A rose petaled bath in Paris, a view of the Eiffel Tower from the window, instrumental jazz softly playing in another room. A long bathrobe, moonlight and internal peace.
prompt: kitten gets caught reminiscing on your shared past and you decide to help her out (NSFW, no minors)
word count: 2k
WARNINGS: masturbation, top!kitten, mentions of public sex, fingering, unprotected sex (p in v), prostate play
this is my first time posting any sort of smut so please be gentle 💔 if any of you like this, feel free to send me suggestions!
you had come home from work a bit earlier than anticipated due to an unexpected family emergency involving your boss and his wife. you didn’t know exactly what had happened, but you decided to just appreciate getting off work early.
you unlock the door to yours and kittens shared flat and you’re met with a silence. normally kittens in the living room, lounging, writing, dancing, whatever her spirit decided. but today there was nothing, not a trace of her in sight.
“kitten?” you call out, no response. you lock the door behind you, take off your shoes, and place your bag on the coffee table before further exploring your flat to try and find kitten
“kitten?” you say again, still receiving no response, “patricia?” you add, you don’t call her by her first name much, unless you feel things are serious
you turn into the hallway that leads to your shared bedroom, where you see the doors cracked open. you begin to approach before you hear some whimpers and little gasps
you tiptoe, trying your best to not make any loud noises. once at the door, you push it open ever so slightly, just enough to get a look inside
there, you see kitten in bed. she’s touching herself in nothing but a lacy little bralette. her cheeks are flushed and her mouth hangs agape as she pumps her hard cock. with her legs spread and one bent, she has her other arm wrapped around while plunging her middle and ring finger into herself. her hairs frizzy and her lips are swollen, likely from her biting on them.
you feel the air being sucked from your lungs and can almost immediately feel yourself becoming slick.
it isn’t until you fully push the door open that she snaps out of it, removing her fingers from herself and closing her legs.
“oh pretty girl..” you purr, approaching the bed, “don’t stop the show now.”
she smiles at you weakly and huffs, using her shaky hands to try and straighten out her hair
you crawl into bed, laying beside her before tracing your finger along her hip bone
“what got you all hot and bothered?” you whisper, leaning into her neck, placing warm kisses on her neck and jawline
“while i was cleaning up in the living room, i thought about the other night when we went out for some drinks.” she starts, shifting her body to face you better
“and how we were dancing .. and you looked so pretty .. and smelt so nice .. and you kept grinding on me ..” she continues, her gaze travelling down your body
“‘n you took me out back and rode me. knowing anyone could stop and stare .. that alone was getting me excited. but then i found the dress you had worn that night, and your perfume was still lingering on it” her voice begins to trail off at the end as her hands find their way to the hem of your shirt, toying with it slightly
you pick up on her hints and swiftly take off your shirt, discarding it onto the bedroom floor
“i just couldn’t help it y/n .. i was so desperate.” she huffs, furrowing her brows, “i wanted to wait for you, really, i did, but i needed it.”
you chuckle at her attempts to defend herself, “it’s okay, baby. i’m here now, aren’t i? what do you want me to do?” you cooed, running your fingers along her still exposed, and still very hard cock.
her body tenses slightly before relaxing into your touch. her hips shift beneath your hand.
she gulps before whining, “anything, dear. touch me, taste me, fuck me. o-or i could just touch you ..”
her eyes make their way down to your clothed crotch again, making you clench them together in burning arousal.
“or i could taste you. frankly, i think i would finish just from eating you out alone.”
you can’t help but laugh at her honesty, you peck her on the lips before peppering small kisses along her cheek and jaw
“you’re too sweet, angel. but i wanna make this ..” you start before wrapping your hand around her length, making her gasp softly, “all about you.”
after giving her some weak pumps, you remove your hand and straddle kittens lap, feeling her cock pulse slightly beneath you. she whines again, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. she’s getting the warmth and potential friction she’s been craving, but she needs more.
with a smirk, you run your hands up her chest, stopping at her tits to ever so delicately remove her pristine bralette
“you wanna get fucked, baby?” you taunt, grinding your hips against her. she nods mindlessly, that gorgeous blush returning to her cheeks. without second thought, she places her hands on your hips, guiding you to move how she needs.
you place your hands on top of hers, encouraging her to keep going. you lean forward, still grinding while placing wet kisses on her collarbone.
“i saw you fingering yourself, too..” you moan, your own arousal making it hard for you to think straight.
“do you want something inside you too, pretty girl?”
her hands clench around your hips and her breaths become more shallow, “yeah, yeah” she crooned while lolling her head back
to both of yours disappointment, your movements come to a halt as you bring yourself back up and lean over to the nightstand drawer. you pull out a prostate massager and some lube and toss it somewhere beside you.
you lift your hips off kitten and strip yourself of your pants, panties, and bra. kitten stares in awe at your body, mostly at your tits though. she moves her hands from your hips and moves them to your tits, kneading the plush flesh beneath them.
you place your hands on top of hers again and move them how you’d like, moaning quietly at her soft and warm touch
you then guide her hands lower, making sure to not rush this process. her hands feel so nice, you wished you could constantly be engulfed in her embrace.
once at your pelvis, you lead her hand between your legs, feeling her finger pads graze your slick folds
“oh, angel..” she groans before taking control again and allowing herself to explore. her fingers barely push through the threshold of your hole, just enough to collect your slick and use that as lubrication to rub your clit
“o-oh!” the sudden gesture makes you gasp, placing your hands on her shoulders for stability.
she stares up at you attentively, analyzing your expressions to see what you like and what you aren’t liking.
“so wet, dear.” she praises, speeding up her movements.
“‘n all i could think about earlier was how wet you were when you rode me, absolutely drenched me, love.” she adds, mumbling slightly
you dig your nails into her shoulders and screw your eyes shut, feeling absolutely flooded with pleasure
“you like the idea of someone catching us? does the rush get you wet, baby?” she teases, sliding her fingers from your clit to your hole. the sudden fullness made your eyes shoot back open, as you look at her she’s grinning hard, the essence of arousal was just dripping off of her.
you remove your hand from her shoulder and move her fingers out. she instinctively puts the fingers into her mouth, sucking off the wetness you and coated her fingers in while smiling at you. the small, but filthy act, sent a chill down your spine. you proceed to use your free hand to guide her cock to your cunt. teasing her tip with your eager opening.
she glances down, watching you tease her. she shifts again, trying her hardest to not thrust up into you. grinning at her below you, you place her tip inside, watching her chest fall and brows become furrowed
“keep still, we need to put the toy inside you. if you move, you won’t be allowed to cum until i say so.” you growl, reaching beside you to grab the massager and the lube.
you lube up the toy and reach behind you. you couldn’t see her hole, but by using your hands you were quickly able to find it. she spreads her legs a bit beneath you and you push the toy inside of her, her previous fingering making the process run smoothly
a loud moan escapes her lips and she clenches her fists, wriggling beneath you.
you switch the toy on and slowly slide yourself down onto her, feeling a slight stinging at her size stretching you open.
“g-od.. so warm, dear..” she moans, bringing her hands back up to your chest and gripping your tits gently
you lift your hips and begin to ride her at a quick pace, feeling all of your senses be overtaken by kitten and her cock.
her warm touch, her soft skin, her pretty cock, everything about her was perfect.
“feel so nice, baby. such a good girl.” you praise breathlessly as you bring your fingers to her lips, grazing them gently before pushing them in. kitten eagerly accepts them and sucks desperately on your middle finger
“y-ou feel so..” she moans around your fingers before she gasps and arches her back, eyes rolling back, “so good, so so good..” she rambles
she looks like a pornstar beneath you. so fucked out, small gasps leaving her mouth, all sweaty and flushed with glossy eyes, yet still so gorgeous. you’re convinced she couldn’t look bad if she tried.
removing your fingers, you place the slick fingers on to your clit and place the other hand on her shoulder while slowing down your pace, feeling every inch of kitten inside of you
you’re already feeling close, but you try your absolute hardest to hold off. eventually your teasing becomes too much for even you, so you pick up the pace again.
“y’can move if you want, love..” you whimper, rubbing your clit harder and faster, and kitten doesn’t need to be told twice. she places her hands on your hips and thrusts up, whining beneath you. with the mixture of your wet cunt and the pulsating toy pressing against her prostate, she was having a very difficult time holding her orgasm back.
“y/n .. i’m rea-lly close..” she groans, digging her nails into your hips, you nod feverishly “me too, doll”
“can you come around me? pretty please?” she begs, pouting slightly while continuing to harshly thrust up into you, “need it so bad.” she huffs
a mixture of kittens name, praises, and “yes” falls from your mouth as you come around her, feeling her pace remain relentless as your orgasm crashes through you
everything’s suddenly too much. the toy inside her, your hole clenching around her, your expressions and your noises as you came undone- kitten was done for.
she comes hard inside you, strings of breathy moans pouring from her pretty lips.
she thrusts weakly, riding out her orgasm inside you. suddenly, her demeanour changes slightly. she begins to wince.
“the toy, dear, the toy” she whines before you reach behind you and shut the toy off before sliding it out. then, you slide her out of yourself, you too also wincing.
with shaky legs you crawl beside her and plop down, attempting to regain your composure. since kitten was more put together, she took it upon herself to get a wet cloth to clean you both up.
when she returns, you watch her as she stands there naked, cleaning herself off, before making her way over to you while smiling at you softly
she starts to gently wipe you down, making sure to not apply too much pressure to your sensitive areas. once cleaned, she tossed the cloth into the dirty clothes hamper.
she lays down beside you and brushes your hair out of your face before kissing your cheek, then moving to kiss your lips.
you believe the lesson of this spur of the moment sex session was that you’re both interested in doing it outdoors more, or maybe that you should sneak up on kitten more. you weren’t sure which one was more true, but you didn’t really care.
Summary | Raymond becomes obsessive trying to catch a suspect.
Warnings | 18+, canon level violence, smut, I’ll add tags for that in the next part, guns, angst?, idk what else to tag tbh
Words | 3k
Notes | Idk when part 2 is coming because I still have to write it but I’ll do my best to get it out soon.
Ao3 link | <3
Masterlist
“I’m timekeeper Raymond Leon.”
You snickered and raised your brows in disbelief— what an introduction.
“What can I help you with, timekeeper Raymond Leon?” He made no indication that he was affected by your mocking, which wasn’t all that surprising.
“Someone stole a lot of time and their last known location was with you.”
“Really? I don’t recall having any visitors recently. Except you of course.”
“Maybe you just need something to jog your memory.” He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a somewhat blurry picture of you and the man in question. It was clear enough that you could recognize yourself though.
“That’s not me.” You shrugged.
“That’s not you?” He asked, pointing to the mostly clear picture of your face.
“Nope.” As he stared at you, you studied his face, trying not to get flustered by the fact that— for a timekeeper— he’s fucking hot. After a moment, he sighed in what seemed like annoyance.
“I tried to do this civilly, but if you won’t cooperate I’m going to have to bring you in and question you officially.”
“Come back with something other than a blurry photo to prove it was me and I’ll talk to you. Until then, fuck off.” He pursed his lips and nodded as he thought.
“If I have to come back, things will be a lot worse for you. This is your last chance.” He warned and you had to refrain from rolling your eyes.
“I think I’ll take my chances. You can see yourself out, timekeeper Raymond Leon.” He only stared at you for another moment before standing up and leaving. The second you saw his car pull away, you rushed to pack a bag, not wanting to stay here and make it easy on him when he inevitably returned.
You did help that man. In exchange for a place to stay for the night, he gave you one of the time bars he collected. You didn’t ask where or how he got them, honestly you didn’t care. With what he gave you, you can spend your days hiding from the timekeeper rather than working and giving him another easy place to find you.
That proved to be more difficult than you expected though. Multiple times now, he’s almost caught up to you, almost found you, and every time you always run. But you were getting tired and the worst part is that it doesn’t seem like he is too. If anything he’s only more motivated to catch you after all this time— as if it was personal now.
You were walking down the street, continuously checking behind you— he’s made you so paranoid that you flinch at the slightest sound. When you rounded a corner, your eyes widened at the black car slowly driving in your direction. You immediately turned around and started walking impossibly faster out of nerves, which only seemed to draw attention to yourself because you heard the siren turn on behind you, making you take off into a sprint. Every once in a while you checked behind yourself, finding the car right on your tail. When you turned down an alley, you heard the door slam shut and then loud footsteps, running after you.
“Stop!” Fuck. Part of you was hoping it would be literally any other timekeeper besides him. But you’ve never had good luck.
You rounded another corner, chest starting to burn from the exertion, and when you turned down yet another alley, you slowed to a stop at the sight of a building in front of you, high enough that you wouldn’t be able to climb over it. You cursed under your breath and turned around to go back and keep running, but he just caught up to you, slowing to a stop a few feet away and pointing a gun at you. When you staggered back, he followed you slowly, gun and eyes completely trained on you.
“No where else to run.” He said, making you look around again just to be sure. He’s right. You were surrounded by three buildings, there was no way out other than behind him.
“This doesn’t seem like a fair fight.” You said, glancing at the gun.
“I’m not fighting you.”
“Well I'm not going with you willingly so your options are shoot me or fight me.” He stared at you a moment, then scoffed a laugh and put the gun away.
“Fine.”
Truthfully this decision might’ve been a little stupid. You don’t know how skilled of a fighter he is and you’re not even very good yourself. But you figured having a slight chance was better than having no chance.
Everytime you attacked, he blocked it easily with a smirk— he wasn’t even fighting back. Wanting to position yourself on the side of the only exit, you started trying to circle him, but he caught on almost instantly and made sure he always stayed between you and the street.
The first time your fist landed on his cheek, both of you were stunned. He snapped out of it though and grabbed your wrist while you were still off guard, then twisted you around so your arm was bent uncomfortably behind your back. He pushed you forward until you hit the wall and then placed your other arm behind you as well.
“I didn’t even fucking do anything.” You spat, squirming in his grip.
“You ran, lied, and interfered with an investigation.” He said lowly, pressing his body against yours to limit your thrashing.
“No shit I ran. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people like me usually end up dead because of people like you.”
“I wouldn’t kill you.” He said simply— as if his words would be enough to make you believe him.
“No… You’d just take my time because I “have too much” and then I’d die.”
“I would only take back the time that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Someone gave it to me. I don’t fucking care where they got it from, you should be punishing them not me.”
“Trust me, we have. But since you aided a wanted criminal, you need to be punished too.” You felt him lean back a little before continuing. “Only ten hours? Where’s the rest?”
“I wasn’t about to walk around with too much time and get myself killed.” You scoffed, thrashing again.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Go to hell!” He suddenly turned you around, slamming your back against the wall with a firm hand wrapped around your neck.
“Where is it?” You clenched your jaw as your gaze hardened, ignoring the way your chest was heaving and your stomach was fluttering from the proximity alone. “It’s not at your place, we already checked. So where did you stash it?”
“Fuck you.” You muttered, making his grip tighten on your neck. His free hand grabbed your wrist and he looked down at it, making you do the same. “Hey!” You tried yanking your wrist free as the numbers kept going down and down. He left you with 30 seconds, then looked back up at you.
“I’d talk quickly if I were you.”
“This is not fucking legal!” Your eyes kept rapidly glancing between his face and your arm— 25 seconds now.
“Either you tell me where it is and I take it back, or you time out and no one uses it anyway.” 20 seconds.
“Okay— okay I’ll tell you, just- give me my time back.” You rushed out, chest heaving in fear rather than arousal now.
“Tell me first.”
“Fuck!” 15 seconds. Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you watched yourself grow closer and closer to death. Should you just tell him? Give him a fake answer? Maybe he’s bluffing… But you don’t know for sure whether he is or not. Ten seconds. “Please- please, I’ll tell you—” You whimpered, but he just waited. Five seconds. “It’s in my apartment!” Your time was going up now, but only back to 30 seconds.
“We already searched there.”
“I- I have somewhere to hide it. Please.”
“Show me.” He said as he gave you an hour. Pulling away from you, he motioned for you to start walking, so you did. “I doubt I need to remind you, but if you try anything, you’ll be dead in an hour.”
“Fuck you.” You muttered, bottom lip quivering. You were glad you were at least in front of him so he couldn’t see you wipe your tears. You can’t even remember the last time you’ve been that scared.
He walked taciturnly behind you, his boots heavy against the pavement compared to your worn down sneakers.
“Why are you doing this?” You asked, not bothering to try and face him.
“Why am I enforcing the law? Because it’s my job.” That made you halt suddenly and you couldn’t help yourself when you turned around.
“Bullshit.” You spat, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’ve been fixated on me for weeks just because it’s your job? It’s only a few years, the other guy had hundreds. Why am I so fucking important?” He stared at you silently, his cheek flexing as he clenched his jaw, and you did your best not to shrink under his gaze.
“I’m not giving you more time until I have what was stolen so I suggest you hurry up.” You huffed and rolled your eyes at his response, then turned around to keep walking. As you neared your apartment, you tried to think of a way out of this. You weren’t lying when you said you had somewhere to hide it in your place but you couldn’t just give it up that easily.
You entered the building and walked up the stairs, then down the hall to your door. Fumbling with your keys, you tried to give yourself more time to think, but he caught on quickly.
“Stall all you want but you have less than an hour before you time out so I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“How do I know you’re not just going to leave me with this anyway?” You spat, turning around to face him.
“Because unlike you, I’m not a liar.” He countered and you tried to maintain eye contact— to not give in. But after only a few seconds, you clenched your jaw and turned back around to open the door.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” You said, setting your keys down on the counter as he scoffed a laugh.
“Sure. After you give me what I came here for.”
“I need to go now.”
“Then you better hurry up.” Your teeth grinded together painfully as you glared at him, but all he did was raise his brows, waiting.
“Fine.” You opened a drawer in the kitchen and grabbed a screwdriver, then walked to your room as he followed, carefully watching you. You eyed the messy space and gave him an annoyed look. “They could’ve at least put everything back instead of completely trashing my room.” He didn’t respond. Just waited by the door impatiently.
You walked over to the nightstand and picked up the alarm clock to unscrew the back. You only bought this clock a couple weeks ago for the sole purpose of hiding the time capsule since you knew they’d search your apartment.
Reluctantly, you took it out and set the clock back on the side table. He walked closer and held his hand out, but you hesitated. Despite the fact that you’ve been obsessively anxious and vigilant for the past couple weeks, they’ve been the most relaxing weeks of your entire adult life. You weren’t always hours from death, you didn’t have to overwork yourself to the point of considering just laying in bed and letting yourself time out.
“Please.” You said quietly, looking up at him. “Please… Can’t you just- say I got away? Or that someone stole it from me?” You begged, grip tightening on the capsule.
“No.” Your face fell from just that one word. Even if he gave you back the ten hours, you’d still be dead before you could find work. You looked around the room, gauging how close you were to the door or window and if you’d have a chance. “Don’t do something stupid. You’ll only make this worse for yourself.” You turned back to him, eyes starting to burn with tears once again.
Impulsively, you decided to take your chances and go for the window since it was already open. You barely made it a foot away from it before a gun was going off, making you jump and squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the pain you were sure you’d feel. When you opened your eyes, you saw a new hole in the wall in front of you, only inches to the left of your head.
“Fine!” You yelled, voice breaking. Turning around, you threw the capsule at him and he caught it effortlessly. “Just fucking leave. I don’t want the time back.” You knew you probably only had half an hour left, but you felt completely and utterly defeated and exhausted.
“We’re not done yet.”
“I gave you what you wanted.”
“You still broke the law. Numerous times.”
“Seriously?” He just stared at you. “Fine. I’ll time out there instead.” When you walked passed him toward the door, he grabbed your wrist, making you freeze.
“Not yet.” He said, then after a few seconds, released your arm that now showed two hours. “Let’s go.” Your gaze shifted between his hands, one with the gun and one with the time capsule. You knew you had to try something before you got in the car because after that you’d have no chance.
“Remember what I said about doing something stupid?” Your eyes snapped up to his.
“What so I’m just supposed to willingly fucking kill or incarcerate myself by going with you?”
“Yes.” He all but shrugged, making your gaze harden. Eventually you just huffed and walked out of your room to the front door as he trailed behind you.
The walk back to his car was silent and while you tried to walk slowly, every once in a while he’d nudge your back with the gun, warning you. When you rounded the corner only a block away from his car, you recognized the man across the street.
You met him a few days ago. He was on 20 minutes, frantically begging on goers for any type of job they’d be willing to give. So you gave him a day. He seemed to recognize you too, then noticed the timekeeper behind you. He looked the other direction, spotting the black car a little ways down, and seemed to understand what was happening. Pulling his hood up, he started walking in the opposite direction you came from, then crossed the street so he was behind you.
You heard a loud step, then turned around to find the timekeeper catching his balance before turning around to see who had pushed him. You reached for the gun and since he was distracted by your savior, you managed to take it from his loose grip, making him turn back to face you. His eyes quickly changed from shocked, to completely fucking pissed. You took a couple steps back and pointed it at him, watching the other man run away.
“Give me the capsule.” You said, gaze shifting to his hand for half a second before looking at his face again. When he took a step forward, you took one back and adjusted your grip on the gun. “Set it on the ground and kick it to me.” You urged.
“No.”
“Excuse me?” You asked, brows shooting up.
“If you want it, you’re going to have to kill me.”
“Please just give it to me.” You begged, knowing you didn’t have what it takes to do that. Slightly lowering the gun, but still keeping your guard up, you stared into hard, unforgiving eyes. He was suddenly rushing toward you, and it all happened so fast that you don’t even know what you did, but one second he was moving forward, the next he was on the floor. You could see blood pooling in the pavement and you almost gagged at the sight of the hole in his leg.
“Oh my god— oh my god, I- I didn’t…” You quickly threw the gun as if it had burned you and kneeled down next to him, anxiously looking between his pained expression and the wound that was gushing so much blood it almost made you throw up. “Are you okay?”
“Are you fucking kidding?” He hissed, making you flinch.
“Sorry— I’m sorry.” He stared at his leg for a second before growling and discarding the time capsule on the floor so he could put pressure on his leg. “Where’s your phone?” You reached for his coat pocket, making him flinch back.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” He spat.
“You need to call someone or you’ll bleed out!” How is it possible that you’re more panicked than he is right now? He seemed to understand his options though.
“Fine.” You reached in his pocket and took out his phone to call 911, making sure to specify that it was a timekeeper that needed help so that they didn’t take their time. You don’t know why you did that for him though. He was about to arrest you for god's sake. After hanging up, you put it back in his pocket then reached for the time capsule, making sure to stay out of arm's reach. You gave yourself three days, then set it down next to him.
“I’m sorry for shooting you. I honestly didn’t mean to.” He gave you a look of almost disbelief and irritation at the fact that you’d said something like that.
“You’re not running?” He asked, breathing getting more and more labored.
“I’m waiting until I hear the siren.”
“Why?”
“Because I shot you and I feel bad.” You said sheepishly, making him scoff.
“After all this time, you care enough to make sure I don’t bleed out?” He snarked.
“Would you rather I go?” You asked, gaze still nervously moving between his eyes and his leg. He let out a quiet huff and rolled his eyes. “Please don’t try to find me again.” You begged.
“You shot a timekeeper. You’ll be lucky if the order isn’t to shoot on sight.”
“Please.” You whispered urgently.
“I don’t have any control over that. But even if I did, I’m not going to stop.”
“Please, Raymond.” Your head snapped up at the sound of sirens quickly growing closer. Before you stood, you grabbed the gun just in case. “Please.”
“Run all you want. I’ll find you eventually.”
Part 2
Okay I’ve barely started part two which is why I’m asking this lol but would y’all rather I write regular smut or more non con ish smut??
prompt: you’re the stewardess on robert fischer’s private jet, and he’s not too fond of your attitude. (NSFW, no minors)
WARNINGS: robert’s a cunt, plane sex, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), degradation and praise, slight age gap, power imbalance
word count: 2.1k
today was your first day working with mr. fischer, you had been a regular stewardess for a few years now but due to good word of mouth you were able to become a private jet stewardess. it was a more intimate environment, the pay was better, you had less people to tend to, it was overall quite the win for you.
the jet was set to leave in a few minutes, so you found your way to the bathroom and quickly dolled yourself up a bit before mr. fischer came onto the plane. you’re expecting a man, at least in his 60s, rich as hell and eager to pounce on a young woman such as your self. you could use it to your advantage, maybe leave the jet with some extra money in your pocket.
while in the bathroom, you overheard some small talk happening within the jet.
“good afternoon, robert! right this way” you hear, “robert?” you think to yourself. you wait until the minor chaos of dealing with the baggage is dealt with before you take one last look in the mirror, feeling satisfied with what you see staring back at you. with a deep breath, you walk out the bathroom. what was once lively a few moments ago has fallen silent. you see a lone man sitting in his seat, hands clasped in front of him while gazing out the window. is that mr. fischer? or, robert, as you had just overheard.
you were expecting some grandpa. oxygen tank on standby if need be. you could tell from afar he was older than you, but not by very much. a decade at the most.
you quickly dismiss those thoughts, and bring a semi-artificial smile to your face. as you begin to approach him and his face becomes clearer, you can tell he’s quite an attractive man. sharp suit, nice watch, clean shave, he looks good to say the least. as you stand beside his seat, you start to say the introduction you were told to say by the jet company.
“good afternoon, mr. fischer, my nam-“
“i don’t want any handouts.” he says sharply, not even attempting to shift his gaze from the window.
oh. so he’s like that.
you brush past his blatant arrogance and continue with your introduction, “oh, no, i’m not here to offer anything at the moment. just introducing myself, my names y/n and i’ll be taking care of you for this flight.” you say, forcing that smile back to your face. it’s at this point that he actually looks at you and you’re met with his striking blue eyes, he really looks like the embodiment of if looks could kill. “throughout the flight, anything you need, just let me know.” he scans you up and down before returning to your face, muttering a small “mhm” before looking back out the window again.
once your backs to him, you roll your eyes, heading to your lounging area to wait around until robert to wants something.
around a half an hour has passed and you’ve resorted to reading a book, you’ve read it multiple times before, but it’s an old reliable. and you also had absolutely nothing else to do. that is until you hear him call out for you, “ma’am?” you hear robert say, you place your book down and stand up, walking over to him.
he’s watching you this time, actually looking at you like a person.
“could you get me a scotch on the rocks?” he asks, leaning his head back slightly, “of course, i’ll be back shortly.” you reply before heading to the opposite side of the jet to make his drink. after a few moments, you return, drink in hand.
“here you go, mr. fisc-“
“could you get me a cigarette, too?” he adds, fully cutting you off without care.
“i’m sorry, sir, smoking isn’t allowed on the jet.” you reply, obviously you can’t smoke on the goddamn jet, but this would probably come as a surprise to him. arrogant little pricks probably never been told no in his life.
he brings the drink up to his lips, taking a swig before placing it down in the cup holder.
“i could buy you, and this jet company. get me the cigarette.” he spat, you’re rendered speechless, as you begin to leave to try and find cigarettes you feel a tight grip on your wrist.
“for future reference, doll, when i want something, i get it. i’m not asking you, i’m telling you.” he grumbled before letting go of your wrist. as you kept walking you couldn’t help but be absolutely appalled at his behaviour.
somehow, you were able to find the cigarettes and a lighter.
you remind yourself, suck it up, he’s filthy rich, the pay will be good. the thought of taking money from him gave you an authentic smile that you held on your face as you approached him, cigarettes and lighter in hand.
“here you go, sir.” you say, he grabs them without acknowledging you at all and quickly brings a cigarette up to his lips, lighting it before inhaling the smoke sharply. you watch as his shoulders drop as he exhales.
you turn your back to him to leave, “wait.” you hear him say, you turn to face him.
“sit.” he adds, using his head to signal towards the seat sitting across from his. you feel your anxiety begin to peak, but you oblige. “how’d you get this job?” he pries, taking a sip from his drink and then a drag from the cigarette. “uh..” you start, mind racing. you’re about to lose your job, you think to yourself. “i worked as a regular stewardess for a few years, but someone put a good word in about me, so now i’m here.” you say, as sweetly as you can.
“good word? about what? did you fuck someone to get them to say that?” he asks, his words are jarring. you can’t believe he’d speak to you like this, “excuse me?” you question.
“because the behaviour you’ve shown is less than satisfactory to say the least. so i’m just wondering if you fucked your way to get here.” he shrugs, “i’m disgusted with how you’ve acted. and if you wanna keep your job, you’re going to have to prove yourself worthy.”
you don’t know what to say, “mr. fischer i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re-“
“call me robert, hun.” he says, his tone still cold as he puts out the cigarette.
“robert. i’m not sure what you’re implying here.” you repeat, feeling yourself become flushed.
“you said you’d be taking care of me for this flight, didn’t you? and right now, i’m having some needs that i’m sure you could meet. after all, the other favours i’ve asked of you have been a disappointment.” he says, beginning to unbuckle his belt, your eyes go wide,
“robert, i’m not sure-“ you squeak, being thrown off by how quickly everything is progressing.
“sh, do one thing right and keep yourself quiet.” he says, now unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. “matter of fact, get on your knees.” he growls, blatantly palming himself in front of you. this entire situation is a huge mind-fuck. roberts been nothing but a petty little cunt the entire time, but he’s still rather handsome, and, his most dominating quality, rich. you don’t wanna lose your job, and you’re willing to do whatever he’d ask to prevent it. so you fall to your knees in front of him.
“you’re gonna suck me off, and then i’ll consider forgetting about your bad hospitality.” he remarked, scooting his hips forward slightly. you nod, not saying a word before tugging his waistbands down, watching his hard cock spring against his stomach. you hesitantly give him a few pumps. after building up the courage, you bring his tip into your mouth, sucking and swirly around it gently, watching his body begin to go limp as a low groan came from within him.
slowly, you start to take more, pumping whatever isn’t fitting in your mouth, he’s moaning now. not very loud, but enough for you to be able to hear him. you feel a palm being placed on top of your head, forcing you down lower on his cock.
“take more, and don’t be shy, sweetheart, you wanna keep your job, don’t you?” he purrs, you view that as a sign for you to play with his balls as well while sucking him off. at this point you’re basically deep throating him, twisting your hand to act as if a continuation of your mouth.
“ah fuck..” he grunts, “do you only follow instructions when they involve you being a whore?” he growls through gritted teeth, you hum around him, unable to give him any other response. he swats your hands away and locks his fingers into your hair, fucking your mouth at a rough and unexpected pace.
you can barely breathe, your eyes are watering, and worst of all- you can feel yourself becoming wet. you hope to god that he doesn’t know that he’s turning you on, he’d never let you forget it.
“god..” he moans, “such a good girl. is that all it takes to get you to behave? a cock down your throat?” he teases, brushing your hair back to watch himself fuck your mouth. you whine around him, and glance at him through half lidded eyes, continuing to let him have his way with you.
he starts to huff quietly before roughly tugging you off his cock, making you gasp loudly at the ability to breathe clearly again.
“don’t wanna come just yet, wanna use that pussy first.” he grunts, pumping himself slowly. almost as if in a daze, you stand to your feet and shimmy your stockings and panties off, leaving you still nearly fully clothed. you place your hands on his shoulders and climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance before slowly sliding yourself down. wincing slightly at the stretch.
he moans lowly and his head dips back, “fuck.. you’re so wet.. gripping me so good.. shame you’re such a disrespectful slut. maybe you just need a good fucking, huh?” he groans in your ear, running his tongue along its outer shell. chills spread across your body as you raise your hips and slowly begin to ride him, “y-yeah.. i think i do..” you reply, hiding your face in his neck,
“mhm.. i think so too..” he purrs before placing his hands on your hips, guiding you to pick up a faster and rougher pace. you can’t help but moan while gripping his shoulders, “s-ir!” you whine, “feels so good!”.
he lets out a breathy laugh, “such a good girl when she’s got a cock inside her.” he nudges your head up to expose your neck and plants wet kisses, occasionally sucking gently. he sneaks his hands down and rides your skirt up so it’s sitting around your waist, fully exposing your bare bottom half. he grips your ass roughly before placing a firm smack against it, making you gasp loudly. you feel yourself becoming wetter, almost embarrassingly so. he noticed this.
“oh, did you like that, sweet thing? god, you really are a slut..” he laughs lowly before shifting his hips up to meet your trusts. the cabin is only filled with the sounds of heavy breath and moans, skin on skin, a slight squelching sounds which are making you blush harder.
you’re a moaning mess, shaking slightly, gasping and whining. he grabs one of your wrists and moves it between your legs,
“rub your clit, get yourself off on my cock, sweetheart.” he groans in the sweetest tone he’s had the entire flight. and you do just that, rub your clit while he fucks up into you. you’re close, very close, and judging by that gesture he just pulled you assume he is too.
“i’m close, robert!” you whine, screwing your eyes shut tightly, “come for me.” he growls before smacking your ass again, the sting of the smack pushed you over the edge. your orgasm rippling through you as he continued to thrust himself inside you.
“oh, shit, hun..” he mumbles, “squeezing my cock so nicely.. like you’re begging me to come inside..”
before you can fully process what he’s said, hes coming inside you, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own moans. after riding out his orgasm, he begins to lift you off. but instead of guiding you to the seat in front of him, he moves you to the seat beside him, then proceeding to lean forward and pick up your stockings and panties for you.
“if you clean up your act, i’ll have you on my flights more often. i’ll treat you good, sweetheart, real good.”
You weren't speaking to him. And it was slowly driving him up the wall.
Not that you were normally a chatterbox in the face of Thomas Shelby; you rarely spoke to him unless you needed something. You were always more of a looker; your eyes bore into his from across the room whenever you overheard something you shouldn't have; you studied his slight quirks and subtle movements and stared blankly at his handwriting when verifying papers; you looked when nobody else did. In a sea full of heads, your eyes were always turned against the tide--snowy sea glass amongst pebbles in a blinding summer's ocean. He noticed your gaze when you thought no one did.
Sometimes, wisdom lies in silence rather than words. You knew that above all others.
Come to think of it, that night was the most you've ever talked to him directly since he's known you. It was the most candid he’s ever experienced you. And he was frightfully prepared.
It wasn't the fact you weren't talking that was bothering him--more so the absence of your voice--something he never thought to bother him until he realized just how much he wanted you to spare him a whisper. He wanted to see you all worked up the way women get sometimes; he wanted to watch you unravel. But you were always so tightly wound.
It's been days since he kissed you--touched you. Thomas was a man of self-control, and he knew it was both the first and the last time he'd ever be selfish with you again. He just wished he could wade a bit longer in the satisfaction of knowing you were at least a bit frazzled by what happened. But you seemed as much out of place as snow in December.
He didn't like how you were added to his long list of tasks and responsibilities. He didn't like how you weighed down his shoulders.
Even with all the help you gave around these parts, you were always just a burden to his mind--the way you smelled of a place far away, the coyly cold shoulders you gave and the moles on your hips. He didn’t like it one bit.
Because now he was the one staring at the back of your neck, at the way your ringlets bounced in a manner almost comical against your serious face. Everything about you seemed to be a paradoxical phenomenon: your coquettish features that rarely spared a smile for anyone, your soft eyes that revealed hardened thoughts, your bouncy curls and the ribbons that adorned your braids sometimes and the lacy little ensembles that adorned your loveliness.
Yet you were so ironically unapproachable. The brothers joke that they can sense your presence because the room gets cold.
You looked so unaffected by the smog-capped skylines and rubble-ruined streets of Birmingham. All the sins of the city never wore wrinkles between your brows or sowed smoky wisps along your hairline. It was almost as if you were preserved in that eternal Kilkee ruralness--as if you brought a piece of the Irish coast with you to this Godless city. Farmer's daughter. Fisherman's treasure. You were outlasting and evermore. You were something of the sea.
"I said I needed fifty hand-copies of last month's inventory on my desk by this morning," Thomas breathed matter-of-factly, leaning against the door frame as you indulged in your morning smoke, an old whiskey in his hand. He liked the way your bare shoulders looked as they reflected the breaking dawn--the way the sun collected in your collarbones and made your hair shiny.
"Maybe you forgot to look under your arse, Mr. Shelby. I remember putting them on your desk two mornings ago," you responded
Since when was he Mr. Shelby? When did plain, old Thomas leave your vocabulary? He liked it when you called him that--just Thomas.
You never intended to sound so coy all the time. According to Aunt Pol, you were just a pretty girl with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind--sometimes to your own doom.
At that, Thomas tossed a hefty stack of unsorted paperwork on the coffee table you were sat at. He watched as your rosy elbows wobbled under the wood and ash flitted from your slim cigarette.
"You forgot these, Ms. l/n." he rasped blankly, trying to see through to your eyes from the back of your head.
Without looking at him or the papers, you stood up and took your time neatening them up before heaving the stack into your arms. As you passed by his figure in the doorway, you discarded your cigarette in his whiskey glass.
He was left staring blankly at the empty scene before him--one that was once fulfilled with your presence--a sense of longing boiling up in his core. It was out of character for Thomas Shelby to be so subconsciously infatuated with the idea of getting a rise out of you. It was almost ridiculous.
"A bit harsh on the girl, don'ye think?" Aunt Pol piped knowingly from behind him, emerging from her watchful shadows once you had retreated to Thomas's office.
"No different than I've always been," he said, eyes still trained on the spot at the chair that was once yours.
"Don't take women for the fool that you are, Tommy. I see the way you've been eyein' her--picking her apart. I'll have you fucking another whore before you sink your claws into another girl with a bright path ahead of her."
"Her path ends here, Pol. No girl who ever got tangled up in Shelby business ever makes it to London."
Aunt Pol glared at his nape before leaving him there, sinking in his own wallows.
...
"Where're my copies?"
"I threw 'em out."
A moment of silence pulsated through his blood and rose to his brain. He had found you sitting and smoking in your usual spot, merely thirty minutes after his most recent orders. He slowly walked up to your lax frame, still dawned in your silky, lacy little thing of a nightgown.
"I trust that you know those were Mr. Kimber's papers, Ms. l/n," he rumbled lowly--dangerously, "Papers I won't think twice about having you dig through the trash on the street for in nothing but your slip."
"You've done worse," you responded calmly, taking another draw of your cigarette. Recently, you've been blowing through more than your daily 6, and he never failed to notice the little things.
He stepped even closer, his hands buried adamantly in his pockets so they wouldn't reach out for you. Why was loving Grace so easy, and loving you felt like a sour seed in his stomach? As if it would burrow holes in his organs and infect his blood until you did something about it?
"You're gonna get me those papers or I'll have you thrown out to the streets after happy hour."
With that, you stood abruptly from your chair and walked with brisk strides toward the wastepaper bin at the leg of the center table. You plunged your hand into it and pulled from the depths of millions of cigarette butts Thomas's precious Kimber papers. You slapped them on the table riddled with ash and peanut shells and flipped through each page for him, fully filled out and stamped with fresh ink.
Then you climbed atop the table, standing precariously on the splintering wood in your dainty, red dance heels so you could have the upper hand for once.
"You don't get to disrespect me because of your fragile, faulty, little boy of a heart. You don't get to disrespect me because I have an ounce of self-preservation in the face of a man with the power you have. And you don't get to disrespect me, because I am y/n l/n, and I don't work for men who lead with the brain in their cocks." It came out eerily steady, unlike any rage he'd ever been at the receiving end of before.
It was like a flash of soundless lightning; you were gone as soon as it happened, having stepped down from the table to retreat to your sun-spotted, smoke-stained corner. And he was left with the cold rain that came afterward, soaked in an alien feeling that hadn't made itself quite known to his heart yet.
But much like how most things rear their ugly heads at night--drunkards emerging from their taverns and whores from their brothels--Thomas Shelby's ugly little things were no exception.
Night changes a man; it shrouds him in regret and urges forced down throughout the day and lust unravished.
Night made Thomas hungry.
And so he found himself watching over your sleeping form folded at the waist and draped across the table you've been sitting at the entire day, where you've done nothing but stare out the window and let the smoke abuse your lungs. Your cigarette, now a measly stub, was still haphazardly pinched between your tired fingers. He found that smoking didn't suit you--it tainted your rosy face that otherwise emulated an ethereal countryside purity. The Irish foreshore was still fresh on your cheeks.
In sleep, you reverted to the girl you were born as: simple and lovely and kind as a bird.
He felt the sour seed growing.
He slipped his hand around your wrist and maneuvered your body onto his back with ease before carrying you to his room where he set you down on his sheets. His hand instinctively reached for the pipe on the nightstand, but it trembled before tightening into a fist that fell limply at his side.
What he hadn’t known was that you both experienced night terrors, but as he lay awake on the floor next to his bed with your writhing and moaning frame, it became abundantly clear.
He wondered what was haunting your conscience and digging its way into your sleep. Maybe you've been through a few wars of your own. None that men would know, anyway.
As his mind continued shifting and shuffling, he felt a warmth press into his back; you had stepped off the bed and laid down on the cool, dry planks next to him--back to back and facing away from each other. He could feel your silk stick to your sweat. Time froze, and within that time, so did the nightmares.
Seconds drawled into minutes before it all became a blur as shadows morphed into stories on the moonlit wallpaper. It stretched and stretched.
"Do you want to know what I dream of at night?" you slurred, breaking the industrial silence. Your voice was thick with an unrestful break from the world.
When Thomas didn't respond, you continued: "I dream of my home in Ireland: its salty mist and green softness all around. I'm standing there, on a plain, looking out over the ocean. I'm smiling. And each time the tide hits the rocks and recedes back into its basin, I see something emerge from the salt onto the rocks. They're people--bodies--their skin so bloated and fermented from the salt I can't even recognize them, but it feels like I should. Like I know them. And I'm stuck on this plain, trying to make out the faces of my mother and sisters and brother as they keep piling up. Over and over and over. I can't stop it. Because the tide always ebbs. It gets closer and louder, and I'm still smiling. And I pray I wake up before it gets to me and I'm the one on the rocks, rotting and unrecognizable."
Another silence spanned, and Thomas realized he was foolish to ever wish it away. Because silence was how you both communicated. Silence was the language only the two of you were fluent in. Silence bridged the gap that words created. Silence was what he wished for when he heard the shovels chipping at the wall night after night.
"Thomas, you love me." It was a mere whisper, as if you too were scared of ending the silence--the gift of time.
"I love you," echoed Thomas. It was so low and so guttural, as if sprouting from that very sour seed that--within the span of the night--had grown into something pulpy and bittersweet instead.
With that, you both dozed off. And Thomas woke up without the sound of the shovels.
"My, what a dear sight: Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, founder of Shelby Brothers Limited, fucking a whore on the same desk he signs business deals on."
Your languid body, draped with the tender silks of your night slip, leaned against the door frame. The strong oak plowed against your supple shoulder and tugged at the pink lace pooling in your clavicle. A slim cigarette drooped like a petal from your rosy fingertips which rested near your naked thigh.
You watched, unamused, as Thomas repeatedly rutted into the thing, his eyes staring directly into yours. Despite the dimness of it all--of the sex-stained chamber and the way the dying lamps made the room appear dipped in oil--his sharp, diamond eyes still cut through the haze.
You took a quaint draw of your cigarette and fixed your gaze on the girl, tilting your head at the way she convulsed and thawed into the mahogany. You pushed yourself off the frame and let yourself in, crossing the threshold into sin.
Your bare feet made slow steps across the dry panels and stopped in front of her. You used your hand free of the cigarette to pet the crown of her head, smoothing down her jostled, earthy locks.
You shushed her softly, quietly, though it came from a dwelling deep within your heart. Your fingers tightened at her roots and pulled her head up so you could see her disheveled face. "Hm, you're a pretty one," you stated, observing the way her nose sloped perfectly into her cupid's bow. Her shaky, glossy eyes could barely keep your gaze as they kept rolling to the back of her head. Obscene moans and small cries escaped her bobbing throat.
You took another puff from your smoke. "I know you think you've caught a big fish, but really--Thomas Shelby isn't any less a minnow than every other man in this city when it comes to pretty lasses like you." Your voice was befitting of the night--quiet and something of the tide.
You traced her tear-stained cheek with your thumb. "Do you know why you're here, bent over his work desk in the first place, love? It's because the last pretty thing that wandered into Mr. Shelby's cock put all our heads on the line, right after her little blonde one."
Immediately after the last sour-coated words left your lips, the girl burst into a million ecstacies, and Thomas gave her one last soundless pound before leaving her empty and hollow on the nippy wood.
You let go of her head and it dropped to the desk--as if she craved its cold companionship.
Your eyes found Thomas's.
"So this is who you are now? A whore fucker is no more than a whore, himself, y'know."
"Who I fuck"--he zipped up his knickers and took a swig of Irish whiskey left out from the morning on his desk--"concerns no one. Least of all you."
You slowly snubbed your cigarette out on his expensive, lacquered desk. "Don't get cute," you said, pulling out a couple extra shillings than girls like Lizzie are used to seeing after a long day. You stretched at her unbuttoned collar and pressed them into her bra. "On you go, love. And try your best to be quiet; I know it can be quite difficult for you." You said the last part mainly to yourself, but it didn't go unnoticed in the weight of the room. You loathed her life for her.
A minute sigh, heavy with something dire and secretive, escaped Thomas's nose as the lax girl collected her stray garments from off the floor and flitted out of the room. He never looked at her, though she seemed to burn for it.
Thomas leaned the small of his back against the edges of his desk, staring off at something distant in that vacant way he always does.
"Honestly, Thomas. Sometimes it seems as though everybody in the city respects Thomas Shelby except yourself."
You never called him Tommy, and you never would. Nicknames are for kin and lovers, and he was just pristine, clean-cut Thomas.
He didn't respond. He didn't move save a subtle tensing of the muscle in his jaw. You made your way next to him, propping yourself up on the desk. Your legs dangled in the air as the hem of your slip rode up your thighs. He passed his whiskey glass over to you without sparing you even a glance, and you took a sizable swig.
Since it was evident he wouldn't be doing much of the talking, you started up.
"Men are weak. They get dumb in the head when anything vaguely resembling curves walks by. It's like a primal urge--makes you animals." You looked at the wooden wall and imagined you were seeing the same thing he was as he stared right through it. A moment of silence--a hidden breath--hitched and made the room swell--the wood crack.
"I loved Grace, too. In my own way," you continued softly, matter-of-factly. You handed the glass back to him. He could tell you've had a little too much already. "I saw something in her that I had been chasing my entire life. It made me admire her."
"And what's that," his voice croaked, raspy from the silence that grew familiar to his throat's walls--like a tumor.
"She had love." Slowly, as if unfolding like a picture, you began to see the invisible landscape Thomas saw in the grain of the walls. "It made her strong. Gave her something to fight for, and then later something to lose."
This, Thomas realized, was the most you've confided to him in years. You looked so vulnerable, so lush in your unguarded, slightly slouched form. He saw glimpses of your Irish youth in your tired yet glistening eyes.
You were never a predictable woman.
A silence spanned and stretched at the air in the room. The more it did, the hotter you got.
"I've never had that, Thomas. And you should be grateful you did for at least a little while, because even if you fail at your multiple hands and end up rotting in the canal, you would have died a man who knew love. So stop slouching and moping and fucking sorry whores and get back on your feet."
He didn't like the way curses sounded coming from your mouth--from that pretty little voice. Your usual mellow demeanor had faltered for the first time in front of him.
You didn't wait for him to hand you the glass this time, as you swiped it out of his grasp and downed the last ounce of amber fire. "You're Thomas fucking Shelby. But right now you're just pathetic."
At this, his hand clasped around your slender neck, almost simultaneously with his lips as they crashed into yours. He repositioned himself between your legs so his knee could pry and tease at them. His callused hand was strong and warm as it crept from your throat to that sweet nook between the back of your neck and the bend of your jaw. His fingers cupped your cheek and raked through your freshly washed hair. Your slip had collected in a wrinkle of crests at your hips and you subconsciously waited for your exposed thighs to be seared with his radiating palms. But he stopped himself. He pulled away. And yet again, there was that vacant distance.
"Don't tell me about not knowing love. I loved Grace the way you've always loved me." His voice was so low you had to furrow your brows to make out every word--every syllable--so that you could ensure you weren't going crazy. "I see it. Every day. I fuckin' feel it every time you look at the back of me neck. You love me. And you're filthy for it. I loved the barmaid because she was everything you were, and that is something I swore to never tell a bloody soul."
For an impossible measure of time, you saw him for something he wasn't.
His thumb swiped past your chilled earlobe, bringing your forehead to his. "She sang these songs. And I heard in all of them your stories."
You wanted to shoot him. And kiss him. And kill him. Hell, you just wanted him.
"You were what I've been chasing damn near my whole life, but I could never have you. No, not when you put on such a tough act with a face like that and make a mess of yourself and everything else--messes I needed to clean up and protect you from." With this, he gave your face a little shake with his hand still embedded in your locks. "It was always you."
It was impossibly gentle and genuine and moronic. It was simply just impossible.
His whiskey-licked breath stung with every lap he took at your salted wounds. You both stayed like this until the ticking of the clock became jilted and painful.
"You're a fucking idiot, Thomas Shelby," you whispered against the flesh of his bottom lip before slipping off the table, past his burning body and out the door.
It was as good a goodbye as any.
All humans have ever needed was love, so why is it that when it's finally within the palms of our hands--no matter how much we cherish it, kindle its erratic flame, breathe life into it--it always seems to betray us?
You looked like a fairy cuddled up in a perfectly curved, perfectly velvety petal as your naked curves and valleys cradled into his strong figure. You felt safe in his firmness. He felt like home.
His hand tapped at your thigh, matching the rhythm of his heart, as his other hand gripped an open book by the spine. Your knees were tucked; cheek and palm on the ebb and flow of his lungs; breaths steady and deep. You could lay here for hours: naked and languid and melting into his stalwart huskiness.
You looked up at him--at the slight crescents between his brows and the piercing focus of his irises as they glided across the page. Something in his jaw would twitch every now and then, and his Adam's apple would bob as he swallowed a stoic thought. He felt your head move and peered down, and all he saw were your eyes--that ravishingly, undeniably feminine gaze.
Your love would've been a dangerous game with anyone else. But with him, you felt like nothing could ever hurt you. You felt invincible. Because he was the one who held you at night--who you would cry on and nestle up to when you had a nightmare.
"What's on your mind, pretty girl? Hm?" He brought his arm up to your small head and petted your hair, his long eyelashes dampening his gaze as it melted into yours.
The way he looked at you; it was as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Oh, and his voice--rugged with fatigue and slick from hours of silence. You loved hearing your name slip from his throat and jump off his tongue as if it belonged somewhere deep in his core.
You felt your eyelids grow heavy as his palm continually smoothed your hair down in gentle herculean motions. Protection and safeness radiated from his every fiber. You never felt so treasured.
"Nothing," you sighed, breaking eye contact as you rested your cheek on his chest once more. His lips made their way to the top of your head as he gave you a soft peck before continuing to glide his palm down your shiny hair. After a moment of silence which swelled with the intermingling of your peaceful breaths, you added, "I want to stay like this forever. With you." It came out groggy as you drifted off in his arms.
A quiet smile tugged at his lip. "I'll make sure of it. Just for you."
It was the last thing you heard before waking up to cold sheets and an empty bed. You knew he had to flee in the middle of the night. You knew it was to keep you safe. You sat on your knees with your calves splayed out, your wispy locks of hair tickling your bare shoulders. On the pink, satin pillow next to you was a note:
My girl,
I'm sorry for yet another late-night disappearance. Trouble in paradise, it seems.
I've left you a gift underneath your pillow. Use it when you need me and I'm not there.
I love you always,
Jonathan.
Your fingers slipped under the mound of satin and prodded at something cold and metal, but not foreign in your grasp. Pulling it out from underneath the pillow, your slender fingers wrapped around the barrel of a Weble-Fosbery automatic revolver.
A single pink ribbon had been neatly wrapped around the grip, adorning it with a small, powder pink bow. As you brought the firearm closer to your face, you noticed your initials carved into the frame in pretty, cursive letters.
Summary: A chance encounter in the Iceberg Lounge between Jonathan Crane, the self-proclaimed Master of Fear, and a walking nightmare calling himself the Corinthian sparks a discussion between the pair which could bring Gotham to her knees.
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