#love the creaminess of the ceiling n wish my doors matched -_- OR

[flymold]

the smirker

[ushidoux]

Power Struggle - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re set up on a blind date with a man who might just be your match.  (~5.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, blind date, exhibitionism, public sex

A/N: Part of @cherrytenko​’s CEO collab! Surprisingly this is possibly the longest fic I’ve written as a oneshot and it’s a little softer than I expected it to be but please enjoy!

---

It’s about half past 6pm when you add the final touch to your makeup, a smear of matte lipstick (Rouge Hermes #48, to be exact), to your lips.

It’s not often that you’re able to leave work early but your mother and father had called you from overseas in the late afternoon, interrupting their own third honeymoon, to remind you of your final meeting for the day - 

A date.

“I know you hate these things, but just go! You might like what you see,” your mother insisted over video chat, her voice muffled by the sound of wind whipping past her as she and your father cruised along on a shaky speedboat they’d purchased just for the day. You weren’t completely sure where they were, only vaguely aware that they were somewhere around Jeju Island, and not exactly sure why they still had phone service, but you weren’t going to ask too many questions.

“No obligation!” Your father adds, just out of view and yelling slightly. 

Sure, never any obligations.

As you smack your lips in the mirror to smooth out the lip color, giving yourself a brief once-over to decide whether or not you feel the need to adjust your hair or if you will wear falsies or not, you frown ever so slightly, then let out a sigh.

You hate this. 

This is the third “meeting” they’ve arranged for you this month, and they’d been at this for almost six months overall by now. This search for a ‘suitable husband’ was getting stale -  not to mention, time-consuming - and you weren’t sure you would be willing to appease your parents any longer.

In fact, you weren’t exactly sure you were interested in a partner anymore. The clock would hit thirty any moment now, and the math of falling in love, getting married, having kids, and still heading a successful company no longer seemed to be adding up. You didn’t know how exactly to tell your sweet parents who were the picture of domestic bliss that they’d probably have to give up on the idea of grandchildren, and consider raising puppies instead.

Regardless, for the time being, you could still bother to meet this stranger for dinner.

There’s a clasp seal envelope atop your dresser - a portfolio that had been left on your desk by your father’s assistant at the beginning of the week - that still seems entirely too formal for the process. This is matchmaking, not a job application, was the first thought that came to mind once you realized the envelope held a set of photos, a resume and an admittedly curt but formally written statement reminiscent of a cover letter.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, the signature at the bottom of the letter read in an extremely neat script. He must be particularly organized and detail-oriented.

There were two pictures, one that looked almost like a passport photo and the other much more relaxed, where he was dressed casually in a t-shirt and pressed jeans, standing with his arms crossed beside a redheaded man whose smile was wide and infectious, his arm around his neck. You wondered if he picked those photos himself. 

You’d perused the first photo much more carefully because you could see more of his face. He’s quite handsome, you’d admitted, the faintest warmth in your cheeks, but he seemed awfully uptight. For one, the look on his face was very neutral, not bothering to smile. He was clean shaven and his hair was close cropped at the edges, a woody brown that paired well with serious olive eyes. You wondered if he ever laughed out loud, and what he looked like when he did.

The taxi driver is prompt and waiting outside of the high-rise in which you live by the time you make your way down the elevator. The click of your heels is loud on the tile as you make your way past the revolving doors. As you slip into the back of the car, you wonder if you’re dressed too professionally. You may have forgone the women’s pantsuit, but you’re still wearing a feminine pantsuit-esque ensemble in a creamy beige - pink would have seemed too ditzy, white would have seemed a bit too innocent (not to mention risky) and yellow too juvenile.

You’re not sure why you’re thinking so hard about this, but really years of paying attention to your appearance in public, not being taken seriously because you’re pretty and young and your personality is more bubbly than bossy puts you on your guard, especially when it comes to first impressions.

The location appears to be an upscale sushi restaurant, the type that you have to call ahead for months to get a reservation unless you have some kind of special arrangement with the owner. A staff member checks you in and brings you to the back to a private room, and as you pass through the dimly lit hallway, clutching your purse a little too securely, a scene from a yakuza movie comes to mind.

“Your room, madam,” the young man nods and motions you to enter a room that is brightly lit enough that it is almost blinding, large and round as though you were in a fishbowl yourself. You look up and notice that even the ceiling is curved. Elaborate paintings hang off the wall. 

He’s not here.

You glance at the attendant and he raises his eyebrows as though he is expecting you to say something. You must look surprised, and continue to look so as you remove your shoes to sit at one of the thin mattresses set before the low table.

You wish you’d worn stockings perhaps, tucking your bare feet beneath you in a casual seiza position. You can’t recall the last time you’ve been this traditional/formal, and the thought of a man you barely know already knowing what your feet look like bare bothers you just a bit. 

The attendant pours water and then tea for two wordlessly and slips out of the room. 

Your heart pounds once you’re finally alone. Why is this so intense? 

You fidget nervously with the thin silver necklace you are wearing, looking for a menu. There is none so far. Just square plates, both chopsticks and forks (odd for sushi, you think), and a steaming cup of tea set right next to a sweltering crystal glass of ice cold water. Opposites.

For a fleeting moment, you actually wonder for once if this man will like you. 

“My apologies, Ms. ___.”

You’re startled by a rich voice, a tiny gasp revealing that you’re more spooked than you realize, and your eyes shift towards the direction of the sound to see what looks like your date finally arriving in a hurry. 

You instinctively readjust yourself onto your knees to look formal, then realize you should probably stand instead, but before you can get up he waves you to sit back down, now settling down himself across from you.

“I had intended to arrive early but quite a few things happened at the company to make that unfeasible.”

He said this while removing a suit jacket in a way that was in no way intended to be sexy, not at all, then let out what sounded like a single, semi-nervous chuckle. 

Wordlessly, you replied with a nod, transfixed as you compared photography to reality. The photos didn’t do him justice, not at all. The suit jacket was picked up quickly by a waiter who you had forgotten was still in the room.

Ushijima extended an arm to you across the table, intending to shake your hand.

“Did you wait long?” He asks as you shakily take his hand for a handshake that consumes your hand almost entirely in his large one.

You shake your head, then embarrassed when you realize you aren’t using your voice, and add, “No, I didn’t wait long...”

“Are you hungry?” He replies, quickly. Your instinct is to say no, no you didn’t need anything, especially not from him, but you are pretty sure your stomach would growl loudly any minute now, and you’d only look like a fool. 

Ushijima glances at the waiter, who finally hands the two of you menus.

“Please order anything you like.”

You look down, swallowing hard again, and for a moment it is difficult to focus on the unnecessarily elaborate handwriting on the menu.

Something about him already grates on your nerves and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. You could forgive people for being late, and you were used to people being a little forward, but something about the way he was both familiar and unfamiliar in the way he spoke to you seemed to veer into patronizing behavior. 

Why wasn’t he nervous? Every man you’d sat across from in the past half a year had just a little waver in their voice when they spoke to you at some point, even those who had started off boasting their fancy degrees and their villas and their large bank accounts. 

But he sits perfectly still, all broad shoulders, gently wafting cologne, and a gaze that is both disconcerting and impartial, so you don’t know what to think. 

When you look up from the menu to him, his eyes are still heavily focused on you, and you can’t really fault him. There’s nothing else to look at in this room, after all.

You take this opportunity to tease him. No man has ever intimidated you before and this one is no different.

“Are you going to order anything? I barely saw you look at the menu.” Your voice is light and coquettish and it implies, all you’re doing is staring at me.

“I already know my order. I’ve been here enough times,” he replies, immune to the playfulness in your voice. You watch him roll up his sleeves as he answers, and take note of the shape of his hands as he takes a sip of tea.

Maybe you’re the one staring.

“Would you like a recommendation?” He offers as he sets the cup down. 

You shake your head no, and wonder again why you’re making gestures instead of talking. He smiles as though he can read your mind.

Once the waiter takes your orders and leaves the room, you’re left in silence, facing your would-be partner. It’s a stalemate of sorts and you lose, asking the first personal question.

But you ask it semi-clinically, refusing to lose the upper hand. You’re not sure why there’s an upper hand, but there is, and it will be yours.

“I read a little about your company before arriving. You gave me quite a few details, which I appreciated,” you state, turning your head to the side politely to take a sip of tea yourself. “You’ve done very well for yourself as CEO,” you add.

His eyes don’t crinkle from the flattery. “My employees do great work at all levels so it’s only natural that there would be positive growth,” he replies matter-of-factly.

You smile politely, but this answer doesn’t give you very much information about him. He’s shifting the success away from him, you remark, however he accepts the compliment as though expected. Is this genuine humility or arrogance?

You lean very slightly forward, just enough to see if he’ll take the opportunity to glance down your blouse, as other suitors have invariably done. He doesn’t, and you proceed to ask the next question.

“What do you do outside of work?”

His eyebrows raise, and you wonder if it’s because he realizes you are pretending you didn’t read that section on his application, but he answers anyway.

“I don’t have very much free time, as you are probably aware, but I garden and paint. And of course, I like to keep fit through team sports.”

A quick look at him makes that last part quite clear. You clear your throat slightly and then it is silent again. It’s not exactly an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not comfortable either.

Just as you wonder why he isn’t asking you any questions, he suddenly speaks up.

“Pardon me if this sounds inappropriate, but you’re beautiful. Why would you need a matchmaking service?”

You’re taken aback, and while your brain is scrambling for understanding of what his intentions are, he adjusts his sitting position so that he’s cross-legged with both hands on his knees and lets out a sigh before continuing.

“You’re also accomplished and clearly articulate. I don’t imagine you’d have trouble finding a partner through more organic means.”

It seems like there are a million butterflies that suddenly inhabit the small space in the pit of your stomach. Again, you’re at a loss for words, something that is rare for someone as opinionated and cordially fierce as you.

Should you be offended? It’s almost as though he’s asking what’s wrong with you?

He asks frankly, “Why a blind date?”

You want to ask him the same question, but you hear the waiter return and you fall silent, letting the butterflies in your stomach die down.

---

“I-is this the first time - ah - you’ve done this?”

You’re no longer laid out on the tatami like you were just an hour earlier, Ushijima nibbling on your lower lip and your collarbones instead of the overpriced, high-quality fish that sat atop your table, but now laid under him, spread eagle save for the hands you use to hold on to his shoulders as he slowly and deliberately thrusts inside you. 

Your voice is breathy and catches in your throat every time he moves, but you have to know. How often has he ended up like this?

The heat that fills your whole body now isn’t just from the shame of letting a stranger fondle your body in an upscale restaurant, it’s because Ushijima somehow knows exactly where and how to touch you, as though he’s always known. His fingers have traveled your body like a hiker on a well-beaten path, from the softness behind your earlobes to your squishy center and back, and now have settled into a hold that is firm yet gentle on your hips. 

When he replies “no” with immense honesty, his mouth sinks into the crook of your neck and he goes just deep enough that you don’t have time to factor this new information into your impression of him.

So instead you savor the thickness that fills you and the strength that holds you close, the soft grunts that fill your ears before they get drowned out by your equally loud whimpers and moans.

---

You don’t spend the night, partially out of shame that Ushijima bedded you so quickly and partially because you have a full schedule for the next morning. The parting of ways is brief and awkward and you seem to feel it more acutely than he does.

“I enjoyed our time, Miss ___,” he offers. You’ve dressed up faster than he has so you find yourself unwittingly ogling at the expanse of his sculpted chest and the flex of his muscles as he redresses. You’re almost sad to see him cover up.

You nod and walk out of the room, trying your best to hide the fact that your legs feel far too wobbly to be walking on these heels.

---

“Miss ____?”

Your eyes widen as you realize you’ve been daydreaming through a meeting with the board of trustees and now the wrinkled old men who hated the fact that your father thrust you into leadership you “didn’t deserve” are staring at you with disgruntled expressions.

“Oh, um,” you think quickly, recalling where the presentation left off and glancing quickly at the notes you’d jotted down on a notepad before wondering why Ushijima hadn’t called or texted since you met two weeks ago.

“Um?” The most senior of the group repeats, and your stomach turns for a moment before you steel yourself. He bares his teeth every time he’s displeased with you and you get the impression of an ancient and disgruntled wolf. 

You clear your throat loudly, and settle back in your chair, crossing your legs and your arms over your chest.

“I have some disagreements with the current approach, but I’ll start with the pertinent positives,” you start.

---

“Was the sex at least good?”

Your best friend from high school glances at you briefly, as you face forward on the Peloton you are riding side by side with her. She’s much less out of shape than you are given that she also is your personal trainer and thus rides hers effortlessly, taking some time to wait for you to respond.

You begrudgingly say yes.

“Wow, for once someone dropped you before you could drop them!” She teases in a sing-song voice. You would slap her on the shoulder if she was close enough and if you weren’t out of breath. It stings just a little bit that you’ve heard nothing from him nor the matchmaking company and don’t have a good response to tell your parents aside from I guess we didn’t click.

“He’s missing out, though.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you huff, and cycle faster. No hard feelings.

---

Scratch that, there were absolutely going to be hard feelings now that he was not just fucking with you but also with your livelihood.

Admittedly, it was strange that despite the fact that your companies had never crossed paths until now despite working in the same consumer domain but this was unacceptable.

You’d opened an email that had just slipped into your peripheral vision as you worked on reviewing a couple of interns’ executive summaries, only to find that Ushijima might have just royally fucked you over.

A curt email from a crucial business partner read,

We apologize but we’ve decided to move forward with Ushijima Industries instead. I understand that this is last minute, but we believe that it will be mutually beneficial to discontinue our relationship at this point in time.

Your blood boiled. What the fuck was this?

Your phone rang, one of your team leaders calling immediately and likely looking at the email at the same time you were. He apologized profusely.

“What happened?”

“It seems like they just showed up and offered twice as much as we offered them last minute.”

This bastard. Then in a moment of horror, you wondered if this was your fault, if you had blabbed a little while slightly tipsy off of sake, and revealed that you had this acquisition in the works.

Voice smaller now, you asked, “So we can’t do anything to woo them back?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just have to make sure our other deal doesn’t fall through,” the slightly frantic man answered, the sounds of keyboard keys clicking rapidly heard in the background of the call. 

“Okay, thank you for your hard work,” you stated. “I’ll see what I can do,” you replied with a click. 

Maybe calling someone who’d ghosted you as you drove home, fuming and irritated, wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to confront him somehow. The idea of being bested in more ways than one was too much to bear.

The phone rang once, twice, then three times, and you were getting angrier with every tone through the car speaker. You hung up in frustration.

How embarrassing.

You made it home still irritated, indulging yourself in a relaxing bath to quell your anger. By the time you had soaked for close to an hour, you were mad at yourself for reacting impulsively and now having your number in his phone as a missed call… if he recognized it anyway.

It turns out he did.

“Ms. ___, did you call me earlier? I wasn’t able to make it to the phone in time.”

His voice was even lower on the phone, a slightly gravelly quality making you wonder if he’d actually been napping or just had a smoke. You couldn’t imagine him doing either of these things.

“What kind of game are you playing, Mr. Ushijima?”

There was a bit of hesitation on the phone, and you let out a sardonic laugh once he replied, as expected, “What?”

“How did you know about that deal other than what I told you?”

He paused again, and you too, stood still, a towel wrapped around your still dripping body.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he then said, carefully. “I, uh… assume you were calling about something else.”

You grit your teeth. What the fuck else? The fact that he sounded genuinely confused only served to aggravate you further.

“Did you or did you not use the information I gave you to intercept my deal with MNY?”

Finally the lightbulb went on.

“Oh, that was you. Hm.”

If you’d been talking in person, you probably would have slapped him at this point. Or at least considered it.

“I didn’t know you were our competitor in that aspect. I… probably would have reconsidered if I had known.”

“Excuse me?”

That tone of over-familiarity, patronizing… the care when you’re not supposed to care was back and you realized you regretted this phone call. 

“How would it be any different? Are you implying that you’d let me win?”

“No, of course not, I…” He trailed off. “Would you like to come over to my apartment and talk? I can give you my address, I would rather talk in person.”

Why? So I can get over there and end up fucking you again?

“I respectfully decline,” you answered curtly, and hung up, tossing your phone onto your bed and letting out an aggravated sigh. 

---

The next morning, you leave an early executive meeting only to find that your office had been overrun with flowers between the hours of 7 to 8 am.

There are yellow roses, stating admiration, spilling out of an oversized bouquet on your desk and a separate bouquet of light red carnations and white camellias that imply that he finds you ‘adorable’. A white card is placed in the yellow bouquet, and on it is written Ushijima’s neat script - you realize it’s from him before you even finish reading the note.

I would like to see you again. Please accept my call around 6 pm.

Respectfully, 

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Your hands hover over the wastebasket in your room with the flowers in your arms, but instead you sigh, and stuff them behind you on your shelf. At least you won’t have to see them while you work, but they’re pretty. They’re clearly bought from a floral shop, but you recall that he had said he gardened in his free time.

Ushijima calls promptly at 6 pm and you let it ring twice before deciding to block his number just as he’s calling. Something about the action is satisfying. 

You can’t be won over with a couple of flowers and kind words. Women aren’t as easily swayed as he may think.

---

It’s another Friday, and surprisingly you haven’t been contacted for a blind date, whether it’s by your parents or the matchmaking service they’ve subscribed you to.

Maybe they’d gotten the message after you’d been ghosted that you were tired of this game. Maybe they were giving you a break. Maybe they’d run out of potential suitors. You were surprised, but not upset.

Ushijima had truly gotten under your skin.

After blocking his call, there were no more attempts at contact for the rest of the week. The only thing left to consider was that if you ever crossed paths in your careers, you would pay him back for snatching your investor. 

And snatching your dignity in the process.

It was about 4 pm and most of the employees were wrapping up their tasks for the day. You usually aimed to have everyone out by 5, especially on Friday so this was boding well. 

“Hey, Madam President, are you okay with an add-on?” You hear your secretary call from outside your door.

“Oh, I mean, I guess but-”

She’s already letting Ushijima through the door.

You smile sweetly, maintaining professional behavior as best you can, while your secretary leads him to an armchair across from you, up until she exits, your expression souring the moment she closes the door.

“Mr. Ushijima, what are you doing in my office?”

He’s settled into the chair so comfortably that it feels as though you’re in his office, not your own. He’s dressed more casually than he was at the restaurant, no suit jacket, just a brown V-neck sweater over a dress shirt that almost seems too tight and a pair of chinos. He’s also wearing a pair of glasses, which is new. 

You hate that he looks good.

“Apologizing and requesting your company.”

He looks at you sincerely, his hands clasped together in his lap. You narrow your eyes.

“Please leave.”

He actually frowns, and the small action actually surprises you. 

“Do you actually want me to leave or are you still upset about the investor? Because if it’s that, we can make an arrangement-”

“No, I’m upset because you did that after not following up after our one night stand!” You finally blurt out, then bite your lip realizing you might have said too much.

“I… got busy.”

“Busy screwing me over?” You quip.

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture.

“I didn’t call because I thought you didn’t like me.”

You’re a little stunned by this reply, then decide you don’t believe him. What was there not to like? At least at that point he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Why would you think that?”

His hands leave his hair again and rest on his knees. You notice it seems like a default position for him. 

“I’ve been referred to as ‘stiff’. It’s great at work but not great for relationships.”

Ushijima’s brutal honesty is again sending you for a loop. You raise an eyebrow, bidding him to continue. Your arms uncross and you rest your elbows on the table.

“So…?”

“So usually by the time I’ve had sex with someone, it’s all they’re after. And since you didn’t call, I assumed even the sex wasn’t good.”

You unwittingly burst into laughter. Here was this successful, attractive man with a perfect pedigree who was insecure about how good he was in bed?

His eyebrows furrow, and you recollect yourself, realizing that this is a bit cruel.

“You could have sent a text,” you murmur.

“I’m bad at starting conversations.”

You stifle another laugh. “So you just don’t?” You tease. It’s gently mocking but mostly incredulous. It seems that he’s the opposite of the confident man he appears to be.

“That’s why I got excited when you called but then you were upset.”

You purse your lips.

“I promise I didn’t intend to put you in a bad situation,” Ushijima insists.

You sigh, then offer him a small smile. “Are you normally this persistent?”

He glances at the flowers that are only partially hidden from view, which makes your face warm up bashfully, and then looks right back at you.

“No. I just like you.”

Again with the directness, a confidence that is effortless, even when he’s not confident at all.

You don’t want to melt but you do. So instead you rise and clear your desk, stuffing a few items into your handbag as you prepare to leave. He watches, unsure of what you’re up to, sitting still as you walk around towards him and place your hand lightly on his shoulder.

Your body faces the door, but you turn to the side to look at him and grin.

“I’m done with work for today. Take me out.”

---

A couple months later...

“Fuck, you’re - ah - they’re gonna know, I-” Your voice morphs into a mewl instead once his ring finger reaches just the right spot; you’re squirming as much as possible under his touch but he has you laid back on your work desk with both ankles rested on his shoulders and his weight leaning onto you to essentially keep you in place.

“Move your hands,” Ushijima whispers in a hushed tone, leaning in to kiss between your breasts as he readjusts your legs atop him. His pants are down and his cock is already up and ready, the base and swollen balls rubbing against your wet cunt that you are desperately trying to protect from his intrusion. You know there’s absolutely no way you’ll stay quiet when he’s pounding the shit out of you, he likes it entirely too rough, and the walls are thin. You don’t listen, continuing to reach for his hands to swat them away from you.

There’s a part of you that is almost certain that at the very least your secretary knows that every time Ushijima comes for a ‘meeting’, it really is just to fuck the shit out of you before you leave together for the evening, or to relax you right before you once again have to defend your dad’s establishment of you as Company President.

This isn’t a good look.

“I-I can’t…” you whine.

“You can,” he assures you.

He gently kisses your face before prying your hands out of the way and keeping them pinned up against you with one hand and guiding his trajectory with the other before sinking inside of you. You moan at the breach of your privates and he quickly presses his lips to yours to swallow the sound.

Once he’s bottomed out, he rolls his hips, and soon you start to see white once you climax, clenching and cumming around him.

“T-Toshi!” You moan his name, and he clasps a large hand around your mouth before continuing, picking up the pace as he fucks you through your orgasm. He can’t deny that he likes the fact that you’re noisy, that the fact that the heavy desk he’s fucking you against is making a squeaky noise that suggests he’s really putting some force behind these strokes, and that if anyone could see the two of you now, it could be an issue for both of your corporations. Misconduct, they would call it.

He doesn’t care and while you act like you do, you don’t really care either. 

When he lets go of your wrists to use the edge of the desk as leverage and tilts backwards, you scream in pleasure, a terribly obvious sound, and it’s enough to have him tip over and spill into you with a groan. He collapses onto you and the two of you almost slip onto the floor, but don’t; you wrap your arms around him. 

Your hair is disheveled and so is his, and your legs are sticky with sweat and cum. You sigh, letting him soften inside you and stroke his hair.

“You’re getting me in trouble,” you murmur, and he lets out a breathy laugh.

“We don’t really have to answer to anyone, do we?” He replies with a smirk, and pecks you one more time on the lips.

He’s right - only you two are a match for each other.

[vixenpen]

High Sex (Dabi x Black Reader)

(Hoevember Day 15)

(Tons of AAVE this y/n is hood coded and obviously black)

You kicked open the rickety door of Dabi’s basement room in the new hideout and slumped down the stairs.

The space was dimly lit from the singular, dirty lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Candlelight flickered against the walls, and the air was thick and cloudy with the scent of burning herb.

Erykah Badu’s sweet and smoky vocals pumped from a small speaker beside him on the low set bed.

“Come in, I guess.” Dabi chuckled. “You look like shit.

“Ya mama.” You shot back, smirking.

You started to climb on his bed, when Dabi stopped you.

“Yo, take that shit off before you even think of getting in this bed.” Dabi nodded at your bloodied clothes.

You rolled your eyes. “Ain’t nobody worried about this raggedy ass bed.”

“I am, and you are too the way you’re lookin’ at it right now,” he disrupted himself to toke the blunt, “unless the bed isn’t the only thing that’s interesting you.” He smirked.

“Calm down, Walking Dead. You ain’t got nothing I want.” You gave another eye roll.

Thank god your brown skin hid the flush burning your cheeks. Dabi was propped up against the pillows wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs that showed off the patch work of his burned and smooth skin. The gold surgical staples complimented his turquoise eyes, and his black hair was damp. In short he looked fine as hell, and he was right.

His smirk widened. “Do it slow, you know I like that shit.”

“Fuck you, Dabi.” You tossed your bloodied shirt at his face making him laugh.

Wriggling out of the leather pants of your costume you stood before him in nothin but a skimpy lace thong and matching strapless bra. Dabi’s gaze drank in your curves greedily.

You crawled along the bed until you collapsed at his side, and snatched the blunt from him between your long decorated nails.

Dabi had been into you since the moment he recruited you for the league, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say his attraction wasn’t at least part of the reason he’d pushed so hard to get you to join.

“So, How many families are gonna be missing a member tonight?” He asked, watching your juicy ass jiggle as you swung your feet in the air.

You shrugged, exhaling the smoke in his face. “Just a couple of lowly heroes. Nobody worth an obituary.” You shot back nonchalantly.

That was another thing he liked about you. You could be a cold bitch when you wanted to and he loved it.

“Then we should celebrate. Let me rub your booty.”

You snorted. “Who is that a celebration for? Me or you?”

“Both of us, kitten,” he laughed. “You look like you could use a good dick d-I mean rub down.”

You shot him a look and took one more drag of the waning blunt before sitting up.

“Sir, the only reason I’m here is because you have one of the only other showers in the building. It’s either this, or get spied on by Shiggy while I attempt to use his.

“Aww, babe,” Dabi touched his heart, pulling a fond expression, “so you chose to get spied on by me while you use my shower? I’m touched, y/n.”

A mellow high had begun to cloud your mind, making you drag yourself out of Dabi’s warm bed before it settled in your bones and rendered you immobile.

“What can I say?” You tossed out over your shoulder. You put a switch in your hips that had the poor man gawking shamelessly as you padded across the cold floor to his bathroom. “You’re the lesser of two evils.” With a wink, you shut yourself into his small bathroom.

You sighed as the hot water broke through the sweat on your skin. Your braids were going to be frizzy after this, but who gave a damn. It just felt so good to get clean.

Between the high and the steam you were so lost in the sensations that you didn’t hear the door click open.

“Need some help?”

“Shit, Dabi!” You jumped as he came up behind you.

He chuckled as his arms snaked around your waist and pulled you against him.

“Damn I love the way you say my name. Wish I could tell you my real one so I could make you scream it.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Oh it’s like that, huh?”

“Yeah,” You could feel his long dick twitching against your ass crack and bit your lip. “It’s like that.”

Fuck.

“You couldn’t make me scream even if you tried, Walking Dead.”

“Ohhh, kitten,” he practically groaned against your neck before sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh. “That’s the third time you fucked up.”

You moaned as his pierced tongue slithered along the marked spot.

“The third?” You mumbled absentmindedly.

“Mmhmm.” His long fingers gripped at your curvy thighs before pressing against your sensitive clit.

All of a sudden, he had your thick thighs wrapped around his slim waist as he slammed you against the shower wall.

“The first,” he kissed your collarbone, “was bringing your fine ass in here in that tight ass leather outfit,” he pumped his length along your slick folds. “The second was leaving this door unlocked,” now he was slurping on your hard nipples, sending a tingle through your body.

“Fuckkk, Dabi,” you sighed as your body hummed with need.

“The third,” his blood shot, turquoise eyes fixed on to you, “is that little smart mouth of your. Cuz now I have to fuck you up.”

With that he slammed you down on his dick so hard his balls slapped.

“Ahh! Fuck!”

Dabi didn’t relent, as your cunt flexed around his length, he bounced you up and down squeezing your ass to keep control.

Every slam of his manhood into you, made stars blur in your vision. Your head felt hazy and empty of anything other than the mind numbing pleasure Dabi was assaulting you with.

“Fuck, fuck, shit! Oh my godddd, Dabi. Ahaaa~”

“What’s that, y/n? Hmm? You said you want more?”

If possible he fucked you faster, and harder. His manhood digging deep into you until the pleasure almost hurt. His abs flexed with effort and every thrust made his pelvis brush against your clit.

You could barely breathe between your screams and gasps of ecstasy. Your dark eyes remained fixed on Dabi’s pleasure filled gaze.

“God, y/n,” he half grunted, half chuckled, “you feel so fucking good. Fuck!”

If you could speak, you would say the same, but as it stood between the bud inn your system, the steamy heat clinging to your flesh, and your breathless moans, you were practically slipping into unconsciousness.

Instead, you dug your nails into Dabi’s back, not caring about the scared skin and dug your nails in as your pussy dribbled with desire.

“Don’t stop.” You sobbed into his ear, every pump of his cock making your words stutter. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeease don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he sighed, eyes rolling back as his own ecstasy washed over him. “Trust me, baby girl, I won’t.”

He slowed down the pace, enjoying the creaminess of your textured walls slurping at his dick.

He rolled his hips and pressed a kiss against your plump lips with each stroke.

“Dabiii, oh god, pleas-“

“Sshhh,” he kissed you again. “Come on, y/n. Come on this dick. Come all over it, baby.”

He was determined to drag your orgasm out of you slow and hard.

Your nails snagged into a bit of the unburned skin on his back and you dragged your long nails against it.

“Ahhh! Shiiit! Dabi!”

Your scream choked out into a whine as the orgasm finally exploded through out you. Your pussy spasmed as the euphoria washed over you. The sensation was only enhanced by your previous high and seemed to roll over you in endless waves that made your legs quake around Dabi’s waist.

With a growl of his own, Dabi pulled out to bust his load on your stomach.

By the time the two of you were done, you were practically melting into each other.

“Damn...” you muttered, your head collapsing back against the shower wall.

“Damn is right.” He replied, face buried between your breasts. He peered up at you, wearing a cocky smirk. “Looks like I do have something you want after all, babygirl.”

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 18: High-Key Want A Three-Headed Dog

We stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS.

Underneath, stenciled on the glass doors: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and full of people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard with sunglasses and an earpiece.

I turned to my friends. "Okay. You remember the plan."

"The plan," Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan."

Annabeth said, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"

"Don't think negative." Percy said.

"Right," she said. "We're entering the Land of the Dead, and I shouldn't think negative."

Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the three milky spheres the Nereid had given us in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong. I had mine mixed up in there in case mine was rigged, Percy insisted upon it.

Annabeth put her hand on Percy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Percy. You're right, we'll make it. It'll be fine."

She gave Grover a nudge.

"Oh, right!" he chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."

"Don't worry Percy. We'll do this."

He looked at us, and smiled.

He slipped the pearls back in his pocket. "Let's whup some Underworld butt."

We walked inside the DOA lobby.

Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, or talked, or did much of anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see them all just fine, but if I focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking... transparent. I could see right through their bodies.

The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so we had to look up at him.

He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

Percy read the name tag, then looked at him in bewilderment. "Your name is Chiron?"

He leaned across the desk. I couldn't see anything in his glasses except my own reflection, but his smile was sweet and cold, like a pythons, right before it eats you.

"What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent—British, maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

"N-no."

"Sir," he added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy said.

He pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon."

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon."

"Mr. Charon," I said.

"Well done." He sat back. "I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?"

Percy looked at me for support.

"We want to go the Underworld," I said.

Charon's mouth twitched. "Well, that's refreshing."

"It is?" I asked.

"Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No 'There must be a mistake, Mr. Charon.'" He looked us over. "How did you die, then?"

I nudged Grover.

"Oh," he said. "Um... drowned... in the bathtub."

"All four of you?" Charon asked. We nodded. I could see Annabeth wanted to face palm.

"Big bathtub." Charon looked mildly impressed. "I don't suppose you have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children... alas, you never die prepared. Suppose you'll have to take a seat for a few centuries."

"Oh, but we have coins." Annabeth set three golden drachmas on the counter, part of the stash we'd found in Crusty's office desk.

"Well, now..." Charon moistened his lips. "Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in..."

His fingers hovered greedily over the coins.

We were so close.

Then Charon looked at Percy. That cold stare behind his glasses seemed to bore a hole through his chest. "Here now," he said. "You couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic, lad?"

"No," Percy said. "I'm dead."

Charon leaned forward and took a sniff. "You're not dead. I should've known. You're a godling."

"We have to get to the Underworld," Annabeth insisted.

Charon made a growling sound deep in his throat.

Immediately, all the people in the waiting room got up and started pacing, agitated, lighting cigarettes, running hands through their hair, or checking their wristwatches.

"Leave while you can," Charon told us. "I'll just take these and forget I saw you."

He started to go for the coins, but I snatched them back.

"No service, no tip." I said staring at him.

Charon growled again—a deep, blood-chilling sound. The spirits of the dead started pounding on the elevator doors.

"It's a shame, too," I sighed. "We had more to offer."

I held up the entire bag from Crusty's stash. I took out a fistful of drachmas and let the coins spill through my fingers.

Charon's growl changed into something more like a lion's purr. "Do you think I can be bought, godling? Eh... just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?"

"A lot," I said. "I bet Hades doesn't pay you well enough for such hard work."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. How would you like to babysit these spirits all day? Always 'Please don't let me be dead' or 'Please let me across for free.' I haven't had a pay raise in three thousand years. Do you imagine suits like this come cheap?"

"You deserve better," I agreed. "A little appreciation. Respect. Good pay."

With each word, I stacked another gold coin on the counter.

Charon glanced down at his silk Italian jacket, as if imagining himself in something even better. "I must say, lad, you're making some sense now. Just a little."

I stacked another few coins. "I could mention a pay raise while I'm talking to Hades."

He sighed. "The boat's almost full, anyway. I might as well add you three and be off."

He stood, scooped up our money, and said, "Come along."

We pushed through the crowd of waiting spirits, who started grabbing at our clothes like the wind, their voices whispering things I couldn't make out. Charon shoved them out of the way, grumbling, "Freeloaders."

He escorted us into the elevator, which was already crowded with souls of the dead, each one holding a green boarding pass. Charon grabbed two spirits who were trying to get on with us and pushed them back into the lobby.

"Right. Now, no one get any ideas while I'm gone," he announced to the waiting room. "And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I'll make sure you're here for another thousand years. Understand?"

He shut the doors. He put a key card into a slot in the elevator panel and we started to descend.

"What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby?" Annabeth asked.

"Nothing," Charon said.

"For how long?"

"Forever, or until I'm feeling generous."

"Oh," she said. "That's... fair."

Charon raised an eyebrow. "Whoever said death was fair, young miss? Wait until it's your turn. You'll die soon enough, where you're going."

"We'll get out alive," Percy said.

"Ha."

I could feel we weren't going down anymore, but forward. The air turned misty. Spirits around me started changing shape. Their modern clothes flickered, turning into gray hooded robes. The floor of the elevator began swaying.

Charon's creamy Italian suit had been replaced by a long black robe. His tortoiseshell glasses were gone. Where his eyes should've been were empty sockets—like Ares's eyes, except Charon's were totally dark, full of night and death and despair.

He saw me looking, and said, "Well?"

"Nothing," I said. "I never knew you could look cool dead."

I thought he was grinning, but that wasn't it. The flesh of his face was becoming transparent, letting me see straight through to his skull.

The floor kept swaying.

Grover said, "I think I'm getting seasick."

When I blinked again, the elevator wasn't an elevator anymore. We were standing in a wooden barge. Charon was poling us across a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other, stranger things—plastic dolls, crushed carnations, soggy diplomas with gilt edges.

"The River Styx," Annabeth murmured. "It's so..."

"Polluted," Charon said. "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything as you come across—hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me."

Mist curled off the filthy water. Above us, almost lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison.

Panic closed up my throat. What was I doing here? These people around me... they were dead.

Percy grabbed hold of my hand. Annabeth took my other free one. I knew she wanted reassurance that somebody else was alive on this boat.

I could hear Percy muttering a prayer, though I wasn't quite sure who I was praying to. Down here, only one god mattered, and he was the one we had come to confront.

The shoreline of the Underworld came into view. Craggy rocks and black volcanic sand stretched inland about a hundred yards to the base of a high stone wall, which marched off in either direction as far as we could see. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones—the howl of a large animal.

"Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."

The bottom of our boat slid onto the black sand. The dead began to disembark. A woman holding a little girl's hand. An old man and an old woman hobbling along arm in arm. A boy no older than I was, shuffling silently along in his gray robe.

Charon said, "I'd wish you luck, mate, but there isn't any down here. Mind you, don't forget to mention my pay raise."

He counted our golden coins into his pouch, then took up his pole. He warbled something that sounded like a Barry Manilow song as he ferried the empty barge back across the river.

We followed the spirits up a well-worn path.

I'm not sure what I was expecting—Pearly Gates, or a big black portcullis, or something. But the entrance to the Underworld looked like a cross between airport security and the Jersey Turnpike.

There were three separate entrances under one huge black archway that said YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS. Each entrance had a pass-through metal detector with security cameras mounted on top. Beyond this were tollbooths manned by black-robed ghouls like Charon.

The howling of the hungry animal was really loud now, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. The three-headed dog, Cerberus, who was supposed to guard Hades's door, was nowhere to be seen.

The dead queued up in the three lines, two marked ATTENDANT ON DUTY, and one marked EZ DEATH. The EZ DEATH line was moving right along. The other two were crawling.

"What do you figure?" Percy asked Annabeth.

"The fast line must go straight to the Asphodel Fields," she said. "No contest. They don't want to risk judgment from the court, because it might go against them."

"There's a court for dead people?"

"Yeah. Three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare—people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward—the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on punishment. But most people, well, they just lived. Nothing special, good or bad. So they go to the Asphodel Fields."

"And do what?"

Grover said, "Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever."

"Harsh," Percy said.

"Not as harsh as that," Grover muttered. "Look."

A couple of black-robbed ghouls had pulled aside one spirit and were frisking him at the security desk. The face of the dead man looked vaguely familiar.

"He's that preacher who made the news, remember?" Grover asked.

"Oh, yeah." Percy said. "We'd seen him on TV a couple of times at the Yancy Academy dorm. He was this annoying televangelist from upstate New York who'd raised millions of dollars for orphanages and then got caught spending the money on stuff for his mansion, like gold-plated toilet seats, and an indoor putt-putt golf course. He'd died in a police chase when his "Lamborghini for the Lord" went off a cliff."

"Humans." I said rolling my eyes, "What're they doing to him?"

"Special punishment from Hades," Grover guessed. "The really bad people get his personal attention as soon as they arrive. The Fur—the Kindly Ones will set up an eternal torture for him."

The thought of the Furies made me shudder. I realized I was in their home territory now. Old Mrs. Dodds and Mrs . Rudolph would be licking her lips with anticipation.

"But if he's a preacher," Percy said, "and he believes in a different hell... ."

Grover shrugged. "Who says he's seeing this place the way we're seeing it? Humans see what they want to see. You're very stubborn—er, persistent, that way."

We got closer to the gates. The howling was so loud now it shook the ground at my feet, about fifty feet in front of us, standing just where the path split into three lanes was an enormous shadowy monster.

My jaw hung open. All I could think to say was, "He's a Rottweiler."

I'd always imagined Cerberus as a big black mastiff. But he was obviously a purebred Rottweiler, except of course that he was twice the size of a woolly mammoth, and had three heads.

"I thought he would've been a mastiff."

"Same..."

The dead walked right up to him—no fear at all. The ATTENDANT ON DUTY lines parted on either side of him. The EZ DEATH spirits walked right between his front paws and under his belly, which they could do without even crouching.

"I'm starting to see him better," Percy muttered. "Why is that?"

"I think ..." Annabeth moistened her lips. "I'm afraid it's because we're getting closer to being dead."

The dog's middle head craned toward us. It sniffed the air and growled.

"It can smell the living," I said.

"But that's okay," Grover said, trembling next to Percy. "Because we have a plan."

"Right," Annabeth said. I'd never heard her voice sound quite so small. "A plan."

We moved toward the monster.

The middle head snarled at us, then barked so loud my eyeballs rattled.

"Can you understand it?" I asked Grover.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I can understand it."

"What's it saying?"

"I don't think humans have a four-letter word that translates, exactly."

Percy took the big stick out of his backpack—a bedpost we'd broken off Crusty's Safari Deluxe floor model. He held it up, and tried to channel happy dog thoughts toward Cerberus—Alpo commercials, cute little puppies, fire hydrants.

"Hey, Big Fella," He called up. "I bet they don't play with you much."

"GROWWWLLLL!"

"Good boy," he said weakly.

Percy waved the stick. The dog's middle head followed the movement. The other two heads trained their eyes on Percy, completely ignoring the spirits. Percy had Cerberus's undivided attention. I wasn't sure that was a good thing.

"Fetch!" I threw the stick into the gloom, a good solid throw. I heard it go ker-sploosh in the River Styx.

Cerberus glared at me, unimpressed. His eyes were baleful and cold.

So much for the plan.

Cerberus was now making a new kind of growl, deeper down in his three throats.

"Um," Grover said. "Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"I just thought you'd want to know."

"Yeah?"

"Cerberus? He's saying we've got ten seconds to pray to the god of our choice. After that... well... he's hungry."

"Wait!" Annabeth said. She started rifling through her pack.

"Five seconds," Grover said. "Do we run now?"

Annabeth produced a red rubber ball the size of a grapefruit. It was labeled WATERLAND, DENVER, CO. Before I could stop her, she raised the ball and marched straight up to Cerberus.

She shouted, "See the ball? You want the ball, Cerberus? Sit!"

Cerberus looked as stunned as we were.

All three of his heads cocked sideways. Six nostrils dilated.

"Sit!" Annabeth called again.

I don't know why but petting this gigantic three headed dog would have made my bucket list complete. I walked up to Annabeth with Percy and Grover panicking behind.

"I want to pet him. Cerberus sit!"

"Sit!" Annabeth yelled.

Cerberus licked his three sets of lips, shifted on his haunches, and sat, immediately crushing a dozen spirits who'd been passing underneath him in the EZ DEATH line. The spirits made muffled hisses as they dissipated, like the air let out of tires.

I said, "Good boy!"

Annabeth threw Cerberus the ball.

He caught it in his middle mouth. It was barely big enough for him to chew, and the other heads started snapping at the middle, trying to get the new toy.

"Drop it.'" I ordered.

Cerberus's heads stopped fighting and looked at me. The ball was wedged between two of his teeth like a tiny piece of gum. He made a loud, scary whimper, then dropped the ball, now slimy and bitten nearly in half, at Annabeth's feet.

"Good boy." She picked up the ball, ignoring the monster spit all over it.

She turned toward the two. "Go now. EZ DEATH line—it's faster."

Percy said, "But—"

"Now.'" She ordered, in the same tone she was using on the dog.

"You should go too. I wouldn't mind."

"How are you sure he'll follow you?" Annabeth laughed.

"I had a dog you know. Real sweetheart. Pretty sure he'll be as cute."

Grover and Percy inched forward warily.

Cerberus started to growl.

"Stay!" Annabeth ordered the monster. "If you want the ball, stay!"

Cerberus whimpered, but he stayed where he was.

"What about you guys?" Percy asked us as we passed her.

Annabeth looked at me and nodded. "Y/N wants to pet him," she muttered. "I think she can handle him."

Grover, Annabeth and Percy walked between the Cerberus's legs.

I was tempted to make Cerberus sit to be honest.

When made it through. I said, "Good dog!"

I held up the tattered red ball. The ball was tattered and this is going to be the last trick.

"Cerberus, could you get closer to me?" I called hesitantly. All three heads leaned down.

Oh gods... Oh gods... I'm going to pet him... I reluctantly touched his head. His head leaned to my touch. "Good boy." I cooed petting each his head. He whimpered on my touch.  "Okay boy." I leaned my head against his middle one.

I threw the ball. The good boy's left mouth immediately snatched it up, only to be attacked by the middle head, while the right head moaned in protest.

While the monster was distracted, I walked under its belly and joined us at the metal detector.

"Bucket list solved." Annabeth and I fist bumped.

"How did you do that?" Percy looked at Annabeth and I, amazed.

"Obedience school," Annabeth said breathlessly, "When I was little, at my dad's house, we had a Doberman... ."

"I had D/N you knew that." I was surprised to see there were tears in her eyes. "I promise I'll play again!"

"Never mind that," Grover said, tugging at Percy's shirt. "Come on!"

We were about to bolt through the EZ DEATH line when Cerberus moaned pitifully from all three mouths. Annabeth and I stopped.

We turned to face the cutie which had done a one-eighty to look at us.

Cerberus panted expectantly, the tiny red ball in pieces in a puddle of drool at its feet.

"Good boy," Annabeth said, but her voice sounded melancholy and uncertain.

The monster's heads turned sideways, as if worried.

"I'll bring you another ball soon," Annabeth promised faintly. "Would you like that?"

The monster whimpered. I didn't need to speak dog to know Cerberus was still waiting for the ball.

"Good dog. I'll come visit you soon. I promise we'll come back." I turned to the others. "Let's go."

Grover and Percy pushed through the metal detector, which immediately screamed and set off flashing red lights. "Unauthorized possessions! Magic detected!"

Cerberus started to bark.

We burst through the EZ DEATH gate, which started even more alarms blaring, and raced into the Underworld.

A few minutes later, we were hiding, out of breath, in the rotten trunk of an immense black tree as security ghouls scuttled past, yelling for backup from the Furies.

Grover murmured, "Well, Percy, what have we learned today?"

"That three-headed dogs prefer red rubber balls over sticks?"

"No," Grover told me. "We've learned that your plans really, really bite!"

I wasn't sure about that. I thought maybe Annabeth and I had both had the right idea. Even here in the Underworld, everybody—even monsters—needed a little attention once in a while.

I thought about that as we waited for the ghouls to pass. I pulled Annabeth closer as she wipe a tear from her cheek as we listened to the mournful keening of Cerberus in the distance,.

"We'll come back..."

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Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000 @katara720 @ynfics

[jaybear1701]

Summary: Five times Waverly and Nicole meet beneath some mistletoe, and one time they don’t.

A/N: I’ve always wanted to try my hand at one of those “Five times…” fics, and here’s the result! The majority of this story is already written, so the plan is to post the next four parts each day this week, with the last part to go up New Year’s Eve. (Keep your fingers crossed.) Hope all you Earpers have a marvelous holiday season & best wishes for the New Year!

The eggnog was fantabulous, if Waverly said so herself. The perfect frothy blend of creamy and sweet.

She had whipped up several batches from scratch that morning–had gathered just-laid eggs from the chicken coop in Gus’s yard, meticulously separated the whites, beat the yolks and organic cane sugar, stirred in her favorite rum with whole milk from the Tate ranch, folded in heavy cream she had whipped herself, ground some nutmeg and sprinkled it in.

It was Christmas in a cup, and Gus always served it at the beginning of December as an off-menu special at Shorty’s for the patrons who knew to ask for it. So far, not many people had ordered it. But the night was still young, and the regulars were outnumbered by the tourists who wanted to Drink Where Wyatt Earp Drank. Rainbow-colored holiday lights framed the familiar sign, complimenting the rest of the saloon’s holiday decor. Fresh garland was strung across the bar, a beautiful dark green against mahogany. Every stool had bright red bows tied to their seat backs. A bundle of mistletoe hung from the ceiling a few steps past the front double-doors.

This was Waverly’s favorite time of the year, and she happily breathed in the sweet scent of pine mingling nicely with the sharp smell of alcohol.

Humming along to the country rendition of All I Want for Christmas Is You twanging from the jukebox, Waverly filled two glass mugs to the brim with eggnog and carefully set them in front of Chrissy and Jeremy.

“Happy holidays!” Jeremy raised his mug eagerly. “Here’s to finding happiness in the new year.”

Chrissy clinked her drink against Jeremy’s. “And to Waves finally moving on with her love life.” She smirked at Waverly, who rolled her eyes.

“I have long since moved on from Champ,” Waverly insisted, adjusting the Santa hat on her head. She was quite proud that she finally had one in a shade of red that matched her Shorty’s uniform, even if it had meant ordering three different rolls of velveteen to find the right one.

“Oh yeah?” Chrissy challenged, flipping her dirty blonde hair over one shoulder. “You haven’t been on a date for at least six months. Even Jeremy’s gotten more action that you.”

“Yup.” Jeremy nodded as he sipped his drink, moaning in pleasure.

Waverly’s mouth parted. “When?”

“The other night.” He wiped a foam mustache from his upper lip and waggled his eyebrows. “Now I’m at two and three-quarter times.”

Chrissy scrunched up her nose. “You don’t want to know.”

“I wasn’t even going to ask.” Waverly shook her head and raised her hands. “Listen, guys, I’m dating.”

“Who?” Chrissy asked, closing her eyes as she took her own sip. “Jeez, Wave, you really outdid yourself this year.”

“Thank you.” Waverly smiled and curtsied. “I really think using fresh ingredients…”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Earp,” Chrissy interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just who have you dated?”

“You know,” Waverly waved a hand through the air in vague motions, “that one guy.”

Chrissy cocked her head to the side. “What guy?”

“Perry Crofte,” Waverly went with the first name that popped into her mind and then inwardly cringed.

“Perry Crofte,” Chrissy repeated, unconvinced. “Your sister’s billionaire ex who’s like a brother to you. That Perry Crofte?”

“A date’s a date,” Waverly answered lamely.

“Platonic ones don’t count,” Jeremy piped up as he polished off his nog and slapped his glass back on the countertop with a loud smack. “What?” He asked as Waverly stared at him. “It’s what you guys would say to me.”

“Fine.” Sighing, Waverly turned and was relieved to see two new customers sidling up to the other side of the bar. She smiled and waved, her usual greeting. The man smiled in response, holding up two wrinkled fingers and nodding toward the taps. Waverly gave him a thumbs up and pulled out two pint glasses.

Waverly made sure to be extra careful with the tap’s handles as she poured the beer. Gus still hadn’t gotten them fixed and they were looser than normal. “There was that time with Rosita.”

“One random, drunken kiss in a hot tub doesn’t count either,” Chrissy said. “Besides, she ran off with that Doc guy again.”

“Don’t I know it,” Waverly muttered under her breath as she served the pints to the other customers. Wynonna had gone on a rampage after she found out about Doc and Rosita. Even though Wynonna had pretended she didn’t care what her baby daddy did, Waverly had known better and spent half a week’s worth of tips on carry out and whiskey to keep her sister from doing anything (or anyone) else she’d regret.

When Waverly returned to Chrissy and Jeremy, she braced her hands wide on the bar. “Look, guys, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. I can have a date whenever I want.”

“That’s the problem,” Chrissy covered one of Waverly’s hands with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You never want to.”

“That’s not true,” Waverly protested.

“It’s because you overthink things,” Jeremy added. “Even more than me, and that’s saying something.”

“No I don’t.”

“Waves, I love you, but it’s not like you’re Ms. Spontaneous or anything,” Chrissy said.

Waverly straightened up, offended. “I can be spontaneous.”

Chrissy and Jeremy each simultaneously arched one eyebrow.

“I can!” Waverly exclaimed.

Chrissy crossed her arms. “Prove it.”

“All right.” Waverly scanned the room, her green eyes darting from the newcomers at the bar, to the old regulars at the tables and the groups milling around the pool tables. Finally, her gaze settled on the bunch of green leaves and white berries suspended above the entrance.

“Okay.” Nodding, she drew herself up to her full height. All 163 centimeters of it. She could do this. “I’ll kiss the next person who walks through the door.”

“Yeah right,” Chrissy snorted. “I’ll bet $100 that you won’t.”

“You’re on.” Waverly spun on her heel and walked out from behind the bar. She would have chuckled at the way Jeremy’s jaw fell unhinged, but she was too busy forcing herself to stride toward the door. By the time she reached the mistletoe, her palms felt sweaty and a cold pit of nerves weighed down her stomach. She chanced a glance back at her friends, who had swiveled around on their stools. They watched her with a mixture of uncertainty and pride.

The swinging doors creaked behind her and Waverly froze. Oh God, she thought. What was she doing? Whoever was behind her could be some disgusting shit-ticket. Or worse. It could be Champ. She should just go back. So what if she lost some money? She clenched her fists. No, she had come this far… She closed her eyes and counted to 10, digging deep to find the willpower to just go through with it and prove her friends wrong. She opened her eyes, turned around, and…

All the air rushed out of her lungs.

Before her stood a beautiful stranger, dusting snow off her midnight blue parka. She pulled back the hood to reveal fiery red hair that curled a bit at her shoulders. The woman noticed Waverly instantly. How could she not? Waverly was standing in her way after all and staring straight at her like some creeper.

“Hello,” the woman greeted, brown eyes warm and curious as she took in Waverly’s holiday uniform. “I didn’t know Shorty’s employed Santa’s little helpers.”

“Oh.” Waverly’s hand flew up to her hat, self-consciously adjusting the faux-fur trim. “Sorry.”

The woman’s brow wrinkled. “For what?” She asked, voice gentle.

Waverly didn’t understand why it made her feel like melting. “It’s my friends.” She shook her head, so completely flustered that she was sure her even her toes were red. “They dared me to be spontaneous and so I said I’d kiss the next person who walked in,” she was rambling and she couldn’t stop, awkwardly gesturing up toward the mistletoe, “and it’s completely stupid and inappropriate and I’ll just shut up now and get out of your way.”

She wished she could run away and hide, but Gus would have her ass if she abandoned her shift. Mortified, Waverly tried to step aside, but the woman reached out and stopped her with a light hand on her elbow. “A dare, huh? For how much?”

“A hundred bucks,” Waverly nearly squeaked.

The woman’s right cheek dimpled as she half-grinned. “Split it 50/50?”

Waverly blinked at the woman, then shook her head. Had she heard right? “You’re saying…”

“Lay one on me.”

Waverly’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Really.” She gave a full-blown smile and Waverly’s heart throbbed.

“Okay,” Waverly exhaled. Was this really happening? She took a tentative step forward, slowly, so that the other woman could back out if she wanted to. But she didn’t. She waited patiently for Waverly to bring them toe-to-toe. The lovely stranger smelled good. Sweet. Like vanilla-dipped donuts and, God help Waverly, her mouth began to water.

She licked her lips. Still, the stranger didn’t move a muscle. Waverly had total control. The thought emboldened her. And with a spike of adrenaline-fueled courage, Waverly cupped the woman’s jaw, rocked up on the balls of her feet, and kissed her.

Warmth spread throughout Waverly’s entire body. The woman’s touch was soft and gentle and gone before Waverly could even process that the kiss had ended. She stepped backward, leaving Waverly slightly dizzy, pulse pounding in her ears.

“We good?” The woman breathed out. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but her pupils appeared dilated.

Waverly turned her head. Satisfaction surged within her at the disbelief and awe on Chrissy and Jeremy’s jaw-dropped expressions. “Perfect,” Waverly answered.

“I’m Nicole, by the way.” She held out a hand, which seemed somewhat silly given the greeting they had already given each other.

Suddenly shy, Waverly shook Nicole’s hand gently, but firmly. “Waverly.”

“Waverly Earp?”

“That’s right,” she answered, surprised.

Nicole chuckled. “I’ve heard a lot about you from my boss.”

“Who’s your…?”

The double-doors swung open again and in strolled Sheriff Randy Nedley, snowflakes dotting his black Stetson.

“Haught!” He bellowed when he saw them. “Good, you’ve met Waverly. If anyone can make you feel welcome in this town, it’s her.”

“I’ll say.” Nicole winked at Waverly, who felt her cheeks heat up even more than she thought was possible.

“Waverly, this here’s my newest deputy.” Nedley clapped Nicole on the shoulder. “Nicole Haught.”

“You’re a cop?” Waverly squeaked out. A cop named Haught… because of course.

Nicole raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Busted.”

“Hell, she might even be sheriff one day,” Nedley said. “Now, Gus tells me you’ve got my favorite special today.”

Waverly still wished she could just disappear on the spot, but she couldn’t do anything but lead Nedley and Nicole back to the bar where Chrissy and Jeremy continued to look shell-shocked. Chrissy shook it off and greeted her father with a peck on the cheek.

Nedley introduced everyone while Waverly made her way back behind the bar. She could feel Nicole’s eyes following her, but she patently resisted the urge to make eye contact and instead busied herself with refilling drinks. She knew Chrissy and Jeremy were dying to say something to her too, but they wouldn’t dare with the sheriff right there.

“Two specials, if you please, Waverly,” Nedley said, hat now in hand.

“What’s the special?” Nicole asked.

“Only the best damn eggnog you’ll ever have in your life!” Nedley exclaimed to the accompanying nods of Waverly’s friends.

“Oh I don’t know about that.” Waverly fought off another blush as she poured two glasses for Nicole and Nedley and handed them over. She tried not to shiver when her eyes locked with Nicole’s and their fingers brushed.

“Don’t be so modest.” Chrissy waved her off and batted her eyelashes at Nicole. “You know she makes it from scratch.”

“Impressive.” Nicole smiled, bringing the cup to her mouth. Waverly never thought she could be jealous of an inanimate object and yet here she was. Nicole took a sip. Her eyes instantly widened. “Wow.”

“Amazing, right?” Jeremy chirped.

“Definitely.” Nicole nodded, her gaze settling back on Waverly. “But, I think the sugar I got earlier was sweeter.”

Waverly’s lips tingled from sensory memory and more heat flooded her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

Nedley, confused, just shrugged up his shoulders and chucked a thumb at one of the tables. “We’ll be taking these over there,” he said. “You have a good rest of the evening. Don’t drink too much now.” He kissed Chrissy’s cheek. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

“Bye dad,” Chrissy said. When they were out of earshot, she whirled back around, gaping. “Holy shit!”

Waverly only smirked in return, hoping it would cover up how utterly discombobulated she still felt. “I’ll take my payout in small denominations, thank you very much.”

“Get me a beer, you crazy bitch.” Chrissy pulled out her wallet and started counting out bills.

“Coming right up.” Chuckling, Waverly walked to the cask. She picked up a glass and couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding once again toward Nicole.

The gorgeous deputy smiled at her, raising her eggnog in a silent toast. Waverly smiled back, heart sprinting, not paying attention as she pulled on the tap a little too hard.

And it burst.