along your curves, lifting your dress to give him a peek of your thighs and ass. A low groan rumbles behind you.

“Do you like what you see?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, moving your hands up and down your body.

“Y-yes,” he stammers, his nervous eyes wide and plush lips parted.

Those same nervous eyes watch as you bunch the fabric of your dress up and take it off, tossing it aside. He eyes you, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes exploring all of you like you’re a painting hanging in a gallery.

You cup your breasts, feeling the velvety warmth of your skin beneath your fingers as the purple of your nail polish brushes against your hardened nipples. Slowly you tilt your head down and let a trail of spit fall to one nipple.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, pinching and pulling the sensitive peaks of your nipples. “Mmph–mmhmm,” he groans, nervously shuffling in his seat.

Bending forward and placing your hands on his knees gives him the perfect view of your breasts. A long sigh comes from him, his eyes planted on your tits. You like what you’re doing to him, you never start your dances off this close to a client, but you can’t resist him.

When your hands trail up to his thick thighs, the bulge of his pants makes your mouth water, tempting you to move towards it. Not yet.

Leaning closer, you nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells delicious… like eucalyptus and maple syrup. His quickening breaths puff out against your hair. You taste his skin with your tongue, licking your way up to his ear.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask along with the song.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters.

Pulling away, you wink before turning your back to him and delicately sit atop his lap. Sinking down against his broad chest, the heat radiating off him burns hot against your back. The song changes just as you feel the poke of his erection against your ass.

A poppy beat soundtracks your movements as you grind yourself against the heft of him, falling back, placing your head against his wide chest. Reaching back, your hands tangle in his soft hair, humming sweetly along to the sound, letting a few lyrics slip out of your mouth.

“I bet you we’d really have good bed chem”

Your client follows directions very well, staying perfectly still, gripping the armrests so hard the golden skin around his knuckles turn white. You rub yourself against the rough fabric of his jeans, getting off on the quiet whimpers he leaves in your ear.

RING. The fifteen minute bell rings.

“And I bet it’s even better than in my head”

You rise off his lap and bend over clasping your hands around your ankles, giving him the perfect view of your ass and dripping core. The song fades out, a deeper, sultrier drumbeat begins.

“Like you, like you, ooh, I found it hard to find someone like you”

Your body gently sways along to the slow, sultry beat, and when you flip your head back to glance at him, he lets a low groan out. Placing your hands on the floor, you walk them out ahead of you before you’re on all fours, spreading your legs wide to show him even more of your glistening pussy.

“Do you wanna touch me?” you ask, settling on your stomach, snaking a hand between your wide spread legs.

“Y-yes,” he huffs.

“I know you do Bravo,” you tilt your hips up hovering them above the ground, “let me show you how I like it.”

Your middle finger enters your soaked entrance as your thumb gently dusts light circles against your clit. Your hips move in beat to the heavy rhythm of the song.

“Oh god,” he pants, when you stick another finger in, the chair creaking underneath his tensity.

RING. The ten minute bell rings.

Choreography, that’s the business term for what you’re doing. It’s all timed out, you hear these songs at least ten times every work day. Though you never sit on your clients as close as you did with Bravo, you never taste their skin like you did with Bravo. He deserves more than the same memorized steps, something better than the repetition you offer all of the others.

The song changes, signaling you to start your new routine, you ignore the cue, rolling onto your back, arching slightly, your eyes meet his. His hands remain clamped on to the armrests, fingers digging into the velvet. He’s trembling with restraint, beads of sweat glistening on his skin. His erection swells, the tight fabric of his pants tenting.

“Do you wanna touch me Bravo?”

“I do,” he whines, the lines of his neck straining as his head thuds against the back of the chair.

“Okay, okay baby,” you sit up, turning to crawl towards him. Your eyes don’t leave his.

“And I can be all the things you told me not to be

When you try to come for me, I keep on flourishing”

Kneeling on your knees in front of him, you unlock one of his clutched hands, moving it to the soft skin of your breast.

“N-no touching I thought,” he stammers, his hand laying flat against your skin.

“I make my own rules, it’s okay Bravo,” you allow, grabbing his other hand and placing it on you.

He groans when he cups your breasts in his hands. You watch the tendons of his strong hand tense and release as he cups your breasts and massages them in his hold. He’s mesmerized by his movements, like he can’t believe you’re allowing him to touch you.

Your hand teases its way up his leg to the warmth of the apex of his thighs before gripping him, thick and hard underneath the constraints of his jeans.

“Oh fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

His words of adoration fall out of his mouth, eyes still locked on your tits covered by his hands.

You unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans as the choir sings God is a woman.

The song changes.

“You got, you got the cinema”

Your eyes light at the sight of his cock, standing tall and thick, precum leaking from the engorged tip. It’s just as beautiful and wide as the rest of your client.

Bravo lets out a garbled groan when you wrap your hand around his length, slowly pumping him along to the song. Up, down, up, down, the sexy beat soundtracking your movements.

RING. RING. The five minute bell rings. Your client doesn’t seem to heed the warning, only focusing on his thumbs swiping back and forth against the peaks of your nipples and your hand stroking the smooth silk of his cock.

“Touch me Bravo,” you rise, lifting a foot up on the armrest, keeping hold of his pulsing dick in your hand. “Give me two of your fingers.”

His eyes gaze down to your dripping cunt, watching himself as his hand sweeps down your body before parting your folds.

You got, you got the cinema

Your hips undulate to the tempo of the song as he sticks two of his long, thick fingers into your heat.

“God damn,” he mutters incredulously, “you’re so wet.”

The song changes.

A steady and slow funky guitar plays along with a soulful choir. It’s soft and romantic, exactly what you like to close down your shows with. You’ve never ended a show like this, your hand wrapped around your client’s wide cock, and your pussy clenching around two of his thick fingers. His thumb begins sweeping back and forth against your clit, he may have found himself at a brothel in Amsterdam, but your client has done this before. Perfect movements, perfect angle, you stare down in reverie at the focus he holds, watching himself touch you. His adoration of your body heats your core, lighting an orgasm just as beautiful as the song that plays.

“Fuck baby,” you pant, “I’m gonna cum.”

He blinks up to you, brown eyes staring intensely into yours when you bite your lip and send a gush of wet against his fingers. Your legs turn shaky, as your clit pulses against his thumb that blesses your sensitive bub with just the right amount of pressure. Moving his hand from between your thighs, he holds it up, marveling at the sight of your juices shining against his skin. You send him a smile as your leg drops to the floor, the rest of your body following, kneeling in front of him. He still stares at his hand, watching the strings of your orgasm stretch across his widely spread fingers.

“Smear it on your cock for me,” you say, planting both hands on his thighs.

He groans and nods before rubbing the remnants of your orgasm on his shaft. He shouts an indistinguishable sound when you lick a line up to his tip, tasting yourself and the salty tang of his precum. Your lips envelop the fat tip of him, sucking and slobbering your way down the thick length of him.

The song ends, the playlist repeats. The same quick drumbeat of the first song plays loudly.

You suck him to the beat, flicking your tongue against his tip with each “YEAH!” of the song.

RING. RING. RING. The final bells ring, signaling that your client should have left by now.

Bravo locks up. Your mouth unclasps from his cock.

“It’s okay,” you assure, “we have a word for–”

A heavy knock lands against the door.

“Driehoek (triangle) Pieter! I’m good in here, thanks!”

Three rapid knocks–softer now–signal Pieter’s departure.

“You guys really have it all fig–oh god,” he moans, when you take his cock back into your mouth.

His strong legs shake against your body as your cheeks hollow, taking him into your mouth faster and harder, his hips thrusting up to meet your mouth. Drool leaks out of the sides of your mouth, your eyes stare up at him blinking back tears as he reaches the back of your throat. You don’t know if he’s ever allowed himself this much freedom, it feels like you’ve unlocked something deep within him with the way he’s snarling and grunting “Irises” over and over.

“G-gonna–yeah–yeah–cum,” he gasps, hips stuttering and chair creaking as he spills into your accepting mouth.

Bravo, client. Bravo.

—

He can’t believe he just did that. He just–he–he just– came in the mouth of a complete stranger–nay–a prostitute. You told him you’ve never done something like that with a client as you tossed him a towel… and the funny thing is he actually believes you.

You shuffle back into the see through lilac dress as he zips his jeans back up. You really are the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, even if your purple eyeliner is now streaked from the tears that sprung in your eyes from gagging on his cock. Wow, that did just happen.

You leave a kiss against his cheek and open the door for him. Pieter escorts him out the back entrance with a knowing smile.

He walks back to his hotel, a new man with a clearer mind. Marcus really doesn’t feel the shame he expected he would. He knows a fine piece of art, and you just might be the finest he’s ever seen.

#marcus pike #pedro pascal #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fan fic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #fucktober #birthdaybaroness #pedro pascal fanfic

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muzanswaifu · 1 year ago

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Out of Options

Sugardaddy!Toji x Fem!Reader

18+

You needed money. He wanted free use. You weren't past making an exchange... until he started to get cheap. What else was a girl to do?

5k Words

Big thank you to my beta readers @mistymuichiro & @thosestarry-nights & @mrskokushibo !!!

Sfw Warnings: Sugar Daddy Toji, Sugar Baby Reader, Themes of prostitution, Angst, Bad Communication, Toxic Relationships, Creepy Old Men, Misogyny, Toxic Work Environment, Jealousy

Nsfw Warnings: Smut, Hints of Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! receiving), Cunnilingus, Squirting

The wooden frame of the bed slammed viciously into the thin walls of the motel bedroom, the withered coat of eggshell white chipping away with the ruthless collision, likely cracking the wood as well. The hellish creaking burned into your ears, scratching at the back of your brain and preventing any chance of relaxing in the moment. You’d had a shitty day, and the fact that this wasn’t even the worst of it was almost sad.

Work was exhausting, stupid old men yelling at you all day that you couldn’t do your job and the lead physician not doing a thing to stop them. Not to mention that you were in charge of most of the side work all day, replacing the instruments and utensils, emptying trash bins, cleaning out inpatient rooms, none of which was given to any of the newer technicians. You were good at what you did. You studied hard in school, you perfected all of your residency, you had astounding references. Your only flaw? Your gender. You were one of the only females in your department - hell - in the entire building. Most either quit or moved to different hospitals, entirely due to the terrible environment. None of your peers or superiors or inferiors respected you. You were always stuck with the dirty, side work while the others got to do what your job actually entailed, and the rare occurrences when you did get the opportunity to work with patients, they were always abusive to you. It was hell.

But what other choice did you have?

All the other openings at other hospitals were either filled or about to be. No other fields or retail jobs made enough pay. You didn’t have near enough money or grounds to seek out legal help. You were stuck. You were desperate for money. You were out of options.

You had family to take care of - two brothers, a sister, your mother. Dad died years ago in a car accident. Mom was already working overtime with two jobs, barely making ends meet. Rent, insurance, taxes, student loans, car payments, groceries, clothing, hospital bills, schooling, existing. It all cost money. So much money. It felt like you were suffocating. You were out of options.

Finally the creaking stopped. You back was already sore beyond belief and your legs numb. Your knees were probably bruised, too. Damn, you could go for some marble cheesecake right now. Your nose scrunched as you smelt the familiar scent of cigarette smoke, you lungs burning from the second hand nicotine.

“Here.”

A wad of cash fell across your back, the paper crunchy and bent. You groaned as you rose up, stretching your back out and hissing at how tight you were. How much was ibuprofen again?

You flicked through the money, your brow furrowing when you shuffled across the last layer.

“This isn’t enough,” you countered.

The end of his cigarette burned gold. He stood in front of the window, brushing away the curtain to peer outside as he took a drawl. He was still naked and didn’t seem in a rush to dress himself.

“It’d be more if ya didn’t make me wear a condom.”

You scowled but kept silent, fidgeting at the sides of your panties where he tied the damn things. The latex was knotted tight with each used rubber, five in total today. It’d be easier to just throw the whole pair away.

He took another hit.

“Won’t make our date on Saturday,” he mumbled, “got plans.”

You were already redressing yourself, desperate to get out of there and get going. Shower. Eat. Jerk off. Go to sleep. There were only so many hours in a day and you still had work in the morning.

You sighed, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He chuckled softly to himself. “How’s work.”

“Bye, Toji.”

The store wasn’t all that crowded surprisingly. It was Thursday afternoon, but people tended to not follow norms around here when it came to scheduling. They were out of marble cheesecake so you had to get turtle. It was too sweet in your opinion.

Everyone was asleep when you got home, but you were grateful for the privacy. Mom was still at work.

You locked your door and ruffled through your bottom drawer, fetching out your vibrator. The fan in your room was loud so nobody could hear it anyway. God, you were tired.

You never thought of anything particular when you were trying to get off, it honestly depended on the day. Sometimes you thought about getting eaten out slowly by a fireplace. Sometimes you thought about getting dicked down in a dark alley. No matter the scenario, there was only one similarity. You never imagined anyone in particular. You couldn’t put a face to the man. He was big, muscular, strong. You felt safe yet thrilled underneath him. But you couldn’t see him, if that made any sense.

Your sex drive had always been high. Ever since puberty you were antsy and pent up, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to date. Your first boyfriend was overwhelmed with how needy you were, and the moment you sensed his rejection, your attraction to him plummeted. You needed to feel secure before you felt horny. Were you demisexual? Maybe. You weren’t sure and hardly had time to find yourself.

You tried to find another partner again in your third year of college. There was a party at a local bar, and your friends hyped you up to go. You were both drunk, him more than you. He had whiskey dick. You didn’t feel comfortable. You left relatively quickly after calling him an uber. Failed again.

You didn’t try again after that.

You were fine keeping to yourself. You had your own assortment of toys awaiting you in your room. And work only solidified your hatred of the male species. You likely would’ve remained celibate forever if you hadn’t run into Toji.

You had just gotten off work, walking through the subway to catch the next train. Your engine was busted so your car was in the shop. Not many people were around, and the ones that were left after a while since it was taking too long. But you were too tired to walk so you stayed. The sketchy figures in the back didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Finally the train came and you got on, only about six people onboard. The man a couple feet down on the bench smelt like burnt flesh. He had a cigar in his mouth despite the no smoking sign. Whatever, it wasn’t any of your business. Your left side was occupied, surprisingly, despite the abundance of free seats. This man was close, too close. Two others gathered in front of you.

“Where ya headed to baby?

“Yeah, yeah, you need some company?“

“We’ll treat ya real nice.”

You tried to ignore their taunts, keeping your eyes down and trying to appear as small as possible. You immediately noticed when a knife was drawn.

“We’re tryna talk to you, bitch.”

The blade nicked the bottom of your jaw, your blood running cold.

“Yer makin’ too much ruckus over there.”

Everyone slowly turned to look at who spoke. The man looked without a care in the world.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask you, now did I old man?” The knife was now pointed to him.

He drew a long sigh and took out his blunt, pressing the lit end into the seat, the plastic screaming in agony.

You don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. Everything was a blur. Words were said. Punches were thrown. Bones were shattered. The man with the cigarette hardly got up from his seat, really. The next thing you knew he was sat back down and the others were lying on the floor, knocked out. You shifted your feet away so they didn’t get near the bodies.

Awkwardly, you tried to thank him, offer him what little you had in your pocket, mostly out of fear. You didn’t want to get on the bad side of someone who could so easily hurt people, and you didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Based on the scar that tore into his mouth, he’d seen his fair share of violence. He turned it down. You offered to buy him food. He turned it down. Medical care to clean his fists? He turned it down. You were out of options. Was there anything you could offer him? His answer still burned in your mind.

“You wanna fuck?”

The money afterward was unexpected. You woke up sore and broken, your thighs burning and covered in bruises. He was long gone, in his place a wad of cash that made your eyes bulge. Did he think you were a hooker? You weren’t sure. The sex wasn’t bad. You didn’t get off, but he obviously knew what he was doing. It felt nice. You felt safe.

Your next meeting, he found you walking the streets. Money in hand, stinking of booze. Wagging a room key in your face and giving you an address to go to if you need some money. Maybe he thought you were someone else. You didn’t care. You needed money and didn’t mind the sex. You were always wet enough to be comfortable for a decent amount of time, but it would hurt more after each round. You wish he didn’t last so long. Or for so many rounds. You wondered if he was even human. More money.

You had a couple rules for your… relationship. No kissing. No oral (for either of you). No raw contact or cumming on your body. No telling. You didn’t need a reputation.

He paid based on what he felt like paying you, but he was never stingy so you didn’t mind. Until lately.

He wasn’t paying as much as he used to. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as much. Maybe he was getting bored. You were worried.

You needed the money. You always needed money. And this wasn’t paying like it used to. It was a hard pill to swallow, but you knew what you had to do.

You needed another outlet.

It was going to be hard to find one. You were essentially selling your body, but you still had standards. You refused to sleep with anyone who you didn’t find attractive, anyone who was married, anyone dangerous. Your work was cut out for you.

And since you were now free on Saturday, you would go out then.

You put your siblings to bed early, double checking with mom that she’d be out until early morning. You dressed nice but not too nice. Hot but not too hot. It was a fine line you were walking, and you absolutely were not going to cross it.

The bar in the popular part of the city was going to be the number one spot for rich bachelors. You never went there yourself because it was so expensive and uptight, but you were looking to get drinks anyway. You didn’t have to wait long before you had a drink in front of you, courtesy of a gentleman sitting in a booth in the back. He was too old for you but you smiled at him. The others came quickly. You had the bartender sneak most of them into the sink. You couldn’t get drunk and most of these men you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. It was starting to get late. You didn’t spot anyone worth your while.

“This seat taken?”

You whipped around to your right, surprised to see a young man - no - someone your age in here. Not to mention attractive. You shook your head, trying to cover your own shock.

“Not a lot of… not… old guys in here, am I right?” He laughed, nodding toward the tables of older gentleman. Most were fifty or so. You felt gross now realizing how many were staring at you.

You laughed back nervously, “Yeah…”

“What brings you here?” He asked innocently, “Not that you don’t belong here! You just look… I don’t know - uncomfortable?”

You cringed. Did you look uncomfortable?

“Yeah, sorry. Just… hanging around, I suppose,” you offered. He was too cute now. You couldn’t bring yourself to take his money even if you wanted to.

He smiled. “Same here. I thought this place was going to be fun, but there’s not a lot to do.” He looked around. “Most of these guys are talkin’ business.” Looking around yourself, you realized he was right. Most of them were meeting up with business partners whiles others were trying to make business partners. Some looked pretty shady. You were getting more nervous by the minute.

“I-I have to go,” you mumbled quickly, getting up from your seat end creeping toward the door. He was surprised. “Uh, by-”

You bumped into something, stumbling back into the bar.

“Oi, you should watch where you’r-”

You gasped.

The music got louder. The air felt heavy. His eyes looked dark.

The corners of his mouth tugged down and his eyes narrowed. Sweat condensed on your brow.

“What are you doing here?” He growled, his stature big and menacing. His green eyes bore into you sharply.

“I-I-I-”

“Hey-” The boy from before was back. “Are you okay?” He looked to Toji and frowned.

“This guy bothering you?” He asked, all too naive. You gently pushed him back. You could see Toji about to pounce.

You pushed him back a little harder when he didn’t get the hint. “No, it’s fine, man,” you told him, “just go.”

He gave you another concerned look, but left when you gave him a stern one. You felt bad. He seemed nice.

Much to your disappointment, the other man you were dealing with didn’t just vanish into thin air. You sighed. “I was just about to leave, anyway.” You tried to step past him. He didn’t let you, his wide torso stepping in front of you. His smirk made your skin crawl.

“Let’s talk.”

You weren’t given the option to deny him as he stole you away, a large fist grabbing you arm far too harshly. He pulled you through the exit, dragging you down the crowded street. Any struggle you made was met with a firm tug, his grip getting tighter and tighter. You were definitely going to bruise.

When you’d rounded lone alleyway between the buildings, he’d pressed you against the wall, the grainy texture of the brick scratching your skin.

“What the fuck was that about, huh?” He hissed, his teeth sharp and burning white.

“You fucking around? You screw any of those fuckers?” He’d never been so angry with you before. He’d never been angry with you, period. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“N-no!” you argued, “Toji, no. What the hell - what are you doing here?” When he gave no answer, his eyes still glaring, you continued.

“You said you were busy today…”

No answer.

“I can spend my free time wherever I want.”

No. Answer. Your eyes glazed over, and you turned away from him.

“I… needed money…”

With that he seemed to let up.

“Money?” He scoffed. “This how you get money now? What the fuck happened to your job?”

“Nothing… I just needed more.” You bit your lip. “Your’s isn’t enough.”

“What do you mean mine isn’t enough?” He barked. He wrapped his hand under you jaw, his palm grasping your pulse.

“I told you I’d give you more if you let me screw you raw. Didn’t I?”

You swallowed thickly, tears clinging to your eyelashes.

You looked back at him with fear in your eyes, his hand slowly closing around your neck. His expression softened ever so slightly as he realized he was scaring you.

He released you with a huff and walked a few steps away, running a hand down his face.

“What’s the issue? STDs? Birth control? I’m clean, and I’ll get you pills-”

“No!”

He looked at you surprised. You calmed yourself down and rubbed your arms, suddenly feeling the chill of the air.

“Toji…,” you began, “we’re… not together. You have your fun, I get paid - that’s all we do.” You looked up at him softly. “I need more than what you’re giving me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You saying you don’t have fun.”

You bit your lip and looked away. He scowled. Wrong answer.

He took wide strides forward, cornering you against the wall yet again, this time with his hands on either side of your head, forcing you to face him.

“You saying you don’t love it when I fuck you? That your cunt doesn’t fuckin’ love my cock?

You frowned back at him.

“You tell me.”

His mouth thinned.

It was no secret that you didn’t come when you two fucked. It’s not like he was trying either. You always prepped yourself beforehand, lubing yourself up and stretching yourself out so he didn’t hurt you. And during your escapades, he always just pulled his dick out and got to it. He never touched you more than necessary, never tried to feel you up or grope around. His only goal was to get himself off. And you were fine with that. So long as he paid you.

His eyes looked at you softly, he almost looked guilty, but you knew him better than that. You sighed and pushed away from him.

“It’s late… I gotta go hom-”

He grabbed your wrist, squeezing tight.

You looked down at it, his hand engulfing your arm, his fingers and knuckles all too big for you. His nails dug into your skin and he pulled you back. You couldn't walk away if you wanted to. You were trapped. You wanted to push him away, you wanted to be mad, but you couldn't find it in yourself.

He leaned in, his eyes soft yet cold.

You flinched, his lips connecting with the side of your neck. He was rough, his mouth moving against your flesh in a sloppy kiss. His tongue flicked across your neck, and his teeth tugged at your skin. He was hungry. Always hungry. You pushed your free hand against him. He ignored it.

His free hand snaked up to the underside of your breast, the other dropping to your hip, his palm resting on the bone. His thumb rubbed at the exposed skin where your chest spilled out. You felt conflicted.

He bit you harshly, drawing blood. Your eyes widened and you hissed.

“So that’s what this was all about, huh?” He rasped, his bottom lip resting on your skin, his breath hot.

“Little girl not cumming like she wants to?”

You pushed his face away and groaned.

“As if you’ve ever gotten me off? I’m leaving.”

You went to move, but he kept his grip tight. He grabbed the other wrist as well. He squeezed hard, forcing you to gasp. He smirked.

“You’re this stubborn you’ve forgotten how to ask for things? You had me worried there. Thought you were tryna end things for real.”

Your face flushed in anger and embarrassment. You yanked your arms away but he didn't let go. You tugged once, twice, three times - he didn't let go. You yelped as he tugged back, forcing you to stumble and fall against him. He pressed his hips against yours, his groin digging into your stomach. You grunted at the pressure, your toes curling at the contact. He was hard already, his cock throbbing against your navel.

He pinned your arms over your head, his weight forcing you up against the wall, his mouth looming over yours. You turned your head to the side. He couldn’t kiss you, that was against the rules. His hot breath fell down your cheek and neck.

He leaned in again and you turned away.

He was hungry. Always hungry.

He leaned in again. And again.

You whimpered softly and groaned. Your heart throbbed.

You swallowed thickly as he leaned in again, your chest heaving, his lips brushing against your jaw. You shook your head weakly. He huffed, a deep, almost animalistic rumble leaving his chest.

You whined and shut your eyes.

His tongue smoothed over your jawline, his hand finally letting go of you.

You placed a hand on his shoulder but didn't push him away. He was too strong, anyway.

He grunted and ran his fingers through your hair, grasping a handful and pulling your head back. You whined, the sound only encouraging him to continue, your hair tightening in his fist. He pushed his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing against your pelvis, the fabric of your skirt doing nothing to stop the feeling.

“C’mon sweetheart, Don’tcha wanna feel good?” He cooed.

He forced you into the wall once more, his free hand moving down to your thigh, squeezing the skin just under your knee. He pulled your leg up, wrapping it over his hip, his bulge rubbing your heat. A chuckle rose deep within his throat, and he licked at your ear.

“Ugh, Toji, stop it! You’re being annoying,” you complained, despite the thrill lacing up your spine. He laughed.

“Don’t lie,” the man crooned. “I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll be beggin’ me to fuck ya.”

Your cowered away. “Wha-” Umph.

You couldn’t finish as you we dropped onto a hard surface, a mixture of both brick and stale dirt. Looking up, dead branches and deader leaves filled your vision. The alley way had led to a smaller subsection of the street, a lone crevice in the city district that was long abandoned and withering away. Your dress was smushed into the dirt of the old dirt bowl that was in the center of the small courtyard, the tree taking root twisted and weak. It almost seemed pitifully metaphorical to your current situation.

A scheming hand slithered up your thigh, scrunching back your crinkled skirt and hiking it around your hips, your lacey g-string fully exposed.

“Fuck,” Toji moaned, licking his lips, “You were definitely looking to get fucked tonight.”

“No I wasn’t!” You countered nervously, trying to press your thighs together to hide yourself. Despite being in an abandoned area, you were still in a public space and didn’t want to be seen by anyone. Much less be here for the long duration it took him to be satisfied. But this time felt a bit different. He was taking his time, touching you more, teasing. He usually got straight to business and had his fly down by now, but instead it was you who was being undressed, his big, warm hands encompassing your thighs and groping them. He was trying to break another rule, you could feel it. He had a devious look in his eye. He smiled at you.

“How much to touch your pussy?”

You were taken aback by the question, squeezing your thighs even tighter.

“Wha- that’s off limits!”

“No, no,” he insisted, “everything’s got a price, baby. What’s yours?”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. You’d never seen him so adamant to give you pleasure, much less offer money for it. From your experience, men were hesitant to do anything besides receive, convincing themselves that woman adored pleasing them. And the rare moment when they did touch a girl, it was always careless and short-lived, the only real goal to get them wet enough to be a slippery hole. You weren’t in the mood to be disappointed.

“Thirty thousand yen? Forty?”

“Not interested.”

“More?”

“No.”

He leered.

“Three. Hundred. Thousand.”

Your eyes bulged. Mouth gaping.

“Th-thats…”

“Going once,” he announced. “Going twice!” Don’t let him get to three.

You could get a new computer with that, replace your old busted one that had lost half the keys and took fifty years to load.

“Going-”

“I’ll do it!” You gasped, defeated. “I’ll do it…”

His paws squeezed your thighs, drifting up the insides and gently prying them apart. You hardly fought him when you realized that was the only way you were going to get the money. New computer. New computer. You tried to focus on the positives.

Toji pressed his cheek into your inner thigh, kissing your skin softly. You shivered at the feeling of his soft lips brushing your flesh. He moved up your leg, placing his hands on each side of your panties and tugging them down, your skin glistening with sweat as he pulled the cloth against the curves of your flesh. He pulled your legs apart further and licked a long stripe up your skin. the wetness cold on your overheated flesh. You clenched your teeth. You were on the verge of telling him the deal was off, but his tongue brushed against your core and you could no longer find the words. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving marks in his wake.

Your core throbbed.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the pot, your body lying at an awkward angle, the base of your spine aching.

Toji pressed a thumb against your slit, dragging it across your folds and collecting your slick on the pad. You shuddered.

He ran the pad of his thumb across your clit, rubbing slow circles into the bundle of nerves. You gripped his hair with one hand, tugging it hard, his muffled groan tickling your core. His finger slipped between your folds, easily entering your wet hole, his finger much bigger than your own. You grunted at the intrusion, the thick digit stretching your inner walls, his knuckle pressing against your clit as he bottomed out inside of you. He wiggled his finger, stretching your walls before pumping his finger in and out of your cunt, dragging out every little noise he could from your mouth.

He pulled you closer to the edge of your seat, your legs dangling in the air as he sat between your thighs, your hands digging into the dirt beneath you for support.

His finger moved slowly within you, his eyes never leaving yours, a fire burning within his emerald eyes. You grunted when he added another finger, the feeling almost too much for you. Your noises echoed briefly throughout the courtyard, bouncing off the concrete and surrounding buildings, and you were all too aware of how loud you were being. You pulled harder on his hair as the knot in your stomach grew tighter.

But you tried to keep your composure, your body still tense with the fear of your surroundings. Any moment someone could come waltzing by, see what you two were doing, your disheveled appearance, perhaps even try to take advantage. Your alarm hindered your concentration on the pleasure.

“What’s up?” You heard, turning your eyes back down to look at him. You hadn’t realized your gaze had wandered to the opening in the walls to where the city life buzzed about. He glanced over to where you were looking.

“Ain’t nobody comin’ over here. Relax,” he mumbled, his eyes getting warm again. “I’ll protect ya. Just relax.”

Your heart throbbed at the promise, warmth enveloping your body. You hesitantly let your head fall back and sighed, dropping your shoulders. His free hand moved to the hem of your skirt and pushed it up over your belly. He wanted a good view. You didn't care. You felt… safe.

His fingers picked up speed, fucking you harder as you bit your lip. His thumb moved back to your clit, rubbing circles on the swollen button. You hummed and sighed, his fingers twisting inside you. The pleasure began to build up again, boiling in your belly and tingling up your spine. And just when you got comfortable he only took it further.

Heat enveloped your clit, wet and slippery and hot like a warm bath. You gasped out, squirming around a bit and digging your nails into the roots in the ground. Looking back down, you confirmed your theory. Toji’s head was between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy and wrapped around your little bead, his fingers still working inside of you. Soft pants and whines left your mouth, your legs shaking around his head as he continued to suck at you, his tongue swirling around and prodding under the hood, leaving you slick and sensitive. Your core throbbed.

You felt a sharp pressure inside you, and then a slow stretch. You yelped. A third finger was entering you, your cunt molding around the thick digit. You writhed again, trying to ease the ache of the intrusion. His other hand rested on your belly, gently smoothing over your skin as he ate you. His head moved side to side, tongue laving over you, his hands never stopping their movements. Oh god. It felt like you going to- to-

“Ah!,” you moaned, shaking viciously and clutching at his head, holding him in place. You were melting, you were sure of it. Everything was slipping away from you, your bones, your brain, your worries. His tongue kept lashing at you, extending your pleasure and refusing to slow down. His fingers remained pressed against your sweet spot, his other hand pushing on your belly. It was all too much, you were squealing with overstimulation. It got tighter. And tighter. And tighter. Until something popped.

All the tension broke from your body, the shocking sensations melting into something warm and fuzzy. You slowly let go of everything, all tension easing away from you and allowing for complete bliss to take over. Sweet sighs and mewls left your lips, your back lying against the dirt as you caught your breath and waited for your head and pussy to stop tingling. Another whine was pulled from you when he took his fingers and mouth away from you, unraveling your legs from his head and stepping back.

“You fallin’ asleep now?” He laughed.

You pouted and groaned. “No… jus’… gimme a sec.” Your bones were like jelly, your eyelids heavy. He cackled at you and that was the push you needed to get off your ass. He looked smitten.

“Good, right?” He crooned, wiping his mouth, “Ya fuckin’ squirted on me.”

Your face got dark and you looked to your lap, embarrassed.

“Nothin’ to be ashamed about princess.” He assured, fishing out his wallet and shufflling through the bills. He took out a stack and threw it in your lap.

“It was hot.”

You groaned again and dug your face into your hands, trying to ignore his raspy laughing.

You jolted when you felt his breath on you, looking up and freezing. His eyes burned into you.

“Now next time, let’s work out this condom situation, alright?”

You gulped.

Part 2 coming eventually...

2K notes · View notes

llamagoddessofficial · 1 year ago

Text

A commission with Nightmare, Cross and a wonderful OC, for the lovely @sansarae (who for some reason Tumblr won't let me properly @ >:/)

I hope the wait wasn't too annoying- thank you for your patience, I really appreciate it!

---

“Oh. Hello again.” You smiled at the monster before you, with a touch more genuineness than your usual go-to customer service grin. “What can I get for you?”

... The skeleton looked up. His eyelights were a sharp, startling red, bloody and intense in a manner that didn’t seem to fit his otherwise pleasantly monochromatic clothing at all. At your comment, his sockets slightly narrowed.

“You... remember me?” he said, slowly.

Your smile immediately twitched with nervousness. What? You couldn’t pick up on his tone. He was staring at you with an unreadable, near-blank expression. Did you say something wrong? What had you done?

“Of... of course I do,” you replied, voice nearly quivering as your usual awkwardness took over. Why did that give him pause? Did you offend him?

...

You couldn’t make sense of his face. He was just staring at you, like that; did he really look accusatory, or were you just seeing things because you were scared? Your lip wobbled- idiot. This is what you get for attempting anything more than you were comfortable with, anything more than customer service politeness. This exact scenario was why you found people so exhausting... why you were so introverted.

“I mean,” you rushed for proverbial cover. “I work at a cafe. It’s my job to remember people, y’know?”

His face didn’t shift. His voice was monotone.

“... I see.”

...

... Well. That was that, then. You felt sick.

“Erm... so what can I get for you?”

Why was he surprised, anyway? How could you not remember him? He had stumbled into the building, a few days ago, a little before closing. It had just been you left in the cafe. He had looked a mess, as if he’d just escaped a natural disaster- dressed in torn clothing, he approached the counter with faraway empty eyelights and the expression of a man who had seen far too much to care anymore. With a calm voice, he asked for ‘anything that would make him feel awake’.

You’d been too stunned (and intimidated) to try conversation. You had served him a large black coffee, which he’d taken, leaving behind a generous tip. He had seated himself in the far corner of the cafe with his back to a wall... and he drank the whole thing in silence, staring nowhere but at the table.

... Then he left without a word.

You’d had a lot of strange customers come through, in your time behind the counter. That was just part of running a business. You still vaguely remembered the best of them... the woman who had insisted you redo her coffee because the one you’d given her was ‘looking at her’, the man who had been otherwise friendly but always smelled so strongly of cinnamon it almost made you feel sick, the guy who yelled at you for making his strawberry milkshake too pink.

But him? The skeleton? You didn’t know why, but out of everyone, it was him who stuck the most firmly in your mind.

... Eventually, he spoke. You didn’t know if he genuinely looked upset or if you were just so embarrassed by his reaction that you were seeing unpleasantness and irritation in his every move.

“... I’ll get a chamomile tea. Please.”

At least he was polite. Tea- nothing at all like his last order. “Sure. Your name?”

... He hadn’t given it last time. Understandably, considering he had been the only person in the entire cafe. But you had other customers this time and ‘skeleton’ probably wouldn’t go down well when you called it out.

He looked at you.

...

“... Cross.” He said, softly.

You smiled at him. “Thank you, Cross. Cash or card?”

Saying his name seemed to have a weird effect on him. A strange look passed over his face, shaking his silent suspicious air for a second.

... He finally blinked.

“... Cash.”

“Gold or dollars?”

“G.”

The register beeped.

“That’s 12G, please.”

... He handed you the money.

...

His mouth opened, then closed again. You waited politely. But... he said nothing. He just quietly took his tea, and made his way to the same far table he’d sat at earlier.

Though he sat in silence, it didn't escape your notice that every now and then, you'd catch him looking your way.

... You opted to just keep yourself busy with your work. Though you had to admit- for some reason, when the thought of 'What an odd guy' passed through your mind...

... It wasn't entirely negative.

///---///

'Cross' came nearly every day.

You were surprised how much of your thoughts revolved around this stranger. He occupied your mind, as you set our equipment, wiping cups and plates... I wonder how he’s doing.

He was very punctual. You liked that. He rarely arrived outside of certain hourly windows, and there was always a pattern to his arrivals. On a good day, he would come in the early morning- depending on the crowds he may even be one of the very first people into the cafe. He'd seem aware, and like he wanted to say something to you... he'd order a tea, and through your shift you'd constantly be glancing up and catching him (sheepishly?) looking at you.

... On a bad day, though... he’d come late. Like the first time you saw him. His eyelights would be distant, his tone brittle, words clipped, someone checked out of their own body. He would just stare at his table like something was playing out in front of his view. Those were the days when he would order a large coffee.

... Today looked like it was shaping out to be one of his ‘bad’ days. It was almost four when he came into the cafe, the last of your usual patrons already shuffling out the door.

Quickly, you started up the coffee machine, and made him his coffee. He had only been standing at the counter for a few moments, when you turned around and placed the drink in front of him.

...

He blinked. His eyelights fractionally widened, growing a little brighter.

“... You knew my order?”

Despite his softer tone, not wanting a repeat of last time, with his strange reaction to you recalling his name... you just nodded.

Another pause, as he just stared at the coffee.

“Nobody else remembers anything about me.”

... Huh. That was a pretty heavy sentence. You tried to keep your tone light, in comparison.

“... Well,” you tapped the coffee lid, “it definitely helps that you only order the same two things. Right?”

...

... His gaze flickered up to you.

... He finally actually smiled at you. His shoulders gently bobbed, like he was briefly restraining a chuckle- the smile looked nice on him, it was handsome and suited his features. And though it quickly fell away to his usual not-quite-a-frown, you were startled by how different he had looked for that brief moment... how pleasant, how warm. Like there was a happier person lurking just beneath the surface.

“Heh... yeah. I guess so.”

His phalanges tapped on the top of the coffee. Over top of where yours had been, moments ago.

Your customer service voice was slowly slipping away. His proximity was... nice. “Do you need anything else?”

"I like your braids."

"... Thank you." One of your hands immediately came up to fiddle with the hair. Was the warmth in your cheeks showing on your face? You really hoped not. "It's easier to work when it's out of the way."

"I wouldn't know."

...

Both of you broke into quiet laughter. Yours, a warm giggle, his a low rusty chuckle.

“... What’s your name?” He asked.

You usually hated when customers asked for your name, pushing the boundary of customer and server. But... not this time, not at all. You couldn't have been happier. “Rin.”

“... Do you mind if I just... sit here?” He motioned to the seat nearest to the counter.

You nearly beamed.

“Sure. Go ahead.”

... You thought you saw something flicker across his cheekbones. Some kind of colour. But it was gone again, as soon as it appeared; perhaps just a trick of the light. Or your eyes finally showing the strain of so many hours of work. Either way, he took his coffee, and settled into the chair at the table right beside the counter.

... It was silent again, in the cafe. But it was a much different silence. You, wiping down the machines and packing away for the day... Cross, taking his time with his drink.

It really felt, to you, like he just needed to sit near to someone.

... You could live with that person being you.

///---///

Cross was good at keeping his cool. After what he’d been through, what he’d done... his nerves of steel had been forged under unimaginable pressure. He didn’t like that it had become genuinely hard for anything to shake him anymore; it was endless proof of his sins, living in his chest and smothering the person he had once been.

That was why, when Nightmare’s terrifying eye turned to him and pinned him under all of its icy power and rage, cold blue flickering against the castle’s glassy obsidian walls... he didn’t flinch.

“you.” Nightmare’s voice, despite having a light intonation, was not happy. “a word.”

... Cross didn’t react to Killer’s cruel snickering. He didn’t even look the other skeletons’ way- he knew Killer would be grinning like a cat, Axe would be cleaning his weapon with his characteristic disinterest, and Dust would be silently enjoying the beginnings of what may eventually become a slow, painful downfall for Cross.

These people were not his friends. They were deeply unpleasant coworkers, at best.

... Cross followed Nightmare, as his ‘employer’ moved into a separate room. The door closed behind them, cutting off Killer’s laughter.

Blue candlelight warped and flashed in the dark.

...

A tentacle lashed out, faster than Cross could react, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him into the wall. He let out a startled gasp as the appendage held him there, tightly, the pressure increasing until it felt like his spine was inches away from fracturing.

Nightmare’s glare pierced straight into Cross’ Soul.

“you think i’m an idiot?”

Cross couldn’t reply, the pressure on his spine too great. But he reckoned Nightmare wasn’t looking for a response.

“you’re getting soft. you’re hesitating.” Nightmare’s head cocked. “did you think i wouldn’t notice?”

Nightmare’s grip fractionally increased, and he clearly spent a few seconds savouring watching Cross struggle in vain. The twitch in his smile, the bend to his claws, he looked to be taking out as much rage as he could in those short moments.

But apparently, he wasn’t yet willing to kill- despite clearly desiring to press until the spine shattered, Nightmare instead clenched his jaw and let go.

Cross nearly collapsed onto his knees. The quick display of Nightmare’s overwhelming power had staggered him. But he still managed to catch himself, at the last moment, and remain standing.

Perhaps it would’ve been better to fall. The silent defiance in that move seemed to aggravate Nightmare even more.

“you aren’t subtle.” Nightmare hissed. “you move through the multiverse with the grace of a dog in wet concrete. i know you like to slink off to other places. what are you doing? crawling away to go build a new family?”

Cross kept his line of sight down. Nightmare had the powers of a God, but he had the temper of a petulant child, and in these kinds of moods the smallest slips from his minions could push him into a fit of violent rage that sent all of them scurrying for cover.

“No.” Cross responded, as simply as possible, voice strained from the attack to his neck. Now wasn’t the time for flowery words; Nightmare still wasn’t looking for a real reply.

A cruel snicker. “trying to escape? settle down somewhere i can’t find you?”

Your face flickered in Cross’ mind’s eye.

Not right now.

“No.”

“... i like to think you have forgotten i taste lies. because i resent the thought that one of my underlings is so stupid as to know that, but still lie to me.”

Cross steeled himself. “I have nothing to hide.”

“not even that little human woman?”

...

... It took all of his mental control. Every ounce. Another skeleton would’ve cried aloud, perhaps, or frozen as the terror spread through them. Someone they cared about had been noticed by Nightmare... singled out, almost by name.

... You had no idea how much you meant to Cross. No idea that you were often the only thing that could soothe his disturbed Soul when it all felt too much. Your warmth, your kind eyes, how you remembered little details about him... and said his name so gently.

Hearing someone say his name with kindness had been like, for just a moment, being home again.

You didn't know how protective he was of you. What he’d do to keep you safe. And he couldn’t, at any cost, allow Nightmare to think you were someone to him.

He kept his gaze on the glassy black floor. He kept his emotions still.

... He had stifled truly monumental loss and terror, before. This was nothing new.

"... She's a barista." Cross said.

"so that's it?” an incredulous scoff. “you're hopping multiverses to go drink coffee at the same shitty coffee shop in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yes, sir."

"you could go anywhere for your coffee. you could go to italy. indonesia. brazil. anywhere at all- and you go there?"

"Yes." Because you’re there.

...

... Nightmare seemed to be quietly fuming. Though whether it was because he couldn't pin any particular 'crime' onto Cross, or because his snobbery with coffee was coming through, he had no idea.

They both knew that Cross was too valuable of a pawn to die for no solid reason.

... Eventually, Nightmare's rage eased enough for him to speak again.

"i don’t care what games you play in your free time, worm.” His voice was significantly lower. “but you know what will happen, if you don’t do your fucking job. hesitate again, and i certainly won't."

“... It won’t happen again.” Cross replied, not yet allowing himself to feel relief.

The cyan eye flashed. “it won’t happen again, what.”

“... It won’t happen again, sir.”

...

"fine. you may go."

Cross rose to his feet, but kept his eyelights down. He exited the room as swiftly as he could, without appearing desperate to leave.

Don’t feel yet.

Killer was there, of course, waiting just outside the door. Grin as smug and cruel as ever.

"oh, so you're still alive?" The murderer crooned. "for how long, though...?"

Cross gave Killer a witheringly unimpressed look. He had no need to engage in one of his games- he just needed to get as far away from Nightmare as possible, so he could allow himself to process the fears that were itching at the corners of his Soul, threatening to give everything he was hiding away.

He wordlessly walked past Killer. As always, the only thing that seemed to make Killer's constant grin drop was Cross refusing to engage.

///---///

Moving between universes was second nature, by this point in Nightmare’s existence. So much so that he wasn’t at all exaggerating when he said he could see how Cross had moved from one place to the other. The fabric between realities looked disturbed and jagged, in the wake of someone moving clumsily; a rippled pond surface, traces of the offender’s Soul saturating the threads.

It wasn’t difficult to track down where his subordinate had been going. And who he’d been going to.

...

... You turned over, in your bed. There was a soft kind of pain written across your face, something happening within your dream. pathetic. Nightmare tilted his head, as he observed... even if you had been awake, he was indistinguishable from the shadows at the foot of your bed.

Cross' scent was all over you- embarrassing, mushy soft feelings that the 'soldier' clearly couldn't help, they had spilled out of his Soul and stained all over you like a foul hotel blanket under a blacklight. Nightmare almost couldn't stand to be near it.

And yet. Under it all- in your chest, he could see a glittering, jewel-like purple Soul.

Nightmare’s gaze zeroed in. she’s a perseverance mage.

... His smile curled. A little more interesting. Did Cross know? Did you know? There was a significant degree of power, flowing through those veins, magic just waiting to be harnessed. Even Nightmare couldn’t deny it was pretty to observe- he was always partial to royal purple.

... You made a sound, in your sleep. A crease formed between your brows.

...

Well. He was curious, now. And he hadn’t tormented a human in a long time.

He slipped, completely undetected by your Soul and mind, into your dream. Before he began to terrify you it was probably a good idea to observe your thoughts, get a sense of any treachery Cross may have committed... any details his underling may have spilled, that could justify erasing another human pest from the multiverse.

... A myriad of pleasant tastes. Melancholy, loss, a hint of misplaced and directionless anger. Overall, a delicate combination of flavours, but sweet nonetheless.

He could see the dream’s scene, emerging before him. how delightful.

... Dreams were, by no means, easy places to be. Though Nightmare was powerful he was also an interloper and there was a real danger that a strong human Soul like yours could cast him out. The dreams of mages were often like rocking boats on a great ocean- until he took the reins, the residual waves made him feel sick, tossed about. It was important to get his bearings.

The backdrop was a sea of blurry images, nearly-forgotten places melting together in your mind. A park, a bedroom, a dark street. And... there was two of you.

...

... No. He could smell the emotions rolling off of you, as you stared at this mirror image of yourself. The mirror image... she wore different clothes. Frilly and sweet ones. The adult features of her face were exaggerated, imagined- unlike your messily self-braided locks, her hair was sweetly ringlet curled, as if done lovingly by another's skilled hands.

And her eyes, though so similar to yours, were someone else’s eyes.

Melancholy. Regret. Anger.

...

Nightmare suddenly... felt his chest tighten.

that's... her sister.

a twin.

... His thoughts were getting quieter and quieter. Static, faintly ringing in his skull... he couldn't taste the emotions anymore.

“... I wonder if you would’ve cared.” You said, quietly, to the blank and silent sister before you. “I guess I’ll never know.”

The reflection didn't smile.

His brother's face flickered in his mind's eye.

...

Nightmare drew in a sharp breath- suddenly staggered, he immediately withdrew from the dream. He moved back from the bed like a live snake was laying within it.

He gripped his shirt. His chest... it was so heavy. Why did it feel so heavy? He took another step away.

i didn't think anyone could comprehend how i felt.

let alone...

... He didn't like how, when he looked at you, for a moment he didn't immediately see prey.

Just a sleeping person.

...

In an instant, he was back in his room. Back in his castle, where he was safe, and alone.

...

Nightmare let out a slow, dark breath. And though he hadn't yet fully re-centred himself, his grin regardless began to return.

As much as he was aggravated by Cross... he almost had to thank him.

His ‘soldier’ had bought such a fascinating creature to his full attention, after all.

#commissions #its a total accident that i post a commission abt cross after he wins the sexyman contest #ig the universe had to will it

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emjiroki · 1 year ago

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Bowling Alley Owner! Satoru Gojo x New Employee! Reader

wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings: Coercion, workplace harassment, creampie, exhibitionism, suggestive jokes, me attempting to be funny , reader being a little slutty but we love it

link to song playing in beginning

A/N: Hi everybody! my entry to the slimeball collab is finally here! I had maybe too much fun with this one honestly, Gojo is just so fun to write for. Hope everyone enjoys and gets a laugh or two ♡ Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are always appreciated (and treasured like gold) @bastardblvd

Please go enjoy all of the amazing works on the collabs masterlist》 Slimeball Masterlist

The animated neon signs glowed brightly against the wet pavement and the ‘Help Wanted’ flier in your hand. Having to move to this hell hole of a town was bad enough but trying to find a job in it was worse, at this point this shitty Bowling Alley seemed to be the best option. You pushed the door open to the smell of shoe polish, floor cleaner, and stale pizza; 'Cold as Ice' by Foreigner playing from the overhead speakers. These facts alone made you want to turn and make your way out, maybe try and get a job at the convenience store down the street.

“Wait! Hold on a minute! Don’t go anywhere” a voice called out to you from behind the shoe counter a few paces from the door as the electric chime of the door rang out. There was a crash of something being knocked over and then the door to the back office opened. A tall man with a shock of white hair, round black sunglasses, and a red “Grab your balls, we’re goin' Bowling” t-shirt stepped out. Yeah, you were leaving.

“You here for a game or two? We close the lanes at midnight, but the beer tap is open until three” He commented, nodding down to your feet before turning to the shoe rack behind him, “What size are those grippers?”.

“Uh, actually some guy was tossing these fliers out of his mail truck this morning and I was hoping to get an application,” You said, ignoring his question and handing him the paper when he held his hand out. He glanced at it with a smirk.

“Good! Suguru’s been giving them out, kinda wanted him to tape them in the laundry mat or something but littering is just as good” He muttered almost dejectedly, before tipping his dark glasses down, his blue eyes so bright you thought they might be contacts, “the names Gojo by the way, Satoru Gojo” He stuck a big hand out across the counter and shook yours delicately. You tell him your name when he expects a reply with an arched brow.

“So do I just come and grab my application from the manager tomorrow or something?” You asked, slightly looking atop the shoe rack to see if could see any and then next to the cash register. None in sight.

“What size shirt do you wear?” Gojo asked leaning into the back office and rifling through a cardboard box. You told him with a questioning tone before being startled by a bright red t-shirt flying at your face. The very obvious grimace at the near-obscene work shirt had the white-haired man busting into a laugh, wiping a fake tear from under his eye.

“That never gets old” He snorted, smoothing his hair back, “I’ll give you a quick tour of the place tomorrow, your shift starts at five”.

“Wait so you’re-”

“The manager? Yeah. and the owner” He replied, wiping a rag against the already shining counter, “Paid the homeless guy that was holed up in here a bag of burgers for the place, never even had to go to city hall”. You were about to question the legitimacy of his business but decided maybe you didn’t want to know. You needed a job and as long as you were getting paid you didn’t care. And well if you admitted it, the boss was pretty easy on the eyes.

4:56 pm

You might have been less than enthused to wear the “Company” t-shirt but starting a new job always gave you a small bit of excitement, or apprehension, you weren’t really sure in this case. The door had barely shut behind you before you could hear Gojo shouting.

“You know you’re not allowed in here anymore!”

“Awe come on Satoru, the bar and the liquor joint both kicked me out cause of my tabs, just one beer” whoever it was tried to reason.

“No! Last time I let you in here you sucked on all the nozzles and gave my customers HPV, Get out!”. Your boss and a heavily muscled dark-haired man came from around the corner from where you assumed the bar was, Gojo whipping him with a cleaning rag in precise snaps against the man’s face and arms as he tried to shield himself. You stepped out of the way as he was herded towards the door, braising his thick arms against the doorframe to keep from being shoved out. The man noticed you standing just off to the side, a lecherous smirk forming on his scarred lips despite the onslaught as he gave you a once over with his vibrant green eyes.

“Pretty little employee Satoru should let me break her in for you” He grinned, catching the rag across the mouth.

“Ijichi! Get the broom!” Gojo called, a spindly man with glasses hurrying from the backroom with a wooden janitor's broom clutched in his fists. The dark-haired man was clobbered twice over the head with the thick bristled end before escaping out the door with an “Ow Fuck!”; Gojo slammed the door and locked it behind him.

"First tip I'll give you sweet cheeks," Satoru said, turning his attention back to you still standing by the counter, "Don't let him in, he'll huff the shoe polish and get you pregnant". You nodded, not knowing really what to say to that bit of information.

“Aren’t you going to unlock the doors so customers can come in?” You asked as he stepped away, pushing his hair back and adjusting his black glasses.

“Toji likes to lurk around and hunt for pizza scraps in the dumpster so Ijichi will handle it once he’s gone,” He said, standing nearly toe to toe with you as your heart leaped to your throat. The way he filled out the tight red t-shirt and his dark jeans had your mouth going dry as he leaned down to get even closer to you, did he look this good yesterday?

“Besides,” He said, his breath warm against your cheek and smelling like those pink strawberry gumballs, “gotta show you around and loosen you up a bit before I unleash you to the customers right?”.

“R-Right, guess that makes sense” You stammered, did he just say what you think he did? He straightened himself to his full height before throwing his arm around your shoulders with a grin, practically dragging you around the corner down the short steps toward the lanes. The alley wasn't big. Six bowling lanes, a small arcade with a couple of out-of-order signs, a bar with run-down stools, and a pizza oven barely big enough to fit two pies. Nothing too big or flashy but just enough to be kinda fun, if you’re drunk enough.

“Lane two has a bump in it from a burst water pipe if you get complaints just tell them we’ve got a contractor coming and give them a coupon” Gojo explained, long arm still draped around your shoulder as he directed you around manually, your feet stumbling a little here and there.

“When will the contractor be here?” You asked, knowing the answer before he even said it.

“When this town decides to get one I guess,” He shrugged with a smirk, “Oh, and all the coupons are expired but that’s for Ijichi to handle so don’t worry about it”. Maybe some questions are better left unanswered.

“Now with Lane Five, the balls get stuck in the return shoot, especially the heavy ones. Sometimes you’ll have to stick your hand in to pull them out”. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling. Gojo stood at the control panel and set a one-round practice game, grabbing a sixteen-pound ball from the rack behind him and playfully balancing it on one finger with a grin before slotting his fingers in the holes.

“You any good at the game?” He asked curiously, his pretty blue eyes making your tongue go dry as peeked over the edge of his dark glasses. You shook your head, never really being that great at any kind of sports games in general.

“Well I am, but then again I’m pretty much good at everything” He boasted with a smile.

“Not very good at being humble” You retorted, receiving a snort from the tall man in return.

“Give me some time sweetheart,” He said with a wink, lining up his shot when the pins set themselves, “I’ll show you everything I’m good at”. He took two steps to the lane and let it fly, the orange ball turned basically to a blur and crashed into the pins in a perfect strike. The ball return made a soft grinding whirring sound as it struggled, the machine finally stopping with an error message flashing on the screen and the orange ball snugged just at the entrance of the machine.

“See? Now it's just the suction behind it because the machine’s a little older so all you have to do” He started, pressing the red cancel button on the side of the return shoot to stop the mechanisms, “Shut the machine down and slide your hand around to find the holes and pry it out”. You stepped up to the machine, sliding your hand around searching for the finger holes.

“I can’t quite get it,” You said in frustration when you were barely able to squeeze your fingers around. The words had barely left your mouth before Gojo was behind you, his sculpted arms going around you, one hand going down to your hip and the other snaking down the length of your arm and into the machine.

“Just feel for the holes,” He said so close to your ear that you couldn’t help the shiver racing down your spine. You could practically feel the smirk forming on his lips as he leaned in, his face almost to your throat as he pressed himself against your back, “Pull a little”. You tugged on the ball but it seemed stuck more than you thought. You felt Gojo’s long fingers graze yours, gently grasping your hand and guiding it forward, the tips of your fingers finally touching the hole edges.

“Good, pull harder” The feeling of his warm palm over the back of your hand had your heart thumping, his fingers squeezing yours in encouragement making your breath hitch.

“Harder”. Did he mean for his voice to sound so silky? like you were doing something far lewder than simply removing a bowling ball from a machine. You could feel the ball turning, easing out of the opening just as the edge of your hips met the machine and you could feel his hardening length press against the curve of your ass. This might have been a bit inappropriate, he was your boss after all and you had only just started working here, but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. If he wanted to play this little game then you could too and you’d enjoy it every step of the way, besides, it was hard to deny a man so handsome especially when he was not so keen on hiding his interest in the first place. The soft gasp that escaped him as you arched and pressed yourself back against him had a sly smile breaking across your lips, his hand on your hip gripping just a little tighter. At that moment you tugged just a bit harder and the ball came free, weighing your arm down for a second before Gojo took it from you.

“Knew you could do it, not too hard right?” He asked, moving off your back to set the ball back on the rack.

"Sure, I appreciate you showing me how though," You said, batting your eyelashes to inflate his ego just a bit more. You thought his head was going to swell like a balloon with the wide grin that broke across his lips, his big hand softly pressing against the small of your back.

"Anytime sweetness, now I'm assuming you've got experience with a cash register?" You confirmed that you did, having a few years of retail experience before moving here. Gojo ushered you back the way you had come, the hand on your back guiding you behind the counter you had first met him at and stopping you just before getting to the door you assumed led to his office.

"Now before we get into the nitty-gritty of all your paperwork, we should probably get your employee physical done first” He mentioned, a smirk that rivaled Toji’s from earlier sending warmth through your belly.

“Employee physical? Like a drug test and stuff?” You asked, stammering only as he slightly crowded you back, caging you in with his long arms and placing his hands on the counter.

“No no nothing like that, I couldn’t care less about that,” He chuckled, trailing one of his hands up your arm as if testing the waters before his fingers brushed your jaw, “just wanna see how perfect you are, is that so bad?”. Was this really happening right now? You had never pictured your first day of any job ever going like this. This was like some bad porn scenario, but could you really complain? Not really. He took your silence and burning cheeks as a no.

“Sit that pretty ass up on the counter for me would you?”. You jumped up without having to be asked twice, your stomach twisting with aggressive butterflies as he walked his fingers of one hand up your thigh while the other gripped your knee, your heart in your throat as one long finger traced the waistband of your leggings. You released the shaky breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, his bright blue eyes glancing up at you over his dark glasses and freezing you in place.

“Nervous?” He asked, slotting himself between your legs and leaning in, his height almost intimidating despite how you squared your shoulders.

“No,” You said breathily with a shake of your head, shivering as he skimmed his nose along your jawline, his skin soft against yours as he inched closer to your waiting lips. Maybe it should have been embarrassing how your panties were already wet. Still, the soft groan that rolled off his tongue when his fingers made contact with the dampness of the material had all thoughts of shame melting away, only to be replaced with the arousal beginning to boil in your abdomen as he pressed against your clit and began turning teasing circles. Your hips bucked up against his fingers, your breaths coming out in heavy pants as you fought any sounds from spilling out through your teeth clamping your bottom lip.

“Come on now, don’t hide anything from me,” Gojo chided, the thumb of his left hand moving to cup your jaw and pry your reddening lip from your teeth, “I’m your boss now, wanna know everything about you. What you sound like, what you taste like, the spots that make you shake and shiver”. He was pulling your panties down now too, your wet pussy on full display for him as your cheeks burned. Gojo slid his index finger down from your throbbing clit to where it was wet and warm, positioning to slide in when you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“W-Wait what if a customer comes in or-” You stammered, getting cut off by his lips pressing to yours, a wanton moan spilling out against his tongue as he pressed in any way, sliding in until the pad of his long finger was nudging against the tingling soft spot inside of you.

“So what? Their money’s not good enough to pass up on this pretty pussy, probably stolen anyway” He mumbled against your lips, barely pulling away long enough to even get the words out before he back pressing against you, your tongue rolling hotly against his bottom lip as your walls clench tight around his finger and dragging another soft groan from him.

“But what about the other employee?” You asked as you tugged his white hair to pull him away and catch your breath. A devious grin broke across his pretty lips.

“Ijichi! Come here!”. Your eyes widened, your legs clamping around his arm as you tried to move away in time.

“Yes, Gojo?” the dark-haired man addressed as he left the back room with a can of roach repellent and a bandana in hand, his expression neutral and unchanging when he saw you spread on the counter, cheeks red and pants nearly around your ankles.

“You don’t care if we do this here right?” Gojo asked in full confidence, casually sliding a second finger in beside the first to stretch you out and pull a lustful moan from you despite your resistance. Besides the man’s neck growing a bit pink he looked completely unphased, never breaking eye contact with your boss as he shrugged.

“No, as long as I don’t have to clean that counter afterward”. Gojo snorted, retracting his fingers and fixing you with a pleased, almost mischievous look as he popped his fingers in his mouth and groaned.

“Guess that means we’ll finish this little introduction in my office then”. He was too damn good-looking, too handsome for his own good and he knew it. Gojo scooped you up in his arms, fixing your legs around his waist the best he could, and practically kicked the door open, your eyes shut tight so you didn’t have to look at Ijichi and let him see the shame on your face. Your boss's desk was cold against your ass he set you down, pulling your pants the rest of the way off and throwing them over his shoulder onto the floor. You leaned forward and rucked his shirt up to his navel, marveling at the chiseled abs you knew had been concealed not so conspicuously. You felt him shudder under your fingertips as you pressed your soft lips just above the waistband of his dark jeans, lashes fluttering as you looked up into his low-lidded eyes.

“Getting handsy are we?” He huffed as he stripped his shirt and you worked his zipper and button down, shimming the denim until it was down below his knees with his boxer briefs on display.

“I can’t be the only one getting undressed here, Mr.Gojo,” You said coyly, running your hand across the prominent bulge. A strained moan dragged from his chest, his hands going to your under thighs to lift and press you back against the wood of his desk.

“As much as that title makes my dick hard, I think we’re long past formalities,” He said, kissing a trail down your throat to your collarbone, “Call me Satoru, please”. You gasped at the feeling of his hand gliding up your shirt to your bare chest, fingers tweaking and delicately pulling at the pebbled nipple. You could feel the smirk against your skin though he made me comment on your lack of a bra, who was he to judge anyway? Satoru groaned when your hands traveled down to pull at his underwear, his own hands assisting you until you could feel the heat of his throbbing cock against your lower belly. You attempted to lean up and push him away, your mouth watering at the thought of him stuffing into the back of your throat but he stopped you with a chuckle, laughing a little more when you gave him a heated questions look.

“Trust me, you can have me in your mouth all you want later but right now” He trailed off, fingers moving back down to your heat for a moment to play with your puffy clit and making you arch against his touch, “ I wanna feel you, all of you. Think you can handle it?”. You nodded eagerly, your cheeks burning hot as flames as you looked down to the length throbbing against your abdomen. He was bigger than probably any guy had been with, the head flushed a pretty dark pink and leaking against your skin. It seemed to surprise him when you leaned up to lock lips again, your tongue almost immediately invading his mouth as your hands clenched into his white hair to pull him closer as your hips bucked up against his to rub your wetness along the underside of his cock. You both gasped against the other's lips when the head caught at your entrance. He nibbled his pearly whites against your kiss-swollen bottom lip as he eased his hand down between your bodies, slotting your legs against his shoulders. You cried out as he filled out abruptly, the stretching burning for a moment as you dragged your nails against his shoulders. There was a slight bulge in your tummy from how far he reached, barely able to even catch your breath before he was pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in.

“Satoru!” You nearly screamed, your eyes crossing as you slammed your eyes shut, your brain feeling like it was going to melt against the onslaught of his hips rolling against yours and battering that sweet spot deep inside.

“What is Angel? Too much for your pretty little pussy?” He teased, despite the sensual blush dusting his nose as he leaned back to get a good look at your breasts bouncing and your hands clawing the desk at your sides without him to cling to, “Am I gonna break it?”. You shook your head, moving your legs from his shoulders and wrapping them around his waist to pull him closer, deeper, surprising him yet again.

“N-No, more, please” You pleaded, moaning when you felt him twitch inside of you.

“Goddamn, I think you might actually be perfect” He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips as he pulled out only to flip you over onto your stomach, kissing across your shoulders and lacing his fingers with yours as he stretched you across the top of his desk, immediately bottoming out again and moaning lewdly into your ear as goosebumps raced up your spine. You could feel your climax throbbing in your belly as he fucked into your ruthlessly, his desk scraping loudly against the floor, but you couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed when your mind was filled with cotton pleasure. You were so wet you could feel it splashing up against his abdomen with every thrust; animalistic grunts, and groans pouring from his throat as he ravaged your back in kisses and bites.

“F-Fuck” You stammered past a broken moan as you clenched around his thick cock, stars bursting behind your lids as your orgasm nearly turned your legs to jelly. Satoru was shaking as you gripped him like a vice, nearly toppling him over the edge before he threaded his long fingers through your hair and pulled your head back.

“Kick that leg up and lean back baby” He panted, hands encouraging you into the position he wanted as he sucked a bruise up against your throat. He was buried to the hilt again as soon as you had your leg where he wanted and god did it feel deeper than before, your next orgasm beginning to spark on the aftershocks of the previous one as he fucked up into your warmth almost frantically.

“This pussy’s so good, so fucking good oh my god” Satoru moaned, a trickle of his drool running down the length of your throat as he mouthed the skin. He was impossibly hard inside of you, cock kicking against your inner walls so hard it was spurring you on to your mind-numbing ending.

“Yes, please fuck me till you cum Satoru, want you to fill me up” You begged, feeling as if you would turn to ash if he pulled away right now, your orgasm growing closer and closer.

“Cum with me, please gorgeous” He pleaded back, turning your head to lock lips once more as he practically locked himself against you to keep buried in your slick heat. You both cried out wantonly into each other's mouths, drool and heat spilling against your tongues and his cum pumping deep into your clenching body in thick spurts. It felt like you were melting, falling apart in the best of ways and your knees could barely hold you up as he eased down from your position to lay chest down against his desk once more, your sweat-slick bodies pressing together and basking in the thick atmosphere of the office for a few minutes. Satoru had just moved off you and was gathering your clothes when a heavy, deliberate knock came on the door.

“Yeah?” the white-haired man called out, about to go and open the door before you hissed at him and shook your head.

“Gojo, one of the customers got bit by a rat,” Ijichi said back.

“Did you kill it?” Satoru asked.

“The customer or the rat?”. Satoru sighed, shrugging his shirt back on and opening the door slightly, just enough to not show you but very much showcase he had no pants or underwear on.

“Now which do you think? Just smash the rat with a bowling pin or something and give the customer a free beer- actually”. Satoru turned to you, a beaming smile on his lips and making you slightly worried.

“Get your pants on sweet cheeks, this is a perfect opportunity for a first day training exercise".

#slimeball! gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #tw exhibitionism #jjk smut #em writes ✍

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arliedraws · 10 months ago

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Good Godfather Sirius Black Fest 2024

Day 6 Prompt: "Dating Advice"

Summary: Sirius gets home from a terrible date and reflects on it with ten-year-old Harry who has recently moved in with him. When Sirius makes an offhand comment about parenthood, it prompts both of them to reconsider their own self-talk. (Tonks is in it for about five minutes,fyi)

Pure godfather&godson bonding/family fluff. Sequel(ish) to “The Neighbor.”

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

AO3

----

“You’re back!”

The green-haired teenager sprang from the sofa, blinking sleep furiously from her eyes. Pins on her leather jacket clinked together as she skidded into the kitchen. With an oof, she slid too far in ripped black nylons, and Sirius caught her elbow before she rammed into the cabinet.

“Well?” she said, unfazed by her own clumsiness.

Sirius pulled a face at her.

“I told you not to date women,” she said, grinning.

“Last week you told me not to date men.”

“Yeah, I stand by that too.”

Sirius fished in his pocket for the bag of coins. The bag was considerably lighter than it’d been a few hours earlier before he’d exchanged wizarding gold for quid—a few hours of his life and cash he’d never get back. He withdrew a few Galleons and dropped them into her outstretched hand.

“Don’t you want me to find love?” he said.

Tonks looked sharply at him. “Love?” she said as if the word were new. The taste of it seemed to disgust her.“You’re looking for love?”

“I—” Sirius paused. “Er—aren’t I?”

“Are you?”

Sirius stared at her.

Was it love he wanted? Or was it lovemaking? He thought about the woman who had stolen several precious hours of his life—she was a complete imbecile but she wore tight jeans and a very low-cut top. Maybe it was just a rough go of it against a brick wall behind a pub that he wanted.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Have you ever been in love?”

“No,” she said, snorting. “Why would I do that? Have you?”

“In a way,” said Sirius. Then he frowned at her. “You do believe in love, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Tonks said. She nodded. “Yeah, ’course I do. I love my parents and friends, but I’ve never been in love. That sort of romantic stuff seems a bit…I dunno. Expensive.”

Sirius laughed despite himself and tossed the whole coin purse at her. Tonks, surprised, caught it.

“Harry’s alive, right?” said Sirius.

“Yeah,” said Tonks. She looked nervously at the coin purse as if she thought it might be a trick. “Sleeping, I expect. What’s this for?”

“Bit of a bonus. Did he eat?”

“Yeah. I’m a poor cook, though. Nearly burnt down the kitchen.”

“Ah, so that’s why it smells like charred corpse.”

“Of course you’d say that. You sound like Mad-Eye Moody.”

Sirius shoved aside memories of burned bodies as he inspected the huge black mark on the wall near the stove. Part of the drywall had crumbled onto the floor. Tonks blushed and pulled out her wand.

“Reparo!” she said. “Sorry. Forgot to do that before you got back.”

“What did you two eat, then? Charcoal?”

“Harry made us sandwiches.”

“You can’t make a sandwich?”

Tonks had moved towards the door and starting lacing up a chunky black boot, hooking each lace carefully before tying it off. “Didn’t want to risk it. Besides, Harry’s pretty good at the food thing, and I thought, well, if he wants to eat something halfway decent, let him do it. Anyway,” she said, pulling on the other boot, “we talked about going to the Puddlemere United match next weekend if you’ll let us. I’ve got an extra ticket for him if you’re all right with that.”

Sirius opened his mouth to say that he didn’t know if it was a good idea. Thinking better of it, he turned away and pretended to look at the calendar on the wall, knowing that he ought to say yes. What could happen at a Quidditch match in the middle of the day? Unfortunately, he could come up with myriad tragedies in his imagination, all of them ending with Harry’s funeral. But Tonks is an Auror trainee—she’s not stupid! Still, it churned his stomach to think about letting Tonks bring him to somewhere so crowded and so public…

“We’ll see,” he said finally.

“Well,” he heard her say, “send an owl by Thursday. I’m off.”

Sirius said farewell, and she left. Faintly, there was the pop! of Apparition from just outside the door. Pointing his wand over his shoulder, he hit the lock with a charm and it slid into place. The wards he and Dumbledore built around the house rendered a physical lock unnecessary, but locking a door never hurt.

The round clock that the former owner of the house had left behind was ticking slower than Sirius thought it should, but perhaps it was because he had simply grown used to hours that felt too long. The evening that he finally gave up on might have really lasted several days instead of three hours.

For the dozenth time, he wondered what possessed him to say yes to her. Sirius and Harry had been waiting in line at the cinema when the woman and her friend tapped him on the shoulder. Distracted by the way a long lock of her hair rested on her breast, Sirius accidentally said yes to her invitation to dinner much to his and Harry’s horror. For days, he agonized over the idea, but it was Harry who suggested he keep his word. After all, Harry had said, it might be rude to stand her up.

She was a Muggle woman whose name kept slipping out of his mind throughout their date. She was very dull. Loud, but very dull. All she wanted to talk about was how impressed she was that he was parenting his godson all on his own and how brave it was for him to take on such a burden. It might not have been so annoying if she had let him talk about Harry and explain that it wasn’t very hard to look after such a good kid, but she had no interest in that bit. In fact, she rolled her eyes and told him he ought to see how unique it was that a man could be so sensitive and so thoughtful.

Sirius went up staircase after several minutes of self-pity alone in the kitchen. The light was on in Harry’s room when he reached the top stair, so he knocked gently and poked his head in.

Harry was asleep. His glasses hung from his nose, a book about broomsticks was open on his lap, and he was propped up against several pillows, his head lolling over his chest. He was snoring. Sirius grinned and tiptoed inside. Gently, he reached for the precariously hanging spectacles when Harry’s eyes flew open.

“Sorry!” Harry blurted.

Sirius swallowed that familiar lump of fury at the Dursleys. Harry hated when Sirius told him he didn’t have to apologize, though Harry would never say so outright, so Sirius held back from saying that Harry had nothing to be sorry about.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Sirius whispered. “Just taking off your glasses.”

Harry shoved them back over his nose. “When did you get back? Is Tonks still here?”

“Just now, and no, she left. Heard about the fire.”

“I didn’t know you could start a fire like that with just water.”

“It’s hard, but Tonks is a wonder,” said Sirius. “You can sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

“How was your…date?”

The slur of sleep was quickly leaving Harry’s voice, and Sirius sighed inwardly. How good a parent could he be if he woke up his kid at midnight? But he couldn’t resist indulging Harry’s smirk.

Sirius flopped on his back onto the bed, groaning.

“Last week, you said you never wanted to go on another date. Why’d you tell her yes, then?”

“Cheeky boy,” said Sirius, popping his head up to glare at him. “You’re the one who said it would be rude not to show up.”

“Yeah,” admitted Harry. “But you shouldn’t’ve said yes in the first place. Why did you?”

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, letting it bounce against the mattress. “Oh, Harry. Because I’m a bloody idiot. And she took me by surprise.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, you saw her. She had this sort of shape—” Sirius mimed with his hands “—and it seemed like a good idea for a second.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. “Everything…nothing… Hard to explain. Look, Harry, never go for someone just because they look like this—” again, he mimed his date’s ample figure “—or because they’ve got an appendage like this—” he spread his hands wide. “It might seem like you’ve won the jackpot, but it’ll cost you a dozen galleons, several hours of your life you’ll never get back, and a wicked headache.”

“I don’t think I’m very interested in all that,” said Harry. “Er—dating.”

“Good. Save your gold. We’ll be bachelors together, old chum.” Sirius patted Harry’s leg. He lurched forward until he had propped himself on his elbows, eyeing the bedroom that was half-lit by the solitary lamp on the bedside table. “Think we should get a few decorations in here, Harry. Bit sparse, don’t you think?”

“So wait, what happened?” said Harry. “Was it like last time?

“The one with that bloke from the department store? No, it was different. Worse.”

Sirius didn’t need to look at Harry to know the boy had probably reddened at the memory. Though Sirius hadn’t regaled anything inappropriate regarding his evening with the young man named Matthew, he knew Harry was still unused to the idea that two men could date each other. Admittedly, it was rather new to Sirius too. Before Azkaban, he had never considered the possibility he could meet another man at a restaurant, share wine and talk about romantic things… And frankly, it still wasn’t easy. There were plenty of questioning, disgusted looks shot at them that Sirius pretended not to notice. What did worry Sirius, however, was that the Muggles were battling a strange disease spread through sexual encounters, and it was slaughtering entire communities. In the end, Sirius’s date confessed that he was too nervous to take things further and wished Sirius good luck in the future. It had been difficult to explain to Harry.

Harry’s understanding of men like Sirius came from his aunt and uncle’s declarations that anyone who engaged in such depraved activities ought to be beaten by police and locked away for sexual deviancy. Patiently, Sirius had guided Harry through his conflicted thoughts.

“Your aunt and uncle also hate magic,” he had said. “But do you think magic is bad? Punishable?”

“Oh,” said Harry after a moment. “Right.”

So when Sirius blurted yes to the woman at the cinema, Harry was confused again. After the woman and her friend had gone, Sirius quickly explained that to him, it didn’t really matter to him a person’s gender.

“Then what was wrong with her?” Harry asked, rubbing his eyes before he set aside the book.

Sirius shrugged. “Didn’t do it for me. I wanted to talk about things she wasn’t particularly interested in.”

“Like what?”

“Er—well, reckon she got a bit tired of me talking about you.”

“What? You talked about me? Why would you do that?”

“It’s just what parents do,” said Sirius, dismissively. Then he heard it. His soul might have detached from his body, then, as his own words echoed back between his ears. He realized what had come out of his mouth, what it must have sounded like. His stomach clenched with guilt, and he looked very quickly at Harry. “Er—I—”

Harry tried to hide it but Sirius could see the sudden swell of emotion gleaming in those big, green eyes before they fixed upon the floor. Sirius sat upright, grimacing.

“I didn’t mean—Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

Harry frowned. “You didn’t?”

“I’m not your dad. I know that. I swear, I’m not trying to take his place. It just slipped out.”

“Oh,” said Harry.

Sirius’s heart thudded. Was that…disappointment he heard in his voice? Harry had curled his hands into fists over the coverlet, knuckles white as if he were trying his hardest to keep his face impassive.

“Harry?” said Sirius after a long silence. “Harry, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Harry…” Sirius started slowly, peering into the boy’s face. “Did you like that I called myself your parent?”

“No, I’m being stupid,” said Harry in disgust. Ashamed, he pulled the book back into his lap and pretended to read, though his eyes were staring at one spot on the page.

Sirius reached for Harry’s chin and tilted it up with a finger. Harry resisted looking at him, but after a tense moment, he dragged his gaze to Sirius miserably.

“You’re not my dad,” said Harry, more to himself than Sirius.

“I’m not trying to be, and I could never take James’ place.”

“Yeah, I know. Look, it’s fine. I’m not asking you to be him.”

“But can I tell you something?” said Sirius, lightly.

“Sirius, it’s fine—”

“—I liked calling myself your parent.”

Harry shook his head. “No, you’re just saying that.”

“I don’t just say anything, Harry. What I said slipped out because it’s what I feel. The first thing I set out to do when I was released from Azkaban was to find you. When Dumbledore told me I couldn’t take you away from your aunt and uncle, I moved in next door because I couldn’t stand the thought of not knowing you. Even if you couldn’t know who I was for your own protection, I chose to live in that awful neighborhood to be close to you.”

“I’m sorry you had to—”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Sirius, trying to quell his annoyance. “Harry, don’t you understand? When you were born, my entire life changed. I helped your parents with everything—I put you to sleep, I carried you around while you screamed, I changed your rancid little nappies. I saw you take your first steps and say your first words. I know I’m not your father, but you’ve got to believe me when I say that I think of you as my kid. Can you accept that?”

To his relief, Harry nodded.

“Good,” said Sirius. He squeezed his face, squishing the crimson cheeks. “And if you call yourself stupid again, I’ll put a tickling hex on you until you admit you’re the most brilliant person in the world.”

“But I’m not—”

Sirius reached into his pocket. “Where’d my wand go?”

“Okay!” Harry blurted. “Okay, I won’t call myself stupid!”

“Then say it!” said Sirius, pretending to search in his jacket. “Say you’re the most brilliant person in the world.”

“All right—I’m brilliant!”

“That’s not what I told you to say, Potter. I’m sure I left my wand here somewhere— Ah! Here it is!”

Harry groaned. “Fine—fine. I’m the most brilliant person.”

“What’s the incantation? Rictus—”

“I’m the most brilliant person in the world!” Harry cried, scrambling from the aim of the wand. “I’m the most brilliant person in the world!”

Sirius grinned and caught him by the leg, yanking him back as Harry laughed and tried to get away.

“Say it again, you clever little genius,” demanded Sirius.

“Sirius!”

“Say it!”

“No!”

“Say it!” Sirius jabbed him in the side, and Harry curled up, howling with laughter, wriggling desperately to get out of his grasp.

“I’m the most brilliant person in the world!”

“Again!”

“No!” Harry said. This time, he managed to escape and fell off the other side of the bed. Sirius looked over the edge at the boy sprawled on the floor and made a swipe to grab him again, but Harry artfully flung himself out of the way.

Sirius groaned and turned onto his back again. “Dismal effort. But I suppose that’ll have to do for now. Maybe I’ll make you do lines tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” Sirius glanced at the clock and shot up. “Oh, Merlin’s balls, is that the time?” It was absurdly late, and here he was, calling himself a parent and chasing Harry around the room when they both should’ve been asleep. “Harry, you’ve got to get to bed!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s late! You can’t be running around all night like a Niffler.”

“A what?”

Sirius leapt from the bed and in a swift movement, scooped Harry by the legs, hauled him over his shoulder, and then dumped him on the bed. Before Harry could scuttle away, Sirius drew the coverlet up to his chin and pretended to sing, poorly, a very quick lullaby as Harry chuckled.

“Are you asleep now?” said Sirius when he’d finished.

“Oh yeah,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

“See?” said Sirius, tucking the covers under Harry’s legs. “I might be a bad parent, but I can force you to go to sleep, can’t I?”

The joke, however, fell flat. To his surprise, the smile slipped from Harry’s face, and for a moment, it looked like Harry wanted to say something. His brows crumpled, and his mouth opened but nothing emerged.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re a bad parent. You’re the—” But then Harry closed his mouth.

“It’s okay,” said Sirius, pressing a hand against Harry’s chest. He rubbed for a moment, nodding slowly, feeling a quickening pulse beneath his palm. “I understand.”

“No,” said Harry, firmly, as though frustrated with himself. “You’ve got to hear it—”

“It’s all right, Harry.”

Irritated, Harry threw up his hands and said, “No it’s not. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me! You shouldn’t—you shouldn’t make jokes like that. Don’t—don’t say things like you’re bad at the parent stuff.”

“Yeah, fine, all right.”

“Say it,” said Harry.

“Say what?”

“Say you’re good at parent stuff.”

“You can’t turn that back on me.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Potter?”

“Just say it, Sirius!”

“Fine!” said Sirius, sighing. “Fine—I’m—” it was actually bizarre to put into words, and he felt uneasy about it. He drew in a long, deep breath. “I’m good at parent stuff.” Feeling flushed in the face, he smiled humorlessly. “Satisfied?”

“No,” said Harry. “Maybe I’ll make you do lines tomorrow.”

“Oh, the horror.” Sirius pretended to faint backwards on the bed, still feeling the sour taste of Harry’s words in his mouth, wishing what Harry insisted about him was true. The bed shifted as Harry crawled out from his covers and flopped next to him.

“I think I’m done dating for a bit,” murmured Sirius, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “At least until you’re at school.”

“Why?”

“Too risky. Next time Tonks’ll burn down the house.”

Harry’s eyes closed. “Sirius…” he started quietly. “Can I give you some dating advice?”

Sirius grinned. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Pick someone uglier next time.”

#good godfather sirius black #good godfather sirius black fest 2024 #sirius and harry #sirius black #harry potter #my fic

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karizard-ao3 · 20 days ago

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Wanna see a little bit of what I've written so far of my Asushin college au (which I might not finish, we'll see)? No? Too bad!!

First meeting

As Shinji began trudging back to his bus stop, a mild headache embroidered itself across his brow. His eyelids felt tacky when he blinked, too. He yawned. With all the traveling he’d done that day, he'd only had two cups of coffee. He needed some caffeine.

He looked down at his map, then set off for the campus coffee shop, hoping it stayed open when the school was between semesters. He had walked past more closed eateries than not when he was checking out the student center.

To his relief, the cafe’s storefront windows glowed an inviting gold, and the sign on the front door was flipped to “Open”.

He went inside and looked around. He knew from his map that the coffee shop shared a building with the library. Now he saw that, instead of a back wall, the coffee shop opened out onto the main floor near the library’s circulation desk. That was cool. That would be nice when he had to study. But later on. At the moment, the library was closed and blocked off from the coffee shop by a row of stanchions.

A freckled brunette in an apron was using tongs to rearrange the bakery case items, removing the wrapped sandwiches that had reached their sell-by date and dropping them into a paper bag. She spotted Shinji and smiled. “One second!” she chirped, then leaned back and called into the back area. “Hey, Asuka! You’ve got a customer!!”

Shinji cocked his head. That name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place why. Had he met her before?

A moment later, a slender girl with long, vivid red hair and ocean blue eyes bounded to the cash register, grinning from ear to ear. Shinji had definitely not met her before. He would have remembered being introduced to a girl like her. A painful awareness of his own body overwhelmed him as he tried not to gawk at her.

Asuka's smile was all teeth as she said, “What can I get started for you?”

Shinji swallowed, darting a glance at the menu as if he didn't always get the same thing. “Can I have a large drip coffee, please?” he asked. “Or Americano if that's easier. Whichever.”

The girl's smile disappeared. “That's all?”

“Is that okay?” asked Shinji with a flutter of panic. Why was she glaring at him like that? He always got the most basic coffee possible so he wouldn't be a bother. Wasn't his simple order a good thing?

She scoffed. “We have all these blended drinks and all you want is a plain black coffee.” She threw up her hands. “Useless.”

“Asuka!” said her freckled co-worker.

“What?” said Asuka. “I need to practice making drinks! Anyone can pour a stupid black coffee.”

The freckled girl groaned.

“I can get something else,” Shinji hurried to say, taking another look at the menu. There were so many options. “Um.” He wrung his hands. “Um. What do you want to make?”

“It doesn't work like that! You have to pick!” said Asuka. “Just choose something you like!”

Shinji read the menu with desperate intensity. “Uh… Uh… I don’t know.”

“You don't know what you like?” Asuka exploded. “Everyone knows what they like!”

“Just– Just make me your favorite drink!” said Shinji.

“No,” said Asuka. “You have to pick one on your own.”

“I tried to pick black coffee,” Shinji grumbled. He had to be a foot taller than her, yet he felt as small and helpless as a newborn kitten.

“Asuka, you can’t bully the customers,” said the other girl.

“I’m not bullying him. I’m encouraging him,” Asuka sniffed.

Shinji’s eyes lit on the drink of the day. “I’ll have that one,” he said, pointing to the countertop chalkboard with a brief, relieved exhale.

Asuka leaned over the counter to look at the sign. Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. A long moment passed, then she threw her hand up in the air, jabbing her index finger towards the ceiling. “Of course I can make this!” she announced. “One chocolate peanut butter pretzel frappucino coming up!”

She spun around and grabbed a stack of index cards held together by a metal ring looped through a hole in the corner of each recipe. She flipped through it, threw it down, then grabbed a beat up blue binder and bent over it, rustling the pages as she searched for the instructions.

“Ah ha!” she said, springing back upright. She spun on Shinji and pointed at him. “I'll make your drink for you! What size do you want?”

“Large,” said Shinji.

“I'll ring him up while you make the drink,” said the other girl.

“Thanks, Hikari!” said Asuka, throwing open the refrigerator door and grabbing a pitcher of cold brew. The deep brown liquid sloshed over the rim and splashed onto the floor. Shinji winced.

Hikari tapped the drink order into the register while Shinji watched Asuka. She looked at the recipe in the binder again, running her finger down the page, then poured a tiny splash of coffee into the blender.

“Wait, stop!” said Shinji. “That’s not enough coffee!”

Asuka turned around to glare at him. “Who’s the barista here, bud?”

Shinji took a step back. His caffeine withdrawal headache was tightening across his forehead.

“Well… You are…” he conceded, annoyed with himself for being a doormat and letting her walk all over him.

“Right,” said Asuka. “Don’t forget it.”

Shinji gritted his teeth, chafing at her smug smirk. Who did she think she was? Why was he such a pushover? “How about this? I’m the customer and I want more coffee in my drink than that!” he snapped.

Hikari turned to look over her shoulder at Asuka and said in a pointed voice, “We can add shots.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Asuka said, pouring more cold brew into the blender and slamming the pitcher down on the counter. Coffee splattered the sleeve of her white blouse. She shrieked, then spun on Shinji again. “Look what you did!”

“Me?” he screeched back. “How is it my fault you’re careless?”

“I think this drink is on us,” said Hikari, zeroing out Shinji’s total and offering him a weak smile. “If you want to wait outside, I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Yeah, okay,” huffed Shinji.

#fanfic #nge #asushin #asuka langley soryu #shinji ikari #hikari horaki #this fic will also have some kawoshin but they won't be endgame #neon genesis evangelion #Evangelion #college au

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whositmcwhatsit · 1 year ago

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Chapter 3

AN: Well, this whole writing thing got away from me for a bit, sorry everyone! Thank you to my alpha @thatbanditqueen, who decodes my gibberish, and a big thank you to @vintageshanny, @ellie-24 and @be-my-ally for keeping me sane without even knowing it.

Here are the previous chapters since you'll definitely need to be remind yourself what it's all about!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

There was a sharp rapping at the door after lunch the next day. Sally had gone back to the room to change into her bikini and robe, deciding to brave the poolside because she was tired of looking like the washed-out spirit of some pioneer girl haunting the hotel.

Thinking it was Laura checking on why she was taking so long, Sally threw open the door as she went to the mirror and adjusted the bikini top beneath her loose peasant blouse.

“Do you think I should untie the straps on this thing? I don’t want to have white lines on my shoulders.”

The tall man standing in the doorway raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and flashed a wide smile.

“Uh, I don’t know that I’m qualified to answer that one, Miss,” he replied amiably with a shrug.

Sally whirled round, feeling her mortified blush tingle as it hit her hairline.

“Oh gosh, I thought you were someone else,” she mumbled lamely. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my name’s Sonny. I work for-“ He pointed a finger up and Sally frowned.

“God?” Utah wasn’t a million miles away but surely they didn’t send missionaries to the Las Vegas casino hotels. That just seemed unfair on both sides.

“What?” He gave a sharp laugh. “No!” He shot her a look like he thought she was either dumb or crazy, maybe a mixture of both. But she wasn’t the one who cased the corridor like a secret agent before murmuring: “Elvis. I work for Elvis.”

“Oh.” She thought that he was maybe waiting for more of a reaction, but after worrying that he was a Mormon missionary, the fact that he was one of Elvis’ guys was a relief.

“Uh, anyway, my boss wanted me to bring you these-“ He whipped out the tickets for that night’s show. “And, uh, this.” He held out a small, dark green velvet case in his other hand. She took both and frowned again at his look of expectation.

“Do you… Oh, I don’t really have any cash on me right now. Hang on a second, I can check-”

“God, no.” He wiped his face with a big meaty hand and yanked off his sunglasses, fixing her with a look that she thought was supposed to be intimidating but just looked exhausted. “Can you open it please? I’m s’posed to let him know how you… acted.”

“No pressure,” she muttered, lifting the lid.

Inside was a gold bracelet interlaced around emeralds circled by little diamonds. It looked like something the Queen of England might wear to a soiree, not a teller from a bank in the middle of nowhere. Not without being accused of embezzlement.

All of that ran through her head as she stared open-mouthed. Finally, she remembered her audience and she glanced back up.

“Can you tell him that I was overjoyed and jumped up and down and was grateful?” she asked, worrying that she hadn’t accrued enough goodwill to get him to lie for her. “I am very grateful, really grateful, but this is… I’ve never even seen anything like this before, let alone touched it.” She tentatively put a finger to the metal; it felt cool against her fingertip.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He slid his sunglasses back on and gave her a small smile and a nod. “I’ll see ya.”

Sally nodded back and closed the door, clutching the tickets and bracelet to her chest. “Well, that was weird.”

At the pool, Laura huddled over the bracelet, pulling Sally’s wrist close to her near-sighted eyes like she was a jeweler, appraising gems.

“You think they’re real?” she asked, tilting Sally’s arm to see the stones caught the sun. Sally looked around at the other people on the sun loungers, feeling slightly too conspicuous thrusting precious stones in the air.

“I don’t know.”

“And you didn’t even have to sleep with him.”

“Keep your voice down!” Sally hissed, snatching her arm away.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got to be careful playing hard to get, you know, Sal, they can get tired of it real suddenly.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sally could imagine that he would be able to see through that pretty quickly too. He seemed to do that, to see deeper than people thought he did, or at least it felt like he did when his eyes were on you.

Almost as if she was afraid of being caught, she glanced up at the towering white façade of the hotel. It rose up and disappeared into the shimmering heat of the endless blue sky. Somewhere, right at the very top, which she couldn’t make out from the bottom, he was there. She wondered if he was thinking about her. Maybe he was looking down at the pool… She felt her cheeks heat up and she had to look away just in case.

That evening, she and Laura were standing in line for the dinner show. At the front were the devoted fans who had probably started queuing while they were still at the pool.

“Imagine if they knew you what you got up to last night,” Laura remarked, wiggling her eyebrows. She seemed more excited by the cachet of Sally’s relationship, such as it was, with Elvis, than Sally herself was. “What? It’s okay to enjoy things, Sal, Jesus!”

Sally opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Emilio the maître de who had somehow picked them out of the crowd of heavily made-up glamorously dressed women.

“The Beatles fan… Sally, is it not?” He pecked both her cheeks and then grabbed her fingers, wrapping them around his crooked arm. “We have been told to take extra special care of you.”

Sally glanced back at Laura, who had snatched hold of her other arm, and pulled a face. They giggled as they were escorted past all the baleful looking people in front of them in the queue.

“It’s like being a movie star!” she whispered to Laura.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Sitting in the central booth again, they felt highly visible as the room rapidly filled and staff served dinner. Sally watched the tables beside the stage fill up, the biggest tippers sitting central, women only closest to the stage.

“You know, some people come all the way from Japan and England and Australia just to watch these shows. Not even on vacation, just to see Elvis. The other night, I was talking to some people from South Africa!”

“Well, older folks have more money I guess,” Laura murmured, sipping her champagne.

“It’s not just older people,” she murmured, hearing how defensive she sounded. Laura shrugged, but didn’t reply as the lights started to go down.

The show passed in a blur of lights, sounds and, of course, music. Sally could tell that Elvis was getting more comfortable on the stage with each show, the patter between each song was becoming longer, sometimes surreal, usually funny, and he was cutting up during the songs more, swapping lyrics, usually for something dirty. The audiences seemed to enjoy it, and he certainly seemed to thrive on that.

Joe appeared during the piano intro for ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ This time, he didn’t ask them to come backstage, he just gave them a smirk and gestured for them to go ahead of him.

In the wood panelled outer dressing room, Sally recognised some of the stars in the crowd, there were the actors from the Mod Squad, over there was Glen Campbell, but there was only one face she was looking for. She stayed back as the inner dressing room door opened, there was a glimpse of fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and Elvis came out.

Sally thought he looked anxious as he emerged, but even as her brain was registering it, his face relaxed into his usual charismatic smirk and he scanned the room. She averted her eyes, her stomach fluttering manically, and tried to look casual. She twitched a nervous smile at a stranger across the room and looked around for Laura, finding her beaming up at a tall, tanned older man.

Shaking her head, Sally turned back and almost banged her nose on Elvis’ chest.

“Oh!”

“Snuck up on ya, didn’t I!” He looked pretty pleased with himself even as he grabbed her forearm so that she didn’t stumble back. He pulled on her arm a little harder, tugging her towards him so that he could lean down and give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. She felt a wave of goosebumps ripple up her spine as her hand brushed against his suit jacket and his cologne tickled her nose.

“You did, I almost pulled out my pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray?! Hell, that ain’t no good, honey, that’s just seasoning. We oughta see about getting you a gun.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she replied, pulling a face.

“Not a big one,” he reassured her, like that was the problem. “You know, they make ‘em small enough that you can just put it in your purse.”

She envisioned fishing around for a mint or lipstick and shooting herself instead.

“I think I’m more comfortable with the pepper spray.”

Elvis pulled a face that told her that he wasn’t, but luckily they were interrupted by one of his famous guests, who leant right across her to shake Elvis’ hand and pat him on the shoulder. Sally moved back before she was elbowed. She almost stepped on the foot of a man behind her who was wearing a jacket covered in Elvis pins. It was a comedy of errors as she shuffled and circled and edged out of everyone’s way. She found herself pressed up against a decorative carpet that hung against the wall, overshadowed by a dark wood cabinet. It didn’t feel that different from the showroom, standing at a distance, watching him say his lines and his audience beaming at him. Even off stage he was still always giving a performance.

After about half an hour, the tall man who had delivered her bracelet- Sonny- gave her a pleasant smile and asked her to come with him. She glanced over at where Elvis was explaining something with animated hand gestures to a rapt group of men and women. The group let out a loud collective laugh as Sally grabbed Laura and they followed Sonny from the room.

“Where’s Elvis?” Laura asked as they walked along the bland tiled corridor towards the elevators.

“He’ll be coming along,” Sonny replied, pausing to introduce himself. Laura’s eyes lingered on him a little longer and Sally looked down to hide her knowing smile.

The elevator ride felt like an interrogation as Laura questioned Sonny on himself, on Elvis, on Hollywood, and anything else that caught her attention. Laura’s enthusiasm was unphased by Sonny’s stoicism, even after he mentioned his fiancée. Sally envied her friend’s confidence and self-assurance. Laura was the top saleswoman back home every month because she had a knack of dragging customers into conversations and building rapport with them so that when she mentioned that she was worried that they were not sufficiently covered by insurance, or that they could get that home renovation done now if they just signed up for a little, low-interest home loan, they felt they were being advised by a friend. If anyone had told Sally that one of them would get noticed by Elvis while on vacation, she would have bet all her cash on Laura.

Up in the Imperial suite, Sonny brought the women a drink and settled them in the den like they were his house guests. He seemed to have succumbed to Laura’s charms, sitting beside her on the couch and stretching out his arm behind her. Sally clutched her drink and surveyed the room, pretending to be intensely interested in the chandelier as Laura giggled quietly off to her right.

Finally, the door of the suite burst open and half a dozen guys strode in together. They all seemed to be talking at once, laughing at some in-joke. Elvis appeared amidst the group and the corner of his mouth twitched up as he caught sight of her. He made a beeline for her as his entourage peeled off and headed in different directions. Joe handed him a bottle of water, still talking to him, but it didn’t slow Elvis’ stride as he came and stood in front of her.

Without a word, he took the drink from her and placed it on the side table, then grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon, honey, let’s go hide.”

Sally bit down on her lips to stop herself grinning like a cartoon as he tugged her along behind him. He took big strides so she had to half jog in her heels to keep up and she kept her eyes on the floor to make sure she didn’t trip on the thick carpet or any hidden steps.

In the bedroom, he slowed down as he purposefully closed the door, leaning on it for a moment before he turned round and smiled at her. She shivered involuntarily at the light twinkling in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she giggled and he bit his lip as he moved toward her, his eyes taking her in with an almost predatory hunger. His lips pressed softly against hers even as she felt him gathering her up, his hand around the back of her head, the other on the small of her back, sliding up as he pressed her into him.

Sally almost sagged in his arms as the anticipation and tension she had felt since leaving him passed liked waves from her body. She didn’t realise he was moving the both of them backwards until the side of the bed hit her calves and she made a squeaking noise against his mouth as she wobbled. Elvis’ grip of her tightened even as her arms tensed around his athletic frame, trying to keep herself upright.

Elvis pulled back from the waist up, his eyes opening slowly, thick black lashes flickering against his cheeks, as if he didn’t want to quite let go of the kiss. It only made her want to launch herself back at him, but she suspected he knew that.

“Man, I been thinking about this ever since I saw you in that dress,” he murmured, his hand dragging around her waist from her back and his long fingers tickling underneath the short hem.

Sally had already worn all of her good outfits to his shows, so she had borrowed a green mini dress from Laura and had spent most of the evening tugging it down.

“You wear this for me, honey?” His warm breath tickled her neck as he leant in to pepper her jaw and throat with soft butterfly kisses. “You ain’t trying to get me in trouble now, are you.”

At the same time, her thighs tingled with goosebumps at the feel of his callused fingers trailing up to the edge of her underwear beneath her skirt.

Part of her was protesting that this was too fast, that he was too much of everything: too experienced, too rich, too famous, too handsome, too Elvis for her. She was so far out of her depth that drowning was inevitable. The problem was that he made drowning look both exciting and pleasurable.

“I wore it because it matched my new bracelet,” she said, slipping her fingers through the opening of his jacket, warmed by his skin and the feel of the coarse chest hair against her fingertips. She could feel the thudding of his heart reverberating through his rib cage and sternum.

His chin dimpled as he peered down, grabbing her hand and pulling her wrist up for examination. She gazed at his face as he inspected her wrist, his left eyebrow twitching with self-satisfaction. She loved the creases at the corners of his mouth, how they made his full lips look sullen even as she knew he was suppressing a smile. It felt like a secret between them.

“You like it, baby?”

Sally shot him a look of disbelief. “Of course, it’s beautiful, Elvis, so beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. It looks expensive.”

“That don’t matter,” he murmured, frowning. “It looks pretty on your little wrist here.” He dipped forward and pressed his lips to the bony part of her wrist. Sally’s whole arm twitched at the heat and velvety softness of his mouth and her stomach fluttered as his pout continued its path round to her pulse point. His hair brushed against her jaw and throat as he leant over pressing kisses up the delicate skin on the inside of her forearm.

“I -uh..” She dropped down onto the bed, even as she was thinking that she was starting to feel a little lightheaded from holding her breath.

He looked like he was holding back a laugh as he asked, ‘You okay, honey?”

“I meant to do that.” She frowned, daring him to contradict her.

“Uh huh.” He nudged her legs open with his knee so that he could step closer and she could feel her skirt sliding to the top of her thighs as he drew in, his thumbs on her jaw tipping her head back so that he could kiss her as he slowly and gently lowered her back onto the bed, his tongue teasing its way into her mouth.

“Well,” he said, pressing his knee into the mattress right at the apex of her thighs, the pressure of him answering the ache beginning to throb there, “I might not get around to the next show, but-” He lifted a mischievous eyebrow. “It’ll be worth it.”

It took every drop of restraint in Sally’s being not to grind down on his thigh, but her self-discipline was almost immediately undermined by Elvis pressing down on her, and she let out a sigh mixed with a moan, catching a glimpse of his smirk before he kissed her again. Yet again, he was performing exactly the show he knew his audience enjoyed.

Trying to find some sense of balance, she let her hands glide down from his shoulder blades, feeling the mechanics of his lean muscles working beneath his suit jacket, and cupped his perfectly round ass. She felt him pause for a second, before he tried to cover his surprise by moving with even more authority, rolling his hips and driving a moan from her that had her turning her face into his neck and hiding in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to realise this was what she was doing as he shuddered and showered kisses on her throat and shoulder, pulling back her neckline as far as it could go so he could taste her pink, sun-kissed skin.

Sally felt his teeth clamp down lightly on the muscle in her shoulder before he drew back, depriving her of his spicy warmth, so that he could shrug off his suit jacket. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and she couldn’t stop herself reaching out to touch his skin, running her fingertips up his sides and making him twitch and hiccup a laugh before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her bracelet bit into her skin from the pressure, but she didn’t fight it or protest.

“This okay?” he asked softly, his face looking suddenly very boyish and vulnerable. It was unexpected and helped ease some of her nerves as she gazed up at him and nodded. Her lips were swollen and tingly, seemingly a side effect of being in close proximity to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from panting too needily. He groaned, mumbling about how she was going to be the end of him, and sank back down into kissing and rubbing and pressing against her as she shivered and writhed and pressed right back.

Sally’s skirt was now somewhere around her waist and her restraint was buried somewhere in the sand outside of Las Vegas along with everything else that people from this city found themselves forsaking. She hooked her fingers into the tight waistband of his pants and tugged impatiently even as her tongue was sliding against his.

“Hey, whoa whoa, easy, baby,” he mumbled into her mouth. “We got plenty of time. I got you to myself all night, right?” She nodded dumbly. “That’s right, we made a deal.”

Despite his words, he walked his fingers up her thigh and her breath stuttered in her throat as he slipped his thumb into the warmest, wettest part of her. His eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth fell slightly open as he studied her face, which she was desperately trying not to screw up into unflattering expressions as he circled and dragged the pad of his thumb over her slippery skin, flooding her with sensation, before slowing and ebbing back, letting her breathe and float for moment. He seemed to take her efforts to be quiet and composed as a personal challenge, shifting his hips to get more comfortable and pressing himself against her thigh, before pulling out his thumb from the leg of her underwear and insert his whole hand into the front.

“S’okay,” he whispered, panting softly, as he played her like an instrument with his delicate fingers and she bit down on a whine. She could see where his mascara was beginning to smudge below his eyes as they both lost their cool both figuratively and literally.

Sally felt sweat trickle from her hairline down behind her neck and she shifted slightly. Elvis glanced up from where he was watching the movement of his hand and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to assess her. In one smooth movement, he rolled onto his back, his hand still working in her underwear, and reached over to grab a pillow from the top of the bed.

The next thing she knew she was being thwacked lightly in the face with it.

“No, wait, that ain’t right,” he remarked dryly, picking it up again and smirking at her disgruntled expression beneath. “Lift your head, honey.” She clasped her hair in one hand and raised her head so that he could tug the pillow into place with his free hand, grunting slightly as he tried to keep himself up at the same time.

As soon as he was satisfied she was comfortable, he leant back over to kiss the air from her, increasing the pressure of his fingers as they began to sink into her while his thumb strummed at the bundle of nerves, making her twitch and writhe.

“Oh God,” Sally breathed, clasping at his neck and the damp tendrils of his hair. She couldn’t decide where to touch him, still not able to believe that she could. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back, brushing his narrow waist, kneading his perfect ass and squeezing his thighs.

As the knot tightened in her belly, her muscles tensed and she began to moan freely, losing her inhibitions, she palmed at the firm bulge in his pants. He growled softly, pressing his face to her chest and resting his warm, sweaty cheek against her decolletage, scratching her with his sideburn. It felt like he was everywhere, leaving nowhere for her to retreat and hide, making it impossible to stay calm and demure, giving her no way to hold it together.

His fingers prodded deeper, causing the swell of the waves of pleasure in her gut to break and ripple through her body. She whimpered into his damp hair as stimulation so intense that it was almost painful rolled over her, making her thighs clench and her toes curl. The aftershocks made her twitch and he huffed a laugh into her temple, giving her pussy a scritch like it was actually his pet.

Sally shot him a disapproving look, a little embarrassed at how completely he had taken her apart with just his hand. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he wasn’t responsible for what he did.

While she slowed her breathing and felt the unwelcome return of her inhibitions, Elvis hovered over her, straightening her underwear and diligently pulling down her skirt. He moved up, adjusting her neckline and pulling the shoulder of her dress back into place. Sally hoped they hadn’t stretched it, because she knew Laura would make her pay for another and she suspected it wasn’t from a catalogue like Sally’s own dresses.

“All better,” he pronounced in a soft, babyish voice, looking down at her body. When his eyes returned to her face however, he snorted softly. “Up here’s a different story though, baby, up here you’s a mess!”

“Noooo!” she protested, her hands going up to her hair, feeling the damp frizz and knots as he gave a cartoonish cackle and nodded. She pouted and reached up, vigorously ruffling his hair and pushing it in his face. “There, now we match!”

There was a pause and her stomach dropped as she thought that maybe she had crossed a line, but then he laughed and shook his head, swiping his black hair out of his eyes before he swiftly straddled her and obliterated any hope she had that her hairdo was salvageable. She wrinkled her nose and blew a lock of hair off her face.

“You made me do that!” he informed her. “I didn’t have no choice.” He did one of his patented sullen smirks as he picked up a long lock of her hair and laid it across her forehead like a monobrow. His laughter vibrated through her and his thighs tightly clamped her hips as she batted at her face and knocked her hair away.

“You are a public menace,” she informed him.

“You ain’t the first person to say that,” he nodded. “First person with a bird’s nest on their head to say it though maybe…”

In spite of his playful tone and the calming endorphins flooding her body, she was starting to feel self-conscious and she tried to roll over and escape his grip.

“Okay, let me up.”

“Honey, I’m just teasing. It ain’t that bad.” The expression on his face contradicted his words. She shoved at his thighs, trying to push herself free, and quickly discovered when her hand slid up that she might have been a mess, but she was apparently an exciting mess.

It was another twenty minutes of rolling around on the bed before she made it to the bathroom to examine the damage to her hair. It was as bad as she had feared, and she rooted around in the drawers and cabinets looking for a brush or comb to attempt triage. During her search, she found three pistols, some amber bottles of medication with a range of names printed on them, and a photo of a cute blond-haired baby, before she finally found what she was looking for.

Two hours of curlers and teasing and half a can of hairspray wasted, she vigorously brushed her abused hair into long brown curtains on either side of her face and wet some tissue to wipe away her smudged and smeared eye make-up.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Elvis was laying on the bed and he did a double take as she came out.

“What?” she asked, pausing nervously.

“Nothing… Nothing, honey.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just look different with your hair all down like that.”

“I didn’t have much choice now, did I?”

“No, I guess not.” He rolled off the bed and somehow made it onto his feet before he hit the floor, striding over to clasp her head in his hands and kiss her almost chastely. “It looked so pretty before though, honey.”

“Thank you?”

He shook his head sharply. “I mean, you’re still pretty. I don’t even know what I’m saying, man. Sorry, baby.” He kissed her again, this time with more force. “Every time I get up on that stage I think I must shake something loose up there, losing my damn mind. You’re pretty, you’re beautiful, honey.”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a gentle tap on the door.

“E, it’s time.” The guy’s voice was no louder than speaking volume and clearly audible through the door. Sally was horrified, thinking about what they might have heard on the other side of that door. Elvis didn’t seem bothered though, just annoyed that their time together had to end, but then he was probably used to all of this.

“I gotta go to work, honey. Sold my soul to Kirk Kevorkian for a hundred thousand a week and I’m starting to think I’m the one that got snowed.” One side of his mouth twitched up into a half smile as he rose, but she didn’t quite understand what his expression was trying to convey. And in in an instant, it was gone.

“You coming to the show?” he asked with a bashful smile.

“If that’s okay with you?”

At this, he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth before pressing his forehead against hers.

“You ain’t real,” he told her, to her confusion. “There ain’t no way you’re real.”

“Funny,” she replied, “I think the same about you.”

As he walked her to the main door of the suite like they were on a surreal date, he told her not to bother coming down to the stage for a kiss at the midnight show.

“Oh,” she murmured, a little deflated. “I did exceed my allocation after all then?” He gave her an amused little frown.

“The way you talk, honey! Naw, I just got something else in mind. Don’t go messing with my plans, now, okay?” He gave her a peck, motioning to someone behind her. Laura reappeared, straightening her dress slightly and looking sheepish. Sally looked from her to Sonny wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The midnight show, her fifth now in three days, confirmed that the tummy flip when Elvis appeared on stage was a permanent thing. Meeting him, talking to him, hadn’t lessened her wonder and awe at his talent and energy. If anything, seeing him up close in the flesh and learning more about him only made that huge presence he projected seem that much more impressive.

“Does it bother you?” Laura asked curiously, pouring herself a glass of champagne from the magnum resting in an ice bucket. They hadn’t ordered it, it had just been presented to them with the assurance that there was no charge.

“What?” Sally asked. Laura nodded towards the stage where Elvis was crouched down in front of a couple of women who were giving him a gift. He gave them both deep, effusive kisses, going back for seconds from one of them.

“Why would it bother me?” she laughed. “if he didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have got to kiss him.”

“Exactly,” Laura said cryptically, raising her eyebrows. Sally rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the show.

Elvis didn’t introduce Love Me Tender until later in the set, leaving Sally wondering what he was talking about when he said he had a plan. When he finally started the introduction, she suddenly became vigilant, like she was waiting for an ambush.

At first, nothing seemed much different, Elvis sang a little, kissed a lot and the band persevered, playing verse after verse. Then, after walking to the wings, he just… didn’t stop. She watched his dark head drop down into the crowd and pandemonium broke out. People- women- were charging down from the back of the showroom, the audience were laughing and whooping as girls called Elvis’ name and begged to be able to touch him.

“God, they’re going to eat him alive!” Laura laughed, as they both craned their necks to follow the knot of people moving through the crowd.

Sally watched as people tried to climb over tables just to reach out and touch his arm as he passed by. He was being jostled by the press of his own bodyguards and then the fans begging for kisses. Her eyes widened as she realised the procession and growing mob were heading toward their booth; blue uniformed security guards were already appearing behind her, ready to marshal him through safely.

A beautiful blond managed to step into Elvis’ path as he almost reached the back of their booth. Sally and Laura had turned in their seats and were kneeling up on the red velvet cushions, watching the circus. He clasped the blonde’s face, just as he had done Sally’s only an hour earlier, and kissed her on the lips. Sally wondered if maybe she should be feeling jealous, but the truth was that she really just felt empathy with the woman, understanding how exciting and delicious it was to be kissed by him.

Despite the pressing and the chaos, he managed to pause at their booth, his tanned hand replete in gold rings gripping the white scrollwork to fight the momentum pushing him on. He gave her a lopsided grin as he leant in.

“How’d you like my plan? Seemed a good idea at the time.” He almost stumbled as he was jostled from behind.

“Not bad for a public menace,” she grinned, wrapping her fingers around his sweaty neck and almost sighing against his soft lips. A security guard stepped closer as if she was an overexcited fan that he was going to have to drag away, but she drew away before he could reach out and grab her.

“See ya later!” Elvis called over his shoulder, taken by the current. As he was swept on, she only heard the word ‘deal’ float back through the screams and whooping and laughter.

Turning round and smiling at Laura, Sally licked her lips and savoured the salt there.

Tag list:

@itsnotthatserious03 @everythingelvispresley @bigromansgirl-blog, @sillybookmarks, @returntopresley

As always, shout out to the Elvis harem: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis smut #1970

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ladykissingfish · 1 year ago

Text

Kakuzu: *standing in a room stacked full of piles of cash*

Kakuzu: I can’t believe this …

Kakuzu: This is … this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!

Kakuzu: *lays down in the money and starts making a “snow-angel”*

Kakuzu: Sasori and Deidara know absolutely nothing; THIS is true art!

Kakuzu: *looks at the end of the room; a door is slowly opening with what appears to be hundreds of sparkling gems inside*

Kakuzu: So … gorgeous … let me just go over and —

Kakuzu: *feels a sudden sharp smack hit him in the chest*

Hidan: Oi, old bastard, wake up!!

Kakuzu, groggy: W-what??

Hidan: It’s midnight, fucker! *leans over and puts a party hat on Kakuzu* Happy birthday!

Kakuzu: Hidan … you woke me up, for this?!

Hidan: Eh, I figured you wouldn’t mind; you were muttering pretty hard so I figured you were having a bad dream anyways. You’re welcome!

Kakuzu:

Kakuzu: That may have been the best dream I’ve ever had, and now it’s gone …

Hidan: Relax, ‘Kuzu … *pulls down the covers and starts moving down Kakuzu’s waist* Let Hidan make your dreams come true, birthday boy ~

Kakuzu, near tears: Unless you’ve got several million dollars taped to the inside of your mouth, you’re wasting your time, brat.

Hidan: I don’t … but I have two teeth with pure gold fillings.

Kakuzu:

Kakuzu: … continue.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAKUZU!!!#kakuhida #kakuzu x hidan #tw suggestive #kakuzu #hidan #🖤🖤

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survivalist-anon · 6 months ago

Text

Log 17: The Dance of the Moon and Crow

Walking around the casino, Bilhard and Sten have separated from Toke and Cahrilo to search for Wick. Although Bilhard and Sten have deduced Wick has to be performing in the show tonight.

Toke and Cahrilo search through their stomachs.

"You mean to tell me....there are places to eat for people to just....gorge themselves on food?", Toke looking at the buffet with Cahrilo.

"Yes. It is to convince people to stay longer and enjoy multiple different items. Personally, this place is useful for us.....", he than takes out hard cash. "I've been saving this in case we can not use the gold.".

Toke looks at the money, looks at Cahrilo, looks at the buffet. "...you are now an everlasting friend to me as if you grew up from the same pack do you understand me?".

Cahrilo, knowing very little of Space Wolf culture, accepts the implications of this.

Bilhard and Sten had now found themselves near the entrance of the performance theater, likely with Wick inside.

"He is here. I can sense his thoughts.", Sten had been using a particular variant of mind reading that Ruin Priests has utilized.

As the two were heading to the door, the security staff had been braze enough to stop them.

"Um sir, we do not allow anyone inside the theater after the doors have closed sir, if you had missed your reservation then you will have to purchase a ticket for tomorrow.", the man who had obligated to wear a modernized butler outfit for the event stated.

"We are here on a matter of importance, is there a chance that we make contact one of the performers for tonight's event?", Bilhard asked politely.

"Oh um...no, and sadly I can't tell you anything else either.", the man responded, "we can't because it's a matter of security and we do not want any of the performers being harassed or stalked by any of the patrons in the casino.".

Sten and Bilhard had a feeling this would happen. "Sten, do it."

He furrowed his brows, "I refuse to do so, it would be a great misuse of my rune abilities."

The door secretary how to become uncomfortable, "uhm okay I don't know what's going on and I don't know if you're doing this for a bit but I'm going to have to ask you to leave, go purchase a ticket at the front counter and return back tomorrow."

"Do it, we are wasting time.", Bilhard commanded quietly.

Sten placed his hand on the security guards head, intruding upon his subconscious, "open the door and lead us to the performers. We come in peace and do not want to cause any harm.", the expression on the security guard space was that of terror and fear....but he was heavily compelled to follow the commands.

"y-yes....f-fallow me." as Sten let go of his head. He slowly walked the two Space Marines to adore that was labeled 'employee and stuff only'. Opening the door with his security badge, he escorted them inside, reading them downstairs to the backstage area where there had been a small group of fans already waiting for their chance to take pictures with some of the actors actresses for personal and press reasons.

From behind the curtain, they can see how the performance was going. Bilhard was a little bit familiar with what had been going on but was disappointed to see that it was not accurate to the literature he had at one point was compelled enough to read. For Sten, this was already a strange and unusual performance, to him this was some bizarre ritual event. However he was enjoying the strange atmosphere of it all.

"this is unusual, I do not sense any chaos here, 'tis heresy by some degree of the definition, but it simply seems like dancing.", Sten remarked.

Bilhard scoffed, "the only thing I see is an insidious display of nearly naked women running away from whatever is chasing them. This is hardly a parody of a performance.".

A gentle poking of Sten's side had alerted him, he looks down and sees one of the female fans.

"Hey there sexy, do you want to take a selfie?", she was waving her phone and attempting to be cute doing it.

Bilhard answered for him, "I'm afraid not madam, we are here on important business, we are not allowed to be photographed.", although he had given his warning politely, he looks down and sees not only her taking a unconsenting selfie of Sten, but along with her friends who were posing with her.

Sten on the other hand did not know what to do, he did not want to object but at the same time he did not want to be in the situation.

"Please, I'm... not interested lass.", Sten wasn't too happy with the flash being on his face.

"HEY GET THOSE BIMBOS OUTTA HERE! NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY IN THE BACKSTAGE AREA!", Sleen I've been watching the whole thing from a distance. "And take their phones too!".

A newly hired bodyguard had taken the girl's phones away and crushed it in his hands. Washing and shoving her out so the back door.

"HEY WHAT THE F-", the girl and her friends have been kicked out of the event, leaving Bilhard and Sten behind with an uneasy feeling that something is going to happen.

"Yous gentlemen ok? Those girls weren't bothering you or anything? Were they?", he came from the dressing room, likely either harassing or getting everyone in line for the performance tonight. Taking a long drive of his cigar. "Well well well.... Look at the size of both of you!", Sleen was at this point marveling at the both of them.

Bilhard was attempting to save face. Although it was helpful that The bodyguard had destroyed the evidence of their existence here in the casino, he was not too sure if kicking the girls out of the event was disproportionate to what had happened. "We are fine sir. They were not bothering us actually."

Sten had a pretty good idea of what Bilhard was doing, he quickly looked into the mind of Sleen for a few seconds.... And his blood went cold.

"you too must be from that Wrestle-ton gig that's happening down town. I have to admit it, if I was attending that I would definitely put my money on you two beasties. I'd really hate to be the guy who would be fighting anyone as big as 'El Nino'.", Sleen cackled with smoke puffing out of his mouth. "The name's William Sleen, had producer, co-director and co-runner of this beautiful production of 'The Pantheon', numba three hit show of Las Vegas for the past 5 years.", he stood there smiling.

"Bilhard, I need to speak with you in private about this man.", Sten leaned in to whisper.

"I know, one second. Sir you wouldn't happen to know a man named Wickovk Korvux? He also goes b-", he could see Sleen's face go from a friendly business demeanor to a simmering anger.

"-You mean...Wick? Yeah..... causing me grief every time he comes here.", he points to the stage.

The lights didn't down as the music becomes more orchestral. Selene appears from the slow rising trapdoor from the middle of the stage. Dressed up in a glimmering white leotard with accents of blue and silver adorning the whole body. A braided cornrows now fashioned into an ancient Greek braided knot, the loose end resembling a crescent moon.

As she was prepared to perform she seemed to define gravity with suspension lines, making her appear as she is just simply flying floating from her point of entry. As the music crescendos, the stage later reveals that there is a much bigger item underneath, a large globe. The sphere was no bigger than a SUV and just about half of that weight, but to an Astartes it was comparable to lifting a large cardboard box. As the Earth literally lifts itself from the middle of the stage, it could be seen that Wick, who had been dressed up as Atlas for this piece was underneath. Seemingly lifting the impossibly heavy structure. The performance was bent of represent how the moon revolved around the Earth, as Selene 'flew' down to greet Wick with a soft caress to his face... Only two be lifted off again for a final act for the scene. She was to lend on the top of the globe, without Wick dropping or moving the globe itself, but lifting himself up from his kneeling position to standing up. As he was able to gracefully move in one flawless motion, it was as if Atlas himself had found the extra strength to hold the world above his shoulders.

The crowd roared and chaired, proving why this was one of the few parts of the performance used for the promotional material.

Viewing from the backstage area, Sten and Bilhard were taken back by Wick's involvement in the show and what he had gotten himself into. He was not a performer in their eyes, but a clown in a tasteless circus.

Bilhard was furious. Sten, not having much context to Wick's behavior how did the unfortunate position of being in the middle of two very different perspectives.

"What a fool....", Bilhard growled.

"He maybe a fool, but he is one of the only few people in this production that brings in the big bucks. The crowd goes nuts when he does it! They probably think that thing weighs a ton! Was with his size, people don't even bother questioning it! He does another parts too you know.", Sleen had been using Wick as a strong man, on occasion as a fumbling hero or in some cases a brutish monster depending on what was chosen for that week's programming. Actively either humiliating him or taking advantage him.

Sleen turned to see the two equally large men and thought of an opportunity. "So....I...ugh...can offer you two a role.", hoping one of the men can replace Wick.

Bilhard gave him a hard stare. "No."

Sleen, shocked that someone would ever say no and turn down an opportunity for stardom to HIM of all people. "No?"

"We are here to speak with Wick. That is our only goal.", Sten had chosen his words carefully, peaking into the mind of an enemy was against his code as a Rune Priest, but for he had discovered ....the potential to cause havoc was a bigger possibility. For the moment, Sten understands why Wick was here.

He was here because his duty and nature had brought him here. Being the son of Corvus, one could not blame him for elevating his goals for freedom. Wether it be his, or that of someone he had deeply fallen for.

After Wick's performance was finished, he headed to the dressing room to get ready for the finale. Another, and hopefully last, performance complete.

"Perfect, after tonight, I s-", suddenly the ear grating voice of Sleen twinges his eardrums for yet another time.

"Wick! I got a pair guys here you know.", begrudgingly points to Bilhard and Sten who had followed him.

Caught by his own battle brother, Wick couldn't help feel betrayed in some way. The only one he could blame was himself. "...oh...Hello Bilhard.", he looked at Sten, not recognizing him with his wolf shaped helmet. "I see you've brought a friend..."

Bilhard was furious, the antics of a teenager had more reason than prancing around on stage. He looked at Wick with disgust, a once admirable Raven Guard, pretending to be some primordial heretic god from the past...all for what? "....You are going back to base EFFECTIVE immediately.", he didn't care what Wick had to say, all he knew is that he was done having to babysit another Astartes.

Sleen on the other hand was enjoying the prospects of having Wick be forced to quit. "OH? You're military big guy? HA! What did Mommy and daddy didn't want you to go to art school or something?".

Knowing full well he needed to focus for this performance, he ignored the both of them. Silently changing wardrobe.

Selene had just come a quick conversation with someone, "Wick, mon corbeau, that was a great perf-oh.", she had notified Sleen standing next to Bilhard and Sten. She looks at Wick with concern in her eyes.

He gives a reassuring nod and smile. "Thank you. You were perfect as always.", he would have called her by her pet name, but he didn't want to give Sleen the impression they had been seeing each other.

Sten now gazes at Selene, using his abilities on her, now fully painting the big picture. "Good evening, your performance is was lovely, and I was impressed with Wick as well.", trying to at least break the ice more gracefully than Bilhard.

She was looking at Bilhard and Sten with curiosity, were they related to Wick more than simply by occupation? They're stature points to a different direction in her mind.

"ORION AND ARTEMIS ARE UP IN 20 MINUTES!", the stage director announced.

This was more than an opportunity to attempt to at least talk to Wick in private, away from the two mortals that have gotten themselves in the middle of them.

"We need to speak to you in private.", Bilhard glared at Wick.

Sleen, with a grin that reaches ear to ear, "Well I know just the place. Right this way gentlemen.", he leads the three men into a private office, turning to Selene with restrained frustration. "As for you...my little bird, you....are going prep for the show....", this wasn't his usual sleezy annoyance at her antics. This was more serious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By this point, I had gotten use to Bilhard's drilling from the years of crossing him and his strict line of code.

I'm just disappointed in myself for having been caught...I wonder how much they had witnessed.

"-AND GOING AWOL TO PARADE YOURSELF LIKE A CIRCUS ANIMAL?!? DO YOU HAVE ANY UNDERSTANDING OF THE DISRESPECT YOU HAVE BROUGHT ON THE ANONYMITY CODES OF FORT DORN!?", to compare my to a beast of entertainment is a rather corse way of describing.

But it is worth it considering I could spend just a few more moments with Selene.

Just one more inquiry had gnawed at me the moment I saw him, "Pardon me, but who might you be?", I look to the what I could easily deduce was a Space Wolf. Finally, a reasonable Astartes who could at the very least sympathize with my mission.

"My name is Sten. I have been requested by Chaplain Aldercon to assist in returning you home. As soon as possible.", judging by his cadence, he was a veteran. Experienced, likely have mellowed throughout his years in service...and judging by the markings on the base of his neck, a Rune Priest.

Simply to put, a wild card psycher.... knowing very well of our own chapter's psychers. He can be trusted to an extent.

"Ah, it is a pleasure to me you. I assume you understand why I am here, wolf brother.", i addressed him.

I could see the look of disbelief on Bilhard's face, "What the hell is he talking about Sten?".

"He's here on a mission that best suits Raven Guards. He's here to help someone. That girl....the one you performed with....you are set on freeing her from her..... services.", Sten's respect for Raven Guards Sten from their shared empathy and desire for rebellion. The only difference is that they follow the Codex rather than go against it.

The softening expression on Bilhard's scowl had gave way for second, "....is that so? I guess the duties of an Astartes never cease.".

"I did not want to tell you or Aldercon because at first it was...well mostly for my own reasons. Than, as I had spent more time here, I had found purpose in my desire to challenge myself. Not with competition but rather in hopes I can make a difference... even if it one person for now.", Wick lamented as he was putting on his Orion costume.

Having more design inspiration from medieval Europe rather than ancient Greece, the costume was an awkward fit.

"I see.... your goal is admirable....fine, you may finish your mission, but once you are done you are never allowed to come here again. We can not risk exposing ourselves. If you want to, once we go back to Fort Dorn, we can initiate something of this nature for you.", Bilhard began to understand Wick's desire. Even though to him this was a risky use of the resources, he understands that compassion for mankind comes before their own desires.

Something he himself had to learn the hard way.

"ORION AND ARTEMIS ARE UP!", the director announced the last call.

"I must leave, I hope to leave with Selene tonight.", rushing quickly out the office.

The both were at a loss for words.

Sten glanced to Bilhard, "it must be a little difficult for you to understand.....but there is far more than duty behind his motives.".

"I understand perfectly. It's that this could impede on our task to protect mankind covertly...... we...can not let anyone know.", as Bilhard was still stern yet more understanding.

Wick and Selene's performance had begun. As the lights went up, the symbolic hunt of Orion for Artemis had begun. What can be interpreted as the nature of man and woman, predator and prey culminating in the natural order or at the very least by Sleen's interpretation.

By no means was it an original concept, in fact the performance may have been plagiarized directly from other dances.

However instead of a shocking and with Orion forcing himself upon Artemis, is now a gentle waltz between the two characters. As one slowly accepts the other.

The two had never been so close publicly since he had started. This was the only way to demonstrate their love for each other. As the perfect crescendo, the final step was for Orion to lift Artemis was one hand, as she arches in a man of reminiscing a crescent moon. As he placed her gently down, an arrow strikes Orion.

Ceasing their love, for it had become forbidden by Apollo for his virgin twin to ever be soiled by another.

And in the performance on a sobering but tragic note.

The crowd roars like never before, for those who had come to see this version of the show or met with a refreshing and tasteful ending for the first time in the performances existence on the Vegas strip.

Sleen, who had seen his version heavily criticized prior to today's alterations, was not too pleased to see how much of a success these changes were. "Hmf, looks like these schmucks haven't even heard of dark comedy?".

As he was stewing in his own frustration at the success of Wick and Selene's performance, Hans had returned.

Covered in suspicious bruises.

"BOSS the staff! They JUMPED me a-", he was stammering and embarrassed. The whole time he was gone he had been kept in a local strip club away from the strip, probably having the time of his life and only remembering he had one job to do.

And Sleen was a scary man.

Who knew scary people.

"AHHHH SHUT UP! You're lucky you're just a muscle. And I've got some... interesting things to tell the Club back at the towers about not just one suspected buck...but three whole steers.", he than held a USB card. "Hehe, strong looking ones too...... guess 'El Nino' will finally have someone to play with.".

End of Log 17

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster

@starfrost740 @squishyowl @sleepyfan-blog

@lawnchair86

#space marine husbandry #warhammer 40k #space marine #survival log #space marines #space marine husbandry sentience #space wolves #imperial fists #raven guard

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goldjewellerybuyeringurgaon · 1 year ago

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chipmunkfanno1love · 5 months ago

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Here are some Troll OC water paintings that I did for relaxation and experimentation with colours. While they're nowhere near professional, I personally feel happy with how they came out. I hope you guys like them. 😊💞

Top Left: My personal take on a Broppy child painting. In my opinion I imagine them having a daughter named Rosie, named after her late great-grandma, Grandma Rosiepuff. I imagine she got her princess flower tiara from her mum and leaf vest was from her dad (who got the vest from her Uncle Floyd).

My fan-casting for her is Tori Kelly whose beautiful voice I think would be perfect for Branch and Poppy's daughter. Like her dad I imagine she has the "voice of an angel" and a "falsetto made of gold" but also has the same enthusiasm as her mum.

I admit the colours are a bit on the dark side (though that's partly because of how they showed up on the camera) but otherwise I think blended both Poppy and Branch's colours together pretty well.

Top Right - My experimentation with Clay and Viva's colours to find out what their future child could look like (if they become a couple in canon (fingers crossed as the trolls profile pages seem to support the ship)). I'm imaging this OC as boy with either a Spanish name (after his mum) and/or maybe a name related to the earth elements (like his dad) or named after money (one of his dad's favourite things). So far, Tito (which means "honourable" and "uncle" in Spainish) and Cash are two names that stand out to me.

Bottom picture: Three next generation Trolls OC's. The middle picture is based off @spooky-pop OC, Ivy (whose colouring I find to be a good consideration for a future Broppy child). The two young Trolls on the left and right of her are my two Cliva child OC experiments. The one on the left is a boy while the one on the left is a girl.

In canon, I imagine Broppy having a girl as their first born or only born child. For Cliva, I imagine they'll have a boy or possibly two children with the first born as a boy and the second born as a girl. I'm open to both ships possibly having boy and girl twins.

I give credit to my friend @rosamelancholica for suggesting the name Tito to me. 😊🥰

Look out for some future Trolls polls related to these pictures.

#trolls #trolls band together #dreamworks trolls #trolls 3 #dreamworks #broppy child #broppy child oc #troll ocs #cliva child ocs #spoookypop's oc #chipfan1's art #chipfan1's oc's #watercolour art #relaxation #trolls fanart #Spotify #broppy #trolls cliva

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superheroauthor · 5 months ago

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Dragons, Magic and other Things

Chapter One – Disbelief and Insanity

It was a very beautiful box.

The man in the junk shop said all the precious stones on the box were fakes, the metal was not gold but it was still a pretty thing. So pretty it would cost me thirty-five pounds.

I was a regular in here and in most of the junk shops around. Sometimes for books, sometimes for other stuff.

The box was truly adorable. It was like a small golden chest, about eight inches by five, with golden hinges. Inside it was lined with some black stone like obsidian. Around the outside of the box it was decorated by a line a of blue stones like sapphires and on the top was a single huge ruby.

Not that the stones were real gemstones nor the box made of gold. If it was, it would have hallmarks for the gold.

I thought it would make a very nice cigarette box or just an ornament. The price though was high. This was a junkshop, not an antique shop.

“Twenty.”

“Thirty-five.” From the owner who obviously had no idea about haggling.

“Thirty.” I replied, hoping. I did not have too much spare cash.

“Done!” Oh, just a little give from him but not a lot.

It was a chunk of my money but it was a very desirable thing, in my opinion anyway.

I took it home, put my cigarettes in it and placed it on an occasional table near my armchair. The table was fake too, made to look like something from Victorian times. It had a map under glass.

I went to make myself a pot of coffee.

When I came back smoke was issuing from the closed sides of the box. Surely, I would not have put a lit cigarette in there. Even I was not that daft.

I thrust open the box to find within a tiny little creature. Something so small it could have fitted on the palm of my hand.

It was as blue as sapphire with eyes as red as rubies. It’s snout and belly were black. It looked like a tiny toy dragon . . . until it moved and yawned.

“Ah, slave, fetch me some meat.”

I heard the words but could not tell from where? The tiny dragon was moving around the confines of the box. It flexed and two gorgeous tiny wings slid from its back and lifted. The tiny blue scales on its body looked iridescent as it moved.

“Food, slave.”

I looked around the room but could not see who was speaking.

To be honest, I was questioning my sanity. You do when you find a miniscule dragon in a box that should have contained cigarettes. I was tempted to close the box and open it again, hoping to only find ciggies.

You see when I was in my twenties I got a huge bout of nerves. It was so bad I had to be confined in a mental hospital for my own good. Just for a month. Not sectioned you understand, I went in voluntarily, as I was frightened of everybody and everything.

When I came out not much had changed. Lots of new medicinal tablets to hate and me never working again.

The dragon was staring at me when I came out of reverie.

“I want meat.”

I knew I was imagining this. True, I had never had voices before, never had hallucinations. However, when you see a tiny dragon in a box and hear someone talking to you and you cannot see them, you just know it did does not bode well.

I thought I had just stepped into a psychotic episode.

“Down here. I am talking. The most glorious dragon you have ever seen. Meat.”

I just laughed. So, it was not the voices that were getting to me. However, it was an hallucination instead. That did not make it any better.

I laughed and somehow the laugh came out twisted. It sounded hollow and not convincing at all.

I took a cigarette from my packet.

“Light this and I will believe you are there.” I told the imaginary dragon. I pushed my face close to it, the cigarette dangling from my mouth.

A burst of smoke from its snout that did not light my ciggy but did shock me. Then a tiny little flame, long and thin. I inhaled and the cigarette was lit and sweet smoke was drifting into my lungs.

I did not always smoke tailor-mades. Normally I smoked roll-ups. Rolled my own, so to speak. Real cigarettes were my luxury item.

I got a lot of benefits. It seemed like they did not want me to go back to hospital as that was very costly for them. So they gave me benefits and occasional help instead.

Three trips to the mental hospital I had undergone and me now thirty-five.

I took a pull of my cigarette.

“Prove you are real.” I challenged the tiny dragon, putting a hand out for it to climb onto. However, it seemed to like the box and ignored my hand.

“Of course, I am real. Dragons are the greatest creatures in the world. The most intelligent, wise and the most fearsome.”

Ah! Not voices in my head. Telepathy!

The dragon could talk to me using telepathy. I considered this for a second.

‘I am mentally ill. You know, cuckoo! Understand? I cannot judge what you are.’ I did not say this, I thought it.

I knew enough though about manic depressives and schizophrenics that what they heard, and saw, they believed. At the start of a psychotic break, they believed their voices, they believed the strangest things. It was not their fault. It was the fault of their illness.

I saw a movement. Those tiny wings were flapping, unfolding getting bigger. The dragon rose from the box. It was above my hand now, not really flying, just hovering. Its tiny burst of thin flame came out and burnt my hand. The wings flapped less and the creature slowly lowered itself back into the box.

I looked at my hand. Sure enough, there was a scorch mark on it. Pain gripped me. This was the dragon’s way of showing me it was real.

My other hand darted in and grabbed the dragon in my fist.

“As I do not believe in you, I could crush you to bits and not worry for a second.” I told the dragon who I thought was an hallucination.

The tiny creature wriggled and squirmed but could not escape my grip.

“And where are my cigarettes? I look forward to real cigarettes every week. They have gone and now you are here. I would rather have my cigarettes back.”

I would too. Cigarettes, real tailor-made cigarettes, those I could believe in.

“There has to be an exchange, even in a magic box.” The tiny squirming creature told me. “Now feed me meat.”

“Not doing yourself any favours here, tiny one. All I know is I am missing cigarettes.” I took a drag of the one in my mouth, holding it with the hand that got scorched. I let the dragon go. “I will shut the box and check in five minutes and there had better be cigarettes in there. You, I don’t care about. The cigarettes I do.”

I felt silly for talking to my hallucination but, as I told the kettle off if it did not boil quick enough, it was not too bad. I shut the lid of the box.

I sat with my coffee and cigarette. I did not try to work this out. It was scary. I did not want this to be the start of a psychotic episode. That could mean hospital. That would mean being scared out of my mind by everybody and everything.

It could mean me feeling suicidal again . . . the worse feeling in the world.

All you see is darkness, no choices, no way out, just death . . . and that was what you wanted. It was not ‘let’s hope someone catches me’. It was ‘let’s hope someone don’t’. It was ‘let me die and so I never have to feel like this again’.

“You don’t have to feel like that.”

“Shut up!” I replied to the voice in my head

“I can change your life.”

“I can put you in the microwave. You won’t like that one bit.”

“You get me meat and I will get you cigarettes!” That got my interest.

“How?”

“Magic. All dragons use magic, all dragons are magic. Why did I have to be cursed with getting an idiot?”

“I really want to watch you go around and around in the microwave and then explode.” I told the horrible little beast that was ruining my sanity.

It was a bluff of course. I would not do that, even to my hallucinations.

“I think I have a solution.” The dragon said, its words coming out slow and deliberate from inside the box. Not that mattered as they were telepathic anyway.

If you can see someone or something speaks you are much more likely to believe them than if you cannot see them communicate. Telepathy was making this harder to believe, not easier.

“If I am correct when people enter psychosis, even at the beginning of this happening, they totally believe what is occurring around them. You however doubt me, do you not? Do you not see this as a good sign?”

It took my mind a bit of time to get around its words. They were not the plainest of speech.

“If you give yourself over to believing in me for a day, I think I can convince you I am real.”

“You are right about psychosis. Some mentally ill people seem to find nothing wrong with the idea that the radio is talking to them. Voices can be a different matter. Sometimes they believe that they are true, other times it is a warning to them they are getting ill. It depends on how many times they have had the voices before. Some people live with voices all their lives.” I was giving the tiny dragon the benefit of my knowledge. “Medication can, with some people, totally wipe out the voices so them returning is warning they need more medication or they have other problems that need attending to.”

A wisp of smoke came from the box. I think the dragon was getting impatient.

“Based on the fact that I normally don’t have hallucinations of any kind, not voices or seeing things that aren’t there, I will believe in you for now and see what happens.”

“Good! Get me some meat!”

What a stroppy little dragon he was.

“Get your own. There is no meat in the flat. I eat microwave meals. I do not properly cook for myself. It is just too much hassle. For one person, it just ain’t worth it.”

“But what about my meat?” It sounded affronted. I get the idea dragons thought of humans as their slaves or at least as their minions. “Can we at least go to a market? I can get my own meat there.”

“A supermarket, yes.”

So it was, with the dragon in my pocket, we set out for the supermarket.

“Can other people see you?” I asked, not as speech but as thought directed at my dragon.

“No, only you. I am yours and you belong to me.”

I put my hand in my pocket and grabbed it and took it out. I then released it. It stretched its wings and hovered beside me. It was half hovering and half a beautiful dance of flight.

I was not big and people tended to try and crowd me on the pavement. I am short and fat and balding. Usually, I just stared at them and they parted to let me through. People hate it when you look them straight in their eyes. They put their heads down and get out of your way.

When really ill I have been known to growl at people. A guttural sound that parts the people quick smart. When less ill I sometime fake that growl as it works so well.

No-one was paying any attention to the dragon bobbing here and there in its flight. Not until a child stopped dead in his tracks. A little boy about eight.

“Mummy. There is a dragon! Just there, Mummy.”

“Yes dear. Now we got to get on or we will miss our bus.” The mother replied dutifully.

The dragon replied before I had a chance to ask.

“Children can see me. Children still believe in all the mythical creatures. The werewolves, the dragons, the unicorns, goblins and leprechauns, even witches and wizards. As they believe so whole heartedly, they can see me.”

It had the ring of truth. Everyone else did not seem to be able to see the tiny dragon.

“What sort of dragon are you?” I asked in my head.

“I am a female dragon of the type draco-venator. That is a hunter dragon is your terms. My name in your terms would be Ultra.”

I tried not to laugh, not even in my head. I could not see this dragon, this three-inch-long creature, hunting anything except for maybe spiders and flies.

We went into the supermarket. ‘Just as I told you in the house’ I thought to Ultra the dragon.

I went to the pre-packed meat. ‘Can you read?’ I thought.

‘I am a dragon, I can do anything.’ If that is what she said then she could work out what meats were in what packs.

I bought two cheap packs of meat. Not for me but for her. Pigs’ liver which was just over a quid for a decent sized pack and kidneys about the same price. I was not made of money and both meats had a strong taste so I thought Ultra would like them.

I then went to the delicatessen where there were cooked meats. I liked the meat just not the prices and so left to pay for my purchases. I heard a commotion behind me but did not turn around. I went to the self-service counter as I always did, swiped my meat through and paid with a fiver and got change. I then left the supermarket.

I waited outside. Most of my real cigarettes, the tailor-made ones had vanished from inside that box but I had a couple left. Buy a pack on Thursday and smoke one or two good ones a day and the rest in roll-ups. That was always my plan. Trouble is, it never worked. I had smoked all the good ones by Sunday if not before.

I lit one of the remaining tailor-mades. I was outside and had to reward myself. I did not get out as much as I should do.

I then saw a carton of cigarettes floating towards me. It was being carried somehow by that three-inch dragon. It was hovering above the long pack with its tiny little claws gripped into it.

No-one seem to notice the dragon. For some reason they did not seem to notice the flying carton of cigarettes either.

It flew to me and I put out a hand and the carton dropped into my hand. These were not bad cigarettes at all. Not the strong ones that hurt my throat, or the cheap ones that made me cough. Actually, I did smoke cheap cigarettes just not some brands. This was a good one though, like my own brand, strong and smooth together.

I saw the dragon glide ahead of me. Did she have a paunch? It looked like she had a belly hanging down.

“Did you eat enough, too much maybe?”

“I ate and ate and ate and then people were staring at me. They could actually see me. Most turned away or rubbed their eyes. By the time they leave the market they won’t believe me anymore. They will think it was a trick of the light or something. BURP. Ah, that’s better.”

“And the cameras? CCTV? You made people look in there, you caused a commotion. The cameras would have zoomed in on you.”

“They are false eyes. They have no chance of seeing me. I am a magic creature and they are technology. The two don’t mix.” She flew down and drifted into my pocket.

I am sure she made no sound but, in my head, I could hear little snores.

The dragon had eaten her fill and now was sleeping it off.

It was a baby dragon after all!

At least I thought it was.

We got home and I oh so gently took the curled-up dragon out of my pocket and put it in her box and closed the lid. She fit so easily it was hard to think this really was a dragon.

I felt a bit bad about the cigarettes. Even as I ripped open the carton and opened up one of the packs, I felt wrong. It was theft plain and simple, I thought to myself as I lit one of the cigarettes.

I am had to admit Generic cigarettes were not too bad. Yes, that was their name, Generic. I had taken enough generic medications to know they were not all bad. The taste was smooth though without them being low tar or mild cigarettes. You know the ones. You end up smoking three of them for every normal one. And still, you cannot get a good drag out of any of them.

I knew it was the dragon that stole them but it did not make me feel any better. On the other hand, I could not go back and say my tiny pet dragon stole a carton of your cigarettes. They would have me sectioned and me in the madhouse in ten seconds flat.

I would do more shopping there. It was the only thing I could do.

What did I do all day as I did not work ?

I kept busy. If I kept my mind busy, I did not worry about my problems. I did not have imaginary conversations with my doctor about what he would ask at my next appointment. Or with my psychiatrist, not that I was likely to see her for a while.

These days you only saw psychiatrists when you were in crisis, psychosis. In the old days, not so long ago, you had a team to help you. A psychiatrist, a psychiatric social worker and maybe a community support worker. I had all three just ten years ago. I even went to a day centre three times a week and passed time with the other mentally ill. Sometimes, I even had a psychologist.

After the financial collapse though everything changed. The councils were not getting the money they did before. They cut all the mentally ill services. Now I did not get any of that, unless I was in crisis.

So, I kept busy. That way, the only time I was left with my thoughts was as I lay down to sleep. Hence my insomnia.

I was going to watch some DVDs. I had an awful lot of DVDs. I bought them second-hand or when the prices were right, when they were on sale. I had been watching ‘I, Claudius’. I preferred boxsets and series to films as they took up more of my time. My thoughts on buying DVDs was a pound an hour. If a series was twelve hours long it must be twelve pound or under. As long as I was patient, I found the things I wanted. I could not buy any of the really new stuff. I had to wait until it came down in price.

So, I had been watching ‘I, Claudius’ and now was going to watch Game of Thrones. I had found it in a sale online, five series for a very good price. The fact that was eight series of it now probably knocked that boxset down in price.

Why Game of Thrones?

I wanted something with dragons in it. After all I had a pet baby dragon. Better find out how to care for it. At least I think it was a pet.

I sat and watched my series. Still the dragon did not awake. Two hours went by and I needed something else. So, it was time for my console. I had all the gadgets you see. All bought as reconditioned. Even my Christmas presents to myself were reconditioned. Why pay top dollar when you can get the same that has been pre-owned?

I had a PS4 but I fancied something different so I played on my old Xbox 360. A console that had given me hours, days, months and years of pleasure. An old game but an excellent one, Crackdown. I did not much like Crackdown 2 but I did love the original.

A tip for you. When you are depressed and can see nothing ahead, get out your console and play a shoot ‘em up. It does not solve the depression but it really lets off steam, gives you something to do and takes up oodles of time. Better that than thinking dark thoughts.

I was just starting, so was getting beaten up a lot. I had played this game many times before though and knew soon I would be a force to be reckoned with. I carried on battling, having a smoke after each two of my deaths. I was just getting close to the boss in a night club or something like when I heard a muttering. I turned to look at the box and got hit by ten different opponents.

My first boss that I had been close to and I had just got snuffed.

“Meat!” I heard in a whisper in my mind.

“You just had meat and after it you slept for . . .” I consulted the clock. “. . . for near enough four hours.” I said out loud.

“I am just a baby. I need feeding up.” Came a whine in my head.

I went to the kitchen and got out a pack of meat from the fridge. I had no idea how much meat this dragon could eat or should eat for that matter. I sliced open the plastic and slapped a piece of pigs’ liver on a small plate. It was about two inches long and about an inch wide. Near enough the size of the dragon. That should be enough.

I put the plate on the window sill and opened the box. The miniscule dragon gave the most adorable yawn, little curls of smoke coming from its nostrils.

“It is by the window. If you cook the meat, don’t break the plate.”

However, it did not seem as if this time she wanted cooked meat. She flew up and quickly to the sill. I had never seen her dart like that in flight before. Normally it was a lazy hover.

She started to bite at the meat, never stopping.

“Good meat human. I prefer sheep though.”

“You cannot get mutton anymore.” I told her. I used to have mutton in a curry occasionally. “And lamb’s liver is not the same taste at all in comparison to chunks of real lamb. I do love the taste of lamb but can never be bothered to cook it.”

“You are right about liver. This is good strong meat, human.”

“I did not see lamb’s heart or even pig’s. I will check for those next time. As long as they are not too pricy. Maybe even brawn. Beef brawn would be perfect for you. A nice bit of brain meat. You see, I was bought up poor but my mother knew all the cuts of meat and what to do with them. So, we used to eat offal as it was cheap. Kidneys, brawn, heart, liver. Liver and bacon is one of the best meals there is.”

The dragon looked up from her food.

“Tim, how do you make this liver and bacon?”

“I like to keep it simple. Some people like to add onions and other stuff but that just takes away the taste of the meat. I think liver is too strong for some people. So, with me, it is just liver and bacon. You fry the bacon but do not crisp it. That leaves fat in the pan and you brown the liver in that. You then cut up the liver and bacon but not too much. You need good sized chunks for taste. You add a thick gravy. Granules does it well but use a lot to make it thick. Throw all that in a casserole dish and let it cook. Let it cook until the liver is just breaking down and adding taste to the gravy.”

I saw the tiniest of tongues come out wrap around a snout and dart back in.

“Does not need the gravy.” Came the voice in my head.

“Oh, it does. You do not have to serve it with the gravy for growing dragons but otherwise the meat will be too dry. For me I add half a tin of new potatoes cooked in the microwave. I hate cooking. So much work and so much washing up. I used to cook some years ago. Not so much now.”

“You will cook this liver and bacon for me.” The dragon told me, more as an order than a request. I tried not to smile in my head.

“No bacon and not a lot of money. Most of it went on the . . .”

The dragon had gone.

It had not flown out of the room. It had not walked on the threadbare carpet that really needed changing. It was just gone.

Nor for long though. A minute later it appeared with a big pack of bacon clutched to its claws underneath it.

I looked at the pack as it was dropped into my hands. I saw something without really looking at it.

“The expiry date is three years ago. I know they cheat on those dates and I will eat stuff a week out of date. Three years for fresh meat is too long though.”

“It is fresh.”

“It cannot be fresh.” I tried to be patient, it was only a baby after all and might not know much about the world. “They stamp these on every pack . . .”

Maybe it was me. I might have got it wrong. I mean it would be impossible to get ahold of bacon three years out of date. I got my reading glasses and rechecked it. “No, it is there. This is bacon. It would kill me to eat this.”

It did not look mouldy or old. Just vacuum-sealed in its plastic pack.

“I went back in time, grabbed some bacon and gave it to you. Tim, you should accept gifts more graciously.”

“I don’t like people giving me things. It makes me . . . hey! Went back in time? That is not possible.”

“Of course it is possible. Get your fry pan out.”

Wearily, of the tiny dragon with the big mouth, or snout if you like, I went into the kitchen. It flew after me and landed on a surface.

I tried to explain to the dragon about time travel. After all it was only a baby, it needed to learn new stuff.

“If you change things in the past, you will affect the future. One person dying in the past could wreck the future. Think if Churchill’s grandfather had an early death because of someone changing time. Not just a death but anything. The slightest thing could ripple through time and change anything. Marrying the grandmother of Arthur Wellesley instead of another could mean Lord Wellington was not born.” I told the dragon as I got out the frying pan and put it on the stove. I trusted the dragon as I sliced open the plastic and the put rasher after rasher into the large frying pan.

As that was cooking, I boiled the kettle and got my gravy granules down and a casserole dish. Back to the pan to turn over the bacon. Pour hot water into the dish and then put dessert spoons of granules in and whisked them in with a fork. Soon there was a thick gravy. Back to the frying pan to turn the bacon for the last time.

The dragon’s snout was going into overtime twitching away at the gorgeous smell of bacon cooking.

“Paradox.” I said as I moved the cooked bacon onto a plate and put the oven on to preheat. “Won’t killing humans from the past result in paradox? The old theme of ‘if you kill your grandfather in the past, you longer exist’?”

“Nonsense. Time is not a straight line. It is like a web that reforms when a line is broken. Your grandfather dies and you get a new grandfather, usually a male who was not going to produce offspring. Time looks after itself. It is not the constant humans think it is. After all it is mainly a concept so humans know when to have their dinner. And speaking of dinner . . .”

It watched avidly as I cut the liver and threw it into the frying pan making spots of fat fly out.

“Go find yourself a nice virgin that has to be sacrificed.” I said and then sniggered at my own joke.

“Dragons do not like to eat virgins.” Ultra the baby dragon was sounded miffed, as if it were about to have a temper tantrum. “Devils like virgin sacrifice, that is where all that came from. An adult dragon can live off one cow a month and one adult human every year.”

“So why the thing about virgins and dragons.” I turned the meat which was frying nicely in the bacon fat.

“Think, if you were the chief of a village or even the witchdoctor, how can you make sure you are not the sacrifice. Make it a virgin. Better still, make it a virgin female. You are safe that way.”

I did like that sort of thinking. An elegant solution, as long as you were not a female virgin.

Did I see drool coming from her snout? I must be mistaken. I was only cooking meat which was now chopped and seared. That went into the casserole dish. The bacon was slightly cooler but still singed my fingers as I chopped it up and threw it in the dish. Except a little bit for me. And another morsel that I held out in my fingertips.

“You cannot hand feed a dragon like a pet.” I was informed but as I went to eat it the dragon swooped in and snatched it with its mouth and gobbled it up.

That was the power of fresh cooked bacon!

The dish went into the oven. No point in washing the other things up yet. I would also have to wash the plate I ate off, the casserole dish and my knife and fork.

I would do all the washing up together. Or not, as the case might be.

I was a world class procrastinator.

The baby dragon was staring at the cooker. I could not help but laugh.

“An hour before that is ready. You got to have the liver breaking down into the gravy, to give that taste too. You have meat in the living room.”

A last long look at the oven and the dragon flew into the hall. It was already at the window sill and eating its piece of liver when I entered the living room.

“You really lucked out getting me as an owner . . . um . . . I mean as your human.” I said sarcastically. “I am ga-ga. I don’t like going out and am afraid of everything. Sometimes at night I do actually jump at my shadow when the light hits it just right.”

I think the dragon was trying to eat her bodyweight in raw liver as it was nearly all gone.

“If you been dragon sized, that would be different. I would not be afraid out there with a twenty-foot dragon at my side. Instead, I get a baby dragon. So, I have feed it, burp it and change its nappy.”

It did not actually have a nappy. I wondered what dragon shit would look like. Would it be like hamsters’ droppings or would dragon shit gold as I had read of in some of my books. If so, I hoped it would shit its bodyweight as well as eating the same in meat.

“Dragons do not defecate. We burn up the waste products in making magic.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You got lucky. See my back. See those yellow lines. Those are my yellow streaks. Pure cowardice. I never fight. Don’t know how.”

“So?”

“So, any notion you got of me riding you into some mystical battle? That ain’t happening.”

“Is the food BURP ready yet?” Ultra asked of me.

reblog for next chapter

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 1 year ago

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Breaking down the comics: Sun in eyes

BONUS COMIC REVIEW:

Issue 17 mini comic: Marc Spector - The Worship of False Idols

You guys. You guys have no idea. This is it. This is the reason I fell utterly in love with Moon Knight. I'm so excited.

When I found Moon Knight (I'll get to that discovery in a later review) I just had to know who he was. I stayed up all night downloading and reading everything.

When I got to this piece it must have been 3am and this is what made me obsessed.

What's hilarious is that this mini comic comes at the end of a really dramatic Marc Spector heavy issue in which he's dark and angsty and violent.

And then...You get this. This delightful idiot man that's just doing his best.

Let's get into it!

I wonder if this image of Marc might be what inspired Doctor Grant from the show.

We open with Marc holding a machete and making his way through a jungle in South America.

Narration: Long before there was a Moon Knight, there was Marc Spector. Though he wore but a single name, he operated under many guises... Soldier of fortune, treasure seeker, courier, mercenary, were a few of those guises.

He was a man whom Moon Knight can now look back on with only slender pride - A strong man, yes, and thoroughly determined, but often a ruthless man, one who braved danger only for money. This is one of his stories."

Such lovely narration. Painting a picture of a gruff killer for hire out for a buck and not afraid to get dirty for it.

We see him hacking his way through a jungle and complaining the whole time.

"Must've hacked my way through thirty miles of this green hell..."

He had previously met with a drunken archeologist (probably at a bar) who told him about a beautiful ugly idol made of solid gold.

He finds a clearing and there sits the idol

He doesn't find this suspicious at all.

There's going to be a lot of screenshots in this review.

(flat in the dirt again.)

The dog apparently belongs to an archeologist nearby. His wife comes out of the tent, remarking that he's probably out drinking again. (Marc's info source).

She looks around and notices the Idol is missing. She shrugs and goes back to the tent.

She has a busy day tomorrow if she's to keep looking for a big discovery that she thinks is very near.

Marc wakes in a dark underground cavern.

Now we get to watch this poor man try to think this through.

"But I can't carry any more than I've already got.

Maybe I should substitute-take something else-something better...

No-The archaeologist in the bar said this idol is the choice one--the one that'll command the highest price from collectors and museums--worth far more than its weight in gold.

But if I leave now, I'll never find this place again. Not before those archaeologists do--and by then they'll have armed guards swarming this place...

Got to decide now-cuz I won't be able to change my mind later..."

Marc decides to keep the one he already has.

He follows a draft and finds himself in a bat cave with Guano up to his calves.

Oh Marc…Oh no…

Oh no.

Oh no

Marc no…

Marc no…stop…

Buddy…pal….Beloved hero of my heart…

I mean…He saves them. Marc isn’t as heartless as he thinks he is. Just cause he’s having a bad day doesn’t mean they have to have one too.

And now… I give you my hero. The light of my life. My obsession. My sweet cheese. My good time boy.

Damn Marc, that’s a nice leg.

Marc makes it back to the town.

He staggers towards where he's staying, looking forwards to a week in bed and then cashing in his idol for the sweet sweet dough (get that bread Marc).

Suddenly, his thoughts of rest are interrupted by someone shouting "Three Dollars American!"

He looks over to see the archeologist and his wife talking.

She admonishes him for taking so long to get back to the newly discovered temple....then asks him why he keeps guying the cheap plaster idols.

Marc looks over to a stand with a man selling "Genuine Inca idols straight from the temple of the sun!"

This is Marc Spector everyone. Mercenary dark and tormented and angry and violent killing machine Marc Spector.

The man that can’t forgive himself and that no one loves easily. A man that is hated and feared.

I don’t read Moon Knight for the dark action. I read Moon Knight for moments like this.

This is what made me fall in love. Not the white cape, the mental health, the DID, the religiously tortured soul, the hero that needs saving…

This man that is having the worst time and still he stumbles into the sunset because DAMN IT he worked hard to get there and he’s going to get something out of it… But at the end of the day, he’s no further along than the rest of us.

He probably had a drink and went to bed after this. Maybe laughing to himself. Maybe laughing about all the close calls. Maybe crying a little.

But he didn’t go back to rob the excavation site. He said “Not today. Not this time.” and went on with his life.

And he told no one of this, because he’s Marc fucking Spector and he has a reputation.

So I leave you with this. The best image of Marc Spector I’ve ever seen. The true meaning and mood of Moon Knight I’ve ever seen.

This pretty much just sums up his life:

(And somewhere, Khonshu looked at this mess and said “That’s the one. That’s the one for me. My son!”)

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #analyzing the comics #Marc Spector #Khonshu took one look and said 'bless this mess'#Look at him #My sweet boy #I love him so much #No one tell Tigra #Frenchie looked at this man and swore to follow him to the ends of the earth #If only Jake and Steven knew

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kelyon · 5 months ago

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Courtship 16: Trousseau

To prepare for her new life, Mr. Gold's fiancee updates her wardrobe.

Read on AO3

The Wednesday before her wedding, Miss French sat, ramrod straight, in a booth at Granny’s Diner. Ice slowly melted into the dregs of her iced tea.

She was alone.

Ruby the waitress sidled up to the table, her face a cautious cringe.

“Are you still waiting for them?”

Digging her nails into her palms, Miss French looked at the clock above the diner counter. 12:17. They wouldn’t be that late, not both of them. Not unless something really bad had happened.

Her eyes shifted to her hands, her engagement ring. Well, maybe something really bad had happened, at least from their perspective.

Her stomach rumbled, but she couldn’t stay here. Mr. Gold’s fiancee couldn’t sit alone at Granny’s and eat a hamburger like some schlub on a lunch break. Sitting here waiting for them had already been more than enough public humiliation.

They’d had lunch together every Wednesday since graduation and they didn’t even bother to tell her? Not even a phone call?

Fuck them.

“No,” Miss French said firmly. She reached into her purse and set a fifty on the table. “No, I should be on my way. Apologies for wasting the space, Miss Lucas.”

Ruby gaped, first at the cash and then at Miss French. The waitress’ awe was cold comfort, but at least Mr. Gold’s money impressed some people. Miss French put on her coat and strutted through the restaurant like a model on a catwalk.

Behind her, she heard Ruby squeak out, “Come again!”

Miss French rolled her eyes and left.

****

She hadn’t been in Mara’s store since the grand opening a year or so ago. Poor little Lacey French never had a reason to look at lingerie. Even if the florist’s daughter had money to burn, who was she going to wear fancy underwear for? Hunter? He was a Philistine, a child. The confections sold at Sugar’n’Spice would have been wasted on him. Like so many other things, Miss French’s desire for satin and lace had lain dormant for most of her life, unknown even to herself. She’d been waiting for Mr. Gold to come along and wake her up.

She burst through the double doors, letting a blast of freezing wind blow through the tiny storefront. It was a cramped space, though some might call it “cozy” or “boutique.” The air was thick with the smell of fake roses oozing from a candle burning by the cash register. The area near the door was discreetly filled up with nighties and robes. Pink and red polyester teased at what other delights might be found deeper within. There weren’t any other customers.

“You know,” Miss French said loudly, “for someone who’s trying to make a living off of making women feel sexy, you sure are quick to judge consenting adults.”

Mara Trudine looked up from a table where she’d been arranging thongs printed with hearts.

“Oh,” she said dully. Her typical easy smile and knowing eyes were nowhere to be found. She looked like she’d eaten a bucket of concrete. “Hi.”

“Did I get the day wrong?” Miss French made her voice bright and fake. “It is Wednesday, isn’t it? Am I so stupid I lost track of the days of the week?”

Miss Trudine sighed. “So Janine stayed home too?”

“I don’t know where she is--I haven’t seen her!” She smiled. “See, I was sitting alone at Granny’s waiting to have lunch with my best friends when I realized I’d be having a lot more fun if I was buying lingerie!”

Spinning on her cobalt stilettos, Miss French turned away and started picking clothes off the racks. She grabbed everything, not caring about style or color, and definitely not looking at the prices.

“You see,” Miss French went on in the same cheerful tone, “Mr. Gold is very particular about what underthings I’m wearing.” She stopped, giggled. “Or not wearing.”

“Listen, I get that you’re mad at me, but--”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Miss French stared at the shopgirl. She smiled so hard her face hurt. “What do you matter?”

At first, the girl looked more surprised than offended--the shock of being slapped in the face before the pain could set in. Then her features hardened. Her freckled brow furrowed.

“Well, screw you too,” she said. “If that’s how you feel, why are you even here?”

“To spend money!” Miss French giggled. “Mr. Gold insists that I wear the best lingerie, and, well--” She made an exaggerated look around the modest store. “At least this is the best in Storybrooke.”

Miss Trudine wasn’t having any of this. “I think you should leave.”

“Do you really?” Miss French pulled a stack of fifty dollar bills out of her purse. “Because Mr. Gold wants me to spend all of this today. And he’ll probably give me more tomorrow.”

Jaw clenched, the little entrepreneur looked down at the money on the table. Miss French knew the calculations going on in her business-track brain: How much money that was, how many bills it could pay, how many other customers it would take to add up to the same sum, how long it would take a specialty store in a podunk town to get that many customers. It all added up to the same result.

She sighed in defeat. “What are you looking for?”

“What do you have in white?” she asked. “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m getting married on Saturday.”

Miss Trudine opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she pointed to a corner. “Bridal section is over there.”

Beaming, the future Mrs. Gold snatched up the cash and pranced over to a rack of white tulle. Her skirt today was flouncy. Frilly fabric bounced against her thighs as she walked, a constant reminder of who she was and why she was doing this.

Her first instinct was to grab everything in her size, throw money at Mara, and run home to try things on. But was that really how Mrs. Gold would act? Would Mrs. Gold be in a hurry for anyone other than her husband? Would Mrs. Gold bother to do things in the privacy of her own home when she could put someone in their place by doing it in front of them?

Of course not.

Leisurely, she skimmed through the bra and panty sets. She ran her fingers over silky polyester and scratchy lace. When something caught her eye, she held it up against her body, as though that would tell her anything. She carried the hangers on one fingertip like they weighed nothing. Mrs. Gold would wear underwear like this every day, every day Mr. Gold allowed her to wear anything at all.

“Is there a fitting room?” she asked when she had taken everything she wanted off of one rack.

“Over there,” Miss Trudine pointed to a drape-covered archway. Her mouth worked as she decided how much customer service she wanted to offer the person who had once been her best friend. “Let me know if you need anything in a different size.”

“Oh, I will!” Miss French threatened.

****

She was pickier than she needed to be, wasting time trying on everything, asking for different sizes and colors. The shopgirl spent the afternoon running back and forth across the store with new items for her to try. Nothing went untested. Corsets and stockings and nighties--everything that was pretty or scandalous or tempting.

“Oh, Mr. Gold is going to love this one,” Miss French squealed.

It might have been made just for him. The fabric--see-through and skimpy as it was--was a rich, luscious burgundy. All the clasps and fittings were gold. It was relatively traditional, classy as these things went. A plunging bra and barely-there panties, and a garter belt that clung to her waist deliciously. The whole thing was both sexy and elegant, like an old-fashioned pinup. Nothing tawdry or cheap, just beauty.

The woman in the mirror looked poised and confident. There was no gap between who she wanted to be and who she was, and she knew it. In this outfit, she was worthy of being Mrs. Gold.

“Do you have stockings that can match this color?” she called out to the shopgirl.

“If I don’t have any in stock, I can probably order some,” she said from the other side of the curtain that functioned as a door. “What color is it?”

Giddy with triumph, Miss French threw open the curtain. She spread her arms and struck a pose. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

For a second, Mara’s smile went genuine. “Oh yeah, that is such a great set. I’ve been--oh my God.”

She was so serious that for a second Lacey thought something terrible had happened. Mara’s face had gone white behind her freckles and her eyes didn’t move. She was staring at her.

Staring at her arm.

“Oh!” Reflexively, Miss French giggled and rubbed the spot where Mr. Gold’s bruise still lingered. It had been a few days, so it wasn’t warm anymore. The raised pink had settled down into a mottled purple. It was still a perfect rectangle, still the shape of the ruler he had used to punish her.

“What happened?” Mara whispered. “And tell me the truth. Don’t give me some bullcrap about slipping on ice or something.”

Taking a deep breath, Miss French dragged her fingers over from the bruise. It still hurt when she pressed it. The pain steadied her.

“Your suspicions are correct,” she said lightly. “Mr. Gold did this.”

“I’m calling Sheriff Graham.”

“Don’t!” She grabbed her friend by the arm before she could leave the changing room. “It wasn’t a crime. I wanted him to do it.”

“Then I’m calling Dr. Hopper. You’re sick in the head!”

“No, I’m not!” Miss French shouted. “What a stupid thing to say! You think the way a person gets their kicks is enough to make them psychotic? What, are you gonna get me committed for having fun?”

Miss Trudine’s brown eyes blazed with righteous fury. “He is hurting you. You’ve been dating him for what--a week?--and he’s getting you to marry him. He is turning you against your friends and family. This is bad, Lace!”

“It’s my friends and family who are turning me against them. Mr. Gold has nothing to do with it.”

“Are you even allowed to call him by his first name? Do you even know it?”

Miss French scoffed. “That doesn’t matter. He could be named Barbara for all I care, it doesn’t change how I feel!”

“How do you feel?” The shopgirl didn’t let up. “Do you feel safe? Do you think you can say no to him? Lacey, do you even love him?”

“There is more to life than lo-o-ove,” she sneered. She walked over to the pile of hangers and fabric and grabbed a handful of lingerie. She shook it under Miss Trudine’s nose. “You love this shit. You love your business, but you’re going to go broke trying to make it work. You can’t charge a week’s worth of groceries for a single pair of underwear!”

“This isn’t about my career. This is about--”

“Mr. Gold is going to tear these off my body with his teeth.” Miss French snarled. “Because that’s what we think about what you love. Then I’m going to come in here and buy more and you’re gonna stay in business. Because it isn’t love that makes the world go round, it is money. And if you ever say another word about my choices, you will never see any of my money again.”

The girl’s gaze was steady, but her eyes were tearing. “I’m your friend, Lacey. I want to help you.”

“You can’t,” Miss French snapped. “I should have figured that out a long time ago. Mr. Gold is the only one who can give me what I want.”

“Since when do you care so much about stuff?” Miss Trudine whispered in disbelief.

“Since I’ve finally been able to get any.” Miss French went back to the mirror. She admired her body, and the way the outfit flattered her. Mr. Gold would definitely enjoy ripping it to shreds. And his enjoyment, his pleasure, his approval--that mattered more than anything in the world. “Besides, stuff is just the beginning.”

****

Back in her room above the flower shop, the future Mrs. Gold started packing. The clothes she had accumulated since she’d started dating Mr. Gold had already filled up her childhood dresser. There were more clothes she hadn’t worn yet, still neatly folded in the paper shopping bags from Modern Fashions. Emptying her drawers, she filled up the bags with everything she wanted to take with her. She would move into Mr. Gold’s house after the honeymoon. The only thing that wasn’t brand-new was the purple sequined dress she had worn on their first date.

Everything she wanted for the honeymoon was in a little leather suitcase Mr. Gold had loaned her. She didn’t have a lot of clothes to pack for that, and what she did have was too skimpy to take up much room.

She tossed the rest into plastic garbage bags. Her faded underwear and stretched-out sports bras were useless. Cotton socks went the way of her dirt-stained sneakers and worn-out loafers. T-shirts with too many holes to wear in public used to be repurposed into pajama shirts--she didn’t need those anymore. Rags. None of this was good enough for Mrs. Gold.

There were some things that weren’t total trash. Some of these jeans and t-shirts would have lasted Lacey French another year or more. The slacks and blouses were nice enough, if entirely unsuitable for Mr. Gold’s stupid slut. There was a part of her that couldn’t completely discard these things. Even if she didn’t want them in her life anymore, they weren’t worthless.

She picked up the gray cable-knit sweater that had once belonged to her cousin Andrew. She’d worn it in front of Mr. Gold and he hadn’t liked it. She wouldn’t be able to wear the sweater as his wife, but there was no way she could just pitch it.

There was an answer. She didn’t like it, but it was the right thing to do. With a heavy sigh, Miss French opened up a clean garbage bag and started a new category of clothes.

****

The next morning, she hefted three trash bags over to the only yellow house in Old Town, the only house Mr. Gold didn’t own. The plastic sign for Janine’s business desperately proclaimed Hair Today! The name had always annoyed Lacey and wasn’t any more endearing to Miss French.

Without knocking, she opened the unlocked door.

“Hello?” she called, unsure of who would answer.

The TV was on in the living room, providing the only light in the empty space. The curtains were drawn, so everything was dim and gloomy. In the middle of February, the artificial Christmas tree was still in the corner, undecorated and unlit.

The Woolvertons always waited until Christmas Eve to put up their ornaments--letting the kids stay up as late as they needed to for the job to be done. The car crash had happened in the time between putting the tree up and decorating it. Now the bare tree loomed over their living space like the shadow of death itself.

“Aunt Terri?” Lacey’s voice quavered.

“She’s asleep.” Janine leaned against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, cradling a mug of coffee. “Or at least she’s in bed. She spends most of her time in bed until Chloe gets home from school.”

“Oh.”

“Did you want to talk to her? Maybe apologize for whatever you did at the graveyard?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Miss French said coolly. “And I wanted to see you. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be up here or in the basement.”

Janine shrugged. “I don’t have any appointments today and the phone number is the same for the business and the house.”

“Oh that’s dumb,” she blurted.

Mom had always been insistent on separating Game of Thorns business from their home life. The store had a separate phone line, and even an answering machine so they wouldn’t feel like they had to be on call after hours. Family time was family time, was what she always said.

Janine didn’t respond to her criticism. She shifted her weight, so she was standing up straight. “You want to talk to me?”

“Yeah.” She picked up one of the garbage bags by the strained plastic handle. “I’ve got some clothes I thought you might want.”

Her cousin’s face had no expression. “Because you have a brand-new wardrobe.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

“Courtesy of Storybrooke’s most bloodthirsty loan shark.”

Miss French pressed her lips into a thin line. “He never asks you people for blood, just money.”

The hairdresser scoffed. “‘Us people’? Like you’re so different from us peasants.”

“Well, I am the only girl he asked to marry him.”

“Cuz you’re the only one who would say yes. I don’t know if that means you’re crazy or brainwashed or--”

“Stupid?” Miss French bared her teeth. She took a step forward. “Do you think I don’t know who he is? Do you think I don’t know what he wants? Do you think I don’t want to give it to him?”

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Miss Woolverton’s blue eyes were all ice. “I think you don’t understand what kind of choice you’re making. And I think if you just waited--”

“Waited for what?” She sighed. “Wait for things to get better? For the business to turn around? For us to finally get ahead a little? I’ve been waiting my whole life for that shit. I thought getting good grades was working towards a future, but that’s just more broken promises. Janine, you know that. You’re here in it with me. You thought your future was gonna be different too. Don’t you want to escape? Don’t you want to win? For once?”

Janine shook her head. Her free hand rubbed the space between her eyebrows. “This isn’t the way to do it, Lacey.”

“I know what you think,” she swallowed. “I wish I could make you understand.”

“I do understand.” Janine took a step closer. “You’re right, I do want to escape. I want to live in a world where the bad things never happened, where we could believe in even the possibility of a happy ending. But just because we don’t live in that world doesn’t mean you have to abandon every principle we were raised with.”

“What did principles ever get us?” Miss French muttered.

“Being good isn’t about getting things. You do what’s right because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Virtue is its own reward?” She scoffed. “So far I’ve found vice to be much more satisfying.”

Her cousin sighed and looked down into her coffee.

“Anyway, I’ll just leave the stuff here,” Lacey gestured to the bags. “Been a while since we had a clothes swap.”

“I don’t want them,” Miss Woolverton said softly.

“Oh come on, there’s decent stuff in here. You always liked that white sweater I wore to--”

“Stop.” Her voice was firmer now, her face sadder. In the harsh lights and murky shadows, she almost looked like Mom. “I don’t want your garbage, Lacey.”

“It’s not--”

“It is to you,” she said. “You’re going off to a fancy new life. You think you don’t need these clothes anymore, and maybe you don’t. But you can’t just throw stuff at me and think it’s the same as sharing.”

“I offered to share my new life with you. Honestly, the offer’s still on the table. We can go to Modern Fashions and I’ll buy you a bridesmaid’s dress right now.”

The heaviest sigh yet. “Oh, Lacey,” she said. “Just because Gold can buy you, it doesn’t mean you can buy us.”

“I’m not--”

“Yes, you are. You remember that book we read in middle school? The Witch of Blackbird Pond? There’s a difference between giving generous gifts and just tossing things away because of pride, because you have so much stuff it doesn’t matter.”

“The family in that book were literal Puritans.”

Miss Woolverton looked at her with insufferable patience. “There’s a better way to win in life,” she said. “Yes, times have been tough lately. They’ve been terrible.” She blinked a couple of times, pushing back tears. “But nothing good is going to come from you marrying Gold.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “And you’re wrong anyway. Good stuff has already come from me being with Mr. Gold.”

She shook her head. “I hope I am wrong. I hope you can be happy with him. I hope he’ll be good to you, good for you. Maybe you’ll bring out the best in him, instead of him bringing out the worst in you.”

Miss French rolled her eyes. “I’m not interested in changing Mr. Gold.”

“Of course not,” the hairdresser said. “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. That’s your whole problem.”

#courtship #rumbelle #golden lace #rumbelle fic #golden lace fic

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