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[kisswingshoe]

vantage shoes

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[scribblertown]

Fates of the Fateless Ch 10: Service with a Grimace

it ain't much, sanitary, humane, dignifying, well paying, or fun. But it's honest.

This is a mature story, this is where themes start to become mature and trigger warnings are relevant from this point forward. You have been warned.

TRIGGER WARNING!!

violence against women, graphic description of body horror and violence, implications of rape/non-con

ao3

wattpad

“Hey! Girly, pay attention! I got dishes that need cleaning and customers that need servin’!”

“Yes sir Mr. Roper! On it!” Struggling to corral the mob of drunken men out of your way to reach another soiled table. Quick to wipe it down as quickly as possible while juggling a plethora of shot glasses piled nearly over your head. Dashing to and fro through a crowd with absolutely no regard for your wellbeing. But then again, they were probably too shitfaced to even comprehend anything beyond shoving even more booze contaminated with who knows what down their gullets. Bumping into each other exchanging foul words and even more foul bodily fluids. Leaving you with various questionable stains along the hem of your skirt and shoes. It was dirty work. But at least it was honest work.

“Heeeee—eeeey llady! Me ‘nd my buddies need shomore drrrrinks. Pronto!” Another one of your regulars who you’ve never actually seen leave the saloon slumps against the bar top slapping his hand into the wood to emphasize his pronto, soaking his shirt sleeve into a puddle of mystery liquid that went flying in every other direction upon impact.  

“Ok, ok! Give me a second Albert!” You scrambled around the bar quick to deposit your load of dirty dishes into Mr. Ropers hands as you scramble down the cellar door ladder, shuffling through the sawdust to grab as many bottles of cool liquor as you can while still being able to climb back up. “Money first! Then you get your drinks.” You scold the many grabby hands that lamely flop to their pants, creating a pile of rusted coins that you then swept into your apron’s skirt and over to the large old cash register.

“Hey! Hamish, I’m not paying you to sit around!” Mr. Roper screams over the mob, wiping down glasses with an old rag before deeming them “clean” enough to be served back into the masses. Hamish who was most likely skimming drinks and used cigarettes began an upbeat tune on the old piano, stirring up the group of men even more into a mass of dancing bodies. Busy pouring shot after shot you felt yourself seize up with dread as you watched one particular man lose a boot, soaring through the air before landing a straight bullseye into one of the unemptied spittoons. Pouring it’s viscous and rancid contents all over the floor, only to be stepped in and dragged across the rest of the wooden planks as you felt the start of sick sour the back of your throat.

It’s honest work. It’s honest work. It’s honest work. It’s honest work.

________________________________________________________

It wasn’t until well into the night did the masses finally decide to call it a day, slowly filtering their way out the saloon’s swinging doors leaving anything and everything undesirable for you to clean up. The scene was the same every night. Chairs and tables were strewn across the room, usually not standing and in the wrong places. Playing cards strewn every which way, never adding up to a full 52. Shattered glass shards were to be expected. Vomit was the norm. Someone’s forgotten hat or boot or… shirt? Cigarette butts everywhere but the ashtray. And you’d clean all of it for the hefty sum of $1.42 a night.

But it’s the most fucking honest $1.42 you’ve ever made.

“I’m gonna call it a night Mr. Roper… I’ll uh… see you same time tomorrow.”

Mr. Roper was sucking on a cigar while satisfyingly counting out his piles of cash. “See you then, you too Hamish.” He nods the two of you off with an exhale of white smoke before going back to his counting.

The night air was cool and crisp. A slight breeze brought a light shiver as it passed through your soiled layers. Ones you’ve had to wear for the 3rd week in a row. Now with a full-time job that sucked every ounce of energy and time you had, left you with no time to clean your only other pair of clothes. Your feet barely leave the final wooden step when you hear someone call your name.

Your eyes drift upwards toward the balcony to find a woman. One of the working girls. “Madame Penelope wants a word with you.”

“Look I’m not interested or will ever be interested in that kind of work so-”

“I’m just the messenger. As far as I know she just wants to talk.” She gives you a once over with her eyes, face blank and tired. “I’d at least listen to what she has to say.” She turns her back to you, walking a few steps before stopping and turning her head in your direction. “She’s the only one looking out for us girls, not just her whores.” She then disappears from your view. You almost don’t go back in, far too tired and dirty to really socialize any more, but against your better judgment your feet find themselves climbing up the main level of the building, down a luxurious hallway and finally to the lavish door guarded by the most popular ladies of the night, who swept you inside quickly. 

There was low light inside, a lantern hidden behind a red curtain cast everything in a rose-tinted glow. You spot a large woman scribbling away at a desk, a deep baritone voice finally acknowledged your presence. “Give me a moment darlin’.” A moment passed with only the sound of pen and paper.

“I’m sorry but…I’m not interested in your line of work. And I’m not going to change my mind about it.” You break the silence. 

“Oh, yah’ve proven that much, turnin’ every generous offah me and mah girls throw your way.” She chuckles deep in her chest, she collects whatever paperwork she had into a stack, tapping them into uniform order before placing them to the side, eyes now falling upon your person. “Hm… Young. Pretty little thing.” she eyes you up, taking a moment to really take you in. “Make the sweetest little pet.” She stands, pulling a cigarette from a little metal compact. Lighting it as she comes ever closer. A flick of her hand and the match is extinguished, a deep inhale and a musky cloud of burnt tobacco fills your lungs causing you to cough. “How’d yah end up here?” The wispy smoke clears and you finally get a good look at the mysterious and powerful woman you’ve heard only through whispers and gossip. The boss of the boss. Her hair was a vibrant red, styled in those classic old fashioned sausage curls, perfectly shiny and uniform. Stripes of white and grey could be seen amongst the fiery locks. Her eyes were a deep green, bloodshot, framed by sagging lids and heavy makeup. Lines deep in her face evidence of a long life lived. She was large in stature and frame, ruby colored lips sucking in another puff awaiting your answer. 

“Life happened.” You wave her second puff out of your face. “Are we done here? I’ve got a long day of work tomorrow.” She smiles, another laugh billows past her lips.

“Ah yes, the stable is where yah sleepin’ ain’t it?”

“Can’t afford anything else.” You cough into your elbow, trying to dispel the tickle in your throat. It practically shakes your whole body in the process. She makes a grab for your arm, pinching your wrist and clicking her tongue.

“Haven’t been eatin’ well either. Gettin’ skinny.” Her bright eyes give you a knowing look just past the dark strands of her lashes. Caked with far too much mascara. “Yah could be liven’ bettah if yah come work for me.” As if to rub it in your face she tinkers with the heavy gold set necklace resting along her freckled throat. “Make thrice the commission. A roof ovah yah head. No longah sleepin’ in that filth and gettin’ by with scraps.” Her nails clinked against the shimmering metal.

“I’d be sleeping with the filth instead.” You snatch your hand back. Mr. Roper may be the manager. But she was the boss. If she really wanted to, she could increase your pay without trying to traffic you into sex work.

“Hm, still have that naive vigor of hope in yah eyes.” She taps off the excess ash building up on her cig, “Just haven’t learned the lesson all women come to learn eventually.” She toys with one of her curls, pulling on it before it springs back into form. “We don’t get a choice.” She’s deliberate to blast the next exhale straight into your eyes, causing them to burn and tear up. She glides to her velvet couch, decorated with fine pillows threaded with bright colors. “I didn’t call yah up here to recruit yah.”

“No?” You give her a confused look.

 “A man came by, flashed a big bag of money in mah face askin’ about the new flowah servin’ the devil’s nectah at the bar. Got real haughty when ah told him yah weren’t one of mine.” He. A man has noticed you, the last thing you want in a time where men are free to do whatever they want without regard for someone like you. “Don’t know him, just know he comes through every once in a while.” Her face scrunches up in annoyance. “Don’t trust his kind…” she taps off the extra ash accumulating at the end of her cigarette. “Got that air about him… used to takin’ what he wants. Don’t care if he gotta hurt others to get it.” Her fingers tap aggressively against the velvet arm of the couch, leaving little divets in the fabric as they land.

“Yah got a gun?” you nod your head and a small “yes” leaves your lips. “Good, ah suggest yah keep it on yah person from now on.” She turns away from you, her cigarette a nub in her fingertips now snubbed out into an empty glass cup. She remains transfixed on the ashes. “By the way, I had mah girls fix yah a bath.” She turns to look at you, lids heavy and gaze uninterested. “What’s been said stays between you and ah, undahstand?”

_______________________________________________________

You can feel the cold metal of the gun pressed against your stomach, engulfed by extra fabric and held there by the ribbon on your apron. A poor attempt at a makeshift holster. It’s odd comfort nonetheless. Your hyper aware of every new body that comes in through those swinging doors. Eyes critical and intense, attempting to take in every single detail of each new face that enters your eyeline. Picking apart how their looking at you.

Uninterested.

Annoyed.

Shy.

Dazed.

Lecherous.

Drunk.  

But which one has put a target on your back? Who could be so interested in some nobody? What do you have that they want?

You’re vulnerable.

You’re scared.

You’re alone.

You’re an easy target.

You’ve been nursing the same sleep deprived headache since you got the horrible heads up from Penelope, it throbs just behind your eyes. Making you slightly nauseous. Unable to stomach much and in turn low on energy.

Your hands are shaky causing you to spill a whole 2 shots worth of liquor onto the floor. “Dammit.” Swooping down to wipe up your mess. Low to the ground and preoccupied. A large shiny black shoe enters your vision, fancy and expensive looking, deliberately steps right on your rag. Catching a couple of your fingers.

“Ow! What the hell!?” You angrily snap your head up to chew out whoever felt the need to make your already terrible day even worse. The curse words catch in your throat and your blood runs cold. Deep set brown eyes stare down at you. Hair parted down the middle. And a stupid pencil ‘stache sits atop a smirk.

It was Samson.

“That’s a good look on you.” His eyes narrow and his smile extends up the corners of his mouth. “On your hands and knees, all domestic like.” He grinds his foot down harder, you rip your hand out from underneath the force. Taking some skin off as you do. Standing quick and several steps back, cradling your hand as you gape at him angry and shocked.

Your eyes dart across the many bodies within the saloon, looking for the familiar faces of the gang. But none appeared.  

“Don’t worry, none of Van der Linde’s other strays are here. Just you and me.” He puts his hands behind his back, taking you in with a long and tortuous stare. “I for sure thought you’d be dead by now. From what the others said about you.” When he smiles, his eyes remain cold and dead. “Useless. Stupid. And a waste of a pretty face.” Your heart twists a bit, and you ponder why you feel the sting at the thought of the others saying such things.

“What do you want?” You tried to sound strong and confident. But it comes out exhausted. “I got drinks to serve.” Surely with so many people around he wouldn’t dare do anything.

“By all means, serve me up a whiskey.” He shoves a man aside to take his place at the bar, throwing a couple coins carelessly in your direction.

“Hey what’s your-!“ the customer turns in anger, ready to throw hands before taking in the sheer size of Samson. “uuh- ‘scuse me.” Scurrying away. You’re quick to grab a bottle and a glass. Tempted to dump his drink in a dirty one but think better of it with his eyes watching your every move. Slapping the drink down, deliberately causing some of it to spill.

Samson eyes you up, grasping the glass and taking a swig. Tasting it on his tongue before his face twists.

“Don’t taste like 50 cents worth to me.” Despite his seemingly dislike of the liquor, he throws the rest back and downs the glass. “Now you on the other hand-”

“That’s not part of my job description so save it.” You blank at him, monotone. His smirk drops. Staring you down without a word. He slides the glass towards you aggressively.

“Another.” He says. As you pour he continues to feel the need to speak. “And with a smile this time.”

You deliberately force an even deeper scowl onto your face. Slamming the drink down harder this time, causing the liquid to splash up his shirt.

“Hey! What the hell-!” Before he can get his words out you slip away to the opposite side of the bar where other degenerates await your service.

“What can I get you?” in your peripheral you can see him marching over to you. You stubbornly keep your eyes forward.

“Yeah, let me get a gin.” Your current customer requests. Slipping you the cash, before delving into his pockets again. “And something for yourself.” He utters with a smile.

“Thanks, but I don’t touch the stuff.” You counter, sliding the extra money back to him.

“Hey! I wasn’t done talking to you!” Samson shouts, bulldozing his way directly into your view, knocking the man you were just serving out of the way. However, unlike the other patrons, this one seemed much more daring. Jabbing his elbow into Samson’s side and shoving hard, retaking his place at the bar.

“Watch yourself partner, be nice to the lady…” The strangers face appears calm, but there’s a look in his eyes that says otherwise. Samson eyes him up, smirking. Standing up straight to accentuate his clear advantage in size.

“I had my eye on her first. So, how’s about you run along and find some other whore to disappoint.” Samson jabs his finger into the man’s chest.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” You holler, drawing his gaze to you once more. With the focus now on you the other man took the opportunity to roughly grab Samson’s finger and twist him into the bar top. There was an audible pop along with a shout of pain. The stranger is quick to then grab the glass of booze and slam it down hard onto Samson’s face, shattering on impact and leaving a large bloody gash on his brow. Samson whimpers helplessly against the cold hard bar top, held down by his throat.

“A gentleman would apologize to the lady.” He says it in such a casual manner, as if he was simply talking about the weather and not breaking fingers or nearly gouging a man’s eye out with glass.

“I-I’m sorry okay! I’m sorry!” Samson’s cowardice surfaces with whimpers and misty eyes blinking back the blood that edges dangerously near his lash line. The stranger tilts his head curiously at you.

“That good enough for you?” he asks.

You glare down at Samson, “No. I want him gone. I want him to leave. Me. Alone.” You growl.

“That gonna be a problem for you? Are you gonna be a problem?”

“Nono! I’ll go, I promise I’ll go and never come back!” Samson squirms, the sight leaving you with a disturbing feeling of satisfaction.

“I wouldn’t mind if you hurt him some more…” you spoke, staring directly into Samson’s eyes. And there it was. That look of desperation. 

“By all means, it would be my pleasure.” The mystery man smiles, slamming Samson’s head down on the bar top. HARD. You can practically feel the force shake the floor boards. He does it again before finally letting go, allowing Samson to fall to the floor. In a flurry of panic, he scrambles to his feet and barrels out of the building. Slamming his shoulder into the door frame painfully hard before disappearing. “I think the next time he looks in a mirror he’ll be sure to remember what he’s been told.” Wiping down his jacket, smoothing out the edges.

“Shit…” You mumble, “He didn’t pay for his drink…” You rub your eyes, no doubt the unpaid tab would be coming out of your paycheck.

Guess I’m skipping dinner again…

“Well, I’ve got plenty to spare,” The mystery man digs around in his pockets, a glimmer in his eyes, a handful of bills placed on the damp bar top in a neat pile. 

“That’s too much I don’t-”

“Please, for your troubles.” He begins to pick up his mess of glass and whips out a handkerchief to wipe down the table. 

Your tongue stumbles around in your mouth, only able to muster up a simple “Thank you…” Scooping the bills into your hand.

He pats his hands dry onto his dusty coat, extending one to you. “Daniel.” 

Your hand finds his giving your name, his grip squeezes yours firmly and lingers a bit too long before finally pulling away. “You new to these parts?”

Before you can utter a reply, one of the working girls sidles up to the scene, nestling herself into the crook of Daniel’s side. “Hey honey. Lookin’ for a good time?” Her hand slides up his front as she flutters her lashes. Pressing her bust up towards his face. She shoots you a sneaking glance that said “Beat it.” 

“Um, thank you again Daniel.” You give a small wave. Slipping off to the other side of the bar.

Keeping your eyes laser focused on your dirty dishes. Lingering on an already clean plate before daring a glimpse upwards only to have your eyes meet Daniel’s stormy gray ones once more. He was watching you. A group of men, each of them taking peeks in your direction, linger with him near the entrance. He finally waves with a smile as he departs out the saloon doors.

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

It’s the next day. No sleep, but for once some food to put in your belly. Up bright and early for another day of saloon work. You notice the stable owner isn’t around hauling hay, nor his farrier that usually lingered on his old rickety chair, reading the day away. Only Big Enough and his new friends to spend breakfast with. You find them farther in town, along with practically half the town as well clustered together in one spot. 

They’ve all gathered around the opening between one of the buildings. Chatter and concerned looks are exchanged as they continue to gawk at whatever has such a grip on their attention. You drift closer, eyes trying to peek through the small gaps that form each time a body moves. Soon a lawman arrives and attempts to dissipate the crowd, ushering them further back and finally revealing what was once hidden.

A woman lies dead in what was once a puddle of her own blood now soaked up by the sand leaving a damp dark halo around her head. She was facing the sky when she died, eyes glazed and pale, deep bruises around her throat, practically engulfing her whole neck. Blood coating her fingertips and clothes torn from her form leaving her naked and vulnerable for all to see. Even worse, you recognize this girl. Someone you’d seen often around the saloon, always smiling and with a light in her eyes that is now extinguished. Taken away in the night.

No one saw anything. No one heard anything.

Your breakfast doesn’t stay down for long.

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

You’re at the bar somberly serving drinks. Unable to manage even your worst half assed customer service facade. 

 “Was she a friend of yours?” you recognize the voice. Eyes slowly trailing up to a face half shrouded by a gray flat billed cap. Gray stormy eyes peeking out.

Your head shakes. “I just… She was just a kid.” What else is there to say? Just a fucked-up situation.

“Well whatever friends she had have a strange way of mourning.” He remarks, eyeing some of the other girls laughing and flirting. Like it’s just another Tuesday.

You watch one of the girls caress her hand down a man’s vest, fingers slowly plucking away buttons before she reaches the bottom. Hand subtly cupping his crotch, her lips find his ear. Whatever is said causes his eyebrows to skyrocket to his hairline. 

“She isn’t making them money anymore so why should they care?” You spit out in frustration. “Sorry,” you sigh out “Did you want anything?” He eyes you for a minute before he leans away.

“How’re the grits today?” He asks, eyeing the menu and its minimal options. After all, this was a brothel not a bed and breakfast.

“Don’t know, I’m not allowed to eat on the job.” You eye the back room to the dingy stove at the back wall, couple of old and likely dirty pots and pans lingering on a low flame. “Probably a little burnt. And I think there’s some beans and rice stewing away.” He knocks his knuckles on the wood bar top.

“I’ll take a plate.” He fiddles in his pockets, money in exchange for a dingy plate of food. And as you predicted, the grits had charred bits in it. He saunters off to a table to eat. You find there to be a few extra bucks thrown in, just for you.

Your day goes by as usual. At one point Daniel brings up his empty plate, exchanging it for a drink. You spot him later playing a game of cards. He comes back up to you for lunch and dinner. And when it’s closing time. He’s helping you turn the stools upside down as you sweep.  

“How’s about I walk you home?” He asks. He notices right away how rigid you get at his proposal. He throws his hands up in a mock surrender. “Now I ain’t being forward or nothin’ but I wouldn’t feel it right to allow a vulnerable young woman to walk alone after…” He pauses, eyes turned upwards in thought, “Well, it just wouldn’t sit right with me.”

Your hands grip the broom, twisting it in your palms. “I don’t live far.” You dismiss. Pushing the pile of dust and cigarette butts towards the entrance. “Besides. I imagine you’re tired of hanging around here all day.” You turn to him with a reassuring smile. “You can head on home. I’ll be fine.” You brush the remnants of dirt and debris off the porch edge.

Daniel cocks his head. “I suppose your mama and daddy wouldn’t be too keen at the sight of their daughter coming home with a stray mutt like me at her heels.” He chuckles to himself. Leaning against the wooden beam. You remain silent a moment. Standing with the broom nestled in the crook of your elbow, resting against your shoulder as you gaze out onto the dark empty street.

Daniel clears his throat, “Pardon me, I didn’t realize- I shouldn’t have assumed your family situation.” He apologizes. You remain silent, eyes watching someone across the street dim their lantern in the window. “Do you have… Is there anyone waiting for you?” He asks. He’s met with the same silence. You hear the scuff of his boots on the hard wood as he pulls away from the beam. “That settles it, I’m walkin’ you home.” You finally turn to meet his eyes, dark stormy gray eyes bearing deep into yours. “I insist.”

You awkwardly lead the way, walking at a brisk pace, keeping just ahead of him. Your hands nestled securely atop the hidden pistol, pressing it into your belly. “I noticed the other girls don’t seem too friendly with you.” He comments.

“No, not really.” You blank.

“Don’t like the competition I suppose.”

“I only serve drinks. Nothing more.” You curtly correct. “I guess… they probably assume I think I’m better than them to do… well what they do.”

“Jealous at your conviction.”

“I don’t know about that.” You both fall quiet; you can practically feel his eyes on the back of your head.

“And your boss. He treatin’ you well?”

“I don’t get breaks, I don’t get meals, and I don’t get to keep my tips.” You tilt your head just enough to see him in your peripheral. “So not really.”

“That include-“

“Yeah.” You interrupt, “It was very kind of you to give me all that extra cash but, you’re just lining his pockets.” Or more like Penelope’s. Her girls watching you like a hawk; you’d seen the beatings that came with disobedience.

The two of you had finally made it to the big green wooden door of the stable. You see the farrier smoking a pipe and reading by lantern just outside of the side door. He pays you two no mind, but his presence is a comfort none the less. You turn to finally face Daniel; he slows with a confused look on his face. Eyeing up the stable barn and then back to you.

“I told you; I don’t live far.” It’s true, the barn itself was well within sight of the saloon. Really just a pleasant stroll down the street. “I um- I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” Daniel calls your name.

“Things’ll get better. I promise you that.” He smiles and winks. You only huff a small laugh.

“I sure hope so.”

The next day Mr. Roper, walking a bit strangely, silently hands you an envelope with your name written in elaborate cursive on the front. There are various bills inside along with a hand written note in the same cursive.  

I keep my promises.

D.O.

[spei-sidus]

Lucky Bunny

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

No Archive Warnings

Written for UsaMamo Week 2023, Day 1

It's the Year of the Rabbit - Usagi's year! Usagi plays Spin the Bottle with Mamoru at Motoki's New Year's Eve party.

Usagi felt lucky. It was New Year’s Eve. Tomorrow would start the Year of the Rabbit. Her year! And the day of her birth was considered to be lucky as well. “Maybe I’ll finally find out who Tuxedo Kamen is?” she wondered. The Senshi of the Moon had known the caped hero for two years now, yet even now he remained annoyingly elusive. The others endlessly rattled on about how he was their enemy, but she intuitively knew better. 

She skipped towards Motoki’s apartment, where a party was in full swing. He’d invited many of his customers, including the girls and herself, and…Mamoru. Three years her senior and now in college, Mamoru still frequented the Crown Arcade as he did in high school. One would think he’d be better off studying in a quiet place - a place, that is, without her - but he persisted. The coffee must be really good for him to keep coming back. Usagi grimaced; she wasn’t a fan of coffee at all.

She called out cheerily as she slipped off her shoes at the Genkan. The party was in full swing; J-Pop music playing from the surround sound speakers. Some people were dancing. Others were drinking. Usagi sighed. While she knew she could get away with drinking while underage, she wasn’t going to risk it. It might be inviting Zoisite to send a youma their way. She could imagine drunkenly trying to toss her tiara only to miss. She giggled.

She found her friends huddled on the couch in the corner. “Hi everyone!” she shouted over the din.

“Usagi-chan!” the girls replied, getting up to give her a hug.

“We were thinking,” Minako said wickedly, furtively glancing about, “of starting a Spin the Bottle game. You in?”

“Spin the Bottle? Minako-chan, are you drunk?”

“C’mon girl, where’s your sense of fun?” Makoto chimed in. “There are loads of cute guys here.”

Were there? Usagi had hardly noticed. Looking at her friends’ eager faces (except for Ami, who was hiding resolutely behind a textbook while blushing), Usagi relented. She’d already had her first kiss with Tuxedo Kamen. What harm would a few random kisses be? Until Tuxedo Kamen claimed her as his, she was free to do a little messing around. “I’m in,” she said with a wide grin.

“Oh, good! Now we just need to get Motoki-kun to start it.”

“Motoki-kun was already in on it?”

“Motoki-kun insisted on it.”

Motoki was playing matchmaker, it seemed. Usagi wondered whom he had in mind. She followed her friends as they made their way over to Motoki, who was currently in a heated discussion with Mamoru.

“Absolutely not,” Mamoru said furiously.

“Hey, Motoki-kun,” Minako called out, her eyes holding a mischievous glint, “we’re in.”

“All of you?”

“Everyone except Ami-chan.”

“Even you, Odango?” He sounded so shocked that her ire rose.

“And why not?”

“You just didn’t strike me as that kind of girl.”

Now three girls were offended. “Exactly what do you mean by that?” Makoto demanded.

“Are you trying to insinuate something?” Minako seethed.

“No, no!” Mamoru said in alarm, hands splayed wide. “Never mind.”

“All right, so let’s get others,” Motoki said. He looked at Mamoru slyly. “You know, you’re right; you don’t have to play-”

“I’m in,” Mamoru cut in shortly.

“Really?”

“And why not, Odango Atama?”

“You just don’t strike me as that kind of guy,” she said, realizing she was echoing his earlier reply.

Her eyes flared wide when he drew close to her ear to whisper, “And just what kind of guy do you think I am?” Shivers ran down her spine and she was at a loss for words. He drew back with a smirk. 

“Alright, everyone! Let’s gather here for a game of Spin the Bottle!” Motoki thundered, to a round of cheers. Soon they had a large circle of people gathered. 

“Me first!” Minako announced, twirling her bottle with a flourish. It landed on one of Motoki’s college female friends. “I don’t discriminate,” she said with a grin as the two ambled off to the closet.

“So how long do they get in there?” someone asked.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“That’s a long time to, you know-”

“There are minors present,” Mamoru said, scowling.

“Minors who can legally consent and are participating, in case you haven’t noticed,” Makoto said with a smirk.

“I doubt you’ve even had your first kisses!”

“Is that a challenge? Okay everyone, show of hands. Who’s had their first kisses?” Makoto, Motoki, Reika, and several other people in the room raised their hands immediately.

After a brief moment, Usagi raised her hand.

“Odango?!” The hero of Tokyo was stunned as he, too, raised his hand. “Who would kiss you?”

“Someone better than you, apparently,” Usagi huffed.

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

She raised a brow. “Why does that even matter to you? We’re not dating or anything.”

There were a few guffaws as Mamoru drew back, embarrassed. The thought of someone putting their hands on her stirred dark feelings within him.

“Usagi, was it you-know-who?”

It was said so quietly that if it weren’t for his superhero hearing he would have missed it. There was no missing Usagi’s blush.

“You go, girl!”

“You know it’s not like that.”

He was dying of curiosity. Usagi was very young, and he’d never seen her with any other guys. Who could it’ve been? And the way she said that, it sounded like she had a broken heart. He was definitely going to corner her and track down the jerk. 

Minako and the other girl came out thoroughly flushed. Minako held up her trademark sign.

“I guess I’m next,” Usagi murmured, spinning.

And because his luck was with him tonight, the bottle spun until it pointed right at him.

“C’mon, Odango Atama,” he urged. She looked ready to flee and he wasn’t having that. This was his chance to corner her, and he was going to take it.

“May the Earth swallow me whole! Or a youma come attack!” Usagi whined under her breath as she followed him to the closet. She ignored the snickers as the door was locked behind them. 

A moment passed in silence as they stood in darkness.

“So…” she began haltingly, “I know you don’t want to kiss me. And - and - I don’t want to kiss you! So let’s try not to kill each other before we get out of here? Truce?”

He let out a deep breath. “Truce,” he said readily. “I won’t kiss you on one condition.”

“What?” she breathed incredulously. “You’d actually kiss me? I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Odango Atama. So unless you want me to kiss you, you have to tell me who your First Kiss was.”

“You want me to tell you that?” she asked, utterly flabbergasted. “Does it really mean that much to you? Why?”

“Because from what I heard, he broke your heart.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“Odango, you wouldn’t go around kissing boys you weren’t seriously going to date, especially not for your first kiss!”

“...you don’t know me that well, then.” She sighed. “I can’t tell you who he is,” she said finally.

“Why not?”

“You’d never believe me,” she muttered under her breath.

“Try me.”

If she gave away her identity Luna would kill her. She’d be better off kissing him than telling. But how was she going to manage that? They were worst enemies! There was just no way. He had to be bluffing. “I really can’t,” she whispered. 

She was being stubborn! “Your choice then,” he said firmly as he grasped her and his lips made their way to hers. 

They both jolted at the energy that thrummed through them at the contact. Hands started moving, stroking, touching, gripping. Tongues swirled in an exotic dance amidst pants and groans. Frantically they held onto each other as if they were the last beings on Earth. Nothing else mattered in that moment. And as time went on, their energies intertwined. They got the sense of déjà vu - and they knew precisely why, for they recalled their kiss at the Princess D ball vividly. They pulled apart in a daze, still in the darkness, unable to see what the other was feeling.

For a minute Usagi had a sickening feeling that he was going to yell at her, taunt her, act like it was impossible that she, Odango Atama, could be Sailor Moon. 

For a minute Mamoru had a sickening feeling that she was going to yell at him, taunt him, act like it was impossible that he, Mamoru-baka, was her crush, Tuxedo Kamen.

And then she was rushing him, catching him by surprise. She grabbed his waist tightly, hugging him, her cheek laying on his chest. His hands clasped around her - as they had unknowingly done so many times - and kept her there. 

When the closet door opened and the light blinded them, they walked out measuredly, as if what had happened in the closet wasn’t earth-shattering for the both of them. They were done with the game, of course. He stayed on one side of the room and she the other, their eyes finding each other frequently throughout that night. 

They still had their agendas, and identities that could not be publicly known to the rest of the Senshi. But Usagi tried, through her expressive gaze, to show that she was willing to talk, if he would listen. 

Mamoru tried, through his inscrutable gaze, to show that he couldn’t talk, couldn’t unveil anything. 

Wordlessly, they agreed to keep what happened in the closet a secret, shrugging off even the most salacious jokes. They were keeping this kiss clandestine - much as they had the first.

The End

[faustianbroker]

TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Tír na nÓg PARTIES: Levi (@faustianbroker) & Bridie (@itzbridiebitch) SUMMARY: Bridie picks Chuck out as her meal for the evening, and the pair of them end up having a great time. She’s not exactly sure what she’s playing with, but whatever he is, he’s invited himself back for more. CONTENT WARNINGS: NSFW implied

—

At long last, it was Bridie’s favorite night of the month.

She’d made sure all the lights in the club had been swapped from their neon pinks and purples to blues and greens to fit the tropical theme. She had interspersed her usual music lists with songs that evoked the idea of being on island time. She had made certain that all of the frozen drink machines were operational. She stuck a magnolia flower in her hair, and Tír na nÓg was officially open for Island Night.

The night was in full swing, and Bridie was lapping it up like honey. A bridal party had wandered in an hour or so before, and Bridie had found their Buffett themed attire so hilarious, that she’d danced with them until the maid of honor’s shoe strap broke, and the party poopers went off to the side of the club to attempt to fix the wardrobe malfunction. Her appetite partially sated from the bridal party, she made her way back to the bar on the hunt for a margarita and a fun new way to spend the evening.

Her eyes landed on a man sat at the bar, and her eyebrows shot up on her forehead. Oh, hello. She flagged down Stevie from across the room, pointed to the man, and mouthed “FREE DRINKS” as she walked over to sit down next to him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.” She chirped to the stranger, snatching up the drink that the bartender had left waiting for her.

—

It didn’t take much to get Levi out of the house for a night, considering how loathe it was to be alone. And now that Zack had gone back to his own apartment, the house was terribly empty once more. Ted had been busy with one thing or another, which turned out just as well—a cursory internet search told the demon that a local club was having a Margaritaville night, even if they legally couldn’t call it that. Never one to turn down an opportunity to feel like it was back somewhere a little more tropical, the sea demon had thrown on his best, loud printed button-up and headed out for the club. 

As was his custom, the man-apparent ordered himself a drink first and settled at the bar for a bit to chat up the bartender and start scoping out the other patrons. He wasn’t going to leave this place alone, that much he knew. 

He’d only been there for ten minutes tops, and turning back to the bar briefly to grab his glass, he failed to see the woman sauntering her way over to him. Her voice begged his attention, though, and he was quick to grant that wish as she slipped into the seat beside him. The bartender was back in a flash, leaving a glass in front of her, and Levi smiled. 

“You haven’t,” he confirmed, smiling around the rim of his glass as he took a sip before gesturing to the rest of the establishment. “Fun place, though—shame I waited this long to check it out.” Leaning one arm onto the bar, he gave her a subtle once-over. “So what, you spend a lot of time here, then?” His polite smile turned into a smirk as he cocked his head at her expectantly. 

—

He was just as handsome up close as he’d been from across the club. And it looked like he knew how to have a good time, based on his shirt. This was going to be fun! “Well thank you! We haven’t been open incredibly long- just long enough to have a few dedicated regulars. But I plan on throwing this event once a month. Mostly because then no one can complain when ‘Volcano’ comes on.” 

Bridie’s face broke into a wide grin. “I do. Kind of have to- I’m the owner of this fine establishment.” She crossed her legs, lifting her glass in a little salute before taking a sip. “I’m supposed to make sure everything’s running smoothly.” Supposed to was a very important part of the phrasing. Supposed to wasn’t a lie. All owners were supposed to oversee their operations. Plus, in her personal opinion, sampling what her customers sampled and partying with them gave her an idea of what kind of experience  they were offering. It was practically quality control!

“You can call me Bridie,” she said, holding out her hand to shake. “What can I call you?” She asked, careful to mind her phrasing. He seemed interesting. She didn’t really want his name. It would make everything so much more complicated if she asked for his name. People weren’t usually keen to party when they’d had their identity stolen.

—

“Hard to disagree with you on that,” Levi said with a laugh. Clearly it had worked on him, if that was any testament to the theme night’s effectiveness. His brows rose as she announced herself as the owner, realizing now that he might have to make an actual effort to not be a bastard, lest he get banned from the place. It could sometimes be a challenge, when the instincts kicked in.

“Oh? I’m flattered to have earned your attention, then,” the sea demon schmoozed, shaking her hand and offering up a quick wink. “Chuck,” he answered in turn. “You know… of all the places to open a nightclub, Wicked’s Rest is an interesting choice.” His smile grew and he gave her a faux-apologetic look, the whole thing undercut by a playful sort of teasing. “Not that I’m complaining! It’s delightful. Much like you, I gather. Is that… a fair assessment?”

—

She grinned as his eyebrows raised. No one expected her to be the owner. Hell, Bridie didn’t expect herself to be the owner. Try as she might (and her trying was questionable at best) she sure didn’t act like the owner. But it worked for her, and so far things were going well. 

“Nice to meet you Chuck.” Bridie winced slightly, before shrugging her shoulders with a laugh. “Well, you know what they say. When life gives you lemons, you open up a nightclub in Maine.” Instead of your now defunct nightclub in New York. A flash of teeth in a slightly feral grin lit up her face at being called delightful. Good to know he has good taste. And speaking of taste… She couldn’t help but wonder what this particular brand of euphoria tasted like. Time to get to work. “Babes, you would be one hundred percent correct in that assessment.” She leaned toward him, her fingers tapping along the stem of her glass. “But I’m pretty sure the same could be said for you. You look like you know how to have a good time- look at you, you even dressed on theme.” She reached out and brushed an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder, an impish gleam lighting up her eyes. 

—

A bizarre feeling came over him then, like he’d had ten drinks instead of one, and he smiled. “I do, I’m very practiced in good times. If that means wearing a ridiculous shirt, well, then so be it.” 

Now, Levi was no expert when it came to magic that wasn’t its own. It knew a thing or two, bits and pieces of interesting information, not not technique. And though it had no way of knowing that Bridie was fae, fae magic happened to be the one it knew the least about. Something about them… their trickery, backhandedness, and even the theory that they had come from greater demons somewhere in the evolutionary line, well… it left a bad taste in the Leviathan’s mouth. It had always made a point to avoid dealings with fae, and as such, never learned much about them. 

Still, when that strange sensation took over and it felt itself losing control of its thoughts in a way that was decidedly different from the usual fare, it was desperately curious and not at all concerned. 

Chuck, the very human man, narrowed his eyes at Bridie, but that grin remained. “What… what is that?” he asked boldly, though the question carried not a single ounce of accusatory weight. It was merely a question that no matter the answer, he would accept at face value. But it still begged to be asked. 

—

She just loved it when that happened. When she pushed her aura outward, and it dragged people down in its undertow. Bridie smiled innocently at the narrowed eyes of the man sitting across from her. 

“What is what?” Bridie asked, cocking her head to the side. “That is a frozen mango margarita, excellent choice by the way, those things are the bomb.” Her eyes flickered to the dance floor as a new song came on. “Ooooor that is the sweet, sweet sound of Lionel Richie- All Night Long is a must for Island Night.” 

“Or,” the innocent look in her eyes gave way to the previous expression of playful impishness. “Or, could you possibly just be referring to my absolutely sparkling personality?” She winked at him before taking a sip of her drink. “If it’s the third, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Bridie leaned in close, whispering into his ear. “People just have more fun with me. It’s a fact of life.” She sat back in her chair before glancing back at the dance floor. “Do you want to dance with me?” She wouldn’t compel him to dance- she always thought it was more fun when she pushed impulses people already had. Dancing, drinking- it didn’t matter. She was game for any debauchery the night could lead to. 

—

It was hypnotic—the taste on his tongue, the sound in his head, the breath on his ear as she leaned in. “Yeah, I believe it,” he muttered as she leaned back again, finding that he was drawn to follow after, like a pup that’d imprinted on someone. Then she asked to dance, and how could he refuse? “Thought you’d never ask,” came the tease, as if they hadn’t just met. Taking her hand, the demon stood from the seat and tugged her after him, slipping into the crowd of dancers before pulling her close with a grin.

All Night Long had a steady tempo and a catchy beat, making it easy to dance to. Granted, Levi was less focused on his moves than he was his dance partner, who just had this infectious personality that he couldn’t quite put his finger on—but she was right, she was fun. 

One song turned into two, turned into three, and eventually Levi found himself with the bar owner pressed to his front, his lips finding her shoulder, then her neck. “You know, you’re just my type,” he purred into her ear. In fact, he felt quite ready to do whatever she asked, no questions, no bartering, just… obedient. Which was altogether a foreign feeling for the creature, but honestly? New was exciting. 

—

“I’ll bet you do.” She hummed, laughter rumbling in her throat like a purring cat. It was almost too easy, luring them in like this. Pushing her aura out, luring in unsuspecting party people until they were living their best hedonistic lives. She was very curious as to what sort of delightful debauchery she could get into with a man who wore a floral button down to island night, but whatever it was Bridie was certain it was going to be delectable. 

She took his hand and let him tow her back into the sea of bodies that swayed in time with the music. All at once, she was in her element. Dancing, singing along over the loud music, pulling people along to move in time with her. And Chuck was all too eager to follow her, to play along with Bridie’s little game. The music played on, and she allowed herself a little taste. Chuck, she decided, made a good choice in coming to island night. His euphoria was as if a tropical vacation had suckerpunched her in the face. Warm breezes and the salty bite of sea air, with the sugary warmth of rum and the damned mango frozen drink he’d been sipping. She immediately wanted a second taste. 

Now that was something she heard often enough. She shivered as his beard tickled her skin as his mouth pressed against her throat. “I’m everyone’s type, baby.” She grinned, a hand sliding up his back, up, up, up until her fingers laced themselves into his hair. Bridie, once she was in full force, was the life of the goddamn party. A veritable dream on two legs to many who walked through the doors of her club. It wasn’t the first time she heard the words, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last…though some small part of her always wondered if they ever meant it. Using the hand in his hair, she pulled him back gently to look at his face. “What do you think sounds like the most fun right now, Chuck?” She asked, impish glee simmering in her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve got tons of fun, wicked little ideas floating around in that gorgeous head of yours.”

—

His edges were sharp. Even in a magic-induced euphoria, his edges could draw blood. Chuck the human, Leviathan the demon, they both stared back at her with a hunger in their eyes that expanded second by second, enveloping their thoughts and pressing against this form that contained them for the sake of, well, everyone. 

“Wanna get you alone,” it growled, baring those perfectly white, straight teeth in a grin. Nothing like the rows of shark’s teeth that tore into wood, metal, and flesh. Nothing like the crocodile jaws that clamped down on the hopes and dreams of those less fortunate, those less powerful, and those who needed someone to tell them what to do. The weary flocks of this world, the reason the demon was always so inclined to stay: they fed it. They kept it entertained. And this one, here? She was entertaining enough all on her own. 

The more she fed, the more she saw, felt, tasted—ocean air gave way to the suffocating pressure of depths no man could reach, all light blocked out by the miles of water overhead. Creatures flitted by in the darkness, blinking with their own lights, and something hissed. The tang of iron danced over her tongue to replace the warm burn of rum.

Leviathan pressed itself outward, relishing the release from that constant little nagging feeling that it had to remain hidden. Chuck answered Bridie further with a kiss, large hands keeping her body close, the strength of the grip poised like a viper just below the surface, ready to strike. It was keyed up in a way it hadn’t been in quite a long time, and the sensation was thrilling. 

—

She’d tasted things that could only be described abstractly before. The sugary sweetness of first love. The bitter tang of heartache. The stinging heat of betrayal. They all twisted the euphoria into a new flavor. Whatever the reason someone had to party, it usually came to the surface after a few tastes. But Bridie had never tasted anything like this. 

This tasted like power. More power than she’d ever possess in her lifetime. And not the power of humans, with their suits and business deals. This was the wrath of the ocean, and she was having a fantastic time drowning in it. Bridie wanted more. Her eyes were blown wide- awe, lust, hunger? She wasn’t quite sure which had more control of her. But this man was definitely something, and he was looking for a damn good time. And who was she to deny him?

Her hands tangled in his hair as he pulled her into a kiss. Strong hands kept her pressed close to him, and she relished in every second of it. The taste of power and him on her tongue was just as intoxicating as any drink they sold at the bar. Probably doubly so. “I have an office in the back,” she breathed, a feral grin greeting the shark’s smile. 

—

“Good,” was all the demon said against her lips, its gaze lifting from her face to see if it was immediately obvious where that was. Sadly no, so rather than throw her over its shoulder like it wanted, Leviathan was made to be patient. “Show me.” It was bursting at the seams, so to speak, fighting to be let out. The ecstasy that had taken hold washed over it in waves, but rather than being a calming or soothing sensation, it made the creature lively. Ravenous. 

Following after her, one of her hands still firmly in its grasp, it showed its impatience once they got to the door to said office. Releasing her hand so she could get it unlocked, its hands found her waist and those teeth found her neck again, determined to leave a mark. The moment the door swung open they were both moving inside, and it was kicked shut again with a careless motion of the leg. 

Picking her up with one arm was easy enough, and Chuck used the other to push aside whatever was cluttering the left half of the desk before setting her down atop it. He just looked at her for a moment with the gaze of a predator, locked in on its prey. And then, a jagged smile. 

The taste shifted and changed. It was like static now, electrifying the room. Something alien drifted through a cold void, and a whisper sounded in both their heads. The voice was infinitely complex, layered atop itself again and again like a mind-bending echo. Lkrak’Oaazhir. Azroqoth. The words were almost like nonsense, but there was purpose behind them. Intent. A wormhole opened, and the static turned to lightning. Above, the stars. Below, a vast and unending sea. 

Leviathan reached for her, eyes that had once been a warm, inviting brown now looking like the aquamarine glimmers of clear, balmy waters. “Anything you want,” it breathed against her skin. That was its favorite thing to say.

—

Bridie was so fucking happy she’d picked this guy to go over to. 

She watched his eyes track around the space, looking for something. Her office, probably. She should really fix the fact that it wasn’t so obvious where it was, because if there was, perhaps a flashing neon sign that said ‘Bridie’s office this way’ they could be there already instead of still standing on the dance floor. 

It took everything in her to not simply sprint to her office. She maintained some small amount of composure as she sauntered off to her office, the weight of a hand around hers sending sparks up her arm. Getting the door unlocked was made more difficult than usual as his mouth found her neck once more. Bridie let out a little gasp at the feeling of teeth- definitely more welcome when she didn’t think she was about to be a juice box- and she cursed quietly, fumbling with the keys. She pushed the door open in a hurry, and before she knew it the door had clicked shut, leaving the two completely alone. 

A squeak of surprise, and she was in the air. The clatter of pens and papers hitting the ground was audible over the distant thumping of the club’s music, and then she was sat on her desk before the man. Though Bridie wasn’t sure she’d call him a man.  The look in his eyes made her go completely still. Wide eyes took in the apex predator before her, and a slow smile worked its way across her face. Holy shit, she’d hit the fucking jackpot. 

The taste has changed too, and if she didn’t know that she was playing with powers greater than herself before, she sure as hell did now. It buzzed and crackled like a live wire. Bridie could feel the goosebumps raise across her arms. She had no idea what the words meant, and if she had any sense in her head at that moment, she would probably be concerned. Maybe even frightened. Instead she was more concerned about why the fuck this being still had on his clothes. 

He reached out for her, and that’s when she noticed his eyes. A surprised breath huffed from her. Blue. They were blue. Blue like what she imagined the sea looked like on one of those idealized versions of a tropic island. Perfect, pristine, blue. Bridie swallowed, trying to remember how the hell to speak in English. Her hands slid up under his shirt, and the maenad grinned. “Everything. Give me everything you’ve got.”

—

He didn’t need telling twice. Taking her hint and grasping the shirt by its collar, Chuck pulled it off over his head and dumped it somewhere on the floor, more interested in slipping the sleeves from her shoulders and reaching around her to untie the bow in the back of the lilac dress. It was pushed down rather unceremoniously to be left circling her middle, and the demon grinned again. 

Whatever cosmic horrors had been unleashed at the dawn of time were settling themselves now, easing into the euphoric high like tired, ancient beings into a hot spring after a long millennia of murder and mayhem. The static cleared, dialing back down to things more of this dimension and finding a home in the spicy cayenne taste of lust. 

Fingers wrapped themselves behind the backs of her knees and tugged her up to the edge of the desk, moving then to her waist to lift and set her just right on the edge. Then the man—or monster, depending on your definition—knelt in front of her. 

The question he’d posed earlier had been swirling around in the back of his mind this whole time, though it had been admittedly temporarily forgotten at the mention of the office. But now, as he slipped her unmentionables down her legs and let them join the other clothing on the floor, he knew.

She was feeding on him. Somehow, he didn’t know the specifics, but this was clearly a give and take sort of situation. And frankly, he didn’t mind it. In fact, he fucking loved it. So let her feed, let her take whatever she needed, while he took what he wanted. And he wanted to taste her just as she’d been tasting him. It was only fair.

—

Bridie bit her lip as her grin grew wider, until she was certain her face would split in two. She watched the fabric of his shirt disappear into the corner, and she skated a hand up his chest, relishing in the feeling of skin against skin. She pulled her arms out of the dress as it pooled around her middle, leaving her in a scrap of sheer lace that could have been described as an undergarment if it was anything other than purely decorational. Reaching behind her, she unclasped it and threw it hastily across the room.

The aura of gluttonous, lustful chaos radiated off of the faun in waves, whispering at the man to come along, to enjoy. Another taste of his euphoria and the abstract had crept closer to a taste she recognized. Even blue eyed beings with words she could not understand could enjoy the euphoric bliss of lust. Smokey and spicy and sweet- she let out a small, pleased noise. 

Bridie giggled, delighted as she was yanked closer to the edge of the desk. She planted her hands slightly behind her, leaning back to watch him as he knelt before her. Her legs fell open so he could settle between them. She wondered if this was what a queen felt like? Or some old time goddess of debauchery, reveling in carnal pleasure. Then she caught the look in his eye again and shivered. No, that wasn’t what this was. Her breathing shallowed out as she waited. This was like watching a lion toy with its next meal. And she was the prey. 

The hands on the desk didn’t stay there for long. They tangled in his hair, nails scraping his scalp ever so slightly, as he gave in to pleasure- her pleasure. Her head tipped back as she drank it down, the power tinged euphoria dancing on her tongue and the feeling of his mouth against her made her feel like electricity sparkled and snapped over her bare skin. 

—

In no time at all, Leviathan’s head was emptied of all thoughts except this very exact moment, as was wont to happen. Powerful and ancient as it was, weakness reigned when it let itself succumb to those carnal urges, and that was… often, to put it nicely. It cared not for anything except making its partner writhe and gasp its name, whatever name it was using that day. It wanted to be remembered even after leaving the bedroom behind—or in this case, the club office. Any old place would do, really. 

Pleasure for one and delight for another slowly morphed into equal parts satisfaction after the last of the clothing had been discarded and Bridie’s legs wrapped around Chuck’s hips. He was an attentive lover, it seemed, but there was nothing being held back. If she wanted a feast, she was going to get one. Maybe that’d have her coming back for more the next time she was hungry—he certainly wasn’t going to turn down a chance to feel this good at every given opportunity. 

The hands of the clock had moved considerably by the time their romp came to a natural conclusion, finding the demon lovingly helping her get dressed again, still very much under her hypnotic spell (but also decidedly making no attempts to break free from it). The shoes were the last to return to their rightful place, with Chuck on his knees in front of her again, lips pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh as she slipped her foot into his hand. Hm. Maybe he didn’t mind being obedient so much after all.

—

Bridie was no stranger to losing herself in pleasure. Drinking, sex- hell, even losing herself in music with a good beat to dance her night away to. But this was something next level. This was like cliff diving from the heights, and the feeling of being alive that rushed up to meet you when your feet left the ground. This was like walking happily into the lion's den while ringing the dinner bell and holding an apple in between your teeth. This was like having all the power you could possibly imagine laser focused on one single outcome, and that outcome was a damn good time.

That electric power and deep sea taste she had spent what felt like an eternity drowning in still lingered on her tongue as he helped her dress some time later. She laughed softly to herself, practically dizzy from the high of it. She’d glutted herself on this being’s euphoria, reveled in the power, the feeling of skin against skin. A goddamn feast for the senses. Bridie knew this was someone she’d definitely want another bite of. 

She raked a hand lazily through his hair, pushing it back into place as he kissed the inside of her leg. But a question he’d asked her was now weedling in the back of her mind as the haze of lust started to clear. Bridie may have been young, but she wasn’t a fool. And she knew damn well she’d never tasted any euphoria that tasted like a force of nature. So now, so soft it was almost a question for herself she echoed “What is that?”

__

As the fog lifted and the magic that’d buried itself beneath his skin began to recede, the demon let out a shuddering breath. With her clothes safely back in place, he rose to his feet in front of her, running a hand down his face. He couldn’t begin to guess what exactly she was talking about, but if her experience had been anything like his own—

“That’s the essence of a being that’s been around since the universe first blipped into existence.” Maybe before, but it wouldn’t really have a way of knowing that. Still naked himself and not much caring about that, Chuck leaned in closer to run a thumb over her cheekbone, his own gaze narrowed curiously. “You’re lucky, you know… when I lose control like that, I can’t always stop it from getting out.” It being the powerful creature she’d felt behind that blue gaze (that had since returned to its normal color). “It’s a good thing I was really focused on wanting to fuck you.” A smile appeared on his lips and he let his gaze dance over her form once more.

“But you never answered me, not really. And I think that much is owed, at this point. What did you do to me?”

—

Bridie’s eyebrows rose. She knew there were tons of creatures out there. But one from the dawn of time…? That would explain a lot. As his thumb tracked its way across her cheek she searched his eyes, looking for any hint of a lie in them. Brown. She thought, curiously crinkling her face into a confused pout as she tried to put the puzzle together. They had been blue before. Startlingly blue. She swallowed, realizing that it was definitely the truth. And if it wasn’t the truth, then he was a damn good liar.

The terribly foolish side of her, the side that befriended hunters and feasted in plain sight for all to see, caught on a question. The pout gave way to a slow, curious smile. Worrying her lip between her teeth, she wondered “and what would have happened if it had come out to play, too?” She didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until the last word hung in the air. Eyes of an impossibly old soul traced down her figure, and that was enough to distract her from the impossible idiocy of asking hey mister, what would have come out of you’d let it?

“You’re right, I didn’t.” She didn’t usually get asked what it was. And when she did get asked… her mind drifted to a conversation nights prior in different company. One with distrust, and fear, and iron. And being called a ‘weird human goat hybrid’. That particular comment still rubbed the wrong way. Enough that worry flickered over her features for a fraction of a second. She sighed, nodding in agreement. “And you’re right, it’s only fair. You showed me yours, or however the hell that saying goes.” 

It was only a moment. A few seconds in the grand scheme of things. A moment that, if things went wrong, could be summed up to alcohol playing tricks on the mind. Or at least, she hoped that was the case. But for a moment, Bridie let her glamour slip away. She let him see her, since she’d tasted whatever unfathomable power he had. “I’m really just the life of the party. I exude that energy. In waves.” Working the magic once more, all evidence of being a faun was out of sight. She wanted to say more, but she waited for a response. It occurred to her she didn’t really have an exit strategy if this went poorly. 

—

“Oh, darlin’... I would have gobbled you right up,” came the demon’s answer, and it was clear by his tone alone that he meant in a literal sense. There was a dark sort of mischief in Chuck’s gaze as he stepped back to get a better look at her as she agreed to explain. And while her answer was vague in what she said, it was what she showed the demon that did the most talking. 

Ah, fuck, of course. He should have known it. A faun. He’d never experienced a faun’s hypnosis first hand, which was a little bit shocking considering his love of going out and getting fucked up in every establishment in every city he passed through, but… still. There was a first for everything, and boy, what a first it had been. 

“Explains a lot,” Chuck purred, moving close once more. “Maybe next time you won’t hide it from me, hm? Maybe next time, I can show you a bit more of mine.” That shark’s grin returned. “Within reason, of course. Need to keep the biting at a safe intensity.” 

—

Bridie shivered. She ought to have been terrified at the concept, especially since she wasn’t sure that ‘gobbling her up’ was just a turn of phrase. To be honest, she was pretty sure he meant it literally. But why did he have to make it sound so god damn appealing?  A tiny voice in the back of her mind that sounded suspiciously like her mother screamed at her to get some self preservation instincts. Bridie batted the thought away. 

She didn’t know what she was waiting for, exactly. Part of her was probably waiting to hear ‘half goat’ again. Or some sort of variation upon ‘oh my god, what the fuck.’ She didn’t realize her gaze had been downcast until she lifted her eyes to find him studying her. And there wasn’t a hint of disgust. Bridie relaxed. No bargains and iron knives this time. 

Chuck moved back toward her, and a feral grin sprawled across the maenad’s features. She skated a hand up the plane of his chest, nails dragging ever so slightly as they passed over his skin. There in the privacy of her office, she let her glamour slip away. Outside the fae, there were few people Bridie would trust with glimpses. But this man seemed to get ‘honorary fae privilege’ for leaning into the fact that she was not human. “I think I’d like that, next time.”

[starseedfxofficial]

The Hidden Ripple Secret: Automated Trading Systems for Profiting from Ripple/USD Imagine this: You finally decide to automate your trades, get a cup of coffee, and come back to see your account flourishing like your grandma's tomato garden. Sounds like a dream, right? Well, it doesn’t have to be. Automated trading systems for Ripple/USD are all the rage, but there are a few ninja secrets that separate the amateurs from those who can profit even while they nap. The Ripple/USD Tango: Why Automation is Your Dance Partner Trading Ripple against the US Dollar is like dancing with an unpredictable partner. One minute, you're flowing beautifully across the ballroom, and the next, you're stepping on each other's toes. Ripple (XRP), with its tendency to be super volatile and react to both regulation news and broader crypto market swings, makes it a perfect candidate for automated trading systems. These systems can help catch the best opportunities while reducing the emotional rollercoaster ride that comes with manual trading. Let’s face it: nobody wants to end up like that meme where you buy at the top and sell at the bottom, only to realize you've made less profit than that dusty penny jar on your kitchen shelf. Automated systems don’t get greedy, nor do they panic—they just follow the rules. But here’s where the magic happens: Most people assume that automated systems are “set and forget,” but the truth is, the real power lies in tweaking those settings. Let's dive into some lesser-known tactics and game-changing strategies for maximizing those Ripple/USD profits. Setting Up Ripple Automated Systems: More Than Just Plug-and-Play You can find dozens of ready-to-go automated systems for Ripple/USD, but selecting the right one and setting it up properly can be like ordering coffee in an artisanal coffee shop—the wrong choice might leave a bitter taste. Here are a few underground tips to help you: - Customize Your Stop Loss and Take Profit Levels: Imagine buying a nice pair of shoes, only to find out they don’t fit—annoying, right? The same applies to automated systems with default settings. By tweaking the stop loss and take profit levels to fit Ripple’s volatility, you prevent premature exits or missed opportunities. - Layered Strategies for Maximum Win: Use layered entry and exit strategies. Why settle for one price point when you can strategically enter Ripple/USD at multiple levels? It’s like doubling down when you see the blackjack dealer showing a five—but with way more sophistication. You might set one position at support levels while using a momentum-based entry for another. Avoiding the Classic Pitfall: The 'Backtest Trap' Everyone loves a good backtest, right? It's like those "before and after" pictures of people who go on a diet. But, spoiler alert, backtesting isn't as foolproof as those “30-day transformation” ads make it seem. You’ve got to be careful of overfitting your strategy to historical data, which makes your bot amazing in theory but a total flop in real time. Instead, make sure your system's logic makes sense beyond just historical data—whether it’s based on market conditions, liquidity patterns, or Ripple’s specific market drivers. For example, Ripple has a close relationship with news about regulatory changes. So, when you're designing your automated system, try to include components that can mitigate risks around news events. Keeping Up with Ripple: The Emotional Aspect of Automated Trading Here’s a truth you may not want to hear—even automated trading isn’t 100% emotionless. Yup, it’s still you at the other end of the screen, and when Ripple suddenly drops because of a Tweet or breaking news, it’s hard not to freak out and override your own system. Instead of overriding, use that human emotion strategically. Add a fail-safe to your automation. For instance, design your bot to pause trading if a sudden volatility spike exceeds a certain threshold. It’s like telling the roller coaster operator you need a breather before going for another ride—nothing wrong with a little pause. Embracing Emerging Trends: Machine Learning Bots for Ripple/USD Want to take your automated trading system from “standard smart” to “I’m-a-genius”? It’s time to leverage machine learning. Machine learning-based trading bots can adapt to the changing behavior of Ripple, adjusting strategies based on new data points and market patterns. They make even the savviest manual trader look like they're driving a horse and buggy while the bot zips by in a self-driving car. Consider tools like TensorFlow for implementing custom models that recognize patterns in Ripple’s price movements. For instance, Ripple has been notorious for sudden directional changes based on government news releases. A well-trained model might detect telltale signs before these moves—something traditional systems just can’t do. Contrarian Wisdom: Forget the Big News, Watch the Micro Trends Here’s a bit of contrarian wisdom: Stop paying attention to the big Ripple headlines, and start looking at the micro trends. The market moves not just when major Ripple adoption news hits but also when there are subtle changes in trading volume and liquidity pools. Automated trading systems excel at detecting these micro-level shifts, giving you an edge over the average Joe who only tunes in for the drama. An effective approach is to program your trading bot to look for gradual volume accumulation in Ripple/USD. Remember, by the time mainstream traders get in on the action, you’ve already locked in those gains because your bot caught the trend early—like showing up at a Black Friday sale before the crowd rushes in. Expert Quotes and Game-Changing Tactics To build that iron-clad trust, I’m not the only one advocating for the tactical use of automated systems with Ripple/USD. John Bollinger, the genius behind Bollinger Bands, once said, “Good automated systems are not about perfection; they’re about optimization”—so you need to focus on adapting your system, rather than thinking it will hit 100% success. Similarly, Tom DeMark, a trading icon, has emphasized, “The power of automation lies in its ability to consistently execute what humans emotionally fail to”—that’s your secret sauce here. Automated systems are immune to panic (unless you press that override button in a moment of weakness—don’t do that!). Next-Level Tactics for Ripple/USD with Automated Systems - The Scalper-Napoleon Combo: Pair a scalping bot with a long-term trend-following bot. Imagine a tiny Napoleon capturing short-term gains while your trend bot secures the empire. This gives you consistent short-term profits while building a strong long-term position in Ripple/USD. - Dynamic Lot Sizing Based on Volatility: Automate your lot size to adjust based on market volatility. When Ripple gets jumpy, your lot size decreases, minimizing risk. When it’s steady, you increase size to maximize gains—this way, you’re controlling risk like a seasoned poker player, going all-in only when the odds are stacked. - Correlation-Based Entries: Track Ripple’s correlation with Bitcoin and Ethereum. Using your automated bot to enter Ripple trades when there’s a temporary divergence from these correlations can be a highly effective strategy. It’s like buying avocados when the price of guacamole ingredients goes out of sync—you’re spotting value where others see confusion. Your Step-by-Step Guide to Setting Up an Automated Trading System - Choose Your Platform: Decide whether you’re going for an off-the-shelf platform (like MetaTrader 4 or 5) or a more customizable option like NinjaTrader or TradingView. Platforms matter—it’s like picking the car for a road trip. Some are Teslas, while others are, well, less glamorous. - Define Rules Clearly: Set clear entry and exit rules. Don’t fall for ambiguity. Your bot can’t “feel” like buying Ripple because it seems like a good day—every action needs rules. - Test Your System with Forward Testing: Avoid the overfitting trap by forward testing your system on live data, but without real money. Think of this as training wheels for your bot. - Optimize, Don’t Overfit: Regularly update and tweak your system based on real-world performance, but avoid excessive changes. Over-optimizing will just create a bot that's amazing at yesterday's game but clueless about today. Some Ripple Wisdom To get Ripple trading right, automation isn’t just the key—it’s the door, the lock, and the whole room. Using automated trading systems wisely, combined with ninja-level tweaks and a dose of machine learning, can help you become the trader who profits while sipping coffee and binge-watching sitcoms (no plot twists required). And remember, don’t be the trader who reacts like a sitcom character—keep your systems in place, your emotions in check, and your automations running the dance. If you’re looking for the latest insights and strategies to take your automated trading to the next level, consider joining our community for daily updates, live analysis, and access to our free trading tools. You’ll get a front-row seat to strategies that most traders haven’t even heard of yet—that’s at StarseedFX Community. Until next time, keep dancing… or at least let your automated systems do it for you. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[desiavatar1]

Lightweight Navratri Outfits: Stay Comfortable While Dancing The Night Away

Navratri is all about celebrations, family gatherings, and, of course, Garba nights! As much as we love dressing up and showing off our fabulous outfits, we also know the struggle of dancing in heavy attire. But guess what? You don’t have to sacrifice comfort for style. With the right lehenga for women, you can look stunning and still dance the night away with ease!

Why Go Lightweight?

Let’s be real—Navratri nights are long, and the dancing can go on for hours! Heavy outfits might look gorgeous, but after a few rounds of Garba, you'll find yourself wishing you had opted for something a little lighter. That’s why choosing a lightweight party wear lehenga can be a game-changer.

Not only do lightweight lehenga sets online make it easier to move around, but they also help you avoid that tired, sweaty feeling. Plus, with all the stunning designs available, you don’t have to worry about missing out on fashion!

Tips for Choosing the Perfect Navratri Lehenga

Fabric FirstWhen it comes to dancing, fabric is key! Opt for breathable fabrics like cotton, georgette, or chiffon for your lehenga for wedding party or Navratri celebrations. These fabrics are light, airy, and won’t weigh you down when you’re hitting the dance floor.

Go for ReadymadeDon’t want to deal with the hassle of getting something custom-made? You’re in luck! You can easily find a beautiful readymade lehenga that looks just as stunning as a tailor-made one. These are perfect for last-minute shoppers or those who prefer convenience.

Color & DesignBright colors like yellow, pink, and orange are always a hit during Navratri, and lightweight designs with minimal embellishments can still make you stand out. You can find tons of gorgeous party wear lehenga options that strike the perfect balance between festive and comfortable.

Accessories MatterWhen your outfit is on the simpler side, you can play up your accessories. Go for chunky bangles, statement earrings, or a headpiece to elevate your look. Keep in mind that with lightweight Indian festival lehenga designs, accessories can be your best friend.

Where to Shop?

If you’re looking to buy something chic yet comfortable, Desi Avatar has you covered! Whether you’re searching to buy designer lehengas online for women or browsing for the perfect lehenga for wedding party that you can wear to other occasions, Desi Avatar offers a range of options that are lightweight, stylish, and easy to move in.

With the festive season in full swing, you can grab stunning lehenga sets online that are perfect for Navratri. Think elegant designs, breathable fabrics, and vibrant colors—all in one place. Best of all? You don’t have to step out of your house! You can buy designer lehengas online for women with just a few clicks and have your outfit ready in time for the next Garba night.

Final Thoughts

Navratri is all about celebrating, dancing, and creating beautiful memories. So why not make the most of it by wearing a readymade lehenga that’s as comfortable as it is stylish? With so many options available at Desi Avatar, you can find the perfect Indian festival lehenga that will have you looking fabulous while staying comfy.

So, get your dancing shoes ready, pick your favorite party wear lehenga, and dance the night away without a care in the world. Happy Navratri, everyone!

Shop Now: Desi Avatar | Lightweight Lehengas for Every Occasion

[littlemissmanga]

OMG this is fun!

*Takes out notes* Ok, I'm ready ....

Rex is rocking up to the social in the community gym in a letterman jacket- or bomber jacket - and slacks with his nice shoes on, aviators. Still got the buzz cut. Very All American boy next store vibes from him. He wouldn't have been part of any gangs but he'd look like a Socs (gotta have an Outsiders reference in here, ya know?).

I put Kix in this category as well in terms of his vibe for a free evening, but he'd be a little more dapper than Rex - a sports coat/suit jacket over a long sleeve button up. Kix helps give his brother a little push, then they're both swinging dance partners around the floor.

Jesse is your down home Levi's guy - worn in jeans and work boots and a plain but nice button up. He rides his truck to the drive-in with his S/O in the passenger seat. And he's well prepared, too - got blankets for the bed and everything so they'll be nice and cozy.

Also in this category: Hunter, but he'd have a bike so he and his date would grab some grub from a Soda and park by the picnic benches.

Echo is straight up early Elvis - a little more buttoned up and dapper than Rex or Jesse. He absolutely slicks his hair back but not too much. He'll take a date to the local diner before going to a movie or concert. (Take nerves out of the equation. Echo is a confident guy who knows his self worth and he gives an air of bougie-ness so I really see him as pretty suave when he wants to be).

Tech is a little more casual, but same vibes. As much as I wanna put him in a sweater vest and tweed jacket, his fashion choices in canon made me think those options are unlikely. He'd also be just as likely to be taking a date to a museum instead and then after going out for ice cream to discuss what they saw.

Speaking of tweed, that would be Dogma. As straight edge as they come and he likes the neat and put together look. His idea of a great night is listening to new records at home so he and his date can talk through them. He'd go super slow, though. Like, would want to give them a pin and everything.

Fives is a greaser through and through. Black T-shirt, dark jeans, leather jacket, thick boots, greased hair. And he makes it look good. Every chance he gets, he's going to try and get on American Bandstand. And he's good enough to get on pretty consistently. He's got the moves and the flash to get noticed, especially since he dances swing and relies on making his partner look great (cause he kinda has two left feet since he trips so much canonically).

Also in this category: Crosshair, but no American Bandstand lol. Cross is a true loner, very James Dean. He will wander into whatever greasy spoon is open late and night for a cola and some fries. And if he ends up chatting up the lone employee behind the counter - and showing up most nights to make sure they close up without issue from any customers - well, no one but the two of them will ever know about it.

Hardcase is what I'll affectionately dub a "Sandlot" kid. Not that he'd necessarily play spots as an adult, but he was one of those kids running around in the fields a lot and getting into wholesome trouble. Older, he'll likely be working as a soda jerk and giving free milkshakes to anyone sitting by themselves at the counter who catches his eye.

Also in this category I'd put Wrecker. IDK if he figured out Crosshair's secret or if it was pure coincidence but once he knew he had to keep going with Crosshair if only to bug him. (rewatching the Batch arc in TCW, you can really see how much Wrecker loved teasing Cross). But he'll only interfere for so long before he a) gets hungry and b) decides to buy a shake for someone across the store sitting by themselves. Oh, there are two straws?? Well, can't let one go unused, now can he?

I really have no idea where to put Tup, so I'll leave that for @deejadabbles, resident Tup expert.

Them Clones in 50-60's get up doing boogie and jive. Who be Elvis?

Who be slicking their hair back in leather? Who be at the bar buying birds milkshakes? Who be coming up in a Cadillac making them girls scream? Who be doing that King Cry baby scene in Cry Baby (Johnny Depp)? Want dapper men and bad boys.

Need answers. @blueink-bluesoul @wolffegirlsunite @idontgetanysleep @littlemissmanga @sunshinesdaydream @commander-sunshine @kimiheartblade @cloneloverrrrr @wings-and-beskar

Please punch me if I missed anyone <: Ooh and feel free to self-insert your ocs ♥

[kisswingshoes]

Kisswing means love the feeling of swing,no matter dance or walk.you have the great opportunity to shop #custommadeswingdanceshoes based on your personal preferences.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me //  I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.  

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.  

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.  

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.  

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

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[thewriterthatghostedyou]

Gals and Guns

Chapter 1

A 40s Mob AU

Bucky Barnes x Mob!Reader

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! So all my exams are done and I can start writing again!!! So, instead of working on Shadows and Scars, like I should be, I decided to start ANOTHER series. Because the inspiration for this one practically bitch slapped me in the face. Hope you all enjoy the first chapter!

Trigger warnings: violence, one small mention of sex, language, this first chapter is supposed to be fluffy and an introduction to the reader and Bucky’s relationship

Banner made by maysdigitalarts

The sound of swing and blurs of dancing couples did nothing to deter you from your target. You scowled as you marched around the dance floor, careful not to disturb your patrons as they embellished in alcohol and each other’s company.

The Singing Sparrow was a reputable bar, allowing you and your associates to complete business easily and without the knowledge of the coppers. As far as the boys in blue knew, the Sparrow was up to code and paid all of the taxes needed to remain above board and legal.

You angrily swiped a shot of whiskey off of the bar and glared at a young man who was drunkenly harassing your dancers and other patrons. You wouldn’t have given the man the time of day on any other occasion, but after seeing that it was Mario Bianchi’s son, you decided to step in.

“Heyyyy y/l/n!” Antonio Bianchi slurred, throwing an arm over your shoulder loosely. “Ya got a nice place.”

You grimaced before gingerly untangling the body odor ridden arm off of your bare shoulder. Tonight you were wearing a maroon dress that reached to the top of your shins and had a simple bow tied in the front, keeping you from revealing yourself to the crowd. It was a bit of a scandalous number, but you hadn’t gotten as far as you had within the patriarchal levels of organized crime by playing things safe and chaste. Mario Bianchi may be an asshole, but he’s just another asshole’s ass you had to kiss in order to get what you want.

“Antonio!” You simpered, forcing a smile that would have been noticeably fake to any sober person but not to the inebriated man next to you. “What a pleasant surprise! Is your father with you?”

The dark haired man scoffed as snatched a bottle of your best vodkas. You made a mental note to add the bottle to the family’s tab. Since they were frequent customers, you allowed them a bit more leniency in their bills as to entice them to use the Sparrow to host their parties and meetings. “Nahhh. E’s busy. Sent me over ta… uh…” He fumbled with an excuse. “Test yer drinks.” He hiccuped loudly before leaning close up to your face. “Ya know, yer kinda pretty when ya don’ have that stick up yer-”

You flinched as a fist came barreling into Antonio’s chest, causing him to hit his head on the bar and flop unconsciously to the floor. “What the hell was that?” You shouted, whirling around to glare at the person who interfered.

You were met with a tall man who had clean cut short hair and was cleanly shaven. He wore the same suits you always saw your patrons wear, but the gray fabric seemed to accentuate the stranger's build and muscular arms. Perhaps he’d be good for muscle around the club. His clear blue eyes looked at you quizzically.

“Look, all I saw was a broad in trouble and thought I’d step in. Your friend there’s got a gun on him.” You flipped up Antonios coat with his shoe and you eyed the Colt wearily.

“Something tells me a drunk man wavin’ a gun around wouldn’t be good for business.” His Brooklyn accent spoke triumphantly.

“And how would you know what kind of business I do?” You asked, pulling up your skirt to reveal a colt of your own strapped to your thigh. “I had it covered.”

The man blushed at the action before rubbing the back of his head. “I’m sure ya did doll. Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ carrying a gun like that around?” He leaned against the bar and gave a quick motion to the bartender.

“I use it for pest control.” You said with a wicked grin. “You’d be surprised how large the rats we get are.”

You expected him to pale, or at least look a little surprised by your admission but instead he just laughed.

“And you?” You asked, catching the drink that was slid over to you easily and downing it in one gulp. “You always go around playing the hero?” You coyly glanced at him for above the glass a slid your finger around the rim.

“It’s a hard habit to break.” The man replied easily, also downing the glass in one go.

You snorted as you eyed him suspiciously. “Well I’m not some damsel that’s in distress, and if I was,” You paused, placing the glass down and shoving off of the bar. “I could take care of myself. I’d leave before Bianchi sends his goons after you, wouldn't want him to mess up that pretty face.” You winked at him seductively before walking away from the bar to deal with whatever problem inevitably had risen from your few minutes of dallying. The mysterious man no longer on your mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

4 months later

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I suppose this is the part where I choose the easy or hard way, hm?” You asked, leveling your stare at the gun pointed towards your face.

“Our fucking shipment got taken y/l/n and you were the only person who knew the dock it was coming into.”

You rolled your eyes as he clicked off the safety. “So you mean to tell me that the men you hired to unload your cargo and ship it out had no clue where they were supposed to go? Seems like a hell of a gig.”

One of the surrounding men snorted before covering his laugh with a cough.

The man gave you a withering glare before slapping you. Your head whipped to the side and you tasted blood in your mouth. “Enough with the games y/l/n. Who’d ya snitch to.”

“No one, you ignorant ass. Funny how you came straight to me before even considering a rat in your own ranks.” You swiped a drop of blood off of the corner of your mouth and shifted your weight to your back leg.

You weren’t stupid enough to snitch on the Irish mob, but you could tell that they were dead set on plugging you with bullets. As nice as New York was, moving to California with your little “rainy day” stash was nicer.

You were surrounded by six burly men, probably picked to scare you instead of actually having all six beat you to a pulp. The reasoning behind this being the fact that only two of them had guns while the others held bats or heavy pipes. You huffed in pain as their leader, a middle aged redhead kicked you square in the gut, causing you to crash into the wall behind you. It was the perfect excuse for you to feign pain and stealthily reach for your trusty colt.

“Sure wish it didn’t have to come to this.” The leader tsked, kneeling down to be face to face with you. “Pretty thing like you coulda had it a lot easier being a good girl and waiting in bed. Shame.” He gave you a leery grin before reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Maybe, if I feel motivated, I could fix this. Try to convince the boss that it’d be good to have a whore like you around to play with.”

Hearing enough, you unstrapped your gun and fired into the man’s forehead without thinking about your movements.

“Holy-“ Using the surprise to your advantage, you held the man’s body over you like a shield and fired at the other gunman. You smirked as your bullet embedded itself into his heart and he fell to the ground pulling the trigger on the gun as he went down. The other four men screamed as they were assaulted with a barrage of bullets that rained out of his gun.

Rolling out from under the dead man on top of you, you ran the opposite direction of the men and readied your gun for another shot.

You were almost out of the alley that you were stuck in when you felt a sharp pain rip through your shoulder and you fell to the ground with a scream.

You snapped your head back to the men and saw that one of them, face bloody, had grabbed the leader's gun and began firing at you. You gripped your injured shoulder tightly before dragging yourself off of the floor and sprinting to cover.

You ducked around the building and aimed your gun back at the man before firing back. Two more men went down as they ran towards you with blunt weapons, and the last man was standing over his dead friend’s bodies firing back at you.

The gun clicked loudly as you aimed at his skull and you let out a loud curse before chucking it to the ground. Your six bullets were up and you had to leave.

You ran down the street, ducking in and out of alcoves in order to lose any potential tails. After looping around a particularly crowded building you began to make your way to the one place that you knew the men wouldn’t look for you.

The neighbor wasn’t what you would call nice, but it suited your purposes and you slowly walked up the stairs that led to the apartment. You flinched as your left shoulder gave another sharp sting and you gripped it tighter with your good hand.

After pounding on the door, you eye the surrounding area suspiciously before muttering to yourself. “Come on Barnes, open the damn door.”

You waited a few seconds before pounding on it again and heard a muffle shout from inside. “I’m coming! Cool your jets.”

You let out a relieved laugh as your boyfriend opened his door. “How ya doin’ Sarge?”

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, grabbing you as you tilted forward into his arms. “What the hell happened?”

“Got jumped by a buncha goons outside the Sparrow. New York’s not safe for me anymore.” You explained as Bucky led you inside and set you down gingerly on his couch. “Hate to ruin your couch Buck.” You groaned, leaning forward to avoid staining the cloth chair.

“You know I don’t give a fuck about some god damn couch.” Bucky said worriedly, rushing into another room. “Let me guess, no hospital?”

You snorted. “That’s a great plan Sarge. Sure fire way to get me killed.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he reentered the room. “You’re certainly consistent, doll.” He muttered. “Take off your shirt and left me see how much you fucked up your arm.”

“Ya know-“

“And this is not a time for your suggestive comments.” He sternly said.

“Boo, you’re boring Sarge.” You pouted jokingly.

“If not getting shot at on a daily basis makes me boring, then I’ll take it.” He chuckled before his face fell.

You looked at him sadly. “You’re shipping out soon aren’t you?” You asked softly, all jokes gone.

“Next week.” Buck said softly as he lifted your bloodied blouse off of you and carefully inspected your wound.

You felt your heart drop at his admission and thought back to when the two of you had first met. The nights after knocking Antonio Bianchi on his ass, Bucky had returned to the Sparrow each night. Even though you wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, you had enjoyed seeing the handsome brunette attempt to buy you a drink from your own bar and try to flirt with you. Of course you did eventually fall to his charms, the sex being amazing didn’t help your resolve, but as the two of you spent more and more time together you realized that you had began to actually fall for the man.

“Well then I guess we have to make the most of the time we have.” You whispered softly.

Bucky just gave you a half hearted smile before continuing. “Looks like you got lucky. Bullet went straight through, just gotta clean it and you should be okay.”

“Where did you learn to patch up bullet wounds?” You asked suddenly.

Bucky gave you a warm smile and you could tell that he was thinking back on a fond memory. “Steve’s ma was a nurse and taught us a few tricks whenever we’d get skinned knees or scratch our legs up pretty bad. Still think you should go to a hospital, or at least befriend a doc who knows what he’s doing.”

The two of you easily laughed at that, and Bucky took that chance to place a cloth drenched in alcohol onto your shoulder.

“Fuck!” You shouted, gripping his thigh tightly. “You coulda warned me!”

He just shook his head at that before pulling out a roll of gauze.

“You’ll write me, right?” He asked quietly.

You relaxed as he wrapped your injured shoulder tightly in gauze and looked at him with a smile.

“Of course. You promise to come back to me?” You stared into his eyes and waited for his response.

“Always doll.”

[kisswingshoe]

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[theoretical-whore]

Gift Giving (Johnson x f!OC)

Fandom: Reprisal Rating: R (18+ THIS IS SMUT!) Contains: Oral (female receiving), PIV, smoking, drinking Words: 2.5k+

A/N: Welcome to my first Reprisal fic. Meet my OC Rosie. You’ll be seeing more of her! This is a Christmas themed oneshot, the theme is “gift giving!” I hope you all enjoy!

The Bang-a-Rang was always joyful and brightly colored, but more so this time of year than any other. The lights were all green and red, with tinsel and holly strung up from floor to ceiling. Queenie had donned an incredible Mrs. Claus costume for the holiday season, and all the pinups had chosen holiday themed outfits as well. Meredith herself was perched on a stage, a green elf costume snug around her body. But it wasn’t Meredith that Johnson had his eyes trained on.

Rose was hanging off a pole, swinging her hips and shaking her chest, a tight pink dress trimmed with white fluff wrapped around her. She held a candy cane in her mouth, licking and sucking it as she danced. It always made Johnson jealous, seeing her tantalize the patrons, drawing them close before pushing them away with her heeled shoes. Seeing the way they looked at her, it made his blood boil. But it always calmed him when she’d slap away hands that tried to touch her, turn to him and wink. He was allowed to touch her, though. Sometimes, he would make his way over to where she danced and yank her off the stage, holding her in his arms and spinning her around.

And that was what he did this time. He swaggered over to the small stage and shot his arms out, circling around her waist. Her yelp gave way to a laugh as he pulled her off the stage and away from the patrons, her candy cane dropping to the floor. She gave them a flirtatious wave. “Merry Christmas, boys!” She singsonged as Johnson carried her off. He twirled around, spinning her. “Watch it there, hotshot,” she said with a laugh. “I’m working.”

“You and I both know you’re off the clock. You just like the tips.” He stopped spinning, shifting her in his arms to carry her bridal style towards the booth and Matty had been holed up in. “Look what I found,” he drawled to the blonde knocking back shots as he settled back down, Rosie on his lap.

“You didn’t find her, you yanked her away from the payin’ customers. Jealous bastard,” he muttered, coughing his way through a shot. “‘Sides, Rosebud, you ain’t even on the clock. What’re you doin’ dancin’ right now?”

“It’s Christmas, Kitty. Don’t be such a Grinch. It’s not like Queenie minds if I dance off the clock. It’s all for the tips.” She pulled a wad of cash out from between her breasts. “Ya see? Worth it.” Matty rolled his eyes with a smile. “You’re just jealous I make more in a single evening than you do in weeks.”

Matty laughed as he downed another shot. “I don’t know why I come in here when you’re workin’. You’re always a menace,” he said playfully.

Rosie shifted herself off Johnson’s lap to give her brother a nuzzle and press some of the cash into his hand. “Got enough for both of us tonight, you better take some or I’ll slap you silly.”

Matty nodded, knowing better than to defy her. “Thanks, Rosebud.”

“Don’t spend it all on alcohol, Kitty,” she said. She exhaled loudly. “Well! I think I’ve had about enough for the night. I will be turning in, if that’s alright with you boys.” She stood up, hands on her hips, leaning forward to kiss the side of her brother’s head. “Night night, Kitty.”

“‘Night, Rosebud. I’ll be here if you need me.”

“I know you will.” She turned to Johnson, leaning over his lap to nuzzle her nose to his, which he happily returned. “Goodnight, handsome.”

He hummed. “Sweet dreams, baby doll.”

Matty rolled his eyes and mimed retching.

With a wave cast over her shoulder, hips wiggling and skirt flouncing, Rosie left the two men alone.

They sat there for a while, drinking and chain smoking, simply enjoying each other’s company. Finally, Matty sighed. “Go, Johnson.” Johnson glanced at his best friend, eyebrows raised. Matty gestured to the door. “Go be with her, I know you want to.” He knocked back a final shot and stood. “I’m gonna go see if there are any beds open and crash. You got that thing you got her?” Johnson nodded, patting where his gift for Rosie sat in his pocket. “Great. You know better than to screw up. ‘Night, Johnson.” Matty gave him a half assed two finger salute and slumped off, looking for a soft place to pass out.

“‘Night Matty,” Johnson called after his friend. He couldn’t help but be a little bit nervous. He wasn’t exactly the best at giving gifts. But Rosie was special, and after all they’d been through together, she deserved his best efforts. And that was what he would give her. He stood, sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, blowing the smoke out in a puff. The Bang-a-Rang was lively and jovial, but right now, he craved quiet and the gentle touch only Rosie could provide.

The trek from the Bang-a-Rang to the trailer Rosie called home was muscle memory for Johnson’s long legs at this point. Flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground, he rapped on the door.

The lock clicked, and there was Rosie, leaning against her door frame, clad in her favorite nightdress and robe. “Santa came early this year. I must’ve been a real good girl.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Johnson drawled. “Or, ho, ho, ho might be more accurate, whichever you’d prefer.”

She took his hand and pulled him inside her trailer. “I’d prefer you inside my trailer and out of the cold. Come on.” She locked the door behind him, watching as his tall body leaned against the door, head cocked a bit to the side, hands in his pants pockets, a smirk spreading across his handsome face.

“What’cha grinning about up there?” she asked, resting her hands on his shoulders.

He planted his own hands firmly on her hips. “Just thinkin’ about how cute you are.” He dipped his head down, catching her bottom lip between his, kissing her with a smile.

She hummed into his mouth, quickly kissing the tip of his nose when they finally broke apart. “You stayin’ the night?”

“Unless you plan on kicking me out like a stray.”

“Oh, it’s a dangerous world for a stray dog out there. You better stay inside, then.” Her face split into a grin, her giggle making Johnson’s heart flutter. “You eaten anything today?”

Johnson thought back across his day. He had gotten back from the river with Matty early in the morning, fallen asleep for hours, woke up, and gone into the Bang-a-Rang for a little festive fun. And now he was here. He shook his head. “Nope.”

She rolled her eyes and went to her small kitchen, taking a carton of eggs and some milk from the fridge. “I’ll make some eggs. You gotta stop drinkin’ and smokin’ on an empty stomach like that, I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you boys.”

He held her from behind, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as she cooked. “‘S not like we don’t eat.” Now that she mentioned it, he was hungry. He never really noticed until someone brought it up.

“I know, I know. But I can’t stop myself from worrying. You know that.”

“I do.” He trailed his lips down her shoulder, pushing the fabric of her robe away. “‘M not hungry for eggs, doll. ‘M hungry for…somethin’ else.”

“What exactly are you hungry for?”

“I think you know.”

She craned her neck to press soft kisses to his cheek. “Oh yeah? How hungry are you, hotshot?”

“‘M starving.”

She turned around in his arms, kissing his lips firmly. “Eat up then, big guy.”

Johnson hooked his arms under Rosie’s legs, hoisting her up and holding her securely, her arms wrapping around his neck as they continued to kiss. He knew his way around her trailer blindfolded, his strong legs carrying time to her bedroom and nearly kicking her door down.

She bounced as he tossed her down on her bed, immediately caging her in, the strength of his arms and the weight of his body keeping her pinned under him. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth, pulling it through his teeth, making her whimper. “I guess I have been a good girl this year,” she said.

Johnson sat up on his knees and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him shrug his jacket from his shoulders and unbutton his vest before letting that fall away too. She sat up and stopped him. “Let me.” Her delicate hands went to the buttons of his patterned button down, deftly undoing each one as if she’d done it a thousand times before. And she had. As she undressed him, he pushed her robe from her shoulders and lifted her nightdress over her head. She shuddered just a bit as her breasts were exposed to the air, nipples perking up and making his mouth water. His shirt was quickly discarded, and his belt was unbuckled and stripped away with the same diligence, his pinstriped pants following. They drank each other in as they undressed each other, each new patch of skin revealed kissed with endless love and lust.

Johnson’s mouth found hers again, kissing her hard and deep as he pressed her back into her mattress, only two thin articles separating them now. Her fingers danced down his muscled torso, twisting in the soft hair on his pecs and tenderly stroking his hardened abs. “You’re so goddamn sexy,” she said, practically speaking into his open mouth.

“I could say the same about you.” His hot mouth left hers, trailing scorching kisses down her neck and between the valley of her breasts, stopping briefly to give each nipple a single, hard suck, making her gasp. He kissed lower, until his lips met the lacy edge of her pink panties. He looked up to her, dark eyes impossibly darker, silently asking for her consent.

“You said you were starving,” she said. “So eat up, hotshot.”

He nodded, taking the edge of her panties between his teeth and pulling them down her legs, moaning as the scent of her arousal hit his nose. She was soaked, absolutely dripping for him, and he loved it. With a growl, he flung her panties away and descended upon her core like a starved beast. The heat from his mouth made her keen, a loud whine leaving her lips. He licked a stripe up her core, the tip of his tongue swirling around her clit before sucking hard. She was so damn delicious. He could live a thousand lifetimes and never taste anything more delicious than her heat, her weeping juices that only he could draw out of her. The taste of her was so decadent on his talented tongue that he couldn’t help but moan, sending vibrations up through her body. With a moan of her own, her manicured hand flew to his hair, twisting into his thick curls and pulling, just a bit, making him moan again as he devoured her.

“‘S so good, Johnny…”

Johnny. The name that only she called him, only when they were alone. It was a special nickname. When the name spilled from her lips, he knew he was loved. He knew how much she loved him. The tip of his tongue found her drenched hole and wormed inside, making her writhe above him. “Fuck…” she breathed. “Eat your fill and then come up here and kiss me.”

Another final suck to her clit and he moved back up her body, lips and chin glistening with her nectar as he kissed her. As much as he liked to taste her cumming in his mouth, he knew what she wanted. “You wanna cum on my cock, doll?” he asked, voice low and almost growling.

She nodded, whining as she felt the head of his cock rubbing against her entrance. When did his underwear come off? She didn’t care. She just wanted him inside her now. “Take what’s yours, handsome.”

She screamed as he filled her, pushing in all the way to the hilt all at once. He was so big and the stretch was incredible. He groaned as he filled her, her tight heat absolutely mind-blowing around his thick cock. He stilled for a moment, allowing her to adjust, and hooked his hands under her knees to wrap her legs around his hips. He loved when she clung to him, her heels digging into his ass and the small of his back. He loved having her close, as close as she possibly could be. “You can move now…” she said breathlessly.

He nodded, kissing her lips as he started a rhythm, rutting into her like an animal in heat. “Feels so good, baby…” he said. “You feel so good…” He started slow, slow and deep, before picking up his pace bit by bit. He wanted to suck marks into the soft skin of her neck, but he knew he couldn’t.

Patrons didn’t like it when their entertainment was marked.

Jealousy sparked through his veins for the second time that night, and he sped up just a bit. “You’re mine, okay baby girl?” He grunted. “The way those sleazy customers stare at you, drooling all over the floor…it makes my blood fuckin’ boil, babe.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, her hands clinging to his back and scrabbling for purchase. “You jealous thing…”

“Yes,” he hissed. “I am jealous. ‘Cause you’re mine and I want everyone to know that. They can look, but they can’t touch.”

“I don’t let them tou-fuck!” She screamed as the head of his cock hit her g-spot, making fireworks erupt behind her blue eyes.

“Did I get it, babe? Did I find that spot that makes you lose your mind? No one else knows where it is, just me. Only me.”

She nodded, biting her lip and nails starting to dig into his strong back. “Only you.”

“No one else gets to hear your pretty sounds, or taste your pretty cunt…” He was grunting between every word, rutting into her harder and faster, striking her g-spot with each thrust. “Are you gettin’ close, doll?”

“‘M gettin’ so close, you know I love it when you get possessive…”

He growled in her ear, a large hand coming to cup at her breast, kneading the soft flesh. “Cum for me, baby girl, show me the faces only I get to see…”

A few more strokes to her g-spot and her walls clenched around him, back arching off the mattress with a scream of his name, her nails scraping down his back. The feel of her cumming around him and scratching him up was enough to squeeze his own climax out of him, hand shooting out to grip the headboard as he shot his hot seed inside her with a roar, thick ropes painting her walls white.

As his climax subsided, he fell boneless against her, but was careful not to crush her. Sweat stuck her blonde hair to her forehead, as he was sure his own curls were stuck to his. “Y’alright?”

She nodded, humming contently. “‘M good. How’re you?”

“I’m perfect.” He pulled out slowly, hating her wince as she was emptied. “‘M sorry, baby. But I gotta get somethin’ out of my pocket, okay? I have somethin’ for ya.”

“If it’s a condom, you’re too late.” She gestured to his seed that was starting to leak out of her.

He laughed, getting up and rummaging through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. A small paper package was pressed into his hand as he sat back down on her bed, her sitting up next to him. “It’s a Christmas present.”

Her eyes lit up and she immediately dove for her nightstand drawer. “I have one for you too!” She pulled a small box from within, holding it out to him.

With a soft smile, he took what she offered and handed her his offering. “Thank you…” he said softly. He wasn’t used to receiving gifts. “Can I open it?”

She nodded. “That’s why I gave it to you.”

He lifted the lid of the box and his eyes went wide. A lighter was tucked inside, shiny and new. “Take it out,” she instructed. “Look at the other side.” He did as she asked, his heart catching in his throat. There was an engraving on the other side.

“All my love, Rosie”

He couldn’t stop himself from kissing her then. “Thank you.”

“I take it you like it?” she asked with a smile.

“I love it. And I love you. Your turn.”

She nodded, opening the small package and stifling a gasp with her hand. “Johnny…”

“Do you like it?”

She nodded again. “I love it. Can you…put it on me?”

“Of course.” He took the necklace from her gently, unclasping it as she turned and held her hair out of the way. The J shaped pendant rested perfectly against her chest, and he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “I love you.”

She turned around, cupping his face as she kissed him lovingly. “I love you too. Merry Christmas, hotshot.”

He smiled into her mouth, gently pressing her back down into the mattress. “I love you too, doll. Let me show you how much.”

[mystic-sky]

A/N: In honor of reaching 400 followers, I decided to make this into a short series. I don’t know how many parts it’ll be. Thank you guys for reading my stuff and showing me love 🥺💕 you’re all so sweet 😭😭😭😭😭 I would also like to thank @teoran for the precious idea that allowed this story to come to be ❤️❤️

✨Part 2 here✨ | ✨Part 3/4 on ao3 only✨

“So, you’ve never actually been here before?” Suguru let out an annoyed sigh as his best friend draped his arm over his shoulders.

“No, but I heard this is one of the nicer ones.” Satoru says. “Besides, none of them are hard to look at.”

“I would’ve been content going out to dinner with everyone else-

“Lighten up! You do that all the time. You’re single so why not spoil yourself a little?” The white haired male insisted.

“Stuff like this feels degrading, and some of them are topless.” Suguru really hasn’t been to a strip club before. He wasn’t a prude, but surely his respect for women had him steer clear of places like this.

“Yeah— strippers do that sometimes.” Satoru laughed, taking hold of his drink. 

“And it’s not degrading- they’re hard working women. Stop talking like an old man and enjoy the show.” He added, respectfully. Suguru took a sip of his drink, watching a new dancer approach the platform. A sweet, caramel skinned girl had taken the stage, swaying around the pole in front of them.

“This is Tasty.” Someone over the loud speaker introduced her. “We recommend Tasty for new comers. She’s a bubbly, friendly dancer who feels like the girl next door. Tasty is currently ranked 3rd in our private dancer line up for this week.

“Look at her,” Satoru said, pulling his lip between his teeth. “That’s Tasty. I heard so many good things about her. She’s so much more petite and cuter in person.” 

Suguru only nonchalantly took another drink, but he was definitely looking. The tan skinned girl wrapped her body around the pole, delicately twisting herself right in front of the both of them. After shaking her ass for a bit, she moved down the stage, dancing for other customers. 

“I’ve got so much cash on me, Suguru-chan~! We’re gonna have so much fun.” He nudges his barely flustered friend.

“And try not to look so serious, before you scare the ladies away.” He rolled his eyes underneath his dark sunglasses.

“You think I’m scary looking?” Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah but in a sexy way.” Satoru leant forward, almost touching noses with the dark haired male. He really had no regards for personal space. 

“Wait til the girls find out you’re a huge softy underneath.” Satoru laughed. 

The tan stripper on the stage descended down the steps, wrapping up her routine and passing the two of them. Satoru pulled his shades down, winking at the girl, and handing her a generous tip. He watched her swoon a bit before running off, bra full of singles. 

“Candy, you’re on next.” Tasty called out to you as she entered the locker rooms. You were intently positioning your false lashes on in the mirror. You heard all the girls bustling on about some attractive men who were tipping nicely tonight as you got ready.

You hum in response, bending down and adjusting your straps on your shoes. 

“He winked at me, he winked at me!!!!” Tasty said, fawning with the other girls who were peaking out the doorway.

“Girl, you have to see this. They’re the hottest guys I’ve ever seen.” Tasty cooed at you. 

“They’re so tall. I got so shy and ran off. I’m sure the one with the sunglasses was flirting with me. I’m gonna go give him a dance, I just needed time to collect myself.” The tanned skinned girl held her cheeks in her hand as she spoke.

“Tasty’s got a crush hmmm?” You say smugly before standing up straight. You look at the hundred dollar bill sticking out of her bra amongst the many singles. You raise an eyebrow at her before you take both of your breasts in your hands, doing a jiggle test to see if they’d pop out your body suit. 

“You’ll have a crush too as soon as you see them.” Tasty rolls her eyes. You’re barely intrigued. You’d been infatuated with the same man since high school, and no one could compare to him.

Granted, the both of you weren’t actually dating, nor do you believe he had any idea about your affections or actually reciprocated them. He would occasionally flirt with you, but do not be mistaken— he was a complete asshole. You often rejected his advances, telling him to fix his off putting attitude. This led him to tease and mess with you more, but he still loves to do his best to get you flustered all the while. You couldn’t date someone who lacked so much compassion. But even so, every time you saw him, your knees went weak.

You were partially rejecting him because you were also a busy woman, and you barely had time to fraternize with him the way you wanted to during your day job. When you both were younger and went to school at the academy, he actively made you feel like you were losing to him because he was such a prodigy. Being on his team really sucked because even though you were producing proficient results, standing beside him only made you look just above average.

“Let’s see what this is all about.” You say, strutting towards the huddle your co workers created in the hall. You worm your way through, getting a glimpse of the two men that had everyone’s hormones in a frenzy.

“Oh no.” 

You watched as the white haired narcissist threw his head back in laughter, conversing flirtatiously amongst the other waitresses and dancers that crowded around him.

Fucking Gojo Satoru.

“Oh no, no, no.” 

Impossible. You were upset that you’d know that laugh of his anywhere. Not to mention his hair made him stick out like a sore thumb.

The only person who knew of your double life was Shoko. And Shoko wouldn’t tell a soul. 

Beside Satoru was a seemingly mellow Geto Suguru, grinning softly towards all of the women around them.

You sought death. That was the only way out of this situation- on a stretcher, covering your face and body and keeping your anonymity.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You say, squatting all the way down to the floor and crawling back into the locker room, praying not to be seen.

“Candy, girl, are you okay?” Your stage manager peered down at you as you slumped behind the love seat in the corner.

“Those guys out there— the two of them work at my day job.” You mutter, burying your face into your knees.

“You know them?!” Tasty interjects. 

“Unfortunately,” you nodded. “And the white haired one likes to mess with me a lot.”

“You wanna go home early?” Your manager asks. You had bills to pay, and but quite honestly, one day wouldn’t hurt. 

But for some reason you couldn’t help but feel like you’d be allowing him to win somehow by doing that. It was silly- he had no idea of your existence here so this was hardly considered a competition. But this was your space, and you refused to be forced to cower within it.

You stand up, scanning the room for something unique to wear. 

“I’m not letting that bastard ruin my bag. I’m getting my money tonight.” You sway towards the vanity, discovering a silk blindfold with eye sockets. You wrap the cloth around your eyes, adjusting it so you can see properly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup.” You say confidently, fluffing your hair in the mirror. Besides, it’s only one night, you thought.

You walk out of the prep room, walking towards the steps of the stage. You walked right past the two of them, feeling so many eyes on you as you slowly ascended the stairs.

Both their heads shifted towards you, the sound of pre-cheers and compliments from regular customers ringing with your every step. 

“This is Candy.” The host spoke into the loudspeaker. “All the boys want a piece of her. She’s the sweetest dancer here, and she’ll make you forget all your troubles with her playful smile. This week, Candy currently ranks number one in our private dancer line up.”

You were above the two gentleman who were posted up in the front of the stage. Just how did these fuckers find this place? You looked down at the two of them, like a queen looking towards her subjects. You started your routine, smiling your signature smile just like you always did. You wrapped your hands around the pole, swinging your body. The cheers and music rang through your ears. Dollars were being thrown at you, but you were so distracted by two of them.

The both of them had been eyeing you just like everyone else, but you couldn’t help but feel self conscious anyways. You swayed your hips, swooping down elegantly to pick up some of the money while you danced, offering winks to some gentlemen in the crowd. Your eyes caught on Satoru, whose sunglasses were tilted slightly downwards. Your eyes nearly met, and you swiftly shifted your gaze towards Suguru. He really dragged you here, you thought. Poor Guru-san.

You watched as Satoru threw a generous wad of singles towards you. You refused to pick it up. 

It was a 10 minute set before you would go around and flirt with other customers. You eventually collected your earnings before you gracefully walked down the steps, flipping your hair.

“Candy~” The bastard called out towards you.

You didn’t want to turn around, but you did anyway, breasts bouncing full of bounty. 

“That’s for you,” he cheekily handed you a folded wad of cash. You felt the thickness of the money between your fingers. You almost wanted to give it back to him and walk away. Unfortunately, it was custom to lurk around customers who tipped that generously. Your eyes shifted towards Suguru, who had been subtly ogling your breasts.

“Thank you.” You smile plasticly, which you don’t normally do. You were typically and genuinely nice to customers. Most of them abided by the no touch rules and were decent.

“What brings you both here?” You say, leaning on the banister, breasts in full view.

“It’s my buddies birthday.” He grinned. “I wanted him to get a private dance with this weeks number one dancer, or Tasty, if she’s not too busy.”

Your eyes panned over to Suguru, who honestly didn’t look like he wanted a dance from you. You knew better though, not all customers were forward like that, so you didn’t take it personally whatsoever. You even contemplated going to get Tasty to take your place, but something in you made you want to dance near Satoru. Knowing you could rub your hot body in his face and he couldn’t touch you turned you on just a bit. You had no idea where this power complex of yours was stemming from. 

“Sure,” he had already paid you more than what the dance costed. “So do you wanna stay out here or go for a private one? I’m fine with whatever, baby.” 

You could’ve cringed at yourself, calling your childhood friend baby. You tucked the wad of cash into your body suit. There was enough money here to pay for either kind of dance, possibly two of them. 

“I’m good actually.” Suguru says, taking a seat on the sofa. Your eye twitches a bit, and you looks towards Satoru. 

“Sugu-chan’s just shy. He couldn’t stop talking about how good you looked.” The white haired male waved his hand. It must’ve been true, because the blush on Suguru’s face was something you could’ve burst out laughing at. Keep it together (Name), you thought.

He was so reserved and gentlemanly at work. You never would’ve guessed he could look this worked up about getting a dance from a beautiful woman. You sit beside him, crossing your legs. 

“If what he said is true, thank you. I’ve done my best to perfect that routine.” You said proudly, shifting your body towards him. “Do you really not want a dance?” You ask again, completely ignoring Satoru, who had been going on about something. 

Suguru shifted in his seat, and he was obviously trying not to look at your breasts when you squeezed them together with you arms like that. 

“I guess I wouldn’t mind one.” He breathed out. You smiled at him before standing up and spreading his legs a bit. You danced in between them, while he laid back and admired you. Satoru sat on the other end of the couch while another dancer attempted to make a pass at him. He accepted her offering, tipping her nicely as well. While she danced for him, you could feel his eyes burning a hole through your back.

You whipped your ass a round, graciously showing Suguru what you had going on. You were feeling mortified on the inside considering he was your childhood friend. However, he was undoubtedly good looking. A little part of you found some sort of sweet satisfaction showing yourself to him like this. He didn’t seem to know it was you, casually sipping while he watched you do your thing.

Your eyes met Satoru’s, who had been peering at you through the body of your fellow dancer. He could feel himself getting aroused at your womanly form, shifting in his seat. He found it hard to focus on the lap dance he was getting from the lovely woman in front of him. 

So this is what she’s really like, he thought to himself.

He had been staring for so long your were getting spooked. Did he realize it was you?

For God sake’s, please no.

He offered you a wink and smirked devilishly before going right back to giving his attention towards his current dancer. Your blindfold was your safety shield, and if he stripped that away from you, you would quit your day job and the go find work in a different club. 

After some time, you and your partner finished, receiving generous tips yet again. 

“Thank you Candy~” Satoru hummed, thanking you on Suguru’s behalf. You waved goodbye, before going towards a new set of customers. He never did stop staring at you that night. Not until you completely removed yourself from the floor. Once your shift was nearly over, and you needed a breather, you seeked refuge back in the prep room.

“I’m glad that’s over,” you sighed, sinking your body into one of many beauty chairs. You decided you had made enough money for the night, removing your blindfold and setting it down on the vanity. Tasty trailed in moments after, swooning excitedly.

“What’s up with you?” You ask, removing your earrings as well.

“I got the dark haired ones number.” Tasty squealed. You were happy for her, considering Suguru was always a decent guy growing up. 

“He’s not bad,” you throw your head back, throwing your hair out of your face.

“It’s the other one I’m particularly wary of.” You say, attempting to tie your hair into a ponytail. 

“Oh yeah! The white haired one told me to give this to you.” Tasty tore another piece of paper from her bralette. 

You stared at the folded strip between her fingertips before anxiously grasping it with your own. You unfolded the thing, eye twitching in agitation.

Call me, if you want ;) XXX-XXX-XXXX

This motherfucker.

[fridayfirefly]

Homecoming Confessions

Read Homecoming Confessions on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 25 - School Dance

"Marinette. Wally. You two will be going undercover at the school. You'll be posing as a couple, which should give you an excuse for how much time you will be spending together. Be prepared to keep up your cover for a while - I can see this mission taking several months."

Marinette glanced over at Wally, who was already staring at her. She quickly looked away, flushing. Of all the people I could be fake dating for a mission, why did it have to be the one person I have a crush on?

The mission itself wasn't exactly standard. Young Justice usually dealt with the typical supervillain. However, this mission was a favor to Batman, who was investigating a remote boarding school in the Allegheny Mountains to be a cover for a money-laundering scheme concocted by the parents of many of the students enrolled. Marinette, Artemis, Wally, and Dick would all be playing the part of students in order to snoop around and gather evidence. Wally and Dick were in a suite with two other boys, while Marinette and Artemis shared a suite with two other girls.

After a month undercover, the teens had finally discovered their best chance for apprehending all involved in the money-laundering scheme. There would be a Donor Appreciation Night the same night of the Homecoming Dance, held in the Headmaster's Office for select parents who had donated above a certain threshold. It was the make-or-break night of their mission. No matter what, their time at the boarding school was up.

As much as Marinette wanted to focus on her mission, her mind always seemed to be somewhere else. It was torture to pretend to date Wally when that was all Marinette really wanted. Getting ready for the dance, Marinette reminded herself, It’s just for a mission. Nothing more, nothing less.

Beside Marinette, her dormmates were getting ready as well. Artemis was painting her nails a shade of green so dark it looked like black, Caroline was putting on eyeliner with the focus and precision of a neurosurgeon, and Betty was cursing as she tried to squeeze her feet into too-tight heels.

"I swear my feet grow half a size every time I go off to school. As soon as I can't buy a new pair of Jimmy Choo's, none of the ones I already own fit anymore," complained Betty.

"I think that we have a similar size. You could borrow a pair of mine, if you'd like," offered Marinette. In truth, she would be glad to get rid of some of her shoes. To blend it at the school, her wardrobe had been given a very expensive makeover. Marinette loved fashion, but even she felt uncomfortable with how

Betty brightened up right away. "I love your closet, Marinette. If my Dad wasn't so strict about my spending money, I would have a closet like yours. Could I borrow that pair of Miu Miu heels your parents sent you last week?"

"Sure." It was good luck that Betty asked for that pair of shoes. Batman had fitted a select number of shoes with listening devices, hoping that if Marinette lingered outside of doors, the shoes might catch snippets of conversation slipping out from under the door. The Miu Miu heels were one of those select pairs. If Betty's parents were involved (which, after a little snooping through Betty's laptop, Marinette was almost certain that they were) and Betty knew about it, there was a chance that the heels could be used to gather evidence.

"When is Wally coming to pick you up?" asked Caroline.

Caroline and Betty had both been very supportive of Marinette's very fake relationship. "He's coming at seven with my corsage."

"I wish I were getting a corsage," sighed Caroline. "I'm so jealous of you. I hate being single."

"Than you shouldn't have dumped Michael two weeks before the Homecoming Dance," criticized Betty.

"I didn't want him in any of my group photos," Caroline defended herself.

"Fair point, fair point." Betty shrugged.

Marinette giggled at the antics of her friends. "Can someone help me get the button on the back of my dress?" There was one tiny silver button right at the nape of her neck that Marinette could never reach.

"Sure." Artemis leaned across the bathroom counter to get the button.

The dress was custom made - but not by Marinette. Marinette secretly hated the dress, though she cooed over it along with the rest of her dormmates. It was navy blue with silver accents, and it had a microphone sewn into it, so well hidden that not even Marinette, with her knowledge of its existence, could find it.

A knock at the door startled Marinette from her thoughts. She rushed to get her shoes on, slipping her feet into the two-inch heels. "Does my hair look okay?"

Caroline nodded. "It looks absolutely perfect. Wally will be drooling over you all night long."

Marinette forced herself to giggle at the comment, even though she knew it was false. Wally would spend the night playing the part of the doting boyfriend for the mission. He would tell her that she looked beautiful and he would be lying. Marinette wanted to cry over how unfair it was to watch the boy she liked pretending to like her back.

Marinette opened the door. Wally stood behind it, holding the corsage in his hand. It was at that moment that Marinette realized she had never seen Wally in a suit before. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably, but still smiled when his eyes landed on Marinette. "You look beautiful, Marinette."

Exactly as Marinette had predicted. She forced a smile on her face, hoping that it looked genuine enough to fool her dormmates. "Thank you. You look very dashing in a suit."

"Hey Rudolph, I didn't think you knew how to tie a tie," Artemis raised an eyebrow. Artemis and Wally had been playing the part of cousins at the boarding school, their cover being that their education was being funded by their wealthy Grandfather.

"Dick tied it," Wally grumbled. He then whispered to Marinette, "I might be ditching the tie. I think Dick might be trying to strangle me with this."

Marinette giggled, whispering back, "I have a clip-on in my closet. It won't match my dress, but I can live with that if it means you're alive and breathing."

"You're a lifesaver, Mari."

Marinette's heart gave a flutter as he called her by her nickname. He had started using it in public right when they began the school year, to convince everyone that they were dating. However, when it was just the Young Justice team, Wally always called her by her full name. It was just another reminder that their relationship was all an act.

Marinette went into her room and started digging through her closet. As she searched for the clip-on tie, Artemis entered the room, lingering at the closet doors. "What were you and Wally whispering about?"

Marinette replied, "We decided to replace his tie with a clip-on."

Artemis raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "Sure."

"Artemis, I've told you a million times. Wally and I are fake dating."

"There is nothing fake about the way he looks at you," Artemis continued stubbornly.

"I already told you the truth. Just because you don't believe me doesn't mean it's not true."

"I know for a fact that there is something between the two of you."

Marinette sighed. Damn Artemis for being so persistent. "Fine. You're right that there are some feelings involved, but they aren't Wally's. I'm the one who has a crush on him, not the other way around."

Artemis looked shocked. "Really? I could have sworn..." Artemis stopped herself, a devious look growing on her face. Marinette could tell that she was scheming up some sort of plan.

"We just need to get through this one dance, and then we're done fake dating for good. Please, don't interfere," Marinette begged.

"Alright, but only if you promise that you'll tell Wally you like him. It doesn't have to be tonight, but you do have to tell him."

"Fine," agreed Marinette. With no time limit on the promise, who was to say when Marinette would tell Wally. After all, plenty of people confessed life-altering secrets on their deathbed.

By the time the group made it down to the banquet hall, the Homecoming Dance was in full swing. Pop music was blasting through every speaker in the room, and Marinette winced at the volume of noise.

Using the loud music as cover, Wally whispered in Marinette's ear. "Dick's already in position. He found a way up into the vents, so he has a good position to listen in on whatever is said in the Headmaster's Office."

"Good. I'll go find the best window to view the Headmaster's Office from, to make sure we can keep track of everyone going in and out."

Wally nodded. "I'll catch Artemis up to speed, and then I'll join you."

Marinette scouted out the tables at the edge of the dance floor, eventually finding one that had both a view out the window of the entrance to the Headmaster's Office and a view of both entrances to the banquet hall that the dance was held in. A minute later, Artemis approached, dragging Wally along beside her.

"I'll watch the entrances. You two need to go dance. It'll look weird if you don't," said Artemis.

Artemis was correct, but that didn't stop Marinette from feeling a little indignant about being bossed around.

Wally just shrugged, seemingly unaffected by Artemis's bossy tone. "You ready to dance, Mari?"

Marinette froze, searching for the words. "Uh, sure."

Marinette was prepared to dance along to a pop song. Marinette was prepared to pretend that it didn't pain her to pretend. What Marinette wasn't prepared for was the slow song that came on - a song that could only be danced to with a slow dance.

"I guess we'll have to slow dance," said Wally with a shrug. His tone was light, but there was an edge behind it. Marinette assumed that he felt uncomfortable dancing with a girl he considered just a friend.

"I guess so."

Marinette tried not to be stiff in his arms. She was acutely aware that this moment would have been perfect if it were real.

"You can relax, you know," Wally said as if his words were a joke, but his voice was flat.

"Sorry." Marinette forced the stiffness out of her joints, swaying in his arms.

Wally sighed. "I know this isn't ideal, but at least it's over after tonight."

"Yeah." Marinette couldn't keep the frown off of her face. Though it would be nice to stop pretending, Marinette was disappointed to know that she would never dance with Wally again.

Wally grimaced. "It's one more night. You don't have to look so miserable. I'm not that bad to spend time around, am I?"

Marinette's eyes widened. Wally had interpreted her disappointment over their relationship being over as something else entirely. "No. I-"

"Whatever," sighed Wally, pushing her away as the song winded down. He walked off the dance floor and toward the table, leaving Marinette behind.

"It's not what you think," protested Marinette, rushing after him to explain. "I'm upset that we only have one more night."

Wally looked shocked. "What do you mean?"

"I like spending time with you. I like you, Wally. It's so hard to pretend to date you when that's all I really want."

"Why did you never tell me?" asked Wally.

"Because I know you don't feel the same way about me. If I can't have you as my boyfriend, I at least wanted to have you as my friend."

"You think I don't feel the same way about you? Dick and Roy make fun of me for my crush on you all the time, how have you never noticed?"

Now it was Marinette's turn to be shocked. "Wait, you're telling me that you have a crush on me too?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Wally. "I thought you already knew about my crush and were ignoring it. I never brought it up because I didn't want to make things uncomfortable between us."

Marinette shook her head in exasperation. "This whole time we were both keeping our feelings a secret and it was making us miserable, and it was all for nothing."

Wally groaned. "We're so stupid, aren't we?"

"Yep," chimed in Artemis, who had snuck up behind them. "But we don't have time to unpack that. Cars have started parking out front. I think the meeting will be starting soon. I'm going out to document their license plates and plant trackers on the cars. I need you two in position to assist Dick if he needs it."

"Got it." Marinette grabbed Wally by the hand and started leading him to the door. It took them no time at all to get to the Headmaster's Office, but once they were there they needed a plan. "How are we going to remain inconspicuous?"

"Like this." Wally pulled Marinette into an alcove, giving her direct line of sight of the door to the Headmaster's Office. "If anyone catches us, the worst we'll get is detention - which we won't even have to serve, given that we're leaving after tonight."

"Good idea." Marinette stared up into Wally's eyes. "Now that we're alone again..."

The buzz of a text message distracted Marinette from Wally. It was Dick, on the team's encrypted line.

Dick: The meeting is wrapping up. Marinette and Wally, you two need to get away from the Headmaster's Office as soon as possible. I recorded enough evidence to convict, so we don't need to stay any longer. Everyone head back to the dorms and get changed. We leave in 20 minutes.

Marinette: See you in 20.

"I guess it's time to go." Wally looked disappointed, even though their mission had been a complete success.

"Don't worry, Wally. I have a sneaking suspicion that this won't be the last night of us dating." Marinette pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then twisted out from behind him. "See you in twenty!"

Marinette turning around just before she turned the corner to get one last look at Wally. His face was lit up with a goofy smile, and Marinette couldn't help but laugh. More than one mission was a success that night.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[weelittleweasley]

a day in the snow (h.p.)

prompt as requested by anon: after being friends for two years, you had been toying with the idea of how and if you should tell harry that you have feelings for him. but will the fear of rejection hold you back?

pairing: harry potter x fem! reader

warnings: food

word count: 3.2k

author’s note: this could be read as a sequel to may i sit?, but you don’t have to read it to understand this fic! happy reading! oh! and requests are still open ;)

Soft, powdery white snow covered the Scottish hills that rolled in the distance. The green grass now hidden beneath blankets and blankets of freshly fallen snow. Untouched snow was soon replaced with trails of snow shoe footprints and laughter of students as they weaved their way to Hogsmeade. It was a perfect winter’s day. Cold enough to keep the snow from melting and make you shiver if you wore the wrong jacket, but not cold enough from keeping you from dragging Harry through the snow to the town.

Harry would have much rather stayed inside and kept warm in the comfort of the common room with the roaring fire in front of him, blanket over his lap as he enjoyed the chatter of his closest friends. You, on the other hand, lived for days like today. You insisted it would be an adventure; out in the snow, romping around, enjoying each other’s company. Although Harry insisted you had gone to Hogsmeade so many times in the past, you had practically begged him to go today. You needed some excitement rather than being cooped up in the castle all weekend long. With a groan and exaggerated roll of his head, Harry finally gave into your pleas. He couldn’t resist you for longer than five minutes of constant begging. 

Linking your arm in his, the two of you trudged through the snow, you laughing as Harry bemoaned about snow getting into his boots. “Don’t be such a party pooper, Potter,” you tease him as he rolls his eyes. “We’ll make a day of it. We can get Butterbeer at Three Broomsticks, shop around at Honeydukes, maybe venture into Zonko’s,” you list off excitedly. It would be a pricey expenditure, but you had just received your monthly allowance from your parents and you were certainly planning on spending a chunk of it today. 

“Or we could head back to the castle, get a blanket, sit by the fire in the common room, sneak into the kitchens. You know the house elves love me,” he smiled as you scoffed at him. “We’ve been to Hogsmeade hundreds of times, why can’t we enjoy a day inside the castle?” he implores you as a bright smile appears on your face as the village comes into your view.

You drop Harry’s arm and make a mad dash for the village, giggling wildly. You turn to face him, walking backwards now, “We are in that castle every day, Harry. I need a change of scenery once in a while and what better place to do so,” you speak merrily. Pure joy was laced in your voice as Harry sighed and shook his head with a smile. He couldn’t deny the look of childish glee on your face as you stood there, waiting for him to catch up to you, clapping your hands like a toddler on Christmas morning. “Now come on, let me treat you to a Butterbeer,” you extend your hand out to him as he gladly accepts it, swinging your arms back and forth.

The gesture was simple, something you and Harry always did. But you couldn’t deny that every time Harry held your hand, flashed you a toothy grin, cracked a joke and looked your way to see if he had made you laugh, it always made your heart flutter and mind races with a thousand and one thoughts. Harry had been your mate, a close one, for almost two years now. After the night you two had formally met, you were inseparable. You spent nights in the library studying (mostly fooling around and pissing others off), running through the corridors playing elaborate games of hide-and-seek, exchanging small glances during class. Together, you and Harry just made sense. The two of you got along like you had known each other your whole lives and yet, nothing more evolved from your friendship. You had managed to convince yourself that a friendship was all you signed up for and all you wanted from Harry which was a total lie. Harry made you feel like you were the only person who mattered; like when he was with you, you had his full and undivided attention. Harry made you feel safe. 

But you ignore the butterflies that danced around in your gut as you walked towards Three Broomsticks, Harry opening the door for you as you slid in carefully. “Go on and find us a seat, I’ll grab us drinks,” you instruct him as he smiles and nods.

You approach the bar and see Madam Rosmerta, drying some mugs. She catches your eye as she flashes you a brilliant smile, “Back again, Miss (Y/L/N),” she beams as you nod. “What can I get for you, my darling?”

“Two Butterbeers please,” you request, leaning against the bar, removing the woolen gloves from your chilled hands. The Three Broomsticks was warm, in temperature and the environment. The pub was bustling in customers, varying in age, old and young. Some Hogwarts students were tucked away in booths as you surveyed the area, some on what looked like dates, others messing around with friends. 

Madam Rosmerta gives you a look, raising one brow suggestively. “Two?” she asks as you nod. “You fancied your way into a date now? Who with?” she implores. But before you can protest that you were just in for a quick drink with a friend, her eyes land on Harry who waits patiently at a table. Madam Rosmerta dramatically gasps, “With the Chosen One?” she gawks. “Nicely done, my darling. Way to go!” she hits your arm encouragingly. 

You shake your head feverishly, “No, no, Harry and I are just mates. We’ve always been mates and always will be.” When the words tumble from your mouth, your stomach feels sour. Always been mates and always will be. Nothing more and nothing less for you and Harry. Stuck in the friend zone. Madam Rosmerta gives you a look to tell you that she’s not buying it. You insist, “Really. Harry is a good friend. We’re just spending the day together as mates.”

She smiles at you as she pours you up two brimming mugs of Butterbeer, the copper mugs foaming wildly with the delicious beverage. “That’s how it always starts,” she teases as you play with the hem of your lavender jumper. “Just mates usually means something more is on the way,” she winks as you lightly laugh. Reaching into your pocket, you look for a few sickles to give in exchange for your drinks, but Madam Rosmerta stops you. “These are on the house,” she insists. “A toast to best mates,” she winks.

“Thank you,” you blush before you part from the bar, walking over to the table with your drinks. “For you,” you slide the mug over to Harry who thanks you before you sit down and take a sip from the refreshing beverage. 

Harry takes a glug from his mug before speaking, “Alright. Well, now that you’ve got me here, what’s on the agenda? I want the full (Y/N) (Y/L/N) experience.” 

You smile at your best friend and shake your head. Harry could be a pisser, but he sure knew how to make you smile. As you ran off everything you wanted to do for the day, you became very aware of Harry’s gaze as he looked at you. His green eyes held so much tenderness, gently resting upon you as you spoke with such glee in your voice. Occasionally, he would permit a small smile to appear on his lips as you would catch him and ask what he was smiling about. He would brush it off and simply say, “Nothing. I find it sweet when you get excited about things.”

In response, you scoffed and rolled your eyes whilst inside your stomach did and flip and your mind screamed about how much you liked him. How you wanted to hold his hand and tell him how much you cared for him. How you wanted kiss his lips and lay your head on his chest, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. But instead, you continued blabbering on about the day ahead of you. 

After finishing at Three Broomsticks, you and Harry walked down High Street and made a stop at Honeydukes. Inside were countless shelves filled with sweets and treats beyond imagination. As soon as you stepped foot inside, you immediately ran to the shelves to pick out your favorite sweets. Harry laughed at your impatience; you couldn’t even wait for him to grab you a basket. “We have to stock up on all the good stuff, Harry,” you say very intently as you grab three parcels of Jelly Slugs. “Godric knows that once Ron sees the stash, he’s bound to consume half of it,” you huff as Harry laughs. You weren’t wrong. 

Harry watches as you select a few Chocolate Frogs, Chocolate Wands, and Cockroach Clusters from the shelves. “Easy does it, you don’t want to spend all of your money in one place,” he warns.

You flash him a look. “Geez, you sound like Granger,” you laugh as he rolls his eyes. “Last time I checked if Harry saw me buying this many sweets, he’d be encouraging me to buy more,” you tease as he rolls his eyes. “Come on, what do you want? My treat.”

Harry looks at you and shakes his head. “(Y/N), no. You already treated for Butterbeer, I’m not letting you buying me sweets too,” he tells you as you shake your head.

“Madam Rosmerta covered the cost of the Butterbeers, so that doesn’t count,” you reveal to him as he gives you a confused look. But before he can question why she would cover the cost, you speak up, “Come on, Harry, if you don’t chose, I’ll chose for you.” You nudge his arm as he sighs giving in as you smile widely. 

You knew Harry didn’t want you wasting your money on him, but you hardly considered it a waste. You wanted him to enjoy himself too, especially since he didn’t want to leave the castle and you practically forced him out. This was just a small way to express your gratitude.

Now, your shopping basket was full of sweets and was considerably heavy. But it was no problem. You swiftly paid the cashier and carried out a large bag of sweets out of the shoppe as Harry laughed as you struggled to carry it. “Give it here,” he laughs as he takes the bag from your hands, easily carrying it in just one of his. “Light as a feather.”

“Oh, shut it, Harry,” you laugh alongside him as you trudge through the snow, enjoying how lively the town was today. People made chatter, buying things from the shoppes, children playing in the snow, indulging in sweets. The scene made your heart swell. You loved how alive and well the town seemed. As you looked around, you felt Harry’s gaze on you again as you caught his eye. “Why’re you staring at me?” you laugh as Harry blushes.

“I can’t look at my best friend?” he defends himself. “Rather me close my eyes and walk around blindly?” he teases as he screw his eyes shut, pretending to feel around for directions. “Someone help. My best friend is mad that I dare look at her so now I’m forced to walk around like this!” he jokes as you roll your eyes.

But before you can say anything, you hear someone call out for Harry’s name. You both turn around and see Ron jogging over to you both as Harry looks at you. “Go,” you smile at him. “No need to ask me for permission.”

Harry smiles as Ron runs over to him, the two of them immediately babbling about something that Ron found in Zonko’s. Behind Ron is Hermione who walks over to you with a small smile. “Enjoying yourself?” you wiggle your eyebrows at Hermione.

She rolls her eyes, “Ron and I were in Zonko’s for nearly three hours.” You laugh at her complaint. She sighs, “But it made him happy. So in a weird way, I guess it was worth it.” You poke at her sides, teasing her for her innocent crush on her best friend. “Oh, stop, you’re one to talk! Harry told us he wasn’t feeling well today and he wasn’t going to come out with us,” Hermione reveals.

You stop poking at Hermione’s words as they fall from her lips. You twist your face with confusion. “What do you mean he didn’t feel well?” you ask as Hermione restates what she had previously revealed. Did Harry lie to his two best friends, so he could spend the day with you? You shake your head, “No, Harry told me he wanted to stay in the castle today. He didn’t want to go out today all together,” you justify.

Hermione gives you a knowing look. “Sure, he could have told you that, but you know Harry likes to give people a hard time. He would have gone with you whether you begged or not,” she smiles. “Even if you didn’t go to Hogsmeade, you would have stayed at the castle with him, wouldn’t you?” she asks, already knowing the answer to the question when a rosy hue appears on your cheeks. “(Y/N), drop the charade. You both have been infatuated with the other since you met each other,” Hermione places a hand on your arm, rubbing it. “Everyone sees the glances you two steal, the way you laugh at his jokes, the way he literally drops everything to be next to you...don’t wait any longer.”

If this all was true, then maybe it really did mean Harry had deeper feelings for you. But the possibility that people were reading into it and Harry saw you as just a close friend loomed over your head like a dark rain cloud. The fear of Harry looking into your eyes and telling you that this relationship of yours was merely platonic would break your heart. You would rather keep your secret just that, a secret. That way you could prevent yourself from being hurt. But then there was the risk of keeping this secret hidden deeply and hurting yourself by watching him live life with another girl, someone who wasn’t you. And that was what made your stomach churn. 

Before you can ask Hermione advice, Harry speaks up, “(Y/N), you ready?” You look at Hermione who gives you a reassuring squeeze and wink as you sigh. Turning to Harry, you nod. 

“We’ll catch up later,” you tell Hermione who gives you a curt nod. You walk over to Harry who extends a hand out to you to walk back into the castle. You accept it, letting your hands swing back and forth, letting the negative thoughts in your mind float away as you enjoy the feeling of his gloved hand holding yours. 

Harry gives your hand a gentle squeeze as he notices you ruminating in thought, nibbling on your bottom lip. He knew your nervous habits like the back of his hand and he monitored them carefully. “What’s bothering you?” he asks quite simply. You look at him, puzzled. “Your biting your bottom lip. You always do that when you’re overthinking something,” he tells you as you sigh defeated. He knew you too well and that was the problem. “You know you can tell me, (Y/N). We’re best friends.”

Best friends. That’s exactly what you were. “Can I ask you something, Harry?”

“Anything,” he smiles as he continues to swing your hand back and forth.

But you stop walking and drop his hand, tucking both your hands into your jacket pockets. Harry watches as you do so, gulping, nervous as to what you had to say. “Did you...did you tell Hermione and Ron that you didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade with them today because you weren’t feeling well?” you ask.

Harry looks at you blankly before inhaling deeply. “I did, yes.”

You, even more confused, now try to clarify. “But you came out to Hogsmeade with me instead? You told me you wanted to stay in the castle, so why didn’t you? If you weren’t feeling well, you should have told me that and I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me,” you tell Harry who just stands there. “Harry, you know you don’t have to follow me around. I could have gone with someone else today.”

He shakes his head, “That’s not the point, (Y/N). That’s not why I came with you.”

“Then why did you come with me?” you ask, genuinely needing to know the answer. Harry remains silent for a moment as you groan. “Harry, I need you to be honest with me. You tell some of your friends one thing and then you tell me another. I’m just confused and I need at least a little clarity as to what is going on inside that head of yours,” you exclaim.

Harry stands there silent again as you look at him, with an exhausted expression on your face. Was it really that hard to tell you the truth? You shake your head and start walking away from Harry, whispering under your breath, “This is ridiculous.”

Before you can take another step away from him, Harry grabs your hand and pulls you back to him, spinning you around to face him. He wastes no time, cupping your cold cheeks in his hands and pulling you into him, connecting his lips with yours. You are taken aback by the sudden move, but you instantly melt into his touch, kissing him back. His lips are cold from the weather, but the kiss is warm and sweet and genuine. The kiss is revitalizing; it makes your heart speed up and makes you pull him closer to you, wanting more and more and more until you can’t take anymore. Harry only kisses you harder as you relax into the kiss. As you kiss, you can feel snowflakes fall upon your cheeks and eyelashes. The scene was picturesque. Two friends now kissing in the middle of the snowy pathway as freshly fallen snow surrounds them like halos. 

Gently, Harry pulls away and rubs your cheeks with his thumbs as you keep your eyes closed, savoring the sensation of his cool lips on yours. “Does that clarify things?” he asks as you lightly smile, fluttering your eyes open, looking into his green ones. “I always want to be with you, (Y/N). I lied to Ron and Hermione because I wanted to be with you. I will take every opportunity to be with you because I’m absolutely head over heels for you.”

His words make your heart flutter. It was everything you have ever wanted to hear and you can’t help but smile like a goofball at his words. “You are?” you say in disbelief, breathlessly as you hold onto his arms tightly, not ever wanting to let go. 

“Head over heels,” he repeats. “And I’m willing to do anything to prove it to you.”

You smile widely before pressing your forehead against his. “There’s no need. Because I’m head over heels for you, Harry,” you confess as Harry smiled brightly at your confession before kissing the tip of your nose gently. “Quite the pickle we’ve gotten ourselves into, huh, Potter?” you tease him.

Harry shakes his head, “One I don’t plan on getting out of any time soon,” he tells you before kissing you again sweetly as the snow showers over the both of you.

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you. 

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father. 

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here? 

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time. 

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee. 

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father. 

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

-

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months. 

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised. 

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived. 

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful. 

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you. 

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of  calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift. 

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud . 

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me.  He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid. 

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth. 

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it. 

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people. 

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

-

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose. 

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm. 

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands. 

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually. 

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling. 

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall. 

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get. 

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities. 

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix. 

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder. 

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur. 

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind. 

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though. 

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.