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sashi-ya · 6 months

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東京 NIGHTS mini event

𝑨 𝑫𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑲, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑶 ㅤㅤ 𓂃 ࣪˖ trafalgar law x f! reader

⤹˚ synopsis. would you invite your work colleague Law for ramen after some drinks at the bar?

requested by: @leftladyluminary ➡ May I request Law + A drink after work in a little bar of Shinjuku Golden Gai with a fem reader maybe a little nsfw (or completely lol) tw: MNDI. alcohol usage. nami x vivi heavily implied. abusive coworkers. law saving the night. smut with a "lot" of "plot". mutual pinning that both realized about it just now. oral. nipple play. vag sex. unprotected sex. creampie implied. did they eat the ramen? who knows. The bar does exist! it's the Bar Coo at Shinjuku Golden Gai! same as the train station (Yamanote Line, from Shibuya to Ueno) wc: 4.7k (sowwy) masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI need sleep. I need sleep. I need sleep “(Name), come with us to the izakaya! Let’s have some beers!” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI just want to go home… “Law is coming too, it’s a miracle!” ㅤLaw? Law? I think I can afford yet another night of barely three hours sleep…

ㅤ“I’ll be there in a minute, let me turn off my computer and grab my coat!”

It’s not new information that your jobs are overexploiting you, working for such big company as the Don Quijote chain requires a lot. It is also not new information that once in a while -almost every time- you need to go have some drinks with your colleagues and bosses… because if you don’t, you aren’t engaging enough in that “work family” nobody likes, but everyone pretends to love.

There was a certain colleague, however, who always finds ways to sneak and never get to the bar with you… and that man, precisely, is the man of your dreams. He doesn’t know, and you are sure you shouldn’t tell him, as him is no other than the boss’ nephew.

Trafalgar Law, a tall man with an unfriendly façade but definitely handsome features. Or more than that, you could say. His eyes sometimes shine golden like the earrings he wear, and sometimes silver like the winter lights in Roppongi. He is covered in tattoos, a pretty unique characteristic for being an employee but a lot more logical if you think a little further about his Uncle. Nobody can say it out loud, but all of you know… they are most probably part of the Yakuza.

Despite that, you couldn’t care a less… Law has been your crush since the day you watch him walk into the office so carefree.

It’s a cold night, winter is coming faster than expected. It always does. November ends up quickly, and the first snows begin to tint everything in pristine white. Your long coat covers your body up to your ankles, as well as Law’s black one. You watch him walk, in silence. Most of your coworkers always try to rip words from his mouth, but he is not really interested in engaging in any conversations.

You watch his tattooed fingers scrolling through his phone, as all of you walk the streets of Shinjuku. The Golden Gai awaits for you in their little old Izakayas, all packed within a narrow passage of warm lights, and flickering signs.

“You are staring way too much, (Name)” Nami, one of your coworkers whispers.

You widen your eyes… “Is it that noticeable?”

“It is, but don’t worry… we all think the same, he is hot but also out of reach. I mean, maybe not for you, that is. You are more than beautiful but remember where he is coming from… be careful” she says, being pure honesty with you. She is only trying to protect you. And Nami is completely right, you should be careful with Law.

You smile at her, and both cuddle in each other’s arm grabbing until one of your colleagues chimes and ask the rest if it would be ok to try for nothing a certain bar that looks a little… secret -suspicious, too-.

“Coo bar? It looks weird… but the painting on the door makes it look pretty interesting” you think, waiting for them to knock on that painted wooden door that reminds you somehow to Van Gogh’s style.

A little window slides open, and a pair of black slanted eyes scan you all. They close the little gate and immediately after the door opens welcoming all of you inside.

Law allows everyone to walk pass first, while his eyes scan the surroundings. You, of course, are not the exception.

“Please, girls” he says, paying special attention to your burning cheeks. Nami, who is not really interested in men, simply smile, and walks inside the bar. You, remain a little bit more lost in his golden eyes, but ultimately walk inside too.

You were mostly sure he wouldn’t even put a foot inside, and rather walk away once all of you were unaware. But tonight, it was different, he stayed.

The inside of the tiny bar looks more like an old Japanese living room transformed into a restaurant. The walls are made of wood, and there are many random things hanging from them. Old maps, old posters, photographs, even a big hamster plush that looks as old as you.

The scent of yakiniku fills the ambience, and your stomachs growl with the simple thought of tasting that salty and sweet meat grilled right in front of you.

All of you get into the biggest table you could find, but the tight will be fit nonetheless. You, who always chose to sit last, this time had to move a little to the side. The man of long legs, and tattooed hands decided to sit right next to you.

“Are you comfortable, Law-san?” you ask, trying to make enough room for him to be sitting comfortably.

“Yes, thank you (Name)-ya” he says, kindly than you have ever listened him spoke.

You smile, softly, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

Soon enough a friendly waitress comes ready to take your order. Of course not before putting the so awaited portable grill in the middle of the table.

The more meat, the better. All of you ask for it, and a beer each… that you are sure it will turn in more than three.

The conversation bases in gossiping about the office, nothing really deep and most of the topics all end up in laughter. Law, however, doesn’t really laugh and you are sure he is not even listening… he is just pretending to.

You take swift looks at him, glancing with the side of your eye at the tattoos of his hands; at how his phone screen shines constantly with more and more notifications. He must be a very required man, and most probably has a lover already if not more than one.

Of course, you are not an unpopular woman either. And most of your male coworkers always try their -non efficient, and pretty cringey- seductive tricks with you the moment a drop of alcohol reaches the tip of their tongues.

“(Name)! here, I grilled this one for you!” one of them say, using the clamps to pass you a piece of meat.

“Oh, thank you…” you murmur, receiving the food in your plate. A thing you shouldn’t have done as that -simple smelly monkey- man, thinks you want everything from him for just accepting a piece of tiny meat. -as tiny as his dick, probably-

Most of them also offer you to serve you more alcohol, as ordering for a glass turned into “bring us the bottle, it’s faster and cheaper”. They were right, it was cheaper. But annoying.

Nami, whose blood began turning into bubbly alcohol, throws to Vivi’s arms. Yet another sweet coworker, who is married, but her eyes-only shine for the redhaired coworker that’s always by your side. The moment they indulge in alcohol, their inhibitions are set free, and what’s meant to be… it’s meant to be.

And that means a sudden trip to the women bathroom, where you were not clearly invited -unless you were into it, in which case they were more than pleased to welcome you in-. But that also means you are sitting all by yourself now. Surrounded by idiots who, as well as the ladies, wanted to end up their night on a love hotel or maybe just the bathroom of the bar with you.

Law seems unfazed, and keeps eating, drinking, and reading something on his phone. Why is he there, after all, you have no idea.

As soon as Nami and Vivi’s spot are free, the guy who offered meat slides right next to you. Thinking he is sleek, only to hit the table and make most of the drinks to spill on top of it. Yet, he is not even worried about it; he is just interested in one thing, you.

“More?” he asks, coming closer and closer, forcing you to consequently graze Law’s arm with yours.

“Uh.. I’m full thanks” you lie. You aren’t even half full, but you don’t want shit from him.

“I meant in your glass, let me serve you…” he whispers, grimacing. The bottle lets its liquids pour into your tiny glass, with the strong intention of getting you as wasted as possible.

You swallow, you won’t drink that up. Not all of it. But he keeps coming closer, and by now, your leg also touches Law’s. And then your back, until it is too noticeable for the tattooed pal to stand up in a violent, quick motion.

“How much are you going to insist on her? She is practically sitting on my lap from how much you are bending over her” Law says, looking at him with eyes on fire and disgust on his voice.

“Traf- Trafalgar-san, I-“ he stutters, he is not worried about you but about his job continuation after this.

“Get the fuck away from here, I don’t want to see you anymore” Law spits, he is not interested in fighting. He has had enough. You are not sure if it was because your body touched him, or because he was trying to defend you… but in any case, you are grateful he did.

You look to the ground, knowing your position wasn’t safe either. This will have consequences, and misogyny always finds the way to win.

Law sits back down, as the rest move away from the long wooden seat to let the bastard go away. But right before he stood up, he whispered at you disgusting words you were already waiting to hear…

“You are a little whore, and you know that. You are probably sucking his dick, aren’t you… slut. Be very careful when you walk home alone tonight”

You chose to keep quiet, as everybody else did. Because nobody would stood up for a woman, not in a men’s world.

You watch him go, drinking almost all the glass in one chug. You needed something to drown the fear and disgust you were feeling right now.

“Are you ok, (Name)-ya? Don’t worry, he has his days counted” Law suddenly says, grabbing his phone again.

“I am… thank you so much, Law-san” you shily and respectfully appreciate his help. “I am sorry for ruining the night…” you whisper, finally.

“It wasn’t your fault, at all. Men like that don’t belong in our organiz- company”

You swallow… and soon you realize what he meant when he mentioned the man had his “days counted”. You try to think of any words to spare the life of the abuser, but soon you chose to stay silent. You didn’t force him to do anything, after all.

Nami and Vivi leave the bar, without saying much. You didn’t want to tell them about the “situation”; you didn’t want to ruin their -lustful- end of the night.

As for the rest of your coworkers, most stood up to smoke outside, while others already took their leaves. Law, remained on his seat until one of the guys invited him to go smoke with them.

There is no point in staying; that drunk bastard won’t probably fulfil his threats against you as he is most probably passed out somewhere else due to the alcohol. Therefore, you pay your share, take your coat, and get outside the bar.

You try to leave without alerting anyone, but it is impossible to do so as one of your coworkers wave goodbye at you.

“Oi, (Name)? are you leaving already?! See you on Monday!” he screams; a scream that catches everyone’s attention, including Law’s.

You wave at them and begin to walk away with your keys in your hands and praying to reach for Shibuya as fast as possible to take the JR towards home… hopefully safe and sound by the end of the night.

A sudden pull in your wrist scares you and wasn’t for his fast reaction one of the keys would have ended carved somewhere on Law’s body.

“Oi, calm down. It’s me. I heard what he said on the bar, let me accompany you” Law says, putting down your hand slowly so he doesn’t get hurt by your keys.

You sigh, relived. Law is still a stranger, but if you had to die you would prefer doing it by the hand of a hot killer…

“Thank you, Law-san. But do you think is it ok? What are they gonna think? Plus, I live in Ueno” you ask, worried for future -unfortunately fake- rumours.

Law lifts his shoulders. “I personally don’t give a single fuck about that. I do, however, care for your safety”

You scoff sweetly, he doesn’t seem like one… but he is, indeed, a gentleman. A real man.

“If you don’t mind, then let’s go. I will repay the favour with some delicious ramen if you allow me. Right in front of my apartment we have the best convenience store of all Tokyo” you chime, happily. Perhaps you mistaken this by a date, but at least for some seconds you indulge on the happy thought of it.

Law nods. “The best one? What makes it so special?”

“It’s special because I spent many nights studying there late at night having the best instant ramen” you inform, proud of it.

He scoffs, and a little smirk appears on his lips. “Good, I wanna try the ramen there. As long as it doesn’t contain bread, I’m good”

You notice he can be a lot more interesting than what you thought; despite keeping the mysterious aura, he is a very talkative guy when he feels comfortable. And, apparently, he does with you.

Most of the conversation turns into a nerdy talk about his favourite comic series, that it is surprisingly the same as yours. And you couldn’t be happier, at least a dreadful night ended up better than expected.

Getting to Shibuya was easy; but the last train was about to part. Therefore, both of you, a little dizzy from the drinks -specially you- found the running a lot more challenging than expected. Yet ultimately, grabbed by Law’s hand, you were able to reach the train just in time before doors closed.

“I am so relieved we made it in time!” you sigh, sitting on one of the empty seats. “Same… I mean you could have taken a taxi but…” Law murmured, stopping his words midway. He realized that sending you home in a taxi would be the end of the time together… and he didn’t want that.

Law then proceeds to sit right next to you, crossing his long legs in such way it makes you bite your lower lip. He is a tease by total nature, he doesn’t even try. And he probably knows that too well. As the girls right in front of him gossip and giggle while looking at him.

The train ride is a little long, and the exhaustion suddenly hits you. You remember the fact that sleeping had been rather scarce the last few days of the week, plus the alcohol in your system…

The next station is Ueno. Doors will open on the right

“(Name)-ya… I think this is our station… wake up” Law’s soft voice whisper in your dreams, and your comfortable pillow suddenly takes the form of what it really was; his shoulder.

“Oh my, sorry! I didn’t mean…” you apologize, quickly brushing off the sleepiness. You notice he is not mad at you, but his façade has relaxed a lot more since the beginning of the night.

“It’s ok, you’ve been working a lot more than the rest lately. You are always the last one to leave the office” he says, helping you stand up and walking to the doors of the train.

You rub your eyes… he knows? That means he’s been watching you… but for how long, and why?

Ueno is as pretty as Shinjuku. The trees that will turn pink in the spring, now hold flowers made of silver flickering lights. There is a considerably less amount of people compared to the big city, though.

The cold air that hits your cheeks wake you up almost instantly, and you are back at having enough energy to eat that instant ramen that you promise Law.

“So, are you still up for the ramen?” you ask, shy and still ashamed for falling asleep on his shoulder. You wonder if snore or even worse… drool on him.

Law nods with a smile on his face and his eyes closed. He is also tired, but he doesn’t want to leave, and you can tell.

You guide him, and after walking a few blocks, the convenience store appears in the corner of a calm neighbourhood’s street.

“Come on, follow me” you chime, pulling from his hand inside the store.

Law follows, and for the first time both grab each other’s hands tightly. Despite gasping, you keep squeezing it… it feels like a dream…

perhaps it is, and I’m still sleeping on the train?

The cashier greets you both, and immediately after recognizing you she informs that the water boiler won’t be working until Monday in case you were there for ramen.

“We can have it in your place if you are ok with it” Law suggests, and your stomach gets full of butterflies… is this like the korean “would you like to come home for ramen?”, is this your “Netflix and chill”?

You nod. After all he did for you, there is no point in letting him go back to Tokyo with at least nothing warm to eat.

Soon he buys two packets of ramen, two sticks of cheese and two cans of sakura edition Monster. And without much conversation you two cross the street to finally reach for your apartment.

The ride on the elevator was as silent as the very beginning, apparently none of you had something further to say… both were absorbed into your own thoughts; what type were the ones inside his head, you begin to wonder.

“Here we are, my room might be in shambles. But the rest I think looks fine” you joke, opening the door and turning on the light.

You were to lie if you said you weren’t lucky; your department is tiny but still has beautiful looks towards the city. Nothing fancy, but decent and exquisitely decorated.

Law smiles, pleased. He enjoys spaces like yours.

“I like you…r place…” he whispers, right behind your back while you walk towards the open kitchen.

“Thanks…” you whisper back, biting your lower lip; sensing the high tension in the air like little zaps of energy, like counter shocks.

You receive the bag with the food from his hands and put a pot of water on the stove. It is necessary for a good instant ramen to boil the water before putting the noodles in. Or so that’s what you always thought. In any case, you needed your mind to be anywhere else but the idea of pleading him to fuck you against the counter.

“(Name)-ya, are you single?” he suddenly asks, after the last crumble of noodles fall from your hands into the bubbly water.

You turn around, slowly. Your ponder whether you should lie to him, or not. Perhaps a taken woman would be a lot more interesting to chase than looking like a lonely girl.

“Because I haven’t seen any man around you…” he continues, sitting on one of the stools and letting his elbows on the counter.

Busted. You can’t lie.

“I am single, yes. What about you, Law-san?” you ask, it is proper -and necessary for you to know-.

Law bends forward, his chin rests on his hand and his golden eyes fix in yours. You realize there has to be a hint of eyeliner on his waterline, and the dark circles intensify under the low light of your kitchen.

“Would you prefer to listen I am?” he asks, straightforwardly and so sexily.

You swallow; what…. the fuck?

“It depends, honestly. I wouldn’t like to be the other woman if you weren’t single” your words sound bigger than yourself, your eyes widen because you don’t even know who is talking right now… but it is definitely not your normal you; this is most likely, your horny you… the “you” that can’t keep hiding how much you are into your boss’ nephew.

Law stands up, walks around the breakfast bar and dominantly -yet, very, very slow- takes his fingers to your chin. You move slightly to the side, allowing your butt to hit the counter behind.

Your fingers clutch to the cold stone surface, your hips feels like magnets being pulled, attracted against the other’s.

“Is that so, (Name)-ya? Well… I am single, indeed” Law whispers, coming closer, so dangerously closer to your lips. His thumb, inked with the letter D, grazes your lower lip ever so softly. And you pout, just enough for him to be able to play with it.

Your sloppy eyelids, your separated lips, your head barely tilted to the side… like feverish, in need of medicine... Law’s lips medicine.

“I’m glad you are…” you moan, opening your mouth just enough to trap with your front teeth his thumb right after. The tip of your tongue follows, wetting his finger. And then, so that there are no more doubts, you suck on it so deliciously lustful.

Law takes a big breath, and sighs right after. He is smirking, so dark. Like you never seen him before. Like you always wish you did.

He lifts you up, helping you sit on top of the counter. Your legs, spread, allow him to come closer.

“You are glad I am gonna fuck you tonight, too?” he asks, leaving you breathless… continuing with the lack of oxygen, as his lips crash on yours.

His tongue, disrespectfully sexual, violates your mouth in pure impetuous need. With gasping and moaning in between, with heavy breathing, with desire for your flesh that seems to be unleashed after being trapped like a beast for so long.

The more he kisses you, the more he wants more. And you do, too.

His playful hands, lift the blouse that seemed to be so enticing to his eyes all through out the night. His delicate fingers crawl from your belly to your chest, squeezing your breasts with no modesty, with no decency.

When he lets your lips free, you feel them swollen, aching for more. You open your eyes, meeting his and a shiver runs through your back. The most handsome man in the earth is right in front of you, wanting to devour you… so desperately.

“So, are you glad… (Name)-ya?” he asks, again. This time with his hand on your neck, squeezing on the right spot to make you dizzy and horny.

“Mhj… yes… please, fuck me” you beg, so weak for his touch.

“Heh” he smirks, ripping your blouse, making the buttons pop and fly away. He doesn’t mind, he doesn’t care… “This damn blouse… you always wear it on Fridays, don’t you? it was making me so hard to see the way your nipples barely peeking through them with the air conditioner… heh…” he moans, with his lips pressed on the commissure of your lips.

For how long have you been watching me in silence, Law? …

Law kisses you one more time before going down to your neck and breasts. The nipples he mentioned were once and for all right before his eyes, hard because of him and not because of the a/c.

Desperately, he cups your right breast, trapping your hard sensitive button with his front teeth. Sucking, twisting, licking. Your body quivering, spasming. Your nails pulling from his messy onyx hair in response to pleasure.

A few more minutes, where you barely reached for the stove to turn it off, are enough for him to want more and more of your body.

“And then, this damn black tight skirt… were you doing it on purpose? Letting your paperwork to fall to the floor, for me to see right when you bent to pick them up, your panties through your pantyhose…? Mh? (Name)-ya?” he asks, kneeling in between your legs, sliding your skirt up, grazing the nylon tights with his teeth.

Why lie? If he was completely right? You did. You did so many times. And yet, never once you thought he could see, he could notice… you remain silent, because silence speaks louder than words…

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” he scoffs, carving with his middle finger a hole on your thighs, ripping violently down to expose your core. The view is pure art to him… to see your dripping wet panties, and the flesh of your thighs protruding from the indentations and ripped places of your panty hose...

He kisses those patches of free skin, and then bites them too. He enjoys the way the nylon material gets wet around with his own saliva; you quiver to the sensation, the cutting sharp edges, the kisses, his teeth grazing, the wetness increasing.

And those kisses, that keep going up and up, reach your core for the first time. “How much I wanted to taste your sex… you got me wanting to do it so bad” he grunts with his lips on your wet panty. The warmth of his breath against your sex, makes you flinch… a sting on your clit that felt like a bullet.

A kiss, a lick. Fine fabric getting drenched. Eyes turning white, his nose buried, inhaling your scent. Curious fingertips, moving lace away. The moment his tongue reached for your folds; your heels carved in between his shoulder blades.

Eating you out, you throw back your head, moaning loud, loudly. But you want even more… And almost like if he could read your mind, he stands up. Law uses his inked, veiny hand to clean -or rather spread- the mess you’ve made on his mouth and chin.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you… you are insatiable, I’ve always knew it” he growls, perhaps ignorant to the fact you are insatiable but only for him.

“I want you” you simply babble, ripping his yellow shirt off to discover his inked chest. The heart on his pecs that goes down until his belly button, pointing to his hardness fighting against his jeans… “I want you so bad…” you whine again.

“Then let me fuck you the way you deserve, (Name)-ya” he moans, biting your lower lip. You help him to get free from his clothes, desperately. You want it now; he wants it more than you.

Soon, his hardness blesses you with his imponent presence in between his fingers. Drippy, slightly veiny, pinkish tip that turns redder the second it passes. He pumps just enough to spread the precum all over, perhaps in an attempt to lubricate… as if it was really needed… you are sure your juices have dripped to your kitchen floor.

With not much, but only pure passion, he lifts one of your legs up until your whole sole is touching the counter. Well spread, enough for him to fit perfectly in, he pulls you closer to the edge.

“I am dying to try your walls clenching around my dick, (Name)-ya” he huffs, with his forehead pressed against yours.

“I want you inside of me, please…” you beg, taking your hips closer to his drippy gland.

Law kisses you brutally, to impale you equally after. He drinks your moans; you breathe off his grunts. His hands land on the small of your back, moving in an out of you with strong pace. While your nails carve on his shoulders, leaving marks of love.

The sound of skin slapping skin flood the kitchen, mixed with the pleasure song of your throats.

Law carries you to the table, and your body lies there until he can bend completely over you to keep fucking you while kissing and biting everything he has in front. You do the same, pulling from his lip, biting his neck, his shoulders… trapping him against you, with no way out, with your legs snaked tightly around his waist.

Nothing matters the most, than him never leaving your insides. Nothing matters the most that being bound to the other, mixed in one and only.

Filled with his release, he keeps on going. Reaching for one, two, three times the maximum climax… more, more and more…

“We can eat the ramen tomorrow… right?” “Y-yes…”

692 notes · View notes

harrysonlylover · 1 year

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Carolina (Part 2)

Summary: The line between hatred and lust is now non existent. How will their bodies react? And does she already have Harry wrapped around her finger?

Trope: Cowboy!H

Wordcount: 13.7k

Warnings: FILTHY smut, bondage, rough dynamic, oral ( both receiving) , exhibitionism , spanking, you know how i write smut….

Part 1

Harry has never been this eager to work.

He had an affinity for being a Cowboy, it had its perks that include a well-known reputation which fuelled his ego, the long days spent working as he built his athletic body that puts other young men his age to shame. He loves being an early bird and feeling his hands clench from the hard labour, the sun that hugs his skin and the jobs he does from fixing houses or anything that’s built from wood, riding horses and checking up on the towns’ ranches.

So many endless jobs he has done before and never was he this enthusiastic.

When he arrived he caught a subtle glance of her, only to for her disappear immediately. He had no choice but to get to work. His task was to install a new fence in her family’s ranch and check on the bulls since he knows how to deal with them well.

He was halfway through his work when he felt her presence behind him, he was tempted to have a look but didn’t.

He felt like a teenager last night as he thought of her lips almost touching his, her lily scent consuming him and her little white dress that makes him want to go on his knees. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time, that giddy feeling you get when you don’t know what’s happening or why you are acting in a certain way.

He is a man after all, so he wiped his forehead, glanced behind him, and his legs slightly shook at her sight.

She was sunbathing in her family’s ranch, sitting in a white bikini with her knees bent and a book in her hands. She didn’t need sunglasses as long as she had her cowboy hat on. Her skin was covered in sunscreen making it shimmer against the sun rays and Harry was about to drool.

He dropped his kit to the ground with a thud and walked over to her, feeding the itch to be closer. He knows that she can see him, yet her eyes remain set on the book. He stands in front of her, covering the light as he takes in her gorgeous figure.

Perfect curves, glittery skin, a small amount of sweat trickling down her midsection, her hair braided backwards, and smile plastered proudly on her face.

“Came back for more sneaky kisses?” she lowered down her book and smirked at him.

“Are you offering Carolina?” He went down on his knees to her level and leaned in closer to her.

“Maybe you should try harder.” She whispered to him as he took in her face features for the millionth time.

He caught her braid in his hand and twirled it between his fingers while they both stared at each other, with the sexual tension so thick as they were half naked.

“What are you reading?” He took her book from her and observed it whilst still playing with her hair.

“The letters of Vincent Van Gogh.” She replied as he hummed knowing all about her interest in art.

His eyes caught a box near her, and he was curious to know its components, so he leaned forward only to find more books in it.

“What’s that for, you have a book in your hand.” He asked in confusion, as he double checked the number of existent books.

“There’s classics, fiction, love novels, thrillers, fantasy and some art books. I mean I must be equipped; I change moods quickly and I need a book for each one.” She retrieved her book from his palm and pretended to continue reading.

Her parents came out on the front porch which meant that he had to go back to work out of respect for them, so he had to make it quick.

“Tonight at my house, there’s a party and you better be there Carolina.” He whispered lowly in her ear as he gently nipped at her skin.

“And if I’m not there?” she replied with a shaky breath.

“Let’s just say I’m not a man who repeats himself.” He placed one last wet peck behind her ear, stood up and walked over to the fence to complete his work as she continued to gaze at him all afternoon.

Being organised was all she knew.

Recklessness was never on her agenda, even her decision to study in Washington was well calculated. There were many things that came close to breaking her straight path yet were never enough.

So she wonders how a cheesy cowboy was able to lurk around, rest in her brain, dominate it and control her acts and breathing sometimes.

As if on cue she found herself getting ready for his party without another thought, and maybe that was planned too. Tonight she’ll get to know his real intentions, what lies behind his staring and touches and if diverting off her path is worth it.

The party at his house stretched out to the ranch where the bonfire was held last night, there were many young faces specially girls as everyone danced around to the music with the Whiskey smell lingering in the air.

She took in the scenery and the amazing vibe of the party before an arm was wrapped around her waist and a voice whispered in her ear.

“Carolina girl knows how to listen; I like the sound of that.” He whispered in her ear as she felt his skin on hers.

“And you invite all girls in this charming way?”. She teased him arching her back slightly.

“Only the ones that are clumsy, stubborn and live rent free in my head.” His deep voice sent shivers through her body, and she couldn’t help but lean into him.

The more time passed, the more people arrived. They greeted Harry like they’ve known him for a long time and after they leave he’d whisper in her ear jokes about them as she laughed after each one.

He had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and he felt like his body was on fire around her. Soon enough everyone gathered around for a moment they always wait for.

“I’m going to need your assistance in something.” He led her to the center of the room and signalled for the man in charge of the music.

“It’s a dancing competition Carolina, I bet we’ll make a good duo.” He didn’t give her time to object before he had her against his chest and began swaying with her along with the music.

There was only one couple with them on the dance floor, but it was evident that everyone’s attention was fixed on Harry Styles and the girl that never left his side since the beginning of the party.

His hands roamed her body as they danced along to the beat in a way that shows their chemistry, they were not ashamed to be doing this in front of everyone. Maybe Harry liked it a bit too much.

She had to have him under any circumstances, she didn’t mind if he wants it to be a one time thing, she’s a mature girl. The way his body felt on hers, his pants and subtle moans as he guided her body on his and danced with her through the song did things to her hormones.

“Do you see that girl over there? How she’s mad and frowning? He whispered to her as he grinded on her from behind.

“Yeah?”

“She wants my attention Carolina”

“And she can’t have it?” She asked through heavy breaths.

“No. It’s all yours pretty Carolina.” He swayed with her body until the song ended, and he smirked as he felt the loud cheering fill up his ego.

He brought her a soft drink to freshen up making sure to keep her around him. He felt like he found a rare gem and was too cautious of anyone else getting it.

She can tell how everyone’s eyes were on her, whether it be men or women, they envied her. Harry was right about that girl and her jealousy but the way he told her all about it and confessed things feeling unashamed was her last tipping point.

“Hey Harry, is there a quiet place we can go to?” She asked with a grin on her face.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He placed his drink aside and laced his hand through hers as he led her to his bedroom.

The moment he closed the door behind him, he crashed his lips into hers. A moment he has been waiting for ever since he set his eyes upon her. Her lips tasted like honey on a Sunday afternoon, and he can’t understand why everything about her is sweet.

She kissed him back aggressively as their tongues touched and teeth clashed, the music from the party can be heard faintly as they both were too infatuated with each other.

Their hands wouldn’t stop exploring each other’s bodies, it was more than a want, it was a simple need. For her to touch on his godly physique, him to indulge in her gorgeous body. Once they began there was no going back.

Their lips refused to leave each other as she sucked on his bottom lip and held on to him. His lips were intoxicating, and she can kiss on them for a lifetime. His soft cupid shaped lips that perfectly fit into hers as he led the kiss with his tongue. His hand was wrapped around her waist, and she shamelessly placed hers on his ass.

“Clothes off now.” His voice was raspy and deep just like when he asked, ordered her to come to the party.

She quickly took off her shorts and crop top leaving her body in a lace set and him in briefs that can barely contain his hard on. He had her back against his chest as he moaned in her ear about her choice of clothes.

“So goddamn pretty, gonna let me enjoy your body? Worship it?” He massaged her tits above the bralette she had on as she grinded against his crotch.

“If you show me a good time maybe.” She reached her hand backwards to his crotch and touched on his rock-hard cock beneath his briefs making him hiss loudly.

“Oh you’re in for a show Carolina.” He nipped at her ear as she arched her back feeling his hot breath send vibrations through her body.

He effortlessly picked her up bridal style and placed her on his bed, then began kissing all over her skin starting from her neck to her collarbone, perky nipples (after he tore off her bralette), her tummy then her pelvis till he reached her pussy.

He hovered his mouth over the panties before planting a delicate teasing kiss against the fabric. Her chest was heaving with anticipation, his hands were everywhere, and it just felt too good.

“Oh it looks so pretty, I can smell your arousal baby, can I taste what I caused hmm? Do you want me to lick your cunt?” He cooed seeing how she’s getting lost in her pleasure bubble.

“Yes please.” She breathed out quickly as she laid back feeling her arousal become more obvious while he sucked on her inner thighs and kept pressing teasing kisses over her panties.

He tore the fabric immediately and she wishes she was able to see his veins appearing as his hands effortlessly tore the material. His nose nudged her clit catching her off guard, and now that she’s uncovered she felt so bare.

He cooed as he repeatedly told her how pretty her pussy is before blowing air against it. He took a broad lick all over her slit tasting her addictive arousal on his tongue.

His tongue was hot and hungry, and her cunt was clenching around nothing making him go feral. He knew that it was calling for him and he could stay up all night loving on it.

He massaged her labia gently and but with a slow rhythm, he wanted to see how far she can go, how much teasing she can take, go deep inside pleasure and enjoy whatever she gives him.

He only has two fingers in her wetness massaging in rotating motion, the tips are soaked and glistening under the light. He leans in forward and begins licking her drenched folds.

His mouth was doing wonders. He knew exactly where to place his tongue, the right amount of sucking and holding back, nibbling at certain areas then switching to different motions.

“Tastes like strawberries pretty.” He moaned without raising his head once, feeling the precum seep from his tip at her taste.

He plunged in one finger and continued to suck and massage her labia with his tongue only, his finger curled every now and then near her spongy spot making her let out load moans.

With one particular nibble, she involuntarily closed her thighs around his head feeling the blood rush to her clitoris. It was all very overwhelming for her poor cunt. He knew exactly what to do, where to place his tongue, for how long to suck , where to angle his finger and how.

“Are you going to let me enjoy this cunt or do I have to be mean Carolina?” He sent a smack to the back of her thigh and pinned her legs to the bed.

“Please your mouth… it’s..” She let out incoherent words as she tugged on his soft hair.

“My mouth is what?” He raised his head making eye contact with her and hovered his tongue over clit as he awaited her answer.

“It’s so so good Harry.” She moaned loudly tweaking her nipples and gripping the bedsheets before he hummed in approval and harshly sucked on her clitoris.

The blood was rushing to his cock, and he loved being a generous man, he’s an orgasm giver. He loved the way she’s withering beneath him.

Her hands holding on to the sheets, a slight back arch, tugging at his hair, the chanting of his name, the tightness of her cunt around his finger inviting him in, the sweet fruit of her wetness on his tongue, a dish he can have for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Her pussy was getting wetter with every lick he provided, he moved his attention to her engorged clit and thrusted two fingers going at a fast pace then slowing down when he feels her walls tighten.

“Harry I need to cum please.” She begged feeling the overstimulation from his mouth and fingers, he put her on the edge twice and now she felt like exploding.

“Because you’re a good girl or a whore.” He rasped in between licks, and she can faintly see wetness dripping down his chin as he continued to eat her out like a starved man.

“Both.” She purposely pulled harshly on his hair, making him look up at her as she was met with his famous grin, messy hair, hungry eyes and the sight of him licking the wetness from his swollen lips.

“Then you better give it to me real good.” He suddenly went on a fast and rough pace with his fingers, along with pinching her clit between his index and thumb. His entire focus was on her cunt and his hand, his forearm flexed from the intensity and speed of his thrusts, with every plunge some of her wetness splashed on the sheets making him chuckle lightly.

Wetness dripping down beneath him, on him and for him.

He pinched her clitoris one last time before he felt himself get covered in her wetness, she was shaking and moaning audibly, some of her hair strands were stuck to her forehead, and her cum was covering his clothed cock, abs, arms and face.

She has never experienced this before with anyone, or alone even. She feels like she’s floating on a cloud, high on ecstasy and pleasure, a mixture of numbness and overstimulation between her legs, she can still feel the aftermath of his tongue, how it lingered there and how good it was. She may be exaggerating but she could swear that she was seeing stars.

“You squirted baby, what a good girl that knows pleasure. It’s fresh juice that I don’t have to work for.” He leaned down and gently kissed over her pulsating cunt making her whine in pain, but not any type of pain.

“I’m just thanking your pretty pussy baby, I’m all covered in your arousal. Isn’t that amazing?” He took a deep breath inhaling her arousal resulting in an audible moan from him, he brought his hand to his briefs and removed them, freeing his swollen cock as he hissed at the feeling.

She could not feel her legs, she just had the best orgasm of her life and unlocked a new feeling, his hands were roaming her skin, pressing pecks to her feminine part, and massaging the swell of her breasts, the music from the party was fading and his voice took over her entire focus.

‘Such a pretty sight, you give me no choice but to worship this pussy.’

‘God look at this, it’s pulsating around nothing poor baby was it too good to handle’

‘ If I’m not the luckiest man on earth then I don’t know what I am’

‘ It smells just as good as it tastes. Gonna be stuck on my tongue forever.’

Praise after praise, he lulled her out of her state of numbness with kisses and touches. Harry was big on physical touch, he wanted to see every inch of her skin, devour it, worship it, cherish it like no one would, he wanted to leave his mark, a mark that no one else but her will see or feel.

He was offering her the bare minimum, providing comfort and reassurance for a partner during such intimate moments was his duty but when he felt her thigh nudge and poke at his neglected cock, he remembered what a minx she is.

“And here I was thinking I should shower you with care so you can get your energy back, looks like you can’t help your whore nature.” He hovered over her, his cross necklace dangling between them.

“Not when your cock is making me horny again.” She whispered as he took note of the thin layer of sweat on her forehead, her hair scattered all over his pillow, her puppy eyes begging for more.

“Yeah? Do you want it? Tell me what is it that you want of me?” He closed the gap between them and whispered to her as their noses and lips touched.

“I want your cock inside of me, so deep that you rearrange my insides, I want to feel every stroke, the heat, your hardness and my tight walls. I want that fucking stamina you keep bragging about Styles.” Her whispers were so low yet so seductive, every word went straight to his cock that’s resting against her thighs. His pupils were dilated and she’s shocked he didn’t pin her to the bed right there and then.

His entire expression shifted, and he suddenly stepped off the bed and shuffled in his room before she felt the bed dip and his hands pick up her body and lift her upwards.

“Do you want this? I’m anything but gentle Blue Star, I will make you scream, and I promise you’ll never forget this.” His hand tightened around her waist with his cheek laid against hers as they were both on their knees.

“Yes give it to me.” She caught him off guard by stroking his gently making him lean towards her.

“Say Red if you want to stop and yellow to slow down.” Without another word he flipped her around, placing her back to his chest. He fixed some of her hair behind her ears and pressed kisses to her back.

She heard the unwrapping of a condom as he covered his leaking cock with it, she was a bit disappointed having missed the opportunity to see his length, he guided her around and manhandled her not allowing her to take in his body.

He brought her hands together behind her back and the next thing she felt was a rope tightening around her wrists. He was nipping at her ear lobe and the knot he made felt too good.

“You wanted my Stamina? I’ll show you what ‘cowboys stay on longer’ mean.” His voice was dark and low sending shivers through her body.

He ran his tip through her entrance up and down to tease her making her whine and tip her head backwards against his shoulder, her tied hands were trying to reach for his cock, but she could only stretch them so far.

The wetness of her cunt followed by the aftermath of her orgasm and his swollen cock made the experience overwhelming for both of them. Teasing was his favourite game and his key secret to pleasure, he wasn’t a stranger to the confessions of partners on the ‘best sex they’ve had’ and little do they know, it’s all about the edging.

Her pleas and whines were only fueling his ego more but also his need for her, he was holding back himself as well, he loved the rush he gets from his swollen cock that gets edged throughout the whole experience, how it leaks as a plead and becomes painful. But that’s the whole fun isn’t it?

“Need a cowboy to relieve your ache yeah? It would all be gone as soon as I stick it in. I bet you’re in pain.” He cooed brushing his tip against her swollen clitoris and he can see the tears welling in her eyes.

He thrusted in with one motion smoothly, her cunt was so slick from the wetness, and her heat? She felt too warm for him, he had barely entered yet she sucked him in immediately. His hips were stilled feeling too overwhelmed from the feeling. The same feeling that he desires and aims for from all the teasing. That sweet relief of his ache, his ache for her through and through.

He was still trying to comprehend the pleasing feeling as he laid his head against her shoulder and she the same, ecstasy and euphoria surrounded their bodies as he caught her lips in a passionate kiss.

Her engorged pearl, the intense heat forming between them, her uncontrollable clenching around his veiny cock, the wetness that’s making him slip out, his toned biceps holding her frame to his chest as they frantically share a kiss.

“You feel so good, so so good, I think I’m in heaven, and I didn’t even fuck you yet.” His eyes were shut and his breath was laboured as he slowly began moving his hips.

“You’re filling me up so well, it fits perfectly.” She groaned as his cock stretched her out in the most pleasing ways.

“Sucking me inside , your cunt knows what it needs.” After a few slow yet deep thrusts, he picked up his speed and plunged rapidly inside her velvety pussy.

He pushed her face down on the mattress and held her tied wrists with one hand as he watched his cock go in and out of her slick and puffy pussy. He also had a perfect view of her plump ass that he kept swooning over in her shorts.

His eyes were rolled back as his thrusts were vigorous and needy, the pleasure she was feeling from him was unmatched, he was too deep, reaching places she never knew of and massaging her g-spot with his tip, as well as the prominent veins along his shaft that found her itch.

Her whines and moans were to die for, he didn’t know what was making him more and more horny by the second. How she feels around his cock or her sweet whimpers, he’s getting them recorded in his mind so he can later come back to them, how can someone’s moans be so attractive?

He couldn’t take the sight of her ass bouncing against his length anymore, so he spread her cheeks and abruptly slowed down his hip movement before spitting on her tight hole, pressing her cheek roughly against each other and spanking her hard with his ring clad hand.

Her shriek from the slap was even prettier than the moans and that only fuelled him to continue furthermore.

“Tsk tsk dirty whore, do you love it when I slap this ass? You know how much I’m crazy about your body and you like it don’t you?” He rubbed the skin above his handprint as his pupils dilated upon seeing his initial engraved on her ass. She was too stuck in a pleasure daze to even respond to him.

“Say it or I won’t spank you again.” He manhandled her upwards to his chest by gripping her throat and whispering in her ear.

“Yes I love it when you spank me.” Her pleas were like music to his ears and his cock felt strained from her clenching.

“Say that you love how i’m obsessed with you.” His grip on her throat got tighter and her daze increased.

“I love how you’re obsessed with me, please.”

He picked his speed again and let out an animalistic groan, her cunt was too much for him, gripping him so goddamn tight. Luring him deeper and deeper, he wouldn’t be surprised if he bruised her cervix with how hard he’s going. But the harder he goes the harder she sucks him and clenches.

“No wonder you love it here, perhaps your cunt knows only cowboy cock can do it for you.” He left love bites against her neck and sucked harder when he found her sensitive spot.

He was trying to hold back as much as he can, but the way she’s tightening around him has him panting and holding on to her glorious body. It felt too surreal, and he lost it when she removed his hand from her throat and brought it to her lower abdomen placing it over what appeared to be a stomach bulge from his thick girth.

A primal instinct took over him and he pushed her down on the bed and laid his body against hers from behind as all of his weight was pressed on her back with her face buried in the mattress.

“Do you see how deep I can go? Properly arranging your insides, it’s my duty .” She only responded with a whine adoring the way he’s pressed on her and reaching even farther inside of her.

“Where can you feel me now?” He slowed down resulting in her pout and groan before bringing his hand backwards to pinch and massage her cheeks.

“Everywhere Harry, I can feel you everywhere.” She cried out and pushed her ass back on his shaft with all her strength.

“That’s what I fucking want.”

Harry keeps forgetting what a little minx she is, so whatever she does he’ll never be prepared.

“Red.” His thrusts halted the moment her safe word rolled out of her lips. He shifted his body and quickly untied her wrists as he flipped her around gently to check her state only to find her smirking.

“I want to change positions.” She said nonchalantly as his heartbeat slowly went back to average after getting worried on her.

“Not a nice card Carolina.” He hovered over her kissing her neck and rubbing at her thighs.

“And if I want to ride you? A proper northern tradition?” His eyes lit up at her words and he stopped sucking on her skin as he felt his swollen cock that still didn’t get a release become more and more painful.

In terms of pleasure, she was worse than Harry but he didn’t know that yet. She didn’t chase after orgasms during sex, she wanted lust, sweat, skin on skin, heat, a good time and wetness of her partner.

Yes orgasms are amazing but what about edging?

Allowing herself to reach the high then cut it off only to try new positions, new angles, new kinks, new everything. It is not the orgasm that feels good to her, it is rather the experience of it, tiring each other out and push the sexual limits. Her little secret was that one mind blowing orgasm after a good period of time of edging and teasing (her personal limit is up to hours) will always outpower many orgasms in a short period of time.

It is a sensual feeling that holds her high in the clouds, drunk on ecstasy and pleasure, nothing and nothing at all can compare to edging.

“Then show me what you got.” He gently slapped her inner thigh and moved upwards as she lifted herself on her knees. He relaxed his body against the headboard and was able to spot the soaked part of the sheets, near the edge of the bed from her squirting.

She hovered over his thigh and traced one of the tattoos she’s never seen before, it was a tiger and she smirked as she swiped some of her wetness off it.

Harry was a sight as he laid back. Toned chest going up and down to catch his breath, legs spread with his erect cock as if he wasn’t inside of her moments ago. His hands red and veiny, proud of leaving marks on her skin. His hair was sweaty, and curls dangled on his forehead.

The condom around his shaft was killing him, and the amount of precum that leaked was embarrassing so he removed it and leaned over to his bedtable to get a new one before her hand wrapped around his wrist.

“I would really like to feel you, if you don’t mind.” She swiped some of the precum that traced down his shaft and brought it to her mouth as she sucked on it while making eye contact with him.

He crossed his arms behind his head and motioned with his eyes toward his cock. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy Carolina.”

She placed her hands on his chest and teased him by grinding her wet cunt over his bare cock. The sound of wetness was too erotic and when he looked down he could see how she was sharing her arousal with his cock and feel how much in heat she is.

She shifted her weight on his throat purposefully as she stroked him and swiped her finger over the tip making his brain fuzzy. She lubed it up with some of her wetness before locking her eyes with him, lowering herself on his length and biting her lip.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. Her bare walls hugged him perfectly, he can properly feel her cunt as his tip massaged its way inside of her.

She didn’t move for a good minute, only clenching herself around him, as he got dizzy from feeling her on him, she was like a drug, and addiction is exactly what he wanted.

“Roll your hips and do what you were born to do, ride my cock like the cowgirl you are.” He slapped her cheeks and placed his hands on her hips as he got impatient.

“Fuck you’re so much deeper this way.” She began bouncing on his cock and the sight in front of Harry was too much to handle.

Her breasts were jiggling in front of him, so he brought his head forward and buried it between them, the curve between her hips and ass was marvellous as she rode him like there’s no tomorrow.

The sound of skin slapping, and wetness filled the room, along with their loud shameless moans. Harry licked all over her breasts and bit her nipples, as his cock twitched the more she pushed his head onto her breasts.

“That’s it baby, choke me with your tits. Wish I can milk these beauties.” He lapped and sucked at her skin, groaning loudly when she tugs on his hair roots.

He straightened his posture again and looked down to where they’re connected, beads of precum were coating his shaft and her pussy, a string of shared arousal soaked their parts as he can see some of his cum on her clit, and the moment he caught a glimpse he went feral.

He suddenly uses all of his weight and effortlessly pushes her on her back, away from his cock, as they both wince at the sudden separation. She doesn’t have time to question him before he sucks hard at her clit making her let out screams. She moves his head away feeling overwhelmed as her bundle of nerves is way too swollen, making him frown in grumpiness at her move.

“Sorry pretty but I swear it was calling for me. Asking me to suck, so swollen and red it needed care. I had to taste.” He rasped before burying his face against the wetness to lather his face with it considering it his facial as he moaned loudly from having her cum all over his face.

She had to physically pry him away as his primal instinct took over and refused to leave her poor cunt alone. He was a starving man as he returned to his previous position, cock erect more than ever as he tugged on it. He motioned for her with his index and middle finger making her crawl to him.

“You’re such a slut.” Her hand wrapped around his veiny length as she brought it to her entrance yet again.

“It takes one to know one baby.” He didn’t wait for her and thrusted inside her in one swift motion making her gasp out loud and hold on to him.

“Exactly baby, there’s a reason my name is always being screamed.” They were a dynamic that represented pleasure in its best form, the lust that radiated off their bodies was primal and needy. His cock diving into her walls, creating a perfect pattern of hitting her g-spot as her clitoris bumps with his short hairs.

“Tell me Harry, how’s a Carolina girl for you.” Her hand wrapped around his throat , pressing on the sides as she bounced quickly up and down on his length.

Harry was floating on a cloud that he never wishes to leave. Her cock being gripped by her puffy cunt, and his throat by her artist hands. Fuck, was he in heaven?

“So good, tight, soft, wet. You’re everything baby.” He rolled his eyes before closing them shut, allowing himself to indulge in the pleasure she’s giving him.

“Is this why you came back? You know your roots well and how to use your hips.” He winked at her before dropping his gaze down to take in the view.

Her bounces were hitting the right spot for him and her, especially when she stills herself and does nothing but roll her hips left and right slowly but with hard rapid clenches of her walls that have a death grip on him.

He doesn’t even know where to touch, her perky nipples or her plump ass, maybe lick on her neck, tug on her hair, bury his fingers in her hips, so many worshipping methods and so little time.

He would be lying if he said that he doesn’t like the way she chokes him or that it’s his first time. Just for a minute he felt himself dose off as her grip made his brain go fuzzy, his legs numb and cock even more hungry.

But he immediately removed her hand off his throat, slapped her clit harshly and cupped her cheeks with one hand before bringing her face closer to him and kissing her swollen lips.

His mouth drifted off to her jawline and collarbone before digging his teeth into her shoulders, then nipping gently at her skin.

“I know I know, just do what you have to do. I’m only marking you.” He cooed at her hiss of pain as he rubbed her back and continued to bite all over her skin.

His touches made her swoon and lose her energy, whether it be his grip, or his kisses and bites, slapping her ass and choking her. She just couldn’t focus on riding him, and he could see it. But he knew of his teasing and how good she was for him, no one ever rode him for that long and if not for his stimulation she would’ve continued.

“I have no shame in making everyone hear your screams till dawn. Would you take it? His hands stilled her hips as she looked at him with pleading eyes, begging for a release.

“Yes, give me your cock.” She nudged her nose against his, wrapping her lips around him as she breathed in his scent along with the smell of their arousal hanging in the air.

“Oh i’ll give you everything pretty.” He wrapped a protective hand around her and leaned his body sideways to grab something as she let out a shriek at the change of positions.

Looks like he found a way to go deeper.

He smirked proudly as he placed his cowboy hat on her head, making her laugh and push at his chest. Although it was a silly move of him, but he can’t help but moan once he sees her naked body in all its glory, sweaty from the amazing sex, and his cock tucked deep inside of her as his hat with ‘Styles’ embroidered on it lays on her head.

“Hold on to me baby, I’m rougher than bulls.” He pinned his toned legs to the bed, and began plunging into her at a fast pace, it was if he was penetrating her with all that he has, he was reaching into her stomach, and the sight of her helpless above him was engraved in his mind till his death day.

“That’s fucking right, keep screaming for me. Tightest fucking pussy.” He gritted his teeth as her moans filled the room along with the sound of their skin slapping, he nearly bucked his knees when he saw how he was penetrating her wet cunt fast and rough and how good she was taking it.

“Oh I bet you’d take this cock all day after I come from work maybe follow me to the field eh?” He tweaked her nipples, and she could barely form coherent words, not when he’s everywhere.

“Yeah? A-and y-you wouldn’t leave work for me?” She managed to form a sentence sending him a devilish smirk before biting her lip and arching her back.

“Damn right, I’m never leaving this bed, you wanted cowboy cock so take it.” He manhandled her on his cock, with his arms on her waist as he lifted her up and down on his thick shaft that’s letting out sounds from their creamy arousal.

“See? I’m not letting you do any work. So spoiled and I don’t mind one bit.” She could do nothing but moan and whimper, it was as if her brain was empty of thoughts, nothing but the feeling of his cock plunging into her, with his hands roughly picking her up then bringing her down, his fingers digging deep into her skin, and his cowboy hat on her head.

It was exactly what she’s been craving.

Raw, dirty, lustful and erotic.

The heat that was between them was unbearable as if their bodies were on fire, the amount of wetness her cunt was producing made him hold on to her deeper in order to avoid slipping out.

“Oh poor baby, your cunt is getting wetter, begging for me to go deeper.” He caressed her cheek before she caught him off guard and brought her mouth around his finger, as she sucked on it inside her mouth.

“One hole isn’t good enough for you?” He tsked at her, plunging in his finger deeper down her throat as he manhandled her with his one hand only.

“Can’t wait to have your pretty mouth wrapped my cock, should’ve done that from the beginning to shut you up.” Plunge after the other and they both felt the heat in their lower abdomen, but of course more intensely than normal orgasms. That is the perk of edging.

She was on the verge of tears, the feeling in her stomach became merciless as she thought she was going to explode. It was too good, just really really good.

“Give me one reason to make you come.” He deadpanned as he slowed down his thrusts and hit deeper near her g-spot.

“I already orgasmed, you’re the one who needs a release.” She tried to act nonchalant as if she won’t pass out if he deprives her of cumming.

“Yeah? Then why is your cunt tightening around me? You came and your little pussy is still so hungry. I’m not the one begging baby.” His words made her remember the gravity of her situation and how giving her a release is now a need.

“Please I need it, so bad.” She cried out as her hands roamed his body savouring whatever she could touch.

“Cmon show me what a good girl you are, my good girl.” He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he slowed down into deep thrusts and she couldn’t resist looking at his hips rolling where the ferns are drawn.

His ring clad hands caressed her clit as he flicked it with his finger the same way a musician would with his guitar. He made sure to keep eye contact with her as he did it, all his acts have tired her and induced her ache for a release, so she dropped her forehead against his as they helped each other reach their high.

“I’m cumming fuckkkk.” She mewled scratching his back with her nails as he hissed at the feeling. He caught her lips in a sloppy kiss while they gripped each other tightly, allowing their high to pass.

He didn’t have any words to describe sex with her, let alone orgasming. He wanted to stay buried deep inside her cunt, breathe it in, lick it, devour it and worship it. How can he not be obsessed when he has never felt this way before?

They moaned into each other mouths’ as he released inside of her while she pulsated feverishly around him.

“Take my fucking cum, take what belongs to you.” He pinned her hips with his hands as ropes of cum filled her cunt to the brim. Above the amazing feeling of another orgasm, the way he released his hot arousal into her made her even more sensitive.

“Fuck Harry that’s a big load.” She whispered against his skin as he continued to let out his arousal and paint her walls white.

“Can’t help myself, you’re milking me so bad, it’s what your cunt wants not me.” Some of his cum began pooling out from where they’re connected and she felt so wet, slick and dirty.

After his flow finally stopped, he kissed her softly as they sat in a lotus position, her hands between his soft curls while his delicate fingers rubbed over the places where he caused her bruises.

“Fuck it’s like your cum is inside my stomach.” Her words made his cock twitch as he smirked during the kiss.

“I’m going to pull out and it’ll hurt a bit, but I want you to be a good girl for me and immediately sit on my face m’kay?” He planted a kiss on her cheek and looked at her face for approval which he received through a nod.

“What will you be?” He used his deep voice that makes her want to ride his cock all over again.

“Your good girl.” She whimpered feeling his cum go deep inside her pussy.

“Atta girl.”

He pulled out gently noting her wince before dropping his gaze to see a pool of cum between their thighs, as more dripped down when he moved her off his cock. He quickly laid down and pushed her pussy on his face catching their joined cum before it falls into his mouth.

She leaned her head against the headboard as tears welled inside her eyes from the amount of overstimulation she went through in one night. His hot tongue felt heavenly as he gathered the sticky cum between her thighs and labia.

But even that wasn’t enough as he flicked his tongue inside to her vulva collecting all of the cum before spitting it on her clit and sucking at it with his teeth.

“Pretty pretty pearl, engorged from my cock, so good and swollen for me.” He placed a kiss on her clitoris tenderly before she moved herself away.

“Please it’s too much.” She whimpered as she hovered over him since any contact with her pulsating cunt will make her shudder.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight, best pussy I’ll ever have.” He prepped her face with kisses, before moving down to her body parts making sure to not go close to her poor cunt, but he couldn’t help but get a whiff of her arousal.

If only he can make a perfume of it and lather it on his skin.

No one has ever treated her this way during sex and all she can think about is how no one will compare. His mouth explored her body and touched places she didn’t.

Lustful, filthy and pleasing.

She couldn’t tell the time nor care about the party that’s still ongoing, only the frustration when his lips parted from her body as he carried her to his bathroom placing her on the toilet seat.

“I’ll go change the sheets and you clean up.” He kissed her temple and left the bathroom as she heard the sound of a new duvet being pulled out.

She followed him a few minutes later after peeing and cleaning up, she leaned against the door frame with wobbly legs watching him arrange the bed for her.

The moment he saw her standing he grinned at the sight of her shaky legs, but also frowned as to why she didn’t call for him.

“First of all glad to see I did that but for next time it’s my job to carry you.” He reached her with long strides before picking her up effortlessly bridal style and placing her on the fresh sheets as she giggled against his chest.

Her mind was going left and right, she didn’t know whether to focus on the way he said “next time” nonchalantly or how he picked her up to tuck her in bed whilst being in his briefs.

She melted into the soft linen, breathing in the scent of the laundry soap, and the bed dipped beneath her as he brought his body closer to her.

“Let me go down and kick everyone out so we can sleep peacefully. It’ll take a while.” He gave her one last kiss before putting on some clean jeans and shirt as she admired his body in the moonlight that’s pooling in from the window.

He gently closed the door behind him leaving a dim lamp on, she noticed how the music faded away along with loud upset groans and the voice of Harry ordering everyone out.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t even look at the clock but she suddenly opened her eyes feeling a presence near her and arms wrapped around her body.

“It’s just me Blue Star.” He whispered in her ear as he hugged her body closer into his.

He smelled of pine and aftershave indicating that he must’ve taken a quick shower before bed as if he didn’t tire her out a while ago.

She hummed at him before closing her eyes again feeling drowsy and sleepy, the last thing she felt was his hands rubbing lotion on her wrists that were tied up as he massaged them gently and lulled her to a blissful sleep.

The moonlight that pulled her body in an embrace last night was now replaced with warm golden rays, that poked at her skin gently to wake her up from her blissful state of sleep.

The toned biceps that held her through the night are no longer there and she can quickly notice their absence, before her eyes open and before she regains consciousness.

His presence is too consuming to not notice.

She shifts to the other side stretching her hand as she roams the sheets looking for a sign of him, she finally gives up and opens her eyes to see the wrinkled sheet he left behind with his scent lingering in the air.

She can’t tell the hour but now she knows for sure that he isn’t around for she can feel his presence deep in her bones. She buries her face in his pillow breathing in what he left behind, as his duvet hugs her naked skin perfectly.

She loves rising at an early hour to relish in the peace of the morning, twisted between the bedsheets with a welcome gift from the sun as the bluebirds outside chirp and sing for her.

She can’t help but think how this morning would’ve been if he was here, would he have taken her in his bed again or stroked her hair telling her to sleep in?

She moved the duvet off her and stretched her limbs before her smile turned into a painful wince. She lifted her body with a struggle and balanced herself on her elbows while looking down at her body.

He was everywhere.

Purple bruises that stretched along her inner and outer thighs, pelvis, breasts and a bit that she was able to catch from her collarbone.

But most importantly she couldn’t move an inch without feeling him inside of her in the form of soreness, but good god it never felt this good.

She bit her bottom lip at the thought of him leaving his trace behind.

“Here I fucked her and made her scream”

“Here I gave her these bruises to remember me by”

“Here I kissed and worshipped every inch.”

Call her crazy but she can still feel his mouth on her pussy, as if he was licking her right this moment. How he penetrated her and how deep he went, looking straight into her soul as he loved on her body.

She balanced herself on her feet with a bit of pain, as she walked over to the bathroom. The soreness and pain was nothing but a gift to her that she’ll hold on to. She loved it, loved how he claimed her body, leaving himself everywhere.

The better surprise was when she looked into the mirror and got a proper look at her body, her entire chest, neck and collarbone was purple and pink. Her fingers traced over the painful love bites as she stared back into the mirror at a woman claimed by Harry Styles, the golden boy of the North.

Her eyes drifted to the edge of the mirror where a yellow sticky note was hung. She picked it up to read it as her fingers traced over the love bruises.

“Good morning pretty, I had to leave this morning for an important job, otherwise I would’ve gladly stayed in bed with you all day fucking you over and over again. Trust me when I opened my eyes and saw you laying against my chest with those perfect bruises reflecting the sun I almost quit right there and then. Did you feel my kiss to your forehead baby? I’ll see you in the evening Carolina, and you better wear these bruises proudly.”

- H

Her giggle filled the room as she reread the note repeatedly like a young girl with a school crush. She hid it somewhere safe as she plans to keep it in her memory box. She walked around the room a bit and gazed at the bruises before finally stepping into the bath, feeling a bit sad about washing him away from her body but also grinning while his pine shower gel sticks all over her skin.

Confusion was a feeling that she rarely encountered. She was a girl that organised her every move and thought, she dislikes not having a plan and the thing she despises more than messy areas is messy situations.

She has only one day left in heaven before she leaves for Washington, where she has a new semester to begin. Yes she longs for home every single day, for her family, for Carolina, the bonds with everyone, the food, the people, the serenity. But these five days were not planned.

She didn’t plan to grow attached to a hot cowboy that teases her whenever he can, shows her a good time, is a good man and isn’t afraid of expressing his fondness of her.

Where can she fit a last-minute plan?

She has had hook-ups before despite not being a one-night stand girl, but again she only slept with people who matched her plan that helped her stay on the right lane.

Sleep with people you know you won’t get attached to / people that won’t make it awkward.

She is still in Montana and her brain is with Harry, in which category does this messed up plan fall?

Mentioning it to Harry or even talking about it is out of the question. She may have an inkling about moving forward and liking him, but she can’t exactly ask him where do they see themselves standing when she’s known him for what a couple of days?

Even these few days were able to tell her that Harry is not the commitment type, showing her a good time during sex and being a gentleman does not necessarily indicate that he likes her, it’s simply him being Harry.

It would be a bit clingy of her to tell him she likes him, she thinks. Besides sexual attraction isn’t enough. Surely she can survive without him right?

After all staying away is the best option to keep her heart safe, this way she’ll avoid embarrassment and trouble. She highly doubts that Harry feels the same way.

It’s barely ten in the morning and her train of thoughts is already on the move, she sighs as she shuts the front door to her house, wondering how she mustered up the courage to leave Harry’s house, his warm bed that has his scent and return home.

Her family’s house is oddly quiet, there’s no loud talking, laughter, bickering or the sound of the oven and smell of food. She checks every room only to end up with the conclusion that she is in fact alone.

A little note was placed on her bed obviously written by her mother. “What’s up with everyone leaving notes?” She mumbled under her breath before picking up the paper.

“Darling, we left town to run errands. Enjoy your day but please free yourself at night, The Miller’s invited us to their bar and the whole town will be there.”

Xoxo, your mama.

She isn’t sure how the night arrived.

She tried so hard to pass the day, allow the darkness to take over but it just wouldn’t. She managed to draw two sketches of bunnies and lambs before her heart took over and began drawing green eyes.

It wasn’t until the light disappeared from the sky that she noticed how her hand worked nonstop, as two sketches of Harry lay before her.

The first one has traces of last night, Harry’s naked body on the sheets, his legs tightly entwined with hers, his curls are messy and lips sightly parted. The moonlight from the window casts a light that makes him appear like a fallen angel. It seems that the sun envies him, and the moon adores him.

He looks so blissful and pretty in the sketch, the more she stares at it the more she recalls his touch and how it felt.

The second sketch is him working in their ranch, she really outdid herself with this one as it makes her squirm around in her seat.

He’s shirtless and adorned with sweat, a hammer in his hand with his head dropped down, nothing appearing from his face but the cowboy hat. She managed to draw some of his tattoos, especially the ferns that peek from his hips and the butterfly on his toned abs.

These two sketches are deeply engraved in her mind, as she brought to life two of her favourite memories surrounding Harry, she looks at them in awe feeling selfish for the first time in her life.

There’s no way in hell she’s sharing it with anyone.

So she hides them somewhere safe in her room and decides on taking them to university with her to recall the good times, even if it’s a risky move.

She stretched her muscles feeling a bit sore from her position all day long (and last night), before noticing that it’s nearly 8:30 in the evening.

“Fuck, the bar!” She cursed under her breath as she quickly ran across the room to dress up.

The Miller’s bar has never been this crowded.

People were pooling from other towns, as they filled the area with laughter and dancing. It was hard to locate her parents amidst the sea of cowboy hats, but once she did she stuck next to them.

She didn’t have to apologise for being late since it took her a total of twenty minutes to get dressed up in a short beige dress and drive to the bar.

Maggy surprised her from behind before hugging her and greeting her parents, the music was loud and random strangers from other towns kept coming in to greet her parents and her despite not knowing them.

The whiskey was harsh on her tongue as it kept reminding her of someone else who likes it until her thoughts travelled to the taste of something else.

Random men and women bumped into her then apologised due to the crowded space, she’d hate such events usually but the whole vibe was amazing.

Northern people were gathered around together, the young are getting to know each other and making plans while the elders are catching up. As she looked around, she knew that this feeling is what she lives for. This is home.

Maggy was whispering jokes in her ear about people attending making her let out a loud laugh as they try and hold it still by drinking more. They balanced each other as the laughter was hard to control but eventually they refilled their drinks and decided to separate to avoid further embarrassment.

It suddenly clicked to her that Maggy unintentionally distracted her from thinking about Harry. During the ride here, all she could think about was him, will he like her dress? What will he say to her? Is he going to be there even?

Her parents were occupied with someone, and everyone around her was either drinking and chatting or dancing to the beat of the loud music. She took a sip of her drink as she looked around for a trace of him.

Even though some men had their backs turned to her, she knew none were him. She’d recognize him in a sea of cowboys.

She began to get anxious at the thought of him not being here. That means she’ll only see him tomorrow since she can’t leave, not when her parents have asked of her to attend, not when she’s having too much fun.

She was about to give up as she sipped her last drink before catching a glimpse of someone from her peripheral vision, she averted her gaze properly only to find him leaning against a wall, with a beer bottle in his hand while he stares at her intently.

He must’ve been doing that ever since she arrived because his figure was covered with people who chatted with him, but she was able to feel a pair of eyes staring through her back.

Her lips twitched when she locked eyes with him and his grin grew bigger, as if they were the only people in the room, the music faded, and he refused to remove his eyes off her. Not even when a girl came and flirted with him, he didn’t bat an eye or turn to her, nor speak.

His brain was consumed her, if you looked inside all you’d hear is Carolina,Carolina,Carolina…

He winked at her and puckered his lips, sending her a flying kiss as she blushed at his gesture before looking around to make sure no one saw him, not that they’d be in trouble. But it was for her and her only.

When she turned her gaze back, she didn’t find him standing there. So she looked at every corner only to find it occupied by a couple. She even expected him to surprise her from behind, but he had completely vanished into thin air.

An echo of a microphone grabbed everyone’s attention as they shuffled near the stage, while she followed behind.

“Good evening Montana! Hope you’re all having fun.” Tim Miller spoke to the crowd that responded with cheering.

“I got a really good treat for you tonight. You’re all going to be blessed with the music of Harry Styles.” Tim shouted excitedly as the cheering grew larger upon hearing Harry’s name.

So he disappeared because he wants to perform? Touché .

She thought about their road trip together and how she’d want to hear his voice one day. She just didn’t expect it to be so soon, but she can also feel her heart thumping at the thought of him singing and performing.

She felt the nudge and presence of someone near her who turned out to be Maggy. “Oh he’s going to sing, and you got us front seats.” Her parents stood next to Maggy as they all waited for Harry to begin singing.

Once he set foot on stage, the chanting of his name began. She had already done that yesterday in bed, but now her new panties began to gather wetness that her cunt cannot seem to hold.

He was a sight for sore eyes.

Tight Levi’s, brown leather jacket with nothing under it, a guitar strapped around his waist and the same cowboy hat he placed on her head last night.

He smirked and sent flying kisses to the crowd before looking down at her and giving his charming grin.

“I won’t say the name of this song, but the muse knows themselves.” He whispered with his lips against the microphone as his remark made everyone let out an ‘Oooh’ as the girls giggled.

A nice beat began to form as Harry dropped his gaze to her and moved his hands on the guitar. Her body was on fire as she thought about the possibilities behind the ‘muse’. How would she feel if it was someone else or even if it was her with the presence of her parents and Maggy?

He screamed ‘Oh Yeah’ into the microphone as he swayed around to the tune that sounds a bit Northern before he began singing.

‘She’s got a family in Carolina

So far away, but she says I remind her of home.

Feeling oh so far from home’

She felt the colour drain from her face as Maggy gave her a side eye. Not only was she the ‘muse’ but he had the audacity to use lyrics that are obviously pointing towards her.

‘She never saw herself as a westcoaster

Moved all the way cause her grandma told her

“Better swim before you drown”

He was singing it with a proud smile plastered across his face, the crowd was dancing and cheering as some girls pretended that it’s about them. His eyes locked with hers as a curl fell on his forehead before he continued singing.

‘She’s a good girl

She’s such a good girl

She’s a good girl

She feels so good’

He moaned loudly into the microphone while keeping eye contact with her as the lyrics brought back memories of his touch. At this point her face was tomato red and she tried not to appear flustered while Maggy laughed and her parents looked around, as if they’re trying to catch a hint.

‘She’s got a book for every situation

Gets into parties without invitation

How could you ever turn her down?”

His voice was perfect with a subtle obsession appearing the more he sang, his body was glued to the microphone stand, if he didn’t have his eyes shut he’d look at her and only her. She wondered if he’s closing his eyes to recall the events, how she crashed the bonfire, had a box full of books and how he almost ran to the bedroom at his party.

‘There’s not a drink that I think could sink her

How would I tell her that she’s all I think about

Well I guess she just found it’

He danced along swaying his body left and right, smiling like an idiot at his confessions in front of everyone. It seemed that they were enjoying the song, she couldn’t blame them. He had an angelic voice, and the tune was mesmerizing.

‘She’s a good girl

She’s such a good girl

She’s a good girl

She feels so good

She feels so good’

More shameless moans left his lips as she finally figured that he’s imitating her own moans. He grinded his body against the mic with every time he said ‘good girl’. She’s surprised a whimper didn’t leave his lips. Maggy knew what was going on and pretended to be clueless.

‘I met her once and wrote a song about her

I wanna scream ,yeah

I wanna shout it out

And I hope she hears me now’

He raised his hands on both sides just like when he was riding the bull and prompted the crowd to cheer more. He dropped his hand on purpose making his finger point at her before diverting it and smirking when her eyes widened.

He was simply an unserious man.

His moans and grinding only seemed to increased, and his attire was not helping. The way he was shameless about everything, singing about her encounters with him, subtle details that she doesn’t even remember saying.

‘ La la la la, la la la la la la la ‘

He kept repeating it as the audience went crazy including a girl who convinced her friends that it’s about her. He looked so joyful and above the clouds as he sang.

‘She’s a good girl

She’s such a good girl

She’s a good girl

She feels so good

Oh, she’s a good girl”

He bit his bottom lip at the last sentence, gripping tightly to the stand as he grinded his crotch repeatedly. She stood watching him knowing damn well that she is probably dripping down her thighs.

She is not sure what’s hotter. Him singing about her in front of a big crowd, or how he looked like he was recalling yesterday’s sex. She was still flustered nonetheless, her cheeks were painted red, and she kept biting on her nails and clenching her thighs.

‘She feels so good

Oh yeah

Oh yeah’

He ended the song with sensuality, as he if looked into the crowd with pleading eyes that say ‘ I swear she’s good’. She almost fell on her knees right there and then when he did that .

“In case you didn’t guess, the song is called Carolina.” He chuckled lightly and stepped off the stage making all the girls swoon and follow after him.

“The song seems so familiar , I just can’t pinpoint it!” She heard her mother talking to her father as he agreed with her, in awe of Harry’s talent. She had totally forgotten that her parents were standing right next to her, she has never been this troubled and flustered in her entire life.

She looked like she was about to pass out from how red her face was ,her chest was heaving and ears ringing as Maggy poked at her skin and teased her.

Harry Styles just performed a song about her in front of the whole town and her parents, while being explicit in his lyrics making sure to let everyone know how good her pussy is.

The way he grinded against the mic, imitated her moans, locked eyes with her and was just so proud about it made her want to fight and fuck him at the same time.

She left Maggy hanging in the middle of the room as she stormed inside to where Harry headed. She rarely went there so she isn’t even sure where she’s going or if she’ll find him.

She passed by closed storage rooms, employees only rooms and random bathrooms till she was met with a room that she has never seen before. The sign on the door said ‘Miller Family Only’. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Her hand wrapped around the door knob as the door creaked open, the light was on and the room was basically turned into a home. Yellow light bulbs, cozy sofa in the middle, a mini refrigerator and a closet.

“Took you long enough Carolina.” He popped out from behind the door making her jolt back and raise a hand to her chest.

“Fuck you! What is up with you?” She shouted in anger before she closed the door and locked it.

“I’m not the one creeping around baby-“

“I meant the fucking song Harry.” She gritted her teeth as their faces were inches apart.

“You said you wanted to hear my voice.” He whispered using his low deep voice while placing his hands on her waist.

All of her questions and plans to argue flew out of the window when his body got close to her, and his eyes darkened. Suddenly the wetness in between her legs was getting more and more noticeable.

“You performed it in front of everyone including my parents! When did you even write that?” She tried to maintain her sanity to not get distracted by his wandering hands.

“I’m just telling everyone how good you are for me. Wrote it today in under an hour, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He nibbled at her earlobe as he groaned and pressed her body closer to him.

“You’re unbelievable , and fucking crazy.” She dug her nails into his back right where she scratched last night making him hiss.

“You’re so hot when you’re angry, I just got a boner.” She can feel his bulge against her dress while she placed her hands on his toned abs.

“Tell me one thing baby, is it still sore here?” He cooed bringing down his hand to her pussy before cupping it with ring clad hand making her shudder.

“Yes it’s so sore.” His grip on her cunt had her holding on to him as she felt herself pulsate rapidly.

“Not only is it achy from my cock, but my singing too? Was gonna hide this from me?” He tsked rubbing slow circles above the fabric.

She was withering under his touch, as her brain kept rewinding to his performance. Him singing ‘good girl’ was all she could think about.

“I’m not sure i’m happy about you hiding these bruises. You ruined my art.” He put on a frustrated tone while he traced her neck, wondering if he should wipe all that makeup.

“You really want to embarrass me in front of everyone don’t you?” She brought her hand slowly down to his pants and toyed with his button.

“No i’m just proud of what I did baby.” He pinned her against the wall and caught her lips in a sloppy kiss.

Their bodies were unbelievably responsive to each other. Like a primal instinct that comes out whenever they’re close to one another. He was grinding onto her as she began getting flashbacks from their sex.

She abruptly pushed his head away by cupping his cheeks catching him off guard.

“Apparently I’m a good girl. What about you? Should we see if you’re a good boy.” His pupils dilated at her words and she’s surprised that he didn’t drool.

“W-what?” He muttered under his breath as he swallowed down his throat.

“I want to suck your cock and I want you to moan loudly to let everyone know that you’re a good boy.” Her switch made him twitch in his pants, as he looked into her doe eyes that will be the death of him.

“Want to put those lips on my cock?” He traced his finger over her bottom lip, thinking about all the ways he can fuck her throat.

“Hmm I really want a taste, it’s not fair that you got one and I didn’t.” She pouted pretending to be quite upset about it.

Harry’s head was spinning 180°. He was holding himself back from cumming in his pants and fuck was it hard.

“Good girls help good boys to cum don’t they.” He took her hand after unbuttoning his Levi’s and guided it inside his briefs.

His lips hovered over hers as his raspy voice went straight to her cunt where her clitoris was throbbing. He stared at her with hungry eyes, as if he’s promising to ruin her.

“It’s so hard. What’s causing you this pain hmm?” It seemed that he should give up and allow her to take over as he nearly whimpers every time she opens her mouth.

“You. You in this fucking dress, my good girl. Your warm cunt, your body. Fuck!” He cursed loudly as she swiped her finger over his leaking tip.

She didn’t pay much attention to Harry’s whines, instead she brought her finger to her mouth, shoved it all the way in tasting his cum while rolling her eyes and moaning.

“Good taste from a good boy.” Harry’s brain simply wasn’t working. He stared at her with puppy eyes and parted lips.

It wasn’t until he felt her hot tongue on his abs that he returned to reality and saw her kissing all over his midsection while gradually kneeling the lower she went. Her hands roamed his body as she left kisses everywhere.

“Fucks sake” He muttered under his breath, gripping on to the door handle as she kissed his clothed cock beneath his briefs.

She palmed him through the fabric while looking up at him with innocent eyes as if she doesn’t want to drain him from cum. She massaged him gently and pressed kisses, while he tried not to buckle his knees.

“I wonder how you’ll feel around my mouth, maybe if I push it deep enough it’ll make my throat sore just like my pussy.” She spoke every word with confidence as she freed his cock from the briefs, it stood up hard and proud against his stomach. Now that she sees it up close, she can tell how thick and big he is. Maybe because he’s swollen and erect but nonetheless she now has a justification for her cunt’s ache.

“Oh poor baby you’re twitching.” She enjoyed watching him lose his restraint and sanity at the same time. His cock was uncontrollably twitching as it leaked precum from the tip.

“Put me in your mouth baby.” He panted between words feeling dizzy just from seeing her on her knees. He wants them bruised just like the rest of her body.

She resumed her work as if he didn’t just speak and brought her hand down to her panties fingering her cunt and gathering wetness on it before spitting and wrapping her hand on his cock.

He tipped his head backwards and rolled his eyes at her action, her wetness was on his cock. She used her cum as lube.

She stroked his cock slowly and pressed pecks to his length, before twirling her tongue on his tip as if it’s a lollipop. She palmed his balls between her hand making him groan and look down at her while she licked a long strip from the base to the tip gathering all the precum that leaked. Then, she opened her mouth showing him her tongue that’s painted with her cum.

“Was that what you wanted? A good girl’s tongue on your big cock?” she teased him more by bringing the tip to her mouth only to leave a kiss.

“What I want is for you to suck my cock, gag on it, and swallow my cum like the good girl you are.” He took matters into his own hands and wrapped his hand around her hair before guiding his length to her lips.

She took him inside her mouth with a mischievous look glowing in her eyes, she allowed him to use her mouth, but Harry barely felt her hot tongue for a few moments and almost collapsed on the ground.

She bobbed her head around him, with one hand massaging his balls and brought half of his cock inside before pulling out and spitting the joined saliva and precum over it.

“Doing so good for me, do what you were born to do.” He let out audible moans at the feeling of her tongue lapping and sucking on his cock. His salty precum flooded her mouth, and she was confused whether to spit or swallow.

He hissed at her tight grip to the base, she was squeezing him harshly while bobbing her head fast on his shaft, her cheeks were hollowed, and her lips became swollen and rosy pink just like his cock.

“Squeezing me so bad aren’t you? So desperate for my cum down that pretty throat.” She dug her nails in his thighs that were tensing and pushed him all the way in.

The sound of gagging and moaning filled the room as her nose nudged some of the hairs at his base, she looked at him with ‘fuck me eyes’ making him push her head against his cock as it fills up her mouth, without letting her breathe, simply having him deep down her throat.

He felt her reaching for his other hand, guiding him to her neck where she let him trace the bulge from his cock down her throat making him let out an animalistic groan and pull out.

She gasped for air as a trail of saliva fell from the corners from her mouth, Harry’s breath was laboured and his chest was heaving as his cock twitched and leaked precum on the ground beneath them. Her mouth was merciless.

He swiped some of the saliva from her lips and brought it inside with his thumb as she sucked on it passionately.

“Love my cock in any way don’t you? Inside your cunt or throat you’ll take it and allow me to rearrange your insides.” He chuckled stroking her hair before motioning for her to continue sucking.

“Use my mouth for your cock.” She begged with a needy scratchy voice and that was all it took him before he tugged harshly on her hair and shoved his cock inside of her mouth.

His hips rolled forward as he thrusted in and out just like she wanted, she was gagging and holding on to his thighs as he fucked her throat roughly.

Some of her saliva and his precum pooled from her mouth as she choked repeatedly on his thick cock.

“Looks like my good girl is a whore after all, take all of it no complaints.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as her hot tongue licked on his protruding veins.

She was just so good.

He can hear her subtle moaning and how she’s squirming around and humping against the air. He slowed down allowing her breath to avoid passing out and took in her messy face. His cum leaking from her mouth, her hair stuck to her forehead and drool leaving her lips as she gasps for air while focusing on his cock.

“Did sucking me off make you horny?” He tilted her chin up to him fawning over her nod since he fucked her so good she can’t speak.

“Cmon milk me baby.” She continued bobbing her head against him and licking not caring that he can hear her moans and how much she’s enjoying it.

She took control adjusting her knees before she swirled her tongue the tip and sucked harshly while she fondled with his balls. The sight of her on her knees before him, with a messy face, raspy voice and amazing tongue was enough to tip him off the edge.

“Take all of my cum, fucking take it.” He groaned audibly as he released ropes of warm white cum into her mouth. His moans were angelic as she gracefully had her mouth wide open while he dumped his load inside.

His knees buckled and his breathing was staggered while he watched her accept all of his arousal greedily and swallow it down her throat as if she’s taking juice.

He couldn’t handle it anymore, so he lifted her off the ground and crashed his lips onto hers, tasting his salty cum and her saliva while she wrapped her arms around him and rutted her hips against his bare cock.

“Fuck I’m not sure which is better, my cum leaking from your cunt or mouth.”

“Tastes so good Harry.”

He pinned her against the door as he made out with her for what felt like forever, her lips were already swollen from sucking him and his cock was now erect again from her soft moans and rutting.

“We- should go back.” She mumbled in between kisses making him whine like a little kid.

He looked at the clock indicating that they’ve been gone for thirty minutes and must head back. He began tucking himself inside his briefs before she grabbed his wrists and gave him a devilish smirk.

Her hand trailed down to his shaft that was still leaking a small amount of cum that she swiped on her finger and smeared all over her lips.

“I forgot my lip balm at home.” Harry inhaled a sharp breath at her act and slapped her ass cheeks roughly.

“My fucking minx.”

Taglist: @prettythingsworld @missmielyhoran @slut4marvelmenn @fullofstyles @cherrycokeslay @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @grapejuicebluesrry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @swiftmendeshoran @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @cherryscinema @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @soblavk @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @victoria-styles

If your tag is red it didn’t work

A/n: Soooo the weather??🥵

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pigfacedbitch · 10 months

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It's A Trap!

summary : Prince Arthur uses reader to lure Merlin out whenever he is hiding from him.

word count : 0.5k

type : imagines

pairing/s involved : Merlin x Reader (?)

warning/s : none. just Merlin pining over reader and Arthur being an ass.

here is my masterlist!

Note : I thought of this when I watched the clip where Arthur is looking for Merlin and he was hiding behind the door. 😂 It was a one shot before and I heavily edited it too.

There is no denying that Prince's Arthur's manservant is in love with (Y/N), a noble lady from one of the most prestigious houses in Camelot.

Everyone, even Arthur himself, knows it. And that's saying something. 🫢😂

From the way Merlin would stare at you with heart in his eyes, how he would follow you everywhere like a dog, or his ears pick up whenever he hears your name.

Gaius almost wants to take a leaf out of Van Gogh's book and tear off his own ears because Merlin wouldn't shut up about you. He also writes about you in his letters for Hunith.

Now, does Arthur take advantage of it? Of course, he does. Like,"Do you know Lady (Y/N) would be there?" or "If you fetch flowers for Gwen, you could also get some for your lady love."

The epitome of the statement, however, is making you his trap. Confused? I'll explain further later.

"Merlin?! Where are you?!"

It's very common for the palace staff to hear the prince of Camelot blaringly calling out to his manservant. Although some people catch Merlin scurrying away from him or has an idea of his whereabouts, no one bothers to tell Arthur anything.

After all, it's completely understandable and why many servants can empathize. As admirable and honorable the prince is, he can be a handful at times.

That's where you come in.

Whenever Arthur has given up searching for Merlin, he would search for you instead.

He often finds you in the gardens with the other noble ladies, helping some servants with menial tasks, or having tea with Morgana and Gwen. Uther enjoys your company too, making the usual stoic ruler laugh and gossip.

"May I excuse Lady (Y/N)? I need her assistance with something."

"Is it Merlin again?"

"...Yes."

You would go to Gaius' chambers, the kitchens, servant's quarters, or anywhere Merlin could've gone to. Then, you would tell anyone that you're looking for him to speak about personal matters and you'll be waiting for him with a place of your choice.

Arthur would wait with you, but he's hiding where Merlin can't see him.

Why do you continue helping the royal prat? It's because you find it funny.

You're also curious, thinking how long will it take Merlin to stop seeking you out because most of the time it's just one of Arthur's traps.

The prince's knights bet on it. Gwaine and Leon are winning— saying how Merlin will never learn.

It's true, he doesn't. I guess love does make you an idiot.

Merlin always approaches you with a beaming grin on his face and blushed cheeks, acting like a lovesick school boy.

"My lady, you were looking for me?"

"Well you see..."

Arthur would wait for Merlin to get closer before grabbing the manservant in his clutches.

"Here you are, you idiot!"

Sometimes Merlin would free himself and run, sometimes he doesn't and Arthur would drag him away while warning him of possible punishments.

But he never misses the chance to look back and give you the most charming smile anyone has ever graced you with.

"Merlin really loves you, doesn't he?" You hear Gwen beside you, linking your arm with hers. Nervous and worried, you reply—

"Yes. I just hope that I get to tell Merlin that I share his affections. But Arthur is always with him."

#bbc merlin #bbc merlin x reader #bbc merlin imagine #merlin #emrys #merlin imagine #merlin x reader #arthur #arthur pendragon #fluff #arthur pendragon x reader #arthur pendragon imagine #arthur x reader #colin morgan #bradley james #bbc merlin preferences #bbc merlin headcanons

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hangmanbrainrot · 1 year

Text

more than this

a/n: HI. Me again! After talking with @rosiahills22, I simply HAD to give this idea a whirl. I hope y’all enjoy! Reader’s callsign is Van Gogh (to be explained) and I don’t use Y/N. :) special thanks to @bradshawsbitch for the encouragement. :’)

warnings: so much mutual pining, dash of angst toward the end. Generally, all my posts are 18+ because I don’t want minors interacting with my page! Probably naval inaccuracies.

word count: 3975

summary: You and Jake have been best friends for years now… Why mess with a good thing?

pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader, Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader — callsign: Van Gogh

“Vee, you aren’t seriously wearing that to Family Day.”

You glanced down at your striped sleep pants and faded Navy t-shirt, then whirled around to look up at the oh so familiar source of the question. Lieutenant Jake Seresin, in the flesh. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt, jeans, and black leather-banded watch on his wrist. His signature toothpick was missing from its usual post between his lips.

“You clean up nice,” you retorted, ignoring his initial remark. “And I thought we agreed, no call signs today.”

You ‘tsk’ed at him and turned back toward your laundry basket, then bending to pick it up and hold it at your hip.

“You have one of the coolest callsigns, besides mine, of course. What’s wrong with Van Gogh?”

“I got it because I dropped my books and everyone saw all the doodles in the margins of my notes. And it doesn’t even make sense, because Van Gogh was a painter. At least yours has a cool story, I mean—”

He said your name, low and sweet, to cut you off. The two of you weren’t about to rehash that story again.

“Better.” This earned you a smile. “I told you, I’m not going this year. I’m just gonna hang out here, take advantage of the empty lounge, and chill.”

“And I told you, my mother demanded to see you. In fact, I’d dare say she’s more excited to see you than she is to see me.”

“Can you blame Mrs. Seresin for having taste?” you replied easily, the teasing lilt to your voice unmistakable as you flashed Jake a megawatt smile.

“I’m absolutely telling on you, when I see her. ‘Mrs. Seresin’ instead of Sandy, as requested.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you shot back, mock horror covering your features.

“Can, could, and would. Get dressed, Vee. Families will be here before you know it!”

The way that Jake departed after speaking let you know it wasn’t up for debate.

———————————————————————————————————

You heard Jamie and Courtney before you saw them, their familiar, slightly shrill voices carrying over the crowd of people all waiting for their own aviator to make an appearance. Jake’s older and younger sisters had always treated you like the additional sibling they’d never had, but on a day like today, it made your heart ache. You knew, of course, not everyone was lucky enough to find a kind family to adopt them the way the Seresins had adopted you. Even Robert Seresin himself — gruff as he was, he had a you-sized soft spot, much like his son. Though good luck getting either of the Seresin men to admit it.

You smiled as you spun on your heel, ready to retreat. Content to revel in the knowledge that you were loved, but too heavy-hearted to witness it today. You’d beat Jake here, somehow, so maybe you could slip out without his notice, either. Come up with some feeble story about suddenly coming down with a migraine, and nurse your ache alone, with your mounds of freshly laundered clothing, once you were sure he and his family had departed for the day.

But instead of proceeding forward, you collided with navy cotton and ginger and leather and… Jake. Had he always smelled this good?

“Hi, I was just,” you pushed out, before being interrupted. Why were you so nervous, all of a sudden? It was just Jake.

“Trying to ditch me. Darlin’, my feelings are hurt.” The tips of your ears burned red with embarrassment, even as your stomach did backflips over the way his accent thickened on the word ‘darlin’.’

“Sorry, Jake.” You didn’t even have the wherewithal to hide the giggle leaking into your words. But you were smart enough to play it off. “I was just going to get a jacket.”

“Vee, it’s July.”

“Yes, I do have a calendar and I can read!” Your eye roll was practically involuntary. “I just get cold sometimes in the AC.”

A lopsided grin slid onto his features while he aimed a pointer finger at himself. “Human furnace. Let’s go!”

Before you could protest, he was slinging an arm around your shoulders and all but crushing you into his side. “I think this outfit is much more appropriate for a trip off base.” It sounded like he was testing the compliment. And, truthfully, you liked this particular combination of white cap-sleeve blouse and jeans quite a bit yourself, too. But it was nice of him to notice. Then again, you couldn’t recall a time when Jake hadn’t noticed you, not since the beginning of your friendship. He was just always so checked in with you. Always so present. If you squinted, you could call it attentiveness.

“Jacob Michael Seresin, it is rude to keep your mother waiting! And where is — there she is, there’s my girl.”

Before either of you could inhale, a head of blond hair identical to Jake’s came bounding toward you, Sandra Seresin bundling you up in her arms like she hadn’t seen you in years, rather than the months it had been since the last time she had seen you via FaceTime.

You hugged Sandy a little tighter, as if you were afraid you would disappear if you let go. If it weren't for this woman and her family, holding onto you — in more ways than one — you often feared no one would remember you at all. No one to be on the receiving end of a phone call or a folded flag, if you didn't make it home one day. You would just… cease to exist. Quietly. Perhaps that was fitting, considering that was exactly how you lived your life.

You were your parents' only child, and they were gone. Well, your father was, anyway. Your mother never recovered after his sudden death, and had taken to self-medicating to ease the pain of his loss. Which, sure, you got, once you were old enough, but you were still small and new to the world, when the light that was your father went out. No one is ready to lose a parent they're close to, but certainly not when they're five. And it felt like you'd lost her, too, by the time you were 10. Moved out by the time you were 16. So, she wasn't gone, but there was no relationship to be had. You knew, of course, that if something did happen to you, they'd find her. But who would she be mourning? You had lived a whole life she knew nothing about; you had become an entirely new person. Someone she knew nothing about, but that the Seresins knew like the backs of their hands. Courtney was filling your hands with your favorite candy on the walk to the parking lot, and Jamie's kids were telling you about how they were doing in school.

Maybe someone, maybe a few someones would remember you. And fondly, you hoped.

At the height of the day, the sun was relentless, but as you walked beside Jake in the parking lot, you couldn't help noticing it made his hair the perfect shade of blond, and rendered his eyes the color of sea-glass.

"You know they just missed you," he chirped, misreading your expression and mistaking your melancholy for annoyance.

"No, no," you said softly. "It's nice to be missed. I just.."

"Today is hard," he finished your sentence matter-of-factly, and without any sort of air of pity. You heard, in its place, respect. He had no idea how you felt, but he'd always left space in your friendship for you to feel it. And, in true Jake fashion, he'd tried to fix it, by introducing you to his family, all those years ago, now. You'd only known each other a few months, then. But he didn't want you to be alone. And, the truth was, you hadn't been. Not since the moment you met him. All you ever felt when you were with Jake was ease. Comfort.

Your hand found Jake’s without thinking, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re my best friend, Jake. And I will not hesitate to kick your ass if you tell anyone how soft I got.”

You glanced over at Jake just in time to watch an unreadable emotion cloud his expression. Before you had time to think it over, he was squeezing your hand. “I’ll always keep all your secrets, Vee. Including that you prefer green Jolly Ranchers, even though blue are clearly superior.”

—————

The Seresins took you and Jake to a small diner off base, and it was today that you learned it was Jake’s favorite. You all sat in a booth toward the back, bunched up together in the cushioned semi-circle bench. Jake’s warm thigh brushed against yours, and you’d be lying if you didn’t notice the jolt that went through you, every time those thick cords of muscle pressed against you when he laughed, or when he reached forward to grasp one of the menus wedged between the matching salt and pepper shakers on the table.

With an arm lazily draped on the booth behind you, fingers loosely grazing your shoulder every so soften, Jake opened a menu for you to share.

“Well, what do you think, darlin’?”

“How did I not know this was your favorite place?” You asked, ignoring the question he was obviously asking you.

But he indulged you. “This was the first year I actually convinced you to come with us.”

“Convinced? I felt slightly bullied, Seresin.” You grinned, in spite of yourself.

“Forgive me for wanting to spend a little time with you, darlin’.” He sounded almost coy. You glanced up at him, at the same time he looked over at you, and found that ‘butterflies’ were an understatement for what that look was currently doing to your insides. It felt like a cross between adoration and desire, but what was even wilder was that Jake’s expression seemed to mirror your own — which was absurd because it was Jake. Jake, who always made sure you never got left behind; Jake, who sometimes pulled his punches with you when he was ragging on you over the comms. Yeah, that Jake, your Jake was looking at you like… that?

But then you heard Jake’s dad clear his throat from across the table and you and Jake glanced up like you’d been caught doing something far less innocuous. Your mind worked overtime trying to decipher what just happened here but the moment flickered and burnt out before you, and the conversation moved on like a film unpaused.

Despite the fact that his entire family was here, it felt like Jake couldn’t bear to take his eyes off you for a moment, not that you were complaining. And it was something his mother noticed, too.

“So, between the two of you, who do you think is the better pilot?” Courtney teased, a mischievous glint visible in the hazel of her irises.

But then Jake said your name at the same time you said his, causing you both to turn to each other in surprise, mouths agape.

“Stop being modest,” he accused, almost immediately. Part of you wanted to make special note of this moment, record it somehow. So that the next time Jake decided to have a pissing contest with some other pilot, you could chime in and remind him it didn’t matter, since he thought you were the best anyway. You went to shove at his chest, but your hand — and your heart — stuttered with you made contact. He was so solid. Just firm muscle and warm skin. When your gaze dared drift upward, he was blushing. Your comment, voicing the observation, would die on your lips, as your server returned to the table with a tray full of milkshakes. Leave it to Jamie to secure dessert when you weren’t looking.

—————

When the meal had run its course and everyone was preparing for the trip back to base, you couldn’t help but hang back a little bit, just to take it all in. Jake was indulging Courtney in one of those rare, long bear hugs, while Jamie and his mother ran off to the bathroom, and his dad made small talk with another patron seated at the diner’s counter. In spite of your resistance, this family had yanked you, kicking and screaming, into their lives. Whether you’d found them or they’d found you didn’t matter, what mattered was the moment unfolding before you. You wished you could wrap it around you and let it warm you from the inside out.

You weren’t sure when Jake had released Courtney to return to your side, or when the rest of his family had filtered out the diner’s front doors, so you jumped when you heard his voice from beside you.

“You okay, sugar?” He was close enough that you could smell the tang of his cologne — softer than before, but still present — and feel the body heat rolling off of him in waves. You practically ached with the desire to move, to be touching him in some way, and the ferocious way this feeling roared to life within you startled you. Instead of giving in to that yearning to touch, you spun around and put some distance between you, eyes trained on him. You were desperate to find out what had changed, but when you gazed into Jake’s eyes. You just saw him, you just felt him. Nothing else had changed. But maybe nothing had needed to. High stakes situations meant you were constantly filtering out your emotions: keep, alter, discard; keep, alter, discard. You rifled through feelings often before you took a breath. It felt silly to question whether or not you’d simply overlooked or ignored your feelings for your best friend all along, but what else could be true? It wasn’t the way you felt about him that was new; no, it was the sudden impulse to do something about it that felt like an unscratchable itch.

You took a nearly imperceptible step closer, and Jake mirrored your actions. He said your name softly, cautiously.

But then, from behind: “Hey, is everybody else outside?”

Jamie’s voice was like cold water to the face. Still, you nodded, regaining the distance between yourself and Jake. You blinked a few times, as if you were hitting some sort of invisible reset button in your mind.

Keep, alter, discard.

You were silent, the entire ride back to base. You went through the motions of ‘see-you-next-time’’s and ‘take-care’’s, and stood in the parking lot until Robert’s truck was completely out of view.

“Thanks for today,” you mumbled, without looking up at Jake, then spinning on your heels to head back inside. There was still enough of the day that you could get your laundry done if you headed straight in and got to work, you just had to —

Jake’s hand on your wrist stopped you in your tracks. Your skin was tingling where his fingers were wrapped around you. Jaw set, you clenched, mouth forming a straight line. You were back on base now; you were back to being naval aviators. There wasn’t any room for these silly little schoolgirl feelings Jake inspired in you. You didn’t get to twirl your hair and bat your eyelashes and fall head over heels for your best friend. Instead, you got to linger somewhere painfully between ‘duty bound’ and ‘already in over your head.’

“What is it, Jake?” You hadn’t yet turned to face him, and that was an offense he didn’t take lightly to; though instead of waiting for you to rectify the situation, he does so himself. It was so very like him.

“Look at me, please.” The raw edge to his voice startled you into compliance.

You turned and regretted it immediately.

“What did I do?” His eyes were so soft, so entirely unguarded. A fear you didn’t recognize was plain on his face. “How can I fix it?”

“It’s nothing, Jake.”

But he was not convinced by your sighed syllables. “That’s bullshit.” Even the way he spoke was gentle, like he was afraid you’d evaporate from the sheer force of his words if he spoke too loudly.

“Something changed, after lunch, something… Something happened,” he continued. “Did Jamie say something to you? Court?”

A short burst of laughter punched out of you, but it sounded colder than you imagined, and Jake stepped back like you’d slapped him. Fear was replaced by irritation. You recognized that particular crease in his brow, but you resolved that this was good. Maybe he needed to hate you a little, so you could get over whatever was most definitely not happening here.

“What?” You laughed again, though this time it sounded more forced than before. “Did you expect me to go all weak-kneed because you saved me, Jake? Showed me what a real family was like? Would you like me to grovel with gratitude now, or can I save that for later?”

And you regretted the words the moment you said them, instantly spiraling. It was vicious and careless, but a low enough blow that it would end things — it would fix things, once and for all. But then that feeling from earlier returned, that burning at the back of your throat and the sting in your eyes. You understood now that what you were feeling was loss; you were preparing for the loss of your best friend. Prematurely, perhaps, but if you knew Jake at all, you knew it wasn’t that premature. He let the others think he was a jerk and a blowhard but, to you, he admitted to the real softness of his heart. The purity of it. It was you he sat beside, shaking with worry after Phoenix and Bob went down after a bird strike. You, he called when his niece got a case of the flu so bad she was hospitalized and he couldn’t see her. You, he pleaded with for help when he’d mouthed off too much in class and was pretty sure everyone hated him now. You knew everything he did was so startlingly fucking earnest. To question how genuine he was, to question his integrity, was the kind of wound that could only be delivered intimately. And you had done it so very well. A real stab and twist.

You mumbled an apology, just desperate to escape Jake and that angry, but somehow still pleading look in his eyes. It was when your back was turned that Jake finally spoke.

“God, I have to be so fucking stupid.”

“Jake, don’t,” you said, stilled but not turning back around. Your pride wouldn’t let him see you cry.

“No, I must be. I must be a complete fucking idiot to have misread all the signs that you… That we want the same thing.”

You didn’t dare speak at first; you couldn’t. And then, when you did, the ragged nature of your breathing startled even you. “And what is it that you think we both want?”

“More than this, Vee!” He sounded exasperated, and you didn’t need to face him to know that Jake had run a frustrated hand through his hair. “More than tiptoeing around each other and how we feel about each other, and trying to pretend like, like…”

“Trying to pretend like what?” The words ripped out of you like a sob and you couldn’t will yourself to be still anymore. Your body angled toward his like you were fucking magnetized.

“Trying to pretend like I am not in love with you.”

The words landed like lead around you, and you had to bite back a sob. When that wasn’t enough to muffle the sound, you slapped a palm to your mouth.

He had done it. He had taken that big thing, wrestled it into submission, and then laid it bare in front of you. But, more than that, he’d laid himself bare in front of you. He was more naked now than he’d ever been in any locker room. This was Jake at his most honest.

And you could feel yourself teetering so dangerously on the edge of giving in. Your breaths heaved in and out of you with great effort.

What if you ruined this? What if he left you? What if, what if, what if…

God, but what if you didn’t? What if, for once, something just fucking worked out, and someone just stayed? If there was anyone in your life who was capable of staying, wouldn’t it be Jake? Who else could it be?

Your resolve was so thin, so fragile; when you finally spoke, it was: “Jake, I’m scared.”

He took a step toward you. He could’ve closed the gap between your bodies in a singular stride, but he was giving you an out. One last chance to walk away. You remained anchored to your spot on the pavement. When he took the final step toward you, he had a palm raised to frame your face — he was shaking, but he rested his forehead against yours, too. And that was Jake, in a nutshell. Scared, but pushing forward. It was one of the things you admired, one of the things you loved most about him.

“Don’t be scared, Vee.” The plea was soft, softer than a prayer. “Don’t be scared. Whatever there is to figure out, we’ll figure it out together. We can make this work.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We’ll figure that out together, too.”

Even as your every survival instinct was telling you not to, even as all you wanted to do was run, you leaned in. The kiss was a little clumsy — he hadn’t been ready, you were too nervous. But then your hand found purchase against his chest, and one of his at your hip. And then you were practically tugging each other closer; your lips fitting together more seamlessly. How had you held out this long? How had you deprived yourself of this?

Jake retracted, eyes wild and bright when he looked at you. As his lips sloped into a grin, you knew something was coming.

“Ma’am, I’m not sure if you heard me, but…”

“Oh, you mean your little love confession?” you reveled in the flush that crept up his neck and the laugh that fled your now kiss-swollen lips as a result.

Though realization seemed to darken his expression, and his eyes left yours. The loss was one you felt immediately.

“What?”

Jake must have felt the tension begin to seep into your body, because his thumb began to press slow, soothing circles against your hip.

“Vee, I know you don’t need me to save you. You have never needed to be saved by anyone.” His brow furrowed a moment, and the hand still cradling your face dropped to meet the other at your hips. “But if you want to be… If you want someone else to help you carry all that weight on your shoulders. Well, that would be okay, too, alright?”

You weren’t certain, but when Jake met your gaze once again, you were almost positive there were tears welling in his eyes. The sight of his vulnerability rendered you speechless, so you nodded mutely, then managed a small ‘okay.’ It was instinctive for you to rest your forehead against Jake’s chest and allow his arms to envelope you in his embrace. More so than ever before.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been standing there when you finally spoke up again. “Hey, Jake?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I love you.”

He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. Instead, he dropped a kiss on the top of your head, and tightened his arms around you. And maybe, just maybe, you thought… this wouldn’t be so bad. Whether it was 20 minutes or 20 years, you wanted as much of Jake as he was willing and able to give.

Keep, alter, discard? You were definitely keeping this feeling.

#jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman angst #hangman fluff

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thetriumphantpanda · 3 months

Text

LOST IN OUR VICES | TWO

Chapter Summary | A proper date has Marcus falling even further into his lie about who he is, but when you're as beautiful as you are, he can't find it in himself to care all that much.

Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student F!Reader

Word Count | 4.7K

Chapter Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship between a professor & student, Marcus continues to go along with a lie, art gallery date (I know nothing about art so go easy on me), romantic rain kisses, a dinner date featuring food and alcohol, two idiots slowly falling in love. Explicit smut - oral sex (f&m), a smattering of exhibitionism, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, some light somno (Marcus wakes you up eating you out), absolutely filthy talk, finger sucking, cumplay and I think that covers everything!

Authors Note | This..... well, what can I say. It simply fell out of me once I got into the swing of things - I wanted to make Professor Pike filthy and I think I've managed it. I'd love to know your thoughts, so feel free to comment, reblog or send me asks about this! As always, a huge thank you to @undercoverpena for reading this over and to @saradika for the beautiful divider.

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Marcus is stood at the bottom of the steps to the National Gallery, easy to spot in the crowd. He’d not really left your mind for the entire week, your lips still holding the ghost of his, the feel of his palm against your ass still branded onto your skin. You’d talked almost every day, texts back and forth, the usual thing when you were getting to know someone, but when he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, and then flashing that smile at you, he’s even more gorgeous than you’d remembered.

He grasps your hand in his own and leads you up the steps and into the gallery. He picks one of the free maps up and grabs a pen from his back pocket, telling you to circle three rooms. You’ve been here before and know exactly the paintings you want to see so it’s an easy task. He does the same, citing that if you wander aimlessly, you’ll be here all day, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he’s got dinner reservations you have to keep.

Marcus picks Sunflowers by Van Gogh first, the bright yellow flowers bring you joy whenever you see them, especially so in these dark, winter months when life is so scarce. You insist on seeing The Fighting Temeraire because it reminds you of your grandfather, the reason you love art so much.

“I remember coming here with him when I was very small,” You explain, stood in front of the painting, “We stood here for so long, and I just remember thinking I wanted to learn more about it all.”

The rest of the afternoon slips by like that, showing each other paintings until you’ve run out. You’re stood in front of Marcus’ last pick, The Garden of Love. Somewhere along the afternoon, he’s taken hold of your hand, fingers entwined with yours.

“You can see the brush strokes,” He muses, pulling you in front of him, your back dangerously close to his front, his free hand pointing over your shoulder, “Lean forward, you can see them, I promise.”

And he’s right, his back pressed to yours to push you forward so you can see them. His mouth right by your ear as he talks you through what you can see, the stray brush hairs and the way the grass has been painted to give it movement. There are goosebumps flowing across your skin, before he remembers when you are and moves away from you slightly, letting your heartbeat return to normal.

There’s a moment where he checks his watch, then he takes hold of your hand and starts dragging you from the gallery - paintings blurring as you have to run a little to keep up with the pace. When you reach the front entrance, you hear it before you see it, the downpour of rain, fat droplets hitting the ground, forming puddles. You curse the fact you hadn’t properly checked the weather before leaving.

You look to Marcus, who holds up a finger, drops your hand slightly, then steps over to the side where a burly security guard nods his head toward Marcus and takes a step out of the way. There’s a small umbrella stand behind him and you watch as Marcus reaches over and plucks one of the umbrellas from it.

“Thanks, Mike, see you next week buddy.”

Mike tips his hat to Marcus, and then at you when he clutches your hand in his once more, adding a wink and a knowing smirk towards you like he knows exactly what's going to happen for the rest of the day.

You step into the downpour, letting Marcus hover the umbrella over the two of you. He stops, lets you take in the surroundings - Trafalgar Square bathed in darkness and soft light from the streetlamp’s. You crane your neck to look up at Nelson’s column.

“I remember coming here when I was younger, with one of my friends, and trying to take a picture of me touching the top of it from down there,” You point your finger down towards Whitehall, you know exactly where you stood all those years ago, “Hold on,” You say, fishing your phone out of your pocket, opening up the camera roll and scrolling as far back as you can, to find the exact photo you’re talking about, holding it in front of him, Marcus laughs, because the tip of your finger is nowhere near the top of the column, “Not my best attempt, I must say.”

Pocketing your phone, you take a few steps to the left, starting off to your dinner reservation, when you feel the warmth of Marcus’ palm slip around your wrist, turning you around so you’re stood in front of him, toe-to-toe, your face tilted up at him.

He brings his free hand, the one not holding the umbrella, up to your cheek, and you feel his thumb brush over the skin there, ever-so gently, before he’s leaning down, lips across yours in a soft press. You step forward, moving close enough to him to wrap your arms around his neck - droplets of water from the edge of the umbrella dripping onto his jacket as he kisses you.

You can hear the rushing of the traffic around you, splashing through pools of water, and the chatter of people around you, locals and tourists alike, but none of it matters. Not when there’s that low pool of butterflies churning in your stomach, and certainly not when he pulls away, tip of his nose pressed to yours as you bite your lip a little, none of it matters except him.

“So, what does next week have in store for you?” Marcus asks, sipping on his glass of wine.

“Outside of trying to hit my weekly word count, I'm going to a public lecture that professor Pike is giving at UCL on Thursday.”

Marcus is mid-sip, choking slightly on it as he swallows, covering his mouth with his napkin to try and keep whatever this is under control.

“Are you alright?” You ask, concern dripping from your voice.

“Yeah,” He says, holding up a hand, coughing a little to clear his throat, “Sorry, swallowed wrong,” There’s another pause as he sips from his water, “That sounds interesting though, what is he lecturing on?”

“He’s lecturing on counterfeit art,” You explain, knife cutting through your steak, “He used to work for the FBI and I think the lecture supplements the release of his new book.”

“I had no idea he was an ex-agent,” Marcus shrugs, “Sounds interesting though, you’ll have to give me the rundown next time we meet.”

“You could always come with me?” You offer.

He smiles and lets out a little chuckle, “What time is it?”

“It starts at 6:30.”

You watch as he chews on his food, thinking for a moment, “I might be able to make it, I’ll have to let you know how teaching goes that day, but it definitely sounds interesting,” You pick up your wine to sip at it, “But if I can’t make it, we can certainly do something next weekend, okay?”

He politely insists on going back to your place once the meal is over. Apparently not expecting this was to go so well, he hadn’t tidied and didn’t want you to think bad of him when your eyes glanced over the mess. It’s endearing to you, and you’re only more than welcome to have him over. The bed needs christening anyway.

Marcus holds you hand this time on the walk from the station. It’s dark and cold but thankfully the rain has stopped. He pulls you away from the edge of the pavement when a car threatens to splash you as it passes you, then insists that you walk on the inside so you don’t get wet. It’s those small things that make you smile, that make your tummy flutter, makes you realise he knows how to treat someone.

It makes you think about the last person who had been in his position - never getting this far, mainly due to the fact that on the second date he insisted that you made him feel stupid when you spoke about your research. You wanted to tell him that was because he was, but you held your tongue, let him pay for dinner and then told him you didn’t see things working out.

When you let the two of you into your apartment, you flick on some of the lamps instead of the big light and watch as he walks to the long windows that look out onto the garden. You’re a few floors up, looking down on the garden from a height and you can see a few people milling around, illuminated in the dark by the orange glow of the lounge lights from the ground floor.

“Nice place.” Marcus murmurs, hands in his pockets as he looks out of the window.

“Yeah, I can’t deny it,” You smile, “Do you want a drink?”

He turns to face you, “Not really.” He speaks with a smirk.

He holds out a hand, palm upright to the ceiling. You wander over to him and let your own hand slip into this, relishing the feeling of his hand closing over yours, gently dragging you towards him. The way his other arm slips around the small of your back is effortless, as is the way he pulls your entire body to his, mouth slanting over yours in a soft kiss.

It’s over too quickly for your liking, but then he’s bringing both is his hands up to your face, clutching your cheeks in his palms, “You look beautiful in this light.” He murmurs, looking at you, warm. orange glow from your lamps illuminating you perfectly.

“So do you.” You almost whisper, letting your hands grip at the edges of his jacket, smiling as he lets you push it off his body.

“What do you want?” He asks softly, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

Looking up at him, bringing your hands to the collar of his shirt, you undo the first two of his buttons, “What do you think I want?”

“I wouldn’t want to assume,” He speaks back, the zip of your jacket caught between his thumb and pointer finger, slowly dragging it down, inch-by-inch, “I want to hear it.”

You bring your hand up to cover his then, slowly pushing it down until your jacket it fully unzipped, “I want you to take my clothes off,” You say with a flutter of your eyelashes, “And then I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk straight.”

Your hand lets go of his, letting his shove your jacket off your shoulders to fall to the floor. That hand sinks down his chest until your palm runs across the front of his jeans, bulge evident as you press more firmly, biting your lip as he gasps.

“You’ve got a filthy mouth.” He groans, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, Marcus.” You wink, slowly falling to your knees in front of him.

He tangles a hand in the hair at the back of your neck and pulls gently, making you look up at him, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Marcus doesn’t protest again, just looks down at you, sitting pretty on your knees, and raises his eyebrows as if to tell you that if you want it, you can take it. Your fingers work his belt open, pull it through the loops of his trousers, before it’s added to the pile of discarded clothes so far. You work the button open, and slowly drag his zipper down, before you hook your fingers into the waistband, dragging his trousers and his underwear down to his knees in one go.

It takes all of your willpower to ignore the gentle bob of his cock right in front of your face. He’s big, probably the biggest you’ve ever seen. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, pumping your fist slowly, as you bring your lip to every inch of skin around his cock, pressing hot, wet open-mouth kisses all along the small swell of his belly, until you can hear his laboured breathing and his hand is tightly fisted in your hair.

You pull back, finally dragging your hand all the way up the length of his cock, letting your thumb trace gently over the head, swiping the pearly bead of precum that sits there, swirling it over the head. Then, you lean forward, eyes strained to keep them locked on his own, as you press a single kiss to the weeping head of his cock, tongue darting out just a little to taste him.

“Jesus Christ,” You can hear Marcus mutter from above you, “Darling you’ve got to put me out of my misery.”

Looking into his pleading eyes, those brown orbs glossed over with wet, practically begging you to stop teasing him are too much, so you do indeed put him out of his misery. Opening your mouth, letting the head of his cock rest there just a moment, letting your tongue tease the underside of him just a little, before you wrap your lips around him and hollow out your cheeks, letting your mouth slide down his length as much as possible until he hits the back of your throat, the length you cannot fit into your mouth still has your fist working it.

His back is to the window, the streetlights and the glow from the apartment building across the garden is bathing him in an angelic light. He leans back, letting his back rest against the pristine glass as you move your mouth up and down his cock, letting him hit the back of your throat, the free hand that isn’t pumping at the rest of his length coming up to cup his balls, gently massaging them.

You can feel his hands scoop your hair up, gather it at the back of your head so he can look down and see your face as his cock disappears into the wet cavern of your mouth. It’s sloppy, there’s saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, and when you pull off him to catch your breath, running your fist along his length, it’s soaked - line of saliva connecting him to your mouth.

“You getting it nice and wet, baby?” He asks, voice strained, “Getting it nice and wet so it slips into your pussy nice and easy?”

You’re about to put your mouth back on him when he brings one of his hands to clutch at your chin, shaking his head. He pulls you up to your feet, turns himself around so you’re the one in front of the window. His hands on your waist move you so you’re facing outward, looking at the darkness of the garden below.

Marcus reaches around your body, chin resting on your shoulder so he can see what he’s doing as he undoes each of the buttons of your shirt. He pulls it off your shoulders, discards it to be forgotten on the floor.

He trails his hands up the exposed skin of your ribcage, letting his palms rest over the cups of your bra. He squeezes gently once, then again with a tighter grip, then he’s trailing his fingers around your back to the clasp, where he manages to undo it without any trouble, letting that fall to the ground too.

You’re acutely aware that if anyone was to look up from the ground below, they would be able to see exactly what was going on, but when his warm hands come up to cup the weight of your tits in his palms, fingers rolling your nipples into stiff peaks, you can’t find it in yourself to care, you only tip your head back onto his shoulder and sigh in pleasure as his hot mouth starts sucking at the skin of your neck.

One of his hands wanders, skimming down the skin of your belly, past the waistband of your skirt and tights, until his hand is cupping your sex, hot through the cotton of your underwear. His fingers trail down, right to where your aching cunt is leaking for him, wet patch clearly evident on the material.

“Fuck me,” He groans, pushing himself into you, the hardness of his cock grinding against the material covering your ass, “You’re fucking soaked for me baby.”

You can feel him drag his hand back up, just slightly, until it’s slipping under the material this time. Finally his hand is right where you want it. You can feel his fingers slipping between your folds, inching down until they’re mixing in the pool of slick, dragging upwards until his finger finds your clit. He presses gently, circling slowly but it still makes your knees buckle. Marcus steadies you with one hand around your waist.

“Careful, baby,” He whispers into your ear, teeth nipping at the lobe, “Don’t want you to fall.”

You’d have a smart retort if his fingers hadn’t rendered you silent. You close your eyes, let yourself focus on those precise circles of his fingers, moving your hips in time to his movements. You bring an arm up, wrap it around his neck and turn your face, feeling his lips find your own, mouth open and tongue melding with yours.

Marcus lets his fingers move from your clit and you let out a whine of protest, until you feel him slip two of them straight into your cunt, as far as he can fit them, curling them gently against that spot inside you that has you falling forward, palms against the glass of the window.

You feel his spare hand grip at the hem of your skirt, shoving it up to bunch at your lower back, that hand then falling to grip your ass through the dark material of your tights. His fingers are tight against your skin, gripping you, spreading you, as his fingers continue to work inside you. He pressed just perfectly into one spot, making you cry out. You can feel the tightening in your core, feel your pussy flutter around his fingers.

“Oh baby,” He coos, “Are you going to come?” You nod your head, “Tell me,” He demands, hand moving up to tear your tights down and over your ass, “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Marcus,” You whine, moving your hips down in time to the upwards movements of his fingers into your cunt, the slick there causing a lewd squelch each time he does it, “Fuck, please, it feels so good.”

“Please?” He chuckles, dragging your body back up from it’s slouched position, “Please what?”

“Make me come.”

And so he does. He curls his fingers, sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and works your body perfectly, until you’re whining and wiggling against him. He drags his fingers from your pussy, drags them back up to your clit, circles it maybe three or four times and then he’s flinging you over the edge, tight coil snapping in your tummy, pleasure blooming everywhere as those fingers work you through every second of your climax.

You’re boneless now, pussy throbbing, sweaty skin sticking to the skin he’s got on show, as he moves you gently towards your bed. He lies you down on your back, strips you of everything else you’re still wearing, and then steps back, taking off each item of his clothing that he still has on. You watch him unwrap himself in front of you, your hand drifting between your legs, spread for him and on show. It doesn’t matter that you’re sensitive, you let your fingers dance lightly across your clit, spreading yourself open for him.

“Like a work of fucking art, baby. ” He murmurs, knees sinking into the bed as he settles between your thighs.

He swats your hand away from your cunt, leans forward to kiss you as he gently slips two of his fingers back inside your pussy. He pulls back, brings his slicked fingers to his mouth and makes a show of sucking them clean, just inches from your face.

“Taste so good baby,” He speaks, letting those two fingers find your aching hole, pressing inside once more, and you think he’s going to do it again, but this time, when he drags those fingers from you, he grips your chin, making your mouth fall ope, “Taste yourself.” He orders, watching you as your tongue slips out, inviting his fingers in.

You make just as much of a show as he did, sucking his two fingers into your mouth, tongue dipping between them to suck them clean. When he’s satisfied, he kisses you again, lets his tongue mix with yours, not just his taste now, but the taste of your cunt on his tongue too - musky but sweet.

“I want to fuck you so bad, baby.” He murmurs into your ear, settling himself into a position where you can feel his cock dragging through your wet folds.

“Please,” You beg, “I want you so badly.”

“Do you have a condom?” He asks, nose nuzzling at the delicate skin behind your ear.

“I do,” You say, “But I take the pill and I’m clean.”

He pushes back, body resting over yours, chest pressed against your tits, “You want me to fuck you bare?”

“I want you to fuck me bare, Marcus,” You whisper, hands cupping his face, “I want you to fill me up.”

“You’re something else.” He speaks softly, one of his hands reaching between you to guide his cock down, head nudging at your aching cunt.

He doesn’t say anything else, he just presses himself into you, feeding you every inch of his cock as slowly as he can manage. With every inch, your head tips back, until he’s fully inside of you, tip of his cock kissing at your cervix, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” He groans, burying his face into the crook of your neck, “You’re tight as a fucking fist baby girl.”

“So big,” Is all you manage to choke out as he starts moving, slowly dragging his cock out of you to push back in, “I’m so full.”

“That’s right baby,” He agrees, pushing himself up onto his palms that are planted on either side of your face, “So full of my cock, right?”

This position allows him a little more freedom to move his hips, which he does, dragging out of you and then pushing his cock back into you with a little more force and it makes you fucking sing. He feels so good, cock brushing at all the right spots inside you as he speeds up a little. You look down between your bodies, watching his length spear into your pussy, watching it disappear inside you with every thrust.

“I won’t…” Marcus sighs, “I’m not gonna last long baby.”

“I don’t care,” You sigh, “I wanna feel you.”

Marcus picks a rhythm - rough thrusts of his hips that have his cock hitting at the depths of you, his head dipping down to take one of your nipples into his mouth - worrying at it with his teeth and then soothing it with his tongue. You’re so close, you can feel another orgasm right there on the cusp, so close that you can feel tears forming at the corners of your eyes. When you close them, you feel a trail of tear drip down and settle in pools in your ears.

“No need to cry baby,” Marcus soothes, letting his mouth lick at the trails of tears from your eyes, “I got you, I can feel you, come for me again baby, it’s okay.”

He shifts positions slightly, dragging your legs up to rest on his shoulders, then he presses forward, folding you practically in half and then picks up his pace.

You’ve never felt like this, no-one has ever rendered you into such a wet, squealing mess before. Your nails are digging into his arms, leaving half-moon patterns there. Every punch of his cock inside you is pleasure mixed with a pang of pain. You can’t breathe, but you don’t care, because with each stroke of his cock you’re falling further and further, until you close your eyes, tip your head back and see starts as your second orgasm tears through you. You hear yourself scream for him, mouth dropped open as he loses whatever control he had before. It’s hard and it’s fast, and it’s all fucking worth it when he drops your legs and goes still.

Your name is falling from his lips like a chant, like a prayer at church as you feel his cock throb inside you, white hot cum painting every inch of the inside of you. He manages to keep his weight from collapsing onto you, pushing himself back on his knees instead, letting his cock slip from your tight heat.

You watch him as he holds your legs spread, watching his cum seep out of you. It’s performative and entirely unnecessary, but you dip a hand between your legs, use two of your fingers to spread yourself open and push lightly, letting him watch his cum pool at your hole, dripping down between the cheeks of your ass. You feel one of his fingers follow the trail, scooping it back up to press back inside your pussy, then, that fingers is slipped into your mouth.

“How do we taste baby?”

“Pretty good.”

In the moments that follow, once you’ve used the bathroom, the two of you settle under your sheets. Marcus on his back with you draped over his chest. He’s drawing shapes on your back, pressing kisses to the crown of your head as you slowly drift in and out of sleep.

When you wake, it’s still dark, the moon is high in the sky, and his face his buried between your thighs, leisurely eating at your cunt like he’s got all the time in the world. Your let your fingers tangle in his brown curls as he slowly works you up, tongue lapping at your clit softly until you’re writhing and twisting in the sheets as he makes you come for the third time that night.

He kisses you as he settles back down next to you. He turns you over so he’s pressed against your back, holds on of your legs up so he can push his cock into you again. You’re sore and spend and every muscle in your body aches, but he’s soft this time, rocking his hips into you from behind, slowly fucking you with his arms wrapped around you, both of you looking out into the darkness beyond the windows. He comes inside you for the second time that night, but neither of you make time to move. His cock slotted perfectly inside you, his cum leaking out slowly around him and down your thighs as you both fall asleep again.

In the morning, the storm has cleared and the low winter light wakes you up. The bed is empty, but still warm when you move onto your back, eyes adjusting to the light. Marcus is at the foot of the bed, doing up the last buttons on his shirt.

“I have to go.” He says simply, but with a tone that says he’d rather do nothing more than crawl back into bed with you.

“That’s okay,” You say, pushing yourself up, holding up the sheets to cover yourself, “Will you come back later?”

“Do you want me to come back later?” He asks, sitting on the side of the bed to slip his shoes on.

You shift slightly, moving so you can tuck a particularly unruly curl behind his ear, “I do.”

He turns, smiles at you, then kisses you softly, “Then yes, I’ll come back later.”

#Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #Marcus Pike smut #Marcus Pike #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fic #Pedro pascal #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #the mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Marcus Pike fluff #Marcus Pike au #pedro characters #pedrostories

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uglypastels · 11 months

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Not Wholly Evil |VII| pirate!Eddie au

a/n - ok, so first of all, i cannot thank everyone enough for the support on this fic. i am just in awe at the love its been getting recently. so i think it times out perfectly that this chapter is the one i have been the most excited to write and had been waiting to write since probably chapter 3 or something. I really hope you like it. Be sure to reblog and/or comment (and remember asks are also always welcome!)💗

Series Masterlist

word count: 5.4k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. near death experiences in water. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 7: Four Corners of Heaven

“The heart of man is very much like the sea; it has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths it has its pearls too."

- Vincent van Gogh

The ship swayed from side to side, taking you along with it, stumbling from one leg onto the other as you struggled to find your balance. Wardrobe doors flung open, banging against their hinges. Papers flew all over the ground as the desk shifted from its secured position.

A banging noise sank deep into you, pulling you back to the Red Tail. The panic lasted until you realised you heard waves crashing against the window. How tall would they have to be to reach the glass? How strong to be able to open the hinges?

It smashed against the wall, nearly cracking, but the damage was still done as water spilt inside with vicious attacks. Cursing, you made your way over, trying to close it before the entire floor would be under water. The spurts hit you in your face, shoving it down your throat. The icy feeling froze your skin as the heavy salt taste burned your tongue. By the time you closed the window, you had been drenched. You heaved for air, bend over with your arms on your knees.

There was shouting outside the room. Incoherent behind the wood and rain layers, but the sense of emergency remained.

You let yourself fall to the ground, back against the wall. All the commotion was now accompanied by your heartbeat drumming in your ears. When you calmed down, you realised you had still been holding the letter, scrunched into a wet roll between your fist, the water dripping off it came down in dark grey tears. Quickly, you dropped it into one of the desk's drawers and shut it.

The ship also began to halt its tilt, regaining its composure, and so slowly, your anxiety faded. It allowed you to think; look around. Two longswords were hanging up on the wall, so you grabbed one and did your best to block the mechanics that opened the window. It should hold the water for some time, but you could only hope. You ignored the metal's clanking sound against the glass as the force pushed against it.

As more shouting erupted from outside, the smaller the room felt. Suddenly you were back on the Red Tail, under the desk, hiding from these men. That was how it had all started, wasn’t it? They hid you away to keep you safe… and yet. The walls closed in on you. The water seemed to rise, but only in your mind, drowning in helplessness.

If something did happen to this ship, you thought you would die either way, and you might not know many things, but one thing was certain: you would not die in Munson’s cabin.

When you walked out of the room the past days, you were greeted with plush warm air, as if you had fallen gently atop a pillow. Now, it was more like a hard fall. The wind slapped your entire body, and the harsh rain cut at your cheeks. Each step felt as if you had been anchored to the ground.

All around you was chaos. Water was everywhere. Rain poured harshly, a million icy bullets coming down your skin, soaking through your clothes. The waves reached a height as you had never seen, coming in closer by the second, threatening to spill over the railings. Some already did, drowning the wooden panelling of the deck, leaving nothing untouched as barrels rolled around. Crew members ran behind them, with meters of ropes, hoping to steady the load, but it was in poor attempts when their feet could barely remain steady. Munson threw around commands, but in these circumstances, his beloved ship had a mind of her own, and it was protesting her captain.

The rest, in the meantime, did their best to keep up with what the captain had to say. Pulling the sails, ensuring a hold on all the loose cargo on the deck from slipping away. With buckets, they threw out water that splashed onto the ship, but with each wave, the amount only doubled. The men stumbled over themselves, knocking eachother over as the boat swayed immensely.

You heard your name being called from the side and saw Harrington at the helm. Seeing him in the rain, you could not help but think of a dog. How the animals shrink in size when met with water, shaking and whimpering, just wanting to escape the cold. All of them, in fact, everyone around you, reminded you of it. They were all simply fighting for their life against the elements.

Harrington looked at you sternly, and you could tell what he was saying with his expression alone. Go inside. But you stared blankly back, with no intention of listening.

That is when the wind picked up, pushing the ship off course. The helm began spinning in circles, and Harrington held onto its spurs for dear life, turning it back with all his remaining power. You could tell he wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer. His grip kept slipping. He cursed loudly, but there was no one there to help. No one except you. It took you one quick glance to realise it, and once that occurred, you immediately stepped up to him and pulled at the spurs.

Harrington looked taken aback, for a second forgetting the task at hand, and that one second had been enough for him to fall back a few steps and the helm to begin to unfold again, resulting in another loud curse.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Helping you!’ you called out; both of you were sputtering as the water of both sea and sky engulfed you.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He yelled out moments before another wave hit the vessel's side, and he got knocked off his feet. For a brief moment, until he had regained his stance, you were the only one holding the helm. The weight of the entire ship fell upon you for those brief seconds, which was overwhelming. It was too much, too heavy. You couldn’t carry on on your own.

Harrington coughed out as he regained a grip on the wheel. He glanced at you with another expression of displeasure at your presence, but there was no longer time for him to argue. You could barely hold the wheel together. Your feet were slipping on the wet floor.

‘Pull!’ he shouted almost directly into your ear, but he could have been miles away with the thunder roaring over your heads.

‘I am!’ you shouted right back, but clearly, it was not enough.

‘Pull harder than!’

I can’t, you wanted to shout back, but that would have been worthless. You were putting in every inch of power you had left in this, yet it would still take much more for the ship to cooperate. By the time you released the helm with certainty, your arms were burning with exhaustion, and your skin was numb from the thousands of pinpricks of the harsh downpour.

Not that this mattered much. The rest of the ship was still in turmoil. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought a mist had set in from how dense the water came down, covering everything in a grey mass. The wind blew you back three steps for each that you attempted to make.

You were both breathing heavily, which was hard as it was combined with trying not to swallow the loads of water that came down upon you with each breath you took. Was there even air to breathe at this point? Or had you already sunk into the ocean? Everything felt on top of its head, spinning around. You barely heard what Harrington said as you pulled yourself out of the nausea.

‘What?’ you asked, shouting everything out to come out above the noise.

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. Now, what was he apologising for? And why now, as the storm was only growing stronger, it seemed. The two of you still stood side by side at the helm, holding it tightly, but now more for your own sake, anchoring yourself from the wind. Across the ship, you saw the rest of the crew battling with the weather. Munson had stopped shouting out commands and was part of a group trying to keep the mizzenmast up. He had discarded his jacket somewhere along the way, leaving him to let the water soak into his shirt, which stuck to him meticulously.

‘That are you apologising for,’ you turned quickly to Harrington. Facing his direction only caused the rain to directly attack your face.

‘For listening to him,’ he shouted. As the storm raged on, you doubted anyone could hear the two of you anymore, no matter how loud you spoke. ‘I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, it was stupid.’

‘But why—why did he tell you to do that?’

To your surprise, Harrington laughed. ‘I’ve realised long ago it is better not to understand how his mind works.’

You wanted to reply that, no, you did want to understand exactly how his mind worked because it was making you insane when suddenly, a crash sounded over the vessel. All heads turned to starboard, where something must have just crashed bast the railing beams. A large whole gaped at the rest of you; a crate had already fallen out, but it was the least of your worries as you saw an arm hanging on for dear life from one of the broken wood beams.

Munson was the first person to reach the crewman in peril. He reached for him just in time as the man’s grip slipped off the wood. The captain lay flat on his stomach across the deck. Some more men reached him and tried to pull him in, but the ship shifted again on the waves; nothing was in their favour.

‘Harrington!’ the captain yelled, but when his voice reached you, it was less than a murmur against the wind. ‘HARRINGTON!’ He looked over toward the helm, and that is when he noticed you.

You didn’t give him the same amount of attention, for you had a better view of everything around. You could see the stack of men that had now gathered at the broken ship’s side, pulling their mate back to safety, but you also saw the barrel that was lopsiding, threatening to fall over with each hit of the waves. They must have missed it when securing everything in haste. From its position, it seemed that if it would topple over, the barrel would roll directly into the panicked rescue operation.

Harrington, who had been trying to steer the ship as best as he could in the circumstances, must have seen it too, as you had only taken a step to the side, and he had already grabbed your arm.

‘Let go off me, or I will give you another black eye!’ You threatened.

‘Have you gone mad!’ He shouted over the yelling below you.

‘Yes!’ You couldn’t help but smile and possibly not even far from any truth. The last few weeks were maddening in every possible way. Whatever had or would have happened, there was no denying that you had changed, and the most evident proof was right there as you ran down the stairs in an attempt to save the men that you had thought would lead you to your death. Just as you thought you had reached it in time, the barrel tipped over entirely, hitting the ground and immediately started to roll. It rolled in your direction, the only obstruction in its way.

Without thinking, you let yourself crush against it, shoulder to wood. The pain was intense but passed quickly, and though you had let your feet slip and there was nothing to mask the fall, you had still managed to stop the large piece of refuse from hurting the others.

You could see them pulling the fallen crewmate back onto the deck when you got up. Shuffling through your memories of what you had encountered and heard the past few days, his name didn’t come up, and yet you felt a huge relief fall off you.

‘You’re welcome!’ you said, tired and feeling heavy.

Someone helped Munson get up. His hair was stuck all over his face, but when he brushed it aside, you saw his face—full of anger. He stormed over to you or tried to, considering how the ship had thrown him off-balance.

‘What should I be thanking you for?’ He spat out, primarily due to all the rain that had soaked into him.

‘For saving your life!’ You had not expected him to be thankful, that was not who Munson was, but you had not imagined him to be angry. Yet, his eyes were rageful, his jaw tense as he looked at you silently and turned to his men to yell out:

‘Someone secure that damn wall.’

Aye. There were already three men on it, trying to block the wrecked piece of the ship. Any proper reparations would have to wait until the storm had run its course. There was no way for them to sit there with the waves splashing into their faces at such speed and force and nowhere to stand without a risk of falling.

The captain turned back to you. ‘I told you to stay inside.’

‘If I had, you would have been in the water now!’ You shouted back, ‘clearly, you need as many hands on deck as possible.’

‘Not yours.’ He wiped his face off from the rain, but it poured over him with even more strength. ‘Go back to my quarters. Now.’

‘No.’ You stood your ground, pushing back against Munson’s and the wind’s will. You would not let yourself be stowed away. He could not take this away from you. He could not take you away. You wouldn’t let him. Not again.

‘That is an order.’ He snapped.

‘I do not take orders from you.' You may not have been much help, but you had already kept Harrington from losing complete control over the helm and practically saved the captain from falling into the ocean's depths. Still, it was not enough to convince the captain, as his reply was clear and straightforward, despite all the noise that muffled your voices from eachother.

‘You’ll die out here!’ A wave pushed you forward, stumbling into his chest. He held you up by your wrist before you both fell.

‘So will you!’ You looked him in the eyes, pleading. Unsure for what. Something. Anything.

For a moment, you thought you had won him over, but then he looked around, shouting out names of his crewmen, anyone who could hear him or get close enough to you. But they were all too occupied. Finally, one of the coopers, who was already tying up the barrel you had so swiftly taken care of with the rest of the cargo, ran up at the sound of his name.

‘Take care of her before I do,’ Munson told him. The boy—as he seemed younger than most men on this ship—nodded, but you saw in his face he had nothing over you. Before he could reach for you, you pushed past him towards the captain.

‘I’m not leaving you.’ Perhaps that were not the words you had meant to say. Maybe you simply wanted to say that you were not about to leave this deck, but those were the words to come out of your mouth.

As a response, he asked the same question that crossed your mind as soon as those words had left your mouth. ‘Why?’

‘Because–’ but before you could answer, a pair of arms grabbed you and pulled you away. You screamed out, demanding to be let go, but it was all washed out in the storm. It couldn’t have been the boyish cooper that had taken you; his hold was too firm and strong. Whoever they were, they dragged you back toward the cabin on the captain's orders, towards alleged safety. What would happen if they opened the door to reveal a waterfall streaming past their feet because those bloody windows broke open once more? What then?

But you felt a pinch of pride in your heart because you knew that some days ago, you would not have dared to stand up to the captain with such defiance. You certainly would not have dared to kick and scratch at the man holding you until he let you go. You would have been shoved into that room and locked away, and maybe it would have been for the better because just moments after you freed yourself, you locked eyes with Munson. He was ready to speak, yell, and so were you, but all of that was washed out by a wave. One larger than you had ever seen before. It towered over the ship, dampening everything in its shadow. And then it crashed down. You had just about managed to take one final breath and heard a scream of your name.

There was a push, and something hit your head, or was it your head that hit something. Either way—

Everything went black.

That must be what death feels like. Floating, weightlessly numb. There is darkness, and then there is light. It grows and grows, overcoming the chasm and suddenly, all the pain from before is gone.

It is disorienting at first as you try to understand where you are. It all feels familiar and yet impossible at the same time. You do not know how you got there but know the way perfectly well. You remember it all exactly—that day—like no time had ever passed. It must have been years ago. Long before the wreckage and the fire and the storm and chaos. Long before him. And yet…

As you come to, but not exactly, you hear the mewing of seagulls. A flock hovers over your head. The sun shines brightly. As you move your hand, blades of grass tickle your fingertips and that smell… the sweet scent of summer.

There’s a weight on your stomach. A book. You had been reading it for hours under the tree. The large lime tree in the garden, but to call it a garden is an understatement. The branches rock gently in the breeze, shaking their leaves in a greeting.

You sit up, letting your back rest against the tree bark. In the distance are voices, children playing, merchants selling their produce, and animals roaming freely over the streets like any other day.

Then you hear it.

‘Gentlemen, I think we have an agreement then,’ your father says as he emerges from a corridor. You want to jump into his arms, tears already welling up in the corner of your eyes, but that is not how that day had gone.

Besides, he has company.

‘Yes, sir,’ a second man replies. ‘The troops are all ready to go.’

‘Brilliant,’ your father says. None of them have realised that you were sat there yet, able to hear every word they said. If they had, they would have sent you away. Not because any of their matters are private or a secret, it is just some light conversation between commanders. They would have sent you away because you, as a lady, have no reason to be bothered by such topics.

You dare to peek a glance at the men accompanying your father. Like all the others before, they must be some kind of officer; their appearance told you as much. You had seen plenty of these types of men. Your father often invited those who harboured their ships in town. No matter where they were from. Although, they seemed to be wearing similar colours to what the soldiers around your house wore.

You didn’t know either of the two men’s names that day. Why would you? It was the first time you had seen them in a lifetime full of new faces. And it would be several years until you would see them again. Years that would barely change admiral Carver’s appearance. He had maintained his boyish young looks until the day he died.

By now, you knew you had fallen deep into a dream, but how much of it was fantasy? It felt like a memory, but why were you haunted by demons? Maybe it was your brain filling in gaps, playing tricks on you, covering up a face you had entirely erased from your memory by one you could never forget. That did not seem right, however. The pieces fell too perfectly into place. Just not in any way, you had expected them to.

It was a trick. It must be. That was, could, not him, after all. His hair was neatly tied back and much shorter, to begin with. Though mostly covered with the shadow of his brimmed hat, his face was fuller, happier, and clean-shaven. His fingers were clean, and light without the weight of those large silver rings, and his clothes were the pristine uniform of the navy, which could not possibly hide a lifetime of scars and tattoos underneath them. It simply could not be.

And yet, when he catches your eye, that same pair of warm brown eyes catch you off guard. He smiles your way, tipping his hat, saying ‘ma’am’ with a smile before catching up to the rest of his entourage.

You awoke in a sheen of cold sweat, but it might have been the storm's remnants. The gentle feeling of grass blades against your fingers was exchanged into a harch grip on the bedsheets you lay upon. The only thing you could hear was your breathing, but behind that was the tap-tap-tapping of rain against the window. That’s where he stood, leaning against the glass by his side, arms crossed as he looked at you. No expression that you could make out in any sense, not because of the lack thereof, but because the emotions came in abundance.

‘What happened?’ Speaking felt like you had inhaled a bucket of sand instead of water; your throat had wholly dried out.

‘What do you remember?’ the captain walked over to the bed with a cup of water to hand you, which you took with a shaky hand.

‘Everything… I think.’ One sip had been enough to heal your drought. ‘There was a storm and a wave—’

‘Nearly washed us out,’ Munson filled in the gaps. His voice was steady, emotionless. Somehow, that felt worse than if he had been angry. He was holding back on you. ‘You hit your head and been asleep—we assumed you were sleeping—for six hours. More or less.’ But the longer he kept on talking, the more of a shake you felt in him. How he was holding back the rage that had exploded out of the both of you during the storm.

He continued talking. ‘We should be arriving at the harbour of Saint Claire shortly.’

‘I don’t understand,’ you let your fingers ghost over your forehead, which was wrapped in bandages, and a flash of pain blinded you momentarily.

‘It’s a small island, not far off course. Safer for the night than the waters.’ The storm had calmed down but had not found its rest just yet.

‘No, I don’t mean that,’ you said, standing up.

‘Don’t get up,’ He tried to push you back but decided against making contact, which you took as an opportunity to defy his wishes.

‘Do not tell me what to do, Munson.’ You were tired of it, and his constant commands made you sick…. Or was it the dizziness you felt as you got up too fast? Munson caught you just in time before you would hit your head again. Only then you realised that his shirt was still wet. It stuck to you like it stuck to him. His hair was a mess too. He must have come out of the rain moments ago.

He set you back up on your feet just to bring you back onto the bed. Once your head stopped spinning, you weakly asked: ‘Is everyone okay?’

‘You seem to have gotten the worst of it.’

‘Of course,’ you laughed at your own fortune. ‘Look,’ you made a second attempt to get up, hitting the last of the captain’s nerves.

‘Why won’t you ever listen?’ He grunted as he held you up.

‘Because I don’t want to.’ You swatted away his hands, letting go of him entirely. ‘Will you stop that!’

‘Stop what?’

‘Pretending like you give a damn about me while we both know that I am not worth a dime of your time..’

He sighed, pivoting your tangent.

‘No, sorry, you have your bounty to look forward to, of course, but don’t worry, I will personally write a letter to my father to tell him to just give you all his money, no matter in what state I return home if you will just leave me alone!’

‘Will you please stop yelling.’ He had his head rolled back, looking up at the ceiling. His fists clenched, and he walked around the room to calm down.

‘No! I am tired of this. All of this. I am tired of being treated like vermin.’

‘Vermin?’ He scoffed this time, turning his head to you in disbelief. ‘I’ve given you my clothes, my bed and two perfectly fine meals every day, and that’s what you think this is?’

‘Yes, and I’m very thankful for that, just as I am for being locked in a cage for days and now—what, you’re isolating me from your entire crew like I have the pest?’

‘I did no such thing!’ He was quick to defend himself from the accusation.

‘So, just Harrington then? Do not lie to me, Munson; I saw how he avoided me the whole time, then tried to not sound as if you had not commanded him to not speak to me.’

‘It was his own will that followed that order. I gave him a choice.’

‘What was it, listen or die?’ That sounded about right for you.

‘We do not kill on this ship,’ he said sternly, seriously, almost more severe than you had ever heard him speak.

‘Only on every other ship?’ With a snap, the window burst open again, letting in the whistling wind and the last drops of rain into the room, but it went unnoticed by the two of you as all the focus lay in the vicious words you threw back and forth.

‘Only those who deserve it. Yes.’ His face was set in anger, and you backed away, not because of his appearance but what he had admitted to.

‘What did my men deserve? They were innocent!’’ Everyone on the ship must have heard you if they had not already been listening to the rest of the conversation.

‘Of course, we’re all just innocent men, aren’t we?’ He regained his need for theatrics as he spread his arms invitingly, laughing hysterically. ‘Everyone except for me, that is. I am the big scary monster at the bottom of the sea that you should fear. That’s what I am, right, darling? I’m the monster.’ He also began to get louder with each word, his words slurred with exhaustion. That is when you noticed the bottle on the edge of the desk. The rest of the room lay in disarray, but the bottle stood pristinely on the corner of the oaken desktop, uncorked without anything spilt it, but nonetheless half empty.

‘Are you drunk?’ You reached for the bottle.

‘You wish, princess.’ He laughed. ‘Then maybe I wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. But please, be my guest, drink–’ he pointed at the bottle you were holding, ‘eat, take my clothes, my bed, men, maybe go through all of my belongings once more, read my personal correspondence like its a bloody periodical. Jump of the ship if you please. I do not care.’ He threw his arms up, and something in you tightened. Of course, he knew about you, having read the letter. But should you feel guilty about it now? When he just admitted to targeting your friends? So many things were going through your head, and words you wanted to say to him, but only one question truly encapsulated it all.

‘What is your problem?’

‘You.’ He pointed sternly, so there was no confusion on the matter, ‘You are my problem. Have been since the very first day.’

‘Well, if only there had been a solution to that,’ you threw your arms up in faux-surrender, ‘Like maybe, not kidnapping me, or you could have left me to die on my ship or, even better, not ambushing my ship!’

‘You were never meant to be on that ship!’ He yelled out, letting out all his frustrations while all of yours disintegrated at that moment, too, as you let his words go through you. The next word you spoke was too overcrowded by confusion to be heard from a distance.

‘What?’

‘You know you weren’t supposed to be there.’ He blinked, and something in him cracked. A part of him you had never seen before that had come out by mistake and was now vulnerable against everything. ‘It was supposed to be them—him—’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I know them. You speak of what a monster I am, but I know what kind of monsters they are and what they do, and I know you’re not one of them.’

‘You don’t know anything about me!’ You gritted your teeth as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. With each sentence spoken between you, unbeknownst to either, utterly subconsciously, you had both pulled at an invisible string. Pulling each other closer and closer until there was nowhere left to pull; the knot tied you down. Inseparable.

Munson looked down at you, the angles of his features suddenly softer, eyes flickering over all the corners of your face. ‘Well, what do you know about me?’

If he had asked you this any other day, any other minute, even if it had been ten seconds before, you would have been able to answer him directly with no hesitation. But, unfortunately, he had asked it right at this moment, as you stood only inches apart. Breathing the same air in and out. Everything around you dampened. It was just you and him. No sound, no light, no touch. Time sped up and slowed down at the same time. You could have stood there for an hour or a second, which would not have mattered.

You were still fighting to find the words when he touched your cheek and pulled you in. His lips practically crashed into yours with the force of a burning sun, and that is what must have burst inside you as he did. All thoughts fizzled away from your mind to the point that the only thing you could think of was his body on yours. The touch between the two of you. His lips on yours, hand on cheek, chest to chest.

But as smoothly as those thoughts had dissolved, as quickly they rematerialised when he pulled away. And with the moment of clarity, you let your body speak for itself as now your hand met his cheek.

Harshly.

The impact ghosted your palm as the red mark across his jawline began to form. Following your hand’s movement, he turned his face away but slowly came back to you, and nothing had changed about him. You could not read anything of him. He was a closed book. A tall wall between two cursed lands.

But that is when you realised that something had changed in you. Deep within.

A fracture.

It must have been there for ages, shattering away small pieces here and there as time passed. Each day, no matter how hard you tried to keep them under control, the cracks would grow and grow, ready to burst out whatever it was hiding on the other side. This thing that was hungry for something. Something you had never known you wanted, even needed, but now could not live another second without. As your chest still rose with anger, and the final crack formed, breaking the foundations apart, you leaned in and let your lips meet his for a second time. Without letting another second go to waste, he grabbed you tightly and pulled you in, closing any possible gaps. Bursting through the walls.

Like a cannon,

straight through the heart.

The damage was done.

Chapter 8

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

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taglist (part 1)

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concerningwolves · 29 days

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i think it says a lot that this is my third time studying Van Gogh's art in a school/academic setting, but this is the first time that the message has been "Van Gogh created art despite his mental illness, not because of it". I vividly remember being on a school trip and looking at Van Gogh's Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear, and our teacher telling us at length about the "vivid" and "disorganised" way he used colour, and how this was reflective of Van Gogh's mental state. I guess because that's the fun, exciting way to make middle schoolers interested in some 19th century artist's work ("he cut off his own ear! Gross!"), but... it's so reductive. It completely ignores who he was as a person – or at least, the person he presents through his letters and art – and flattens what he was doing with his work.

Did you know he actually didn't paint when he was at his most severely mentally unwell? I didn't! Did you know he was a voluntary patient? I didn't either! Did you know he was deliberately painting in a style (and choosing subjects) that was/were transgressive and went against the established grain of academic art in the 19th century? Because let me tell you, learning that completely upended everything I'd internalised over the years about Van Gogh being this epitome of the ~troubled artist~. It's both deeply fascinating to learn about and a depressing reminder of the made-for-consumption-but-not-acceptance conception of mental illness that pervades popular culture & society.

#vincent van gogh #study journal #yeah i'm still having lots of thoughts and feelings about this guy

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jamiesfootball · 2 months

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Look, I love Roy and Jamie in Amsterdam, I really do. But I contain multitudes, and Jamie honestly looks so happy on the bus when he’s thinking it’s going to be a night out with the lads-

So I am rotating a version of the night where Jamie is involved in the vote and he gets progressively more manic about everything in front of the team, but the pillow fight still happens the same and everyone has a lovely time.

That night, with everyone camped out in the lobby amongst the pillows (who gives a fuck at that point honestly), everything’s dark and quiet. Most of the team’s asleep, and it’s like a slumber party, innit?

With Dani and Sam giggling on either side of him, teasing him about how strange he was being earlier-

Dani tugged at his sleeve. “I cannot believe you would rather go to a museum with Trent Crimn than see tulips with me? Really?”

Jamie hummed. “When it’s the middle of the night, yeah. Besides, you ever see a Van Gogh in person? It’s like looking at a tulip through 3-D glasses. If you like tulips, you’re gonna love this museum.”

“It is pronounced ‘Van-Goff,’” Jan corrected sleepily. “Please do not trust Ted to correct any language outside of his own.”

Sam chuckled, the warmth of his breath against Jamie’s ear as gentle as a feather. “I am surprised, though. I didn’t know that you had been to Amsterdam before.”

He doesn’t have to say it. Really, there’s barely anything to say. It’s water under the skinny bridge, locked behind a skinny frame whose echo lies somewhere deep under his skin. Impossible to reach; impossible to ignore it lying still.

It’s the phantom smell of beer on his dad’s breath as he makes him swear not to tell Mummy what they got up to. Just between us men, alright, boy?

It’s the soft whisper as Sam breathes his name — “Jamie?” — curious and easy and so very gentle it wouldn’t disturb a feather.

It’s the feather that tips the scale.

He tells them.

#jamie tartt #sam obisanya #dani rojas #jan maas #writing snippet #talking about Amsterdam

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ladamedusoif · 3 months

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Gentleman Cowboy

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader

Word count: 3500

Summary: A solo getaway. A fateful glass of whiskey. And a very charming cowboy, ready to explore the big city.

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Alcohol references and consumption; non-canon compliant as is right and proper because that man deserved better; oral sex (F receiving); safe PiV sex; little bit of strong language; no physical descriptions of Reader other than her blue dress and red lipstick; fluff; Jack-typical pet names (sugar, sweetheart, darlin’).

A/N: A belated birthday fic for @agentjackdaniels, who deserves all the nice things - including a certain, irresistible, (retired) secret agent turned ranch owner.

Follow my writing blog, @ladameecrit, and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Charisma.

The jury’s out on whether you’re born with it or can acquire it. For some people, it’s just there. Natural, easy, instantaneous. Doesn’t mean they’re more attractive, necessarily, or more successful. Just… charismatic.

Hard to explain, but you know it when you see it. And you’d seen it today, checking into the hotel for your solo birthday getaway. A staycation, of sorts - this is your home city, after all - but an escape nonetheless, a break from work, from stress, and a chance to mark another turn around the sun.

He was in the lobby while you were queuing to check in, sitting on one of the hotel’s chi-chi armchairs leafing through a city guidebook. By chance, you glanced in his direction at just the moment he raised his head.

He was all brown eyes, bright smile, dimple set in a tanned handsome face. More than that: he exuded charisma.

He nodded. You nodded back. By the time you’d checked in and secured your room key, he was gone.

***

He’s been to this city many times before, but always for work. Never any time for sightseeing or getting to know the place. In retirement, he made it his business to return to those old stomping grounds he wished he’d seen more of, joyfully embracing the life of a tourist for a few days before returning to the horse-breeding ranch he owned and ran back home in Kentucky.

The hotel bar is elegant and modern, wooden accents and brushed metal fittings perfectly in line with his own taste. He’s settled in a cosy corner alone, whiskey tumbler in hand, when he sees her again.

Her casual outfit from earlier has been replaced by a diaphanous, layered dress in midnight blue, printed with a pattern reminiscent of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. He half-expects to see a companion, joining her for a post-prandial nightcap. But she’s on her own.

Just like him.

The bar is quiet. He can’t help but overhear her at the bar. “It’s my birthday,” she tells the bartender, grinning happily. “They said I could have a complimentary drink.”

The bartender smiles and nods. “Sure thing, ma’am. What would you like?”

Jack watches as she peruses the gleaming shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar, noting the adorable way she chews on her lower lip while she’s thinking.

“I’ll make it a whiskey. A Gentleman Jack, please.”

His ears perk up in spite of himself.

Thing is, Jack’s pretty good at reading other human beings. Part of the job, after all, and pretty hard to let something like that slide when you’re no longer an active agent in the field.

He knows, then, that it might be a bit much for him to launch a typical come-on attempt at the bar. You seem like the type to find that too heavy-handed, disconcerting - cheesy, even.

Not that Jack minds cheesy, as required.

He returns to his book and when he looks up again, you’re taking your Gentleman Jack over to a small table in the other part of the bar. He taps his glass to get your attention.

“Hope you don’t mind me overhearing, miss, but I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday,” he says, Southern drawl as warm and as authentic as the Bourbon in his glass. He raises the tumbler to you, and you reciprocate.

”Enjoy that whiskey, now. Fine choice, if I may say.”

***

He’s definitely not flirting with you. Right? Right. Just a Southern gentleman of the kind that’s all “manners maketh man” and “yes ma’am” and opening doors for ladies. Probably illegal for him not to wish you a happy birthday.

Just a gorgeous man with the twinkliest, kindest eyes you’ve ever seen in your life, dressed in a beautifully-tailored western-style shirt and perfect dark denims, wishing you a happy birthday. Move along, nothing to see here.

You settle in with your birthday drink and your copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude, immersing yourself back in the world of the Buendia clan. Occasionally, you glance back in his direction, and sometimes, he’s looking over at you, too.

Coincidence.

As the alcohol hits you, you adopt a more cliched “mysterious woman” approach, as befits the slick of vintage-style dark red lipstick you’re wearing for the occasion. Let’s see what happens. No more looking over again, just you, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and Gentleman Jack. A good time to be had by all - handsome guy or not.

He’s gone the next time you raise your head. Empty seat. Empty glass. And your heart sinks, against your better judgment.

“Fuck it. Another whiskey’s in order - for the room.”

You nod over to the bartender, ordering another of the same and asking for it to be put on your room bill.

He returns swiftly with another crystal tumbler of the amber liquid and what looks like a business card. “Ma’am, the gentleman that was just here asked if he could pay for your next drink. Seeing as it’s your birthday. He just had one condition - that we pass this on.”

He hands you the business card, and it’s embossed on one side with a name:

Jack Daniels, Esq.

Some promotional thing, you assume, connected to the whiskey in your glass. But there’s something written in a clear, determined print on the rear of the card.

A number - a room extension number - and a message.

Happy birthday, miss. If you want to say howdy, this is where you’ll find me - J.D.

You quirk an eyebrow. This seems…insane. Like a set-up waiting to be revealed. But you take the card and head to your room with the whiskey, half-expecting that the next time you look at the little business card it’ll be blank - the note gone, imagined, the product of your own febrile brain and the power of Gentleman Jack.

Still there. Still metaphorically winking at you, daring you to call.

***

One finger of whiskey down. Enough to give you the courage to dial that number.

If it’s him, and he’s not a creep, just say thank you. That’s all you want, right? And he wouldn’t possibly want anything else.

He picks up almost immediately. “Well, hello there. Glad that barkeep gave you the card, miss.” His voice is low and honeyed over the line.

You clench your thighs together involuntarily.

”I, uh…I wanted to say thank you. For the drink.”

He chuckles. Oh, fuck. That voice.

”Wouldn’t be any kind of gentleman if I didn’t buy a lady a birthday drink. Specially when she’s drinking one that bears his name.”

You pause for a second. This is…weird. Pinch yourself, once, twice.

”So that’s your actual name? Jack Daniels?”

”The one and same, at your service.”

The whiskey has emboldened you. “Ah, but are you a gentleman, Jack?”

You swear you can hear him inhale sharply. “Well, well. Guess you’d have to get to know me to find out.”

”Birthday or no birthday, Mr Daniels, I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my hotel room.”

”Fine by me, sweet girl. How’s about I meet you in the lobby in five minutes? Might be cold but it’s a nice night for a walk. You know the city?”

”Lived here my whole life.”

He chuckles again. Oh, girl. You are in trouble.

”Now, ain’t that something. Perfect person to show a lonesome cowboy around. Grab your coat, sugar.”

***

He’s already waiting in the lobby when you walk out of the lift, wearing a black leather jacket with a corduroy-trimmed collar and a dark brown, felt broad-brimmed hat. Not quite a Stetson, but still perfect for a cowboy visiting the big city. His dark brown boots are impeccably polished, you notice.

”Well, hi there, birthday girl!” He grins, laughter lines around his eyes crinkling and emphasising the handsome contours of his face. “Guess we should introduce ourselves properly.” He extends his hand. “Jack Daniels.”

You introduce yourself and find yourself chuckling at the strange coincidence of his name. “Are you anything to the whiskey brand? I feel like I should know, just in case this is some insane promotional stunt.”

He laughs, a bright, genuine chuckle that makes your heart sing. “Sadly, I’m not the JD. But Whiskey was my…nickname. Once upon a time.”

”Makes sense,” you say, as he holds open the hotel door for you and you step out into the night. “Now, Jack Whiskey Daniels, where to?”

“I’ll leave that up to you, birthday girl. You’re the native and the expert. Happy to surrender myself to your capable hands. Only thing is…” He pauses, looking a little sheepish. “I’m hungry enough to eat a stable door. Mind if we pick up a little something on the way?”

You giggle, noticing the little flecks of grey among the dark hairs of his perfectly-trimmed moustache. “I’ve got just the thing, Jack. Come with me.”

***

”I cannot believe that delicious slice was two dollars. Two dollars! And they always say this city’s expensive.”

You swallow the last bite of your own pizza slice and laugh. “It is expensive, but the dollar slice still reigns supreme. Even if it’s two bucks these days.”

You wander companionably in the direction of the elevated garden walkway, your chosen destination for this stroll through your home city. “So this your first time here?”

Jack shakes his head. “Not quite. Been here a few times over the years, but…never got to see much. Always workin’, in and out of our headquarters. No time for just getting to know a place.”

You nod sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, sometimes it’s harder to see the good in a city when you’re there all the time. So it’s nice for me to get to be a tourist tonight, too.” The two of you climb the stairs and emerge on the walkway, you pointing out key landmarks to Jack as you stroll along together.

”So are you on a break from work this time?”

He looks at you with a soft smile. “Retired. These days I spend my time on the ranch, down home in Kentucky.”

You clap your hands excitedly when he explains that it’s a horse-breeding ranch. “Oh, wow. I just love horses - truth be told, I think there’s a cowgirl streak in me somewhere. City girl or no city girl.”

He laughs that gorgeous, warm laugh, and you feel your heart skip a beat. “Always happy to welcome a city slicker cowgirl on a tour, sweet girl. You just say the word.”

***

As you walk, you realise just how attentively Jack is listening to you. He takes in every detail, every word that leaves your lips, whether it be about the city or about you.

With a pang you realise that it had been a very long time since someone really and truly seemed to listen. To see you.

Or maybe he’s just like that with everyone. You are equally rapt, revelling in the melodious rhythm and comforting timbre of his baritone as he tells you about his ranch, his favourite horses, his fascination with the city.

You’d always assumed that you might be too overwhelmed in the presence of a man so incredibly handsome and charming to do more than just gape at his beautiful form. With Jack, though, you’d never felt more at ease.

And, dare you say it - he seems pretty darn comfortable, too.

The wardens on the garden walkway announce that it’s about to close, and you find the nearest exit and return to street level. It’s almost imperceptible, but for an instant you swear you can feel his broad hand on your back as you cross the street, heading back to the hotel.

“Now I’ve got a confession to make, Jack.”

He turns and raises his eyebrows.

”I’m hungry again. You want another slice?”

His smile feels bright enough to power half the city. “A two-buck pizza slice with the prettiest girl in town? Count me in, sugar.”

***

Your whole life, you’d assumed it was safer to wait until they made the first move. Helped avoid any embarrassing moments where you’d read the vibe wrong. Easier, too, to assume you would want someone more than they wanted you.

The electrical charge that’s crackling between you and Jack Daniels as you stand side by side in the hotel lift is a little too powerful for the “wait and see” approach. You look at him again, in side profile this time.

Fuck. That is a beautiful man.

”Jack?”

He turns his head and smiles. Your hands find first his shoulders, then the light stubble on his jaw. He closes his eyes as you caress his face, dark lashes resting on his cheeks. You move closer, feeling his breath on your face, tilt your head, and lean in to find his lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

The lift pings as he pulls you tight to him, tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. His floor.

”I sure hope this ain’t too forward, sugar, but… would you like to come to my room?”

You’re already walking out of the lift, holding his hand as you pull him down the corridor that leads to the guest rooms.

“Thought you’d never ask, cowboy.”

***

No sooner have you got to the room than he’s pushing you against the wall, your hands hastily unbuttoning his shirt and jeans while his broad hands grope your tits through your favourite dress.

“Goddammit, sweetheart, these are damn gorgeous,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the outline of your hard nipples under the light fabric. “You are damn gorgeous.”

”So are you, cowboy,” you purr, slipping your hand gently inside his boxer briefs as he moves you away from the wall and over to the king-size bed. Even half-hard, you are impressed by the feel of his cock in your hand - thick, heavy, and velvet-soft around the head.

He lays you down on the bed and quickly peels off his shirt, revealing a broad, tanned body clad in a white undervest that clings lasciviously to the muscles of his chest and back as well as the softness of his tummy. It’s a tantalising sight: Jack, his dark, silver-streaked hair slightly mussed and falling forward over his brow, propped up above you on the bed. You trace your fingertips over the pattern of freckles that peeks over the neckline of his vest.

”Can I taste you, pretty girl?”

You nod, throwing your head back and whining with pleasure as he gets to his knees at the edge of the bed and lifts up the skirts of your dress. He hums and moans contentedly as he buries his nose and mouth against your aching pussy, still wearing your panties.

”God-fuckin’-dammit. You’re gonna taste so sweet.”

With a swift tug your panties are off and his head is between your legs, stubble tickling deliciously over the sensitive skin on your inner thighs as his moustache presses against your wet folds.

”Taste me, Jack, please.”

The first long, slow, lick of his tongue up your slit is enough to have you moaning.

“Fuck, sugar suits you. Sweet as fuckin’ sugar down here.”

Another long, slow lick, tongue flat against you, and then the tip finds your pussy, flicking over the hole and dipping in and out until you feel like he’s fucking you with it. His nose rubs against your swollen clit in time with the thrust of his tongue.

”You’re gonna make me come, Jack…keep doing that, that’s it.”

You focus on the sensation, the sounds that fill the hotel room: your gentle moans, Jack grunting against your pussy while his hand works his own cock, the lewd wetness of your soaking cunt as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm.

”C’mon, sweetheart, come for me - c’mon, good girl. Got you so nice and wet, darlin’, I know you’re close.”

He rests a hand on your tummy as your hips start to buck upwards, the orgasm building and building inside of you until, with a scream of his name, you come hard on his face.

”Think you enjoyed that, sweetheart.”

”Fuck, Jack, that was…fuck.” You sit up and he helps you out of your dress, eyes roaming over your body and settling on the curves of your tits inside the dark blue lace of your bra.

”Can I take this off, sugar?”

You nod, reaching for the hem of his undervest. “Sure, cowboy. But you have to be naked too.”

He is only too happy to oblige. Undervest discarded and boxers on the floor, Jack climbs onto the bed beside you and sits you up. He takes his time with your breasts, unhooking your bra and tossing it to one side before bringing his mouth to each nipple and lovingly kissing and sucking and caressing them in turn.

“What do you want, baby?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You both know what you want. He breaks away and you lie back on the bed, spreading your legs, moaning delightedly as you feel his gorgeous weight settling on top of you.

“Want you, Jack. Want you to fuck me until this whole city knows who’s having me.”

He flushes visibly and chuckles, standing up to retrieve his wash bag and returning with a packet of condoms in hand. “And there I was thinkin’ you were a shy little thing, sweet girl.”

You laugh. “I’m shy until you get to know me, Jack Daniels. Shy, until…”

He positions himself back between your thighs, carefully rolling the condom over his impressively thick cock.

“Until?”

You pause for a moment to look into his eyes. “Until I feel like I’m safe with someone.”

He melts a little, leaning down to kiss you softly and slowly.

”That’s a heck of a compliment, sugar. A nice thing, to know you feel so safe with me.”

You smile and look up at him from under your lashes. “I think it’s your charm, cowboy. Not bad for two people who were strangers until a few hours ago.”

He hums happily and kisses you again. ”Not bad at all. Can I have you, sweetheart?”

”Yes fuckin’ please, Jack.”

He takes you slowly, carefully, stretching you steadily until he’s fully sheathed inside you. He takes a moment, squeezing his eyes closed as he fights the urge to go straight to fucking you as hard as he wishes.

”Feel good, Jack?”

”Feels out of this world, baby. Perfect tight, wet pussy, perfect pretty girl.”

He pulls his hips back slowly before snapping back into position and you whine, wrapping your hands around his shoulders.

“That feel good for you, baby?”

You nod frantically. “The best. Fuck me, Jack. Want to feel you.”

He builds up the pace slowly, steadily, taking you deeper and deeper before moving to take you harder and faster. Instinctively you hitch up your legs, finding your calves wrapping around his lower back as he starts to fuck you at just the right angle.

He babbles as he fucks you, praising you, promising you things you remind yourself not to see as anything more than sex talk. How he’ll bring you home with him someday, come back up to see you here, make you all his, how he wants to be all yours.

With a swift shift of his hand he finds your clit again. You come harder, again, crying out his name as he fucks and talks you through it.

“Good, good girl, my good girl,” he murmurs, eyes locked on the place your bodies are joined as he watches you ride out your orgasm. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? Prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

His long fingers press hard into your hips and you can tell he’s about to come. For a brief, sudden, vivid instant you fantasise about throwing all caution to the wind and letting him finish inside you: filling you, claiming you for his, all his.

Jack comes hard, groaning and crying out your name. He rests on your shoulder for a moment, catching his breath, before pulling out and nuzzling in beside you. You turn to face him, fingers trailing through the dark, damp strands of wavy hair clinging to his brow.

”Good, darlin’?”

You kiss him. “Very, very, very good, Jack Daniels.”

He chuckles against your kiss. “And do you think I’m a gentleman now?”

You pull back and flit your eyes over his face, as if making an assessment.

“Let’s see. Gentleman cowboy on the streets, gentlemanly demon in the sheets. Sounds perfect to me.”

***

You sleep soundly that night, nestled safely against Jack’s warm body. He wakes you with the gentlest of kisses to your forehead, and for a moment you can’t remember.

And then those coffee-brown eyes, that smile, and you know you’re right where you’re meant to be.

#gentleman cowboy fic #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey #agent jack whiskey daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #kingsman the golden circle #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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spadesolace · 8 months

Text

the idea of yoo - 0.2. the first letter

previous | next

“rei, yeah i’m on my way. sorry, i got caught up in-”

in the midst of a packed hallway, you somehow managed to swerve and not bump into anyone but it seems like today was your unlucky day. jeno and his group had bumped into you, sending your books, papers, and phone flying into the air.

“shit.” you scrambled to pick your stuff up, making sure that it wouldn’t be stepped on as the crowd continued ignoring your presence. ignoring everything as you made sure that you got everything.

“these hallways are murder.” yoo jimin. in all her glory was crouching down and helping you out. only for your gaze to linger longer than it should have.

“i’m naoi y/n.” she smiled at you.

“i know. you’re the only student here who knows how to read music sheets and play multiple instruments for my father’s sermons.” she handed your phone back along with some books. one of which was a paper for your art class, discussing post-impressionism. somewhat reading on the title regarding van gogh’s paintings.

“not everyone would pick van gogh for their essay.” slowly standing up and taking both the papers and placing your phone back to your ear, yoo jimin waved you goodbye. you forgot you were in a call with your little sister only to hear her snicker from the background. teasing you for introducing yourself to the girl who has looked your way.

taglist:

@1luvkarina @beawolfbealionbeyou @pandafuriosa60 @txtbrainrot @rinapomu @limbforalimb @yoontoonwhs @noascats @thefckghost @petruchiosstuff

#aespa smau #aespa x fem reader #aespa #aespa x reader #karina aespa #aespa karina #karina x reader #karina #karina imagines #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin #the idea of yoo smau

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muiitoloko · 1 month

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Hi! I've been devouring your alan fics so much! They're so so so good! Do you do requests? If so I'm kinda craving for some platonic love 🫶. Is it alright to have an Eli x daughter reader? I don't have a specific plot in mind. I just want some fluff but to make it better add some angst.

But if you don't do requests, it's fine. Just ignore this lol. Just really love how you write!!

Title: Become a great artist.

Summary: He wanted you to become a great artist, so you did. But Eli realizes that you have always been a great artist.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson × Daughter! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Angst, Angst, Angst! Neglectful father, criticism, mention of rape, kidnapping, suicide, death.

Author's Notes: Thank you for reaching out and enjoying my stories. I have to admit, I got a bit carried away with this one. What started as an attempt to create something cute took an unexpected turn into anguish, and I found myself writing through tears. If this isn't what you were hoping for and you prefer something cute, just let me know, and I promise I'll whip up something adorable for you.

First, Second and Third part here.

As the birthday celebration for your father, Eli, continued, you couldn't wait to unveil the gift you had painstakingly crafted for him. The table was already adorned with a collection of thoughtful presents, but yours was the final touch to the evening.

With a hopeful smile, you presented the oil painting you had spent countless hours creating. The canvas depicted a striking likeness of your father, Eli, capturing his essence in vibrant colors and intricate details.

But as Eli glanced at the painting, his expression remained unchanged, his lack of enthusiasm palpable. You felt a pang of disappointment as you looked at him expectantly, hoping for a more heartfelt reaction.

However, your mother, Sarah, sitting beside Eli, immediately took the painting into her hands, her eyes lighting up with admiration. "Oh, darling, this is absolutely beautiful!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "You're so talented!"

Your brother, Barkley, chimed in with his own praise, echoing your mother's sentiments. But despite their encouraging words, you couldn't shake the feeling of deflation at Eli's lackluster response.

As the dinner progressed, Eli seemed content to focus on his meal and his glass of wine, his attention drifting away from the festivities. You tried to console yourself with the thought that your father was simply not one to show emotions openly, but it still stung to see him so disinterested in your gift.

As Sarah noticed your hopeful expression towards Eli, she intervened with a comment meant to uplift your spirits. "You know, darling," she said, her voice warm and encouraging, "you have such a talent for art. You could be a great artist, like Van Gogh."

But Eli's response was not what you had expected. He scoffed dismissively, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Van Gogh? Please. The man cut off his own ear and ended up killing himself," he remarked, his words laced with derision. "Unless you're planning on following in his footsteps, I highly doubt you'll ever become a great artist. You know, the painter has to die for his works to become famous; that's how I see it, at least."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his cutting remark, your heart sinking at the realization that your father saw little value in your passion and talents. Hanging your head in disappointment, you tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Sarah shot Eli a reproachful glance, her eyes flashing with indignation at his insensitive remark. "Eli, that's enough," she scolded, her voice firm and resolute. "There's no need to be so cruel."

But Eli remained indifferent to his wife's reproach, his attention already drifting back to his meal. Ignoring Sarah's scolding, he continued to sip his wine, his disinterest in your feelings painfully evident.

Forced to put on a brave face, you mustered a weak smile and nodded in response to your mom's apology. "It's okay, Mom," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."

But inside, your heart ached with the weight of Eli's disappointment and disapproval. Despite your best efforts to please him, it seemed that nothing you did would ever be enough to earn his approval.

As the dinner continued, you tried to push aside your hurt feelings and focus on enjoying the rest of the evening. But deep down, you couldn't shake the sense of inadequacy that your father's words had stirred within you, a painful reminder of your status as the perpetual disappointment in his eyes. But you forced a smile onto your face, and you were happy. After all, it was a night to celebrate. It was your father's birthday, and everyone should be happy. You turned to your brother and started an animated conversation with him, talking about everything and nothing.

And so, the night passed until you and your brother said goodbye and prepared to leave. However, as you made your way to your car, you realized that you couldn't find your keys in your pocket. It suddenly dawned on you that you had forgotten them at your parents' house. As you approached your parents' house to retrieve the forgotten car key, you hesitated for a moment outside the door, the voices of your parents drifting through the air. Initially, you thought they were just chatting or perhaps discussing plans for the next day, but as you listened more closely, the tone of their conversation sent shivers down your spine.

"...at least pretend to be happy about her gift," Sarah's voice, tinged with frustration, reached your ears first.

Eli's response was immediate, his tone dismissive and biting. "Why should I pretend, Sarah? It's just another one of her silly paintings. If she wants to waste her time on that nonsense, fine. But don't expect me to pretend it's anything more than that."

You felt a pang of hurt at your dad's words, his lack of appreciation for your efforts cutting deeper than you cared to admit. As Sarah attempted to defend your gift, Eli's retort struck you like a physical blow.

"And what was that comment about having to kill herself to be a great artist? Honestly, Eli, can't you see how hurtful that is?" Sarah's voice, filled with exasperation and sadness, echoed your own feelings of disappointment.

Eli rolled his eyes, his impatience evident in his voice. "Oh, please. I was just being realistic. She's not going to make it as an artist, no matter how much you coddle her. And besides, if she's dumb enough to think her paintings will make her a great artist, then maybe she deserves a reality check."

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the weight of your dad's words settled heavily on your shoulders. Despite your best efforts to please him, it seemed that nothing you did would ever be enough to earn his approval.

As the argument between your parents reached its peak, you forced yourself to open the door and step inside, your head hung low as you made your way to the counter where you had left your car key. Your parents fell silent as they watched you, their expressions filled with surprise and concern.

Picking up the key with trembling hands, you turned to face them, your voice barely above a whisper as you addressed them. "I forgot my key. I'll just...I'll see you later," you mumbled, your heart heavy with disappointment as you turned and made your way back outside.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling of despair that settled over you like a dark cloud. Despite your best efforts to please your father, it seemed that you would forever be a disappointment in his eyes. And as you drove away from your parents' house, tears streaming down your cheeks, you couldn't help but wonder if you would ever be able to escape the shadow of your dad's disapproval.

As you drove home, your vision blurred by tears, you couldn't shake the weight of your father's harsh words. Each syllable echoed in your mind like a cruel refrain, cutting deeper than any knife ever could. The familiar scent of paint greeted you as you entered your apartment, your sanctuary, your studio. But instead of finding solace in the comforting aroma, it only served to remind you of your own inadequacy in your father's eyes.

With trembling hands, you made your way through the cluttered space, your eyes falling on the canvases scattered around the room. Each painting, a testament to your passion and talent, now felt like a mockery of your futile efforts to win your father's approval.

In a moment of overwhelming despair, you lashed out, sweeping your arm across the nearest table, sending brushes, paints, and canvases crashing to the floor in a cacophony of destruction. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood echoed through the room, matching the turmoil raging within your own heart.

As you stood amidst the wreckage, tears streaming down your cheeks, you felt a sense of catharsis wash over you. With each shattered piece of paintbrush and torn canvas, you released a fragment of the pain and frustration that had been building inside you for so long.

But even as you succumbed to the chaos of your emotions, a flicker of determination stirred within you. You knew that there was only one thing that could ease the ache in your heart, only one outlet for the storm of emotions raging within you: painting.

With renewed purpose, you retrieved a fresh canvas and a palette of vibrant colors, your hands moving with a sense of urgency born from desperation. With each brushstroke, you poured your heart and soul onto the canvas, channeling your pain and anguish into a whirlwind of color and emotion.

Hours passed in a blur as you painted through the night, your movements fluid and instinctual, driven by a need to escape the suffocating weight of your father's disapproval. Each stroke of the brush was a release, a cathartic expression of the turmoil raging within you.

You painted sadness, despair, and chaos, each image a reflection of the tumultuous storm that raged within your own soul. But amidst the darkness, there was also beauty, a glimmer of hope shining through the layers of pain and uncertainty.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, you stepped back to admire your work, the exhaustion of the night weighing heavily on your shoulders. But despite the weariness that threatened to consume you, there was also a sense of peace, a quiet acceptance of the emotions that had driven you to create.

With a heavy heart and aching limbs, you collapsed onto the floor beside your paintings, the tears finally drying on your cheeks as you surrendered to the embrace of sleep. And as you drifted off into the realm of dreams, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had your art, you would always find a way to weather the storm.

Days later, despite the emotional turmoil you had experienced, you found yourself slipping back into the familiar pattern of seeking your father's approval. It was a habit ingrained deeply within you, a longing to win even a sliver of recognition from a man who seemed perpetually out of reach.

But then, news came in a surprising package: your father, Eli, had won the Nobel Prize. The announcement came through your mother, Sarah, who couldn't contain her excitement as she relayed the incredible news to you and your brother, Barkley.

Filled with a mix of disbelief and pride, you made a point to visit your parents' house to congratulate your father in person. As you entered the room, Eli's face lit up with a rare smile at the sight of you, a genuine warmth in his eyes that you hadn't seen in a long time.

"Congratulations, Dad!" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement as you rushed forward to embrace him. Your dad returned the hug, his arms wrapping around you with surprising tenderness, a gesture that felt unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Eli said, his voice tinged with pride as he pulled away to look at you. "I couldn't have done it without the support of my family."

You beamed at his words, a surge of happiness flooding through you at the rare display of affection from your father. In that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope, a flicker of the bond that had been strained for so long.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself sharing a moment of camaraderie with your father, a sense of connection that had eluded you for years. You laughed together, reminisced about old memories, and even shared a toast to celebrate your father's incredible achievement.

And amidst the laughter and joy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the opportunity to share this moment with your father. Despite the years of disappointment and frustration, you cherished this fleeting glimpse of the man behind the facade of arrogance and indifference.

As the night came to an end, and the celebrations had taken their toll, you found yourself in a state of inebriation that made driving impossible. Eli, being the responsible parent, decided to take you home. However, getting you into the car turned out to be a bit of a challenge.

You were feeling particularly stubborn and silly, bouncing around the living room with an air of joviality. "I'm the Nobel Prize winner's daughter!" you exclaimed, a mischievous grin playing on your lips as you twirled around the room. "And my father is a geniuuus" you sang, your voice filled with laughter.

Eli couldn't help but suppress a smile at your antics, his eyes rolling with amusement as he watched you dance around the room. But when Sarah voiced her concerns and urged you to be careful, Eli knew it was time to intervene.

With a gentle sigh, he made his way over to you, his arms outstretched in a gesture of patience and understanding. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, his voice laced with affection as he reached out to scoop you up in his arms. "It's time to go home."

You giggled uncontrollably as Eli lifted you off the ground, your arms wrapping around his neck in a playful embrace. "But Daaaad!" you protested, your words slurring slightly with intoxication. "Can't we stop by McDonald's?"

Eli chuckled softly at your request, shaking his head in amusement as he made his way towards the door. "Maybe next time, sweetheart," he replied, his tone gentle yet firm as he carried you towards the waiting car.

As you waved goodbye to your mother over your father's shoulder, a sense of warmth and contentment washed over you, despite the haze of alcohol clouding your senses. And as your dad carefully buckled you into the car, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the rare moment of connection shared between father and daughter, even in the midst of your drunken antics.

As Eli drove to your apartment, he couldn't help but suppress a chuckle at your off-key singing, the melody of your voice filling the car with a sense of lightheartedness amidst the chaos of the night. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you, his daughter, swaying in the passenger seat with a carefree grin on your face.

Ignoring your playful antics, Eli focused on the road ahead, navigating the familiar streets with practiced ease. But despite his outward composure, there was a sense of relief in his heart as he guided the car towards your apartment, knowing that he had managed to get you home safely despite the challenges of the evening.

As the two of you arrived at your apartment building, Eli turned to you with a concerned expression, his brow furrowed with worry. "Do you think you'll be able to make it up to your apartment on your own?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

You nodded in response, a lazy smile playing on your lips as you reassured him. "Don't worry, Dad, I'll be fine," you slurred slightly, the effects of the alcohol still lingering in your system. "Thank you for getting me home."

Eli softened at your words, a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he reached out to gently pat your hand. "I'm always worried about your safety, sweetheart," he admitted, his voice quiet and sincere. "Just promise me you'll take a shower and get some rest, okay?"

You nodded in agreement, your head bobbing slightly as you struggled to maintain your balance. "I promise, Dad," you replied, your words muffled by a yawn as exhaustion began to weigh heavily on your eyelids.

With a gentle smile, Eli helped you out of the car and escorted you to the entrance of the building, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive as he made sure you would enter safely. "Take care, sweetheart," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of fatherly affection. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You waved goodbye to your father, a playful grin spreading across your face as you stumbled towards the entrance of the building. "I'll paint a picture of you with your Nobel Prize!" you called out, your words slurred but filled with determination.

Eli rolled his eyes at your drunken proclamation, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. "Don't waste your time on that," he replied, his tone teasing yet affectionate. "Just focus on getting some rest."

As you stumbled through the doorway and disappeared from sight, Eli stayed parked outside the building, his gaze lingering on the entrance with a sense of lingering concern. Despite his dismissive words, there was a part of him that couldn't help but worry about you, his daughter, stumbling through the darkness alone.

He knew he was tough on you sometimes, but he just wanted you to be better, to have the best, and he knew his silly paintings wouldn't give him that.

With a heavy sigh, he finally pulled away from the curb and began the journey back home, the events of the evening swirling through his mind as he navigated the empty streets. And as he drove through the quiet night, a sense of gratitude washed over him, knowing that despite the challenges and complexities of their relationship, he would always be there to watch over you, his beloved daughter.

Meanwhile, you went up to your apartment, fumbling a little with your keys before getting in, falling straight onto the couch tiredly. Despite the alcohol-induced haze clouding your mind, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment and warmth lingering within you. The evening spent with your father, Eli, had been unexpectedly pleasant, filled with laughter and genuine moments of connection that you hadn't experienced in a long time.

As you settled onto the couch, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, you couldn't help but replay the events of the night in your mind, savoring each precious memory like a cherished treasure. Despite Eli's usual indifference and tendency to dismiss your passions, you had managed to share a moment of genuine camaraderie with him, a glimmer of the father-daughter bond that had been strained for so long.

In that moment, you felt a surge of love and gratitude towards Eli, a flicker of hope that perhaps, despite his flaws and shortcomings, he did care about you in his own way. You drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face, the warmth of the evening wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

But days later, your sense of security and reassurance would be shattered in an instant, replaced by a chilling realization that would rock you to your core. Bound and gagged, staring into the face of your kidnapper, you felt a sense of disbelief and terror wash over you as they dialed your parents' number, putting the call on speaker for you to hear.

As the voice of your father, Eli, echoed through the room, you held your breath, desperately hoping for a glimmer of compassion or concern in his words. But what you heard instead sent a shockwave of pain ripping through your chest, leaving you reeling in disbelief and agony.

"I'm not giving you two million dollars for her," Eli's voice, cold and dismissive, cut through the silence like a knife. "She's not worth that much."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, crushing any lingering hope or illusion you had held onto about your father's love and affection. In that moment, you realized with devastating clarity that Eli's indifference towards you ran deeper than you had ever imagined, his actions speaking volumes about the true extent of his disregard for your well-being.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled against the bonds that held you captive, the weight of Eli's betrayal bearing down on you like a heavy burden. How could he abandon you like this, in your darkest hour of need? How could he place a price tag on your life, as if you were nothing more than a disposable commodity?

As the reality of your situation sank in, you felt a sense of despair and hopelessness wash over you, threatening to consume you whole. And in that moment of darkness, the flicker of love and gratitude you had felt towards Eli was extinguished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of betrayal and abandonment.

"I'm not joking," the kidnapper insisted, his tone cold and merciless. "I want two million dollars, and I want it now. If you don't pay up, she'll suffer the consequences."

How could your father refuse to pay for your freedom? The realization that he considered you unworthy of such a sum was like a dagger to your chest, leaving you gasping for air as you struggled to comprehend his callous indifference.

Meanwhile, in his hotel room in Stockholm, Eli ended the call with a dismissive flick of his wrist, his mind already moving on to other matters. When Sarah questioned him about the call, he brushed it off with a casual shrug, dismissing it as unimportant.

"No one important," he replied, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Just some prank caller trying to get a rise out of me."

But little did Eli know, as he lounged in his luxurious surroundings, that his daughter's life hung in the balance, her fate at the mercy of a ruthless kidnapper who saw her as nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game.

Back in the dimly lit room where you were held captive, the kidnapper crouched in front of you, his eyes filled with uncertainty as he pondered his next move. The prospect of not receiving the ransom he had demanded left him feeling conflicted, unsure of what to do with you now that his plans had been thwarted.

"What am I supposed to do with you now?" the kidnapper muttered, taking the gag off of you, his voice tinged with frustration and uncertainty. "If your daddy won't pay, then what's the point of keeping you around?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened to his words, fear and panic gripping you in their icy embrace. The thought of what he might do to you now, with no hope of rescue in sight, sent shivers down your spine, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to keep your composure.

But your terror only intensified as you saw the hungry look in the kidnapper's eyes, a predatory gleam that sent a chill down your spine. You knew what he was thinking, could see the lust and desire written plainly on his face, and the realization filled you with a sense of helpless dread.

"No, please," you begged, your voice trembling with fear as you pleaded with him. "Don't do this. Please, just let me go."

But your pleas fell on deaf ears as the kidnapper's gaze lingered hungrily on you, his lips curling into a sinister smile that sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. In that moment, you knew with chilling certainty that your fate was sealed, that there would be no rescue, no salvation from the horrors that awaited you.

Desperate and terrified, you called out for your father, Eli, your voice cracking with anguish as you begged him to intervene, to save you from the nightmare unfolding before your eyes. But deep down, you knew that he would never come to your rescue, just as he had never come to your aid on that fateful day when you first learned to ride a bike, falling and crying out for him, only to be met with silence and indifference.

And as you lay in the hospital bed, staring at the blank white ceiling above you, memories of your father flood your mind like a torrential downpour. You can't help but think back to that day when you were just a child, learning to ride a bike for the first time. You remember the excitement in your heart as you pedaled furiously down the street, the wind rushing through your hair as you gained speed.

But then, disaster struck, and you lost your balance, tumbling to the ground in a heap of scraped knees and tears. Through the blur of pain and disappointment, you cried out for your father, hoping for his comforting embrace to soothe your wounded pride. But he was nowhere to be found, lost in his own world of ambitions and achievements, too preoccupied to spare a moment for his injured child.

That day was just one of many in a long list of your father's neglectful moments, a pattern of behavior that had shaped your relationship with him for as long as you could remember. From missed recitals to forgotten birthdays, Eli's indifference had left an indelible mark on your psyche, a wound that festered with each passing disappointment.

And today was just one more addition to that list, a stark reminder of your father's priorities and his lack of concern for anything or anyone outside of his own ambitions. As you lay in the hospital bed, grappling with the aftermath of your ordeal, you couldn't help but feel a sense of resignation wash over you, a bitter acceptance of the fact that your father would never change.

Meanwhile, outside the hospital room, your brother Barkley paces back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor as he anxiously dials your parents' number. After several rings, his father Eli finally answers, his voice tinged with annoyance as he questions Barkley's reason for calling.

"What is it, Barkley?" Eli snaps, his tone curt and dismissive as he brushes off his son's attempt to interrupt his celebration. "I'm in the middle of something important. This better be worth disturbing me."

Barkley takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation that he knows is about to unfold. "Dad, it's about [Your Name]," he says, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "She's in the hospital."

Eli's response was immediate, his tone shifting from annoyance to genuine concern as he pressed Barkley for more information. "What do you mean she's in the hospital?" he demanded, his voice tinged with panic. "Is she okay? Explain this properly."

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Barkley relayed the details of the situation as best as he could. "She was found abandoned in a dirty alley," he explained, his voice trembling with emotion. "Some people called 911, and she was taken to the hospital. They tried to call you and Mom, but you didn't answer, so they called me."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line as Eli processed the gravity of the situation. Despite his usual self-centered demeanor, a flicker of concern and fear crept into his voice as he responded. "Is she okay? What happened to her?"

Barkley hesitates for a moment before delivering the next piece of devastating information. "The doctor said she was raped and assaulted," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "They found evidence of trauma...down there."

Eli's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to process the horrifying news. "Oh my god," he whispered, his voice filled with shock and disbelief. "Is she...is she conscious? Can she talk?"

Barkley's heart aches as he shakes his head, the weight of the situation bearing down on him like a leaden weight. "No, she's not talking to anyone," he replies, his voice choked with tears. "She's just...staring into space."

Eli's mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions as he struggled to comprehend the extent of his daughter's suffering. "Is she going to be okay?" he asked, his voice trembling with fear. "What did the doctor say?"

"The doctor said she's in shock," Barkley explains, his words coming out in a rush. "They're doing everything they can for her, but...but we need to be there, Dad. She needs us."

Tears welled up in Eli's eyes as he listened to his son's words, the weight of his daughter's suffering bearing down on him like a crushing weight. "I'm coming," he said, his voice filled with determination. "Tell her...tell her I'm coming to her. I'll be there soon."

As Barkley looked out the window, his heart sank at the sight of you lying motionless in the hospital bed. He felt a surge of helplessness wash over him as he listened to your father's voice crackle over the phone, his words filled with a mixture of concern and desperation.

"Dad, I don't know what to do," Barkley confessed, his voice trembling with emotion. "She's not responding, she's just...staring into space."

But before he could say anything else, Eli's voice cut through the air, his tone strained with worry. "She'll be fine, Barkley. She has to be," he insisted, but Barkley could hear the uncertainty in his father's voice, the underlying fear that threatened to consume him.

Barkley nodded weakly, his own doubts and fears swirling inside him as he struggled to find the strength to comfort his sister. "I know, Dad. I just...I wish there was more I could do," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eli fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air between them. "Just be there for her, Barkley. That's all we can do," he said finally, his voice tinged with resignation. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

As the call ended and the limo sped towards the nearest airport, Sarah clung to Eli's side, her own worry etched across her face. "Is she going to be okay?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

Eli wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close in a comforting embrace. "She'll be fine, Sarah. She has to be," he repeated, but his words sounded hollow even to his own ears, the guilt weighing heavily on his conscience.

Meanwhile, in the hospital room in California, Barkley walked in and approached your bedside, his heart heavy with worry. He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently as he tried to find the right words to say.

"I talked to Mom and Dad," he began softly, his voice laced with uncertainty. "Dad's coming, you know. He'll be here soon."

But you remained silent, your gaze fixed on nothing as you lay there unmoving. Barkley felt a pang of sadness in his chest at your lack of response, the weight of your suffering bearing down on him like a heavy burden.

"I know how much you love Dad," Barkley continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "Maybe when he gets here, you'll snap out of this. Maybe you'll come back to us."

But as he spoke, Barkley couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his gut, the fear that you might never be the same again. And as he sat there holding your hand, surrounded by the sterile scent of the hospital room, he prayed silently for a miracle to bring you back to them.

But you remained silent, your usually vibrant personality seemingly extinguished by the traumatic events you had endured. Barkley had never seen you so quiet; you were always the talker, the light of the family, bringing laughter and joy wherever you went. But now, the silence that surrounded you felt suffocating, like a heavy blanket weighing down on their already burdened hearts.

Days passed, and Barkley's fears began to materialize. Despite being released from the hospital, you remained distant and cold, your eyes hollow and devoid of the spark that once lit up your face. The only time you opened your mouth was to recount the harrowing details of your kidnapping and assault to the police at the hospital. After that, you retreated into yourself, shutting out the world and refusing to engage with anyone, not even your father, who had always seemed to be the center of your world.

"Barkley, I don't know what to do," Sarah confided in him one evening, her voice trembling with worry. "She won't talk to me, she won't talk to Eli...I'm afraid she's slipping away from us."

Barkley's heart ached at the pain in his mother's voice, his own sense of helplessness mirrored in her eyes. "I know, Mom. I'm worried too," he admitted softly, his voice tinged with sadness.

Together, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they grappled with the enormity of the situation. Barkley couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt gnawing at his conscience; if only he had been able to protect you, to prevent this tragedy from befalling you. But deep down, he knew that no amount of regret could change what had happened.

As days turned into weeks, Barkley watched you from a distance, his heart heavy with worry and guilt. You had retreated into yourself, isolating yourself in your apartment and shutting out the world. Barkley couldn't help but feel a sense of helplessness as he watched you paint, your once vibrant and colorful creations now replaced by somber and melancholic images.

He tried to talk to you, to break through the wall of silence that surrounded you, but you ignored his every attempt. It pained him to see you like this, lost in your own despair, but he didn't know what else to do.

One evening, as Barkley once again attempted to reach out to you, you brushed him off without a word, your silence speaking volumes. Defeated, Barkley turned and walked away, his heart heavy with disappointment.

But Barkley had a plan, a desperate bid to escape the suffocating weight of his guilt and the toxic environment that surrounded him. With your mother's help, he concocted a scheme to steal money from your father, Eli, and leave town for good.

Together, they managed to steal two million dollars from Eli’s accounts—enough to start a new life, far from the pain and suffering that consumed his family. They assured you that you would be fine, asking if you wanted to go with them, but your silence was answer enough.

And so, one fateful night, Barkley and your mother disappeared into the night, leaving you behind in your empty apartment, alone with your thoughts and your paintings.

Meanwhile, in his luxurious home, Eli wasted away, drowning his sorrows in alcohol as he wallowed in self-pity and regret. He had lost everything – his money, his wife, and now his son. But he still had you, his daughter, his beautiful daughter whom he had failed to protect.

Eli's cell phone rang on the coffee table in the dimly lit living room, breaking the silence that had enveloped the house for weeks. He glanced at the caller ID but didn't recognize the number, yet he answered it eagerly, hoping for some sign of life amidst the desolation.

"Hello?" Eli's voice trembled with anticipation as he held the phone to his ear.

"Dad?" Your voice, soft and distant, echoed through the line, sending a surge of relief and concern coursing through Eli's veins. He hadn't heard your voice in weeks, and the sound of it now filled him with a mixture of joy and apprehension.

"Is that you, sweetheart?" Eli's heart raced as he waited for your response, his mind racing with a thousand questions.

But before he could say anything else, you interrupted him, your voice carrying a weight that chilled him to the bone. "You were right, Dad," you said, your words hanging heavy in the air. "The painter has to die for his works to become famous."

Eli froze, the blood draining from his face as he struggled to comprehend the meaning behind your words. His mind raced back to your paintings, the somber and melancholic images that had replaced the vibrant and colorful creations you had once produced. Was this what you had meant?

"What do you mean, sweetheart? Where are you?" he questioned, his voice laced with concern and dread.

You continued speaking, your voice hollow and distant. "Because people like it, right? People like tragic things, sad things," you said, your words echoing with a disturbing clarity.

Eli's heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation. "No, no, my dear, please don't do anything rash," he pleaded, his voice tinged with panic. "Tell me where you are. I'll come to you right away."

But you remained resolute, your mind seemingly made up. "I'm on a bridge," you replied calmly. "I'm going to jump, father. I'm going to become a great artist like Van Gogh."

Eli's hands shook as he held the phone tightly to his ear, the weight of your words crushing him with a suffocating sense of helplessness. "No, please, don't do this," he begged, his voice choked with tears. "I'll do anything, just please come back to me."

Eli's heart sank as he listened to your unsettling silence, his sense of guilt and regret weighing him down. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know I haven't been there for you like I should have," he said, his voice filled with sorrow. "But please, don't do this. I'm coming to you right now. Just stay still, okay? Don't move."

But you interrupted him, your voice cutting through the air with a bitter edge. "You never came to my aid when I needed you, Dad. You never did," you said, your words laced with disappointment and resentment.

Eli's chest tightened at your accusation, the weight of his failures as a father bearing down on him like a crushing weight. "I know, and I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I've been a shitty father, and I regret it every day."

But you remained steadfast, your resolve unyielding as you spoke once more. "The key to my apartment is under the rug," you said calmly, your voice cutting through the chaos of the moment. "My paintings...put them up for auction. Maybe then you can recover the money Barkley and Mom stole."

Eli tried to protest, to argue that the money didn't matter in comparison to the value of your life, but you silenced him with a swift motion, sliding your cell phone and tossing it off the bridge, watching it disappear into the depths below.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, your mind set on your decision. "Become a great artist," you whispered to yourself before taking the leap, the rush of wind drowning out the sounds of the world around you.

As you plummeted towards the water below, a crowd of onlookers gathered on the bridge, their smartphones held high as they captured the moment for posterity. But you paid them no mind, your focus solely on the journey ahead, whatever it may bring.

A month had passed since the tragic day you took your leap from the bridge, and Eli found himself enveloped in a fog of despair. Despite his best efforts, there was still no sign of your body, no closure to the nightmare that had consumed their lives. The newspapers relentlessly replayed the cell phone footage of your final moments, each viewing tearing at Eli's heart anew.

With a heavy heart, Eli finally gathered the courage to fulfill your final wish. He put your paintings up for auction, just as you had requested, each stroke of the brush a painful reminder of the vibrant soul you once were.

Sitting at the back of the auction hall, Eli struggled to maintain his composure as each painting was presented to the eager bidders. Memories flooded his mind with each piece, from the happiest to the darkest, each one a testament to the complexity of your spirit.

He remembered the little girl he once carried in his arms, her bright eyes gazing up at him with an innocence that melted his heart. Back then, he had felt a twinge of disappointment at having a girl instead of the son he had hoped for, but that feeling quickly dissipated as he held you close, your warmth and love filling the void in his heart.

He recalled the annoyance he felt when you were a child, following him everywhere and refusing to leave him alone for a second. He had often found himself exasperated by your constant presence, yearning for moments of solitude that seemed perpetually out of reach.

Then there were the times you had forced him to have tea with you and your dolls, a memory that now brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He remembered the humiliation he had felt, sitting awkwardly amongst your toys, pretending to sip from a tiny porcelain cup as you chattered away happily.

But perhaps the most vivid memory of all was the day you had drawn on the important papers he carried with him everywhere. He had scolded you harshly for it, unable to understand why you would deface something so precious to him. But you had looked up at him with tears in your eyes and explained that you just wanted him to carry a little piece of you with him wherever he went. In that moment, Eli had felt a surge of tenderness towards you, his anger melting away as he realized the depth of your love for him.

As another painting of you went up for auction, Eli forced himself to become stoic, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He watched with a mixture of pride and sadness as the bids climbed higher and higher, each one a testament to the impact you had made on the world with your art.

Finally, a man stood out amongst the crowd, offering two million dollars for one of your paintings. The auctioneer turned to the man and asked for his name, and Eli's heart skipped a beat when he heard the answer.

"Lionel Shabandar," the man introduced himself, his voice carrying a note of authority as he met Eli's gaze with a steely determination.

But Eli looked away, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions as he remembered who Lionel Shabandar was. One of the richest men in London, Shabandar's presence in California seemed out of place. Why would he be here, at this auction, to buy a painting of his daughter's?

The auction continued, and Eli watched in surprise as Shabandar purchased nearly all of the paintings, one after another, with unwavering determination. Eli couldn't comprehend why Shabandar, a man of such wealth and influence, would be interested in his daughter's art. But the sight of him acquiring every piece only deepened the mystery.

As the auction drew to a close and Shabandar rose to leave, Eli felt a sudden urge to confront him. He hurriedly followed Shabandar, calling out for him to wait. Surprisingly, Shabandar halted in his tracks and turned to face Eli, greeting him with a nod as if they were old acquaintances.

"Doctor Eli Michaelson, isn't it?" Shabandar's voice was smooth and cultured, with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Eli nodded, a sense of unease creeping over him. "Yes, that's me. But forgive me if I'm mistaken, but do we know each other?"

Shabandar smiled knowingly. "No, not personally. But I've heard about you, Doctor Michaelson. Congratulations on your Nobel Prize," he said, his tone respectful.

Eli brushed off the compliment, his mind focused on the matter at hand. "Thank you, but that's not why I'm here. I need to know why you bought all those paintings."

Shabandar raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Isn't it obvious? Your daughter was a remarkable artist."

Eli's eyes narrowed skeptically. "Remarkable, yes, but why would you, of all people, be interested in her work?"

Shabandar chuckled softly, gesturing towards the paintings on display. "Because I recognize talent when I see it, Doctor Michaelson. Your daughter's art spoke to me in a way that few others have. Each brushstroke, each detail, conveyed a depth of emotion that is truly rare."

Eli remained unconvinced, his suspicions lingering like a shadow. "And what do you plan to do with her paintings now that you've bought them all?"

Shabandar shrugged nonchalantly. "Display them, perhaps. Or perhaps donate them to a museum. It's too soon to say."

Eli studied Shabandar carefully, searching for any sign of deceit or ulterior motive. But Shabandar's demeanor remained calm and composed, his intentions shrouded in mystery.

Before Eli could press further, Shabandar glanced at his watch and made to leave. "I must be going, but congratulations, Doctor Michaelson, your daughter has become a great artist," he said, offering a polite nod before disappearing into the crowd.

Eli was left alone, standing still amidst the bustling auction hall, his thoughts consumed by a flood of memories. As he turned to look at the paintings that had once adorned the walls of your apartment, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride welling up inside him.

You didn't become a great artist, no, you already were for a long time. Since you were a child and scribbled on the walls, on Eli's important papers, until Eli got fed up and gave you a painting kit. He remembered the day vividly, the frustration in his voice as he handed you the brushes and the canvas, hoping to pacify you with a creative outlet.

He could almost see you there, looking at the blank canvas and the paints in your tiny hands, asking your father what you should paint. And he, in his typical dismissive manner, had simply replied, "Paint something that will make me proud."

And you had smiled at him, a radiant beam of innocence that melted his heart, before setting to work with a determination that belied your tender age. You painted and painted, your tiny fingers creating masterpieces that Eli had never thought possible.

But despite your talent, Eli had never been proud of your paintings, always dismissing them as mere child's play. He had been blind to the beauty and depth of your art, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to see the world through your eyes.

As he stood there now, surrounded by the remnants of your creativity, Eli felt a pang of regret gnawing at his conscience. He wished he could go back, to cherish those moments with you, to celebrate your talent and nurture it with the love and support you deserved.

But it was too late for regrets now. All he could do was honor your memory, to ensure that the world knew of the remarkable artist you had been. And as he looked around the auction hall, at the eager bidders clamoring for a piece of your legacy, Eli couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Lionel Shabandar, the enigmatic stranger who had recognized your talent when he had failed to do so.

With a heavy heart, Eli made his way home, the weight of his emotions threatening to crush him with each step. But amidst the grief and the guilt, there was a glimmer of hope, a flicker of pride in knowing that you had left behind a legacy that would endure long after you were gone.

And as he gazed at the painting kit he had given you all those years ago, now gathering dust on a forgotten shelf, Eli made a silent vow to cherish the memory of his daughter, the talented artist whose brilliance had shone brighter than he could have ever imagined.

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