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#don’t mind how my phone is on the verge of death

txtmetonight · 6 months

Text

My Heart.

call summary⋆ ★ you're slowly going sour in your room

pairing *. * choi soobin x fem! reader

genre⋆ ★ heavy angst, fluff?

warnings *. * reader is not mentally okay, crude language, violence, bad grammar, pet names, suggestive?, death, derealization

call duration ⋆ ★ 2k

a/n*. * wrote this like in an hour so forgive me if it's horrible also the grammar is going to be sooo bad. English isn't my first language, soryyy, also I barely even proofread it so.....but anyway, enjoy and don't forget to reblog and comment or like!!!

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet

You used to be carefree.

But now you just spent your days locked up in your room, rotting away inside as your head churns and liquidizes into soup, gurgling up through the pits of your nose. You don’t feel real, the bed doesn’t feel real, nor do the walls but you still hold on. You feel as though you’re amidst of an angry sea, one that has the knack of producing powerful waves that hold cruel currents, dragging you up, instilling the warm sense of hope that you craved relentlessly before it plunges you deeper into the murky cold water, exploding all of your senses.

The phone on your bed stand vibrates and you find yourself reaching for the device to shut it off. Yet the Caller ID stops you in your tracks as your eyes widen in surprise, practically choking on your spit. “Soobin?” You murmur, lifting the phone to your face, blearily and morbid lights blinding you for a moment, but you’re impatient, and you yearn to see his name once more on your screen, so choke down the pain in your dilated pupil, and you let your dangerously weak fingers dangle over the answer button.

Your guts churn inside, and you’re about to puke...the room is spinning, and you’re being suffocated but your eyes don’t tear away from the phone, staring at it with such great marveled eyes, lungs taking in less oxygen than it needed each time you let air through. “Soobin, why am I crying?” You ask, and the screen goes back to its wallpaper; a selfie of you two. Hands strung around his back, he smiled goofily into the camera, lips puckered into your cheeks as if you were on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, eyes lidded with sleep.

Smiling is hard, you conclude, and your ears are bleeding heavily. The phone rings again and you’re plagued by its annoying noise that can’t seem to shut up. You tried everything, silencing your phone, turning off your ringer, throwing the device against the floor, followed by Mr. Carrots but you quickly found yourself either picking up the phone with the utmost care, turning your phone right back, or even clicking the switch that allowed to music to emit.

You wonder how your phone hasn’t died from the number of scars you’ve given it just now. Soobin. Soobin. Soobin. Soobin. It was like you were going crazy! Why was he calling you? You shriek against your pillow, letting drool seep from your mouth while you bite your tongue hard enough to make it bleed, and you savor the sweet metallic taste that coats your mouth. Turning around in bed, you shut your eyes in hopes that everything disappears, that the phone disappears, that you disappear. Not that it already happened. You were nothing and will never be from the depth of your pounding heart; not without Choi Soobin.

“You’re so astoundingly pretty” Someone familiar mouths into your skin and you feel the butterflies arise in you again, so fierce but lovely as it flaps against the inner lining of your throat, almost rendering you speechless. Blonde hair as the snow, he was utterly beautiful for this world. He was show-stopping, heart-pounding, beautiful. His lips were always pillowy soft, tempting you to be a little selfish a steal more kisses than needed, not that he ever minded. “More you, love” You retort, spinning around in his arms to face him. His bright eyes never wavered from yours and every single fucking time, he always looked at you like you hung the stars, like you were his whole world. “Stop lying, pretty girl!”

He stumbles, pulling you closer and leaving heart-shaped kisses all over your body, not stopping until every inch of your skin is covered in his love. He held passion, a burning passion that burnt your skin until you were numb, yet it was addicting. It was poisonous. “My pretty girl” Soobin sighs against your lips, before tenderly taking your cheeks into his warm palms, tugging on your lips onto his, longing for the warmth that followed, swooning over the feeling of you while his fingers roam around your body. And that very night, he made him yours and yours as his.

You’re awakened but this time when you flutter your eyes open, it is late at night and sweat pours through your body. Groaning over, you quickly realize that the phone has plucked you out of your slumber and you start panicking once more. Your hands shiver towards the phone, as you pick it up again, tears welling up in your glossy eyes. Your resolve was starting to crack faster than you thought. Heart beating fast enough to break through its cage, your fingers drift onto the accept button and you gasp once you come back to sense, lip bitten by your teeth.

You hope–no prayed that no one answered. That this wasn’t real, but it was...it was as real as it gets. You think. You don’t know. Or maybe you do. You also think you’re clinically mad. But when you hear your name whisper through the speaker, your brain dies for a second and then comes back alive. Jolts of electricity travel through your veins and you feel like you are flying. “(Y/n) ...sweetheart?”

“Soobin?” You cry, and you swear you could hear his heartbreak on the other side. You imagine him in his bed, cuddling Mr. Carrot’s sibling; Mrs. Rabbit to death, having it choke on his iron grip. You want to scream so badly until your lungs give out and vocal cords snap, but you can’t. “Hey love, I just wanted to drop in and say that I’m sorry...and that I’m outside your door right now.” The phone drops to the floor in shock, the clatter echoing against the walls. “No, you’re not” You rasp, trying to make sense of the situation but your idea is deflected when you hear knocking on the door. Hesitantly pulling back the covers, you slide onto the floor, and you’re unable to even look up from it, rather your eyes follow the ridges that slither.

Unfortunately, the cold doorknob was in the clutch of your fingers, threatening to turn to let in the love of your life. You rethink your decision, but it seems that your hand had a mind of its own, and the knob twists without you knowing about it, letting a gust of wind in. “You’re unhappy.” A voice sweet as honey drips down your spine and you shiver uncomfortably against it, furrowing your eyebrows when you meet the dark eyes of your lover, knees shaking and ready to give out. “You’re also crying” He chuckles, leaning closer to your face to wipe away fallen tears, but in the name of irony, you notice the angelic drops coat his cheeks too.

He was too pretty to be crying. “You too” You quietly whisper, breath barely ghosting over the swirling breeze as you let him in, closing the door right behind him. “(Y/n)” he sniffles, pulling you closer and you reel into him for a second expecting the safe warmth he gave out, only to be stuck against a walking refrigerator, cold as ice cubes. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, weeping over me!” He sobs, falling into your arms, and you finally, let out too, dropping to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. “Then why did you leave me?!” You mumble, afraid to close your eyes, clawing him harder, as you break his skin, but he doesn’t even flinch, instead he sinks into it even more, relishing you. “I had no choice, I tried, I really did.”

“Well, you should’ve tried harder” You harshly spit, before you breakdown into his arms, liquidizing into him as a whole. “I’m so sorry baby” He babbles, “I miss you so much, I can’t even–I feel like I’m being dragged through the pits of hell–it’s so bad baby. Please make it stop! Please!” Pulling away from him for a second, you slam your lips against him, and it feels just right, just like old times. “Then stay with me,” You say, not leaving him a second to respond, because you’re scared of his response. You’re scared that he’s going to leave again and leave out to decay with skin peeling off your bone as you left to survive off your own emotions, regurgitating them when you digested them all, repeating it all over again. “I need to, I’m so sorry.” He presses his forehead against yours, smiling with your lips. “You will?”

He nods into your skin, “I’ll stay” He declares before he drags his palm up to your chest and lays it over your heart while his other hand pushes you down, where he lays down on you, head over your heartbeat. “I love you so much” You whimper, threading your fingers through his hair. “I love you so much fucking more, I can’t even express it” He sighs contentedly, closing his eyes, snuggling into you. “And I’ll always be there with you, even when you don’t even know” He mutters, but you’re long gone into another round of slumber, so he decides to wrap his arms tighter against your figure.

The light cast across your face startles you awake, but this time you’re happy and more in love than ever. The weight from before has lifted, but that was casual, Soobin had always had his eyes open before you and he was probably in the bathroom. Moaning in pain, you stretch to your feet, as you twirl joyfully, padded feet. “Soobin?!” You call out, expecting a response but when you don’t hear a thing, your grin widens. He was just hiding from you! So, you call out his name several times, chanting it like a prayer while you turn your whole apartment upside down. “Hey baby, where are you, this isn’t funny anymore” You wail, sulking like a toddler before you tumble into your own room, the last place you didn’t check. “Soobin seriously, you’re getting me worried!” Your hands softly brush against your bed, then slide against your table before they stop along a pair of documents. Your heart is suddenly stuck in your throat; you struggle to breathe when you bring the paper to eye level.

Choi Soobin was pronounced dead at 5:53 AM.

Your feet roll underneath you, so you hit your head against the sharp edge of the table, cutting the skin in a straight line. “What the–” You laugh, bringing your shaky hand to your cut, smearing it over your finger, trying to distract yourself from the pain that was starting to well inside your heart. The same pain that was poorly buried. And right when the first drops contact your skin, your heart jitters and it feels horribly painful, as though you were being burnt alive. You swiftly wipe away your tears, and you crane to gaze at the picture of your fiancé, happy smiles, nothing else. You despised yourself in that portrait. You looked so happy in a situation such as this, you were supposed to feel guilty, so why were you smiling in that picture?

Would you have stopped grinning so alienated if you knew what the future held for you?

“I hate seeing you cry so much; it feels like someone poured acid all over my face like I was being burnt with hot oil!” He says, into your ear, after one night where your hurtful words were thrown around.

Lips parting, you gasp into your fingers, clutching your left breast.

“Choi Soobin, you’re in my heart aren’t you” You pant, as you memorize how his hands felt against you, where he placed his fingers, and how he promised you that he would stay. Your other arm tucks itself into the hold of your left arm, holding it down where Soobin held you–in that dream.

That car crash was inevitable, and so was the death that came along with it, but with Choi Soobin placed in the safety of your beating organ, maybe everything will be fine!

Or maybe you should rip out your heart instead.

#txt x reader #soobin x reader #k-labels #soobin #soobin angst #soobin x reader angst #soobin fluff #soobin x reader fluff #soobin imagines #soobin scenarios #txt x reader angst #txt x reader fluff #soobin headcanons #soobin reactions #soobie boobie #soobin oneshot #txt oneshots #txt scenarios #txt headcanons

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spinningwebsandtales · 2 years

Text

Imagine Arguing With Hangman Over Him Being Called Away With Your Due Date Close

Jake Seresin X Pregnant FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Arguing, angst, name calling

Word Count: 1,617

Requested by: @can-this-be-a-fanfic

Taglist: @chaoticassidy @the-marshals-wife @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Part 2 is here

(A/N:) Thank you so much for your request again! I loved writing this one as it gave me all the feels! And since I couldn’t choose between Hangman and Rooster I’ll be posting the Rooster one next! I hope you enjoy both and it’s what you were hoping it would be! Thank you for being awesome! Happy reading! ~Countess

Your pregnancy was an absolute blessing. Jake Seresin was going to make the perfect father and you were more than happy to bear his children. Though he had been away at the beginning of your pregnancy he had been the doting husband, caring to your every need. The baby was going to have anything and everything they could ever want with him as the father. Now as the due date loomed over your head Hangman had been called back to duty and the fear of giving birth by yourself was scaring you to death. Now you both were standing in the living room having a shouting match for the ages. Your swollen belly dangerously close to bursting and tears running down your face you couldn’t believe that you and him were arguing so bad. Hangman with his face red pointed a finger in your face.

“Do you think I want to leave you,” he shouted.

“No I don’t think that, but you have to tell them you can’t go,” you replied voice just as loud as his.

“I can’t do that! I made an oath (Y/N) when I joined the Air Force I can’t just not heed the call!”

“Hangman I’m about to give birth and I can’t do it by myself!”

“Lot’s of women have done it before you! You don’t need me, I was just the baby maker you deal with everything else!”

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” he snorted.

“You egotistical! Selfish! Stupid! Idiot!” You screamed tears pouring faster dripping to the floor leaving salty drops puddled at your feet. “You can’t go!”

“What do you want me to do (Y/N)?! Go AWOL?!”

You couldn’t handle it any longer. Turning away from him you felt your heart shatter. You were on the verge of throwing up from the turmoil of emotions swirling around. “Where are you going,” Hangman demanded stepping forward to grab you.

“Leave me alone,” you shouted yanking your arm from his grip. You stumbled a little from the awkwardness of your belly. Hangman darted forward to help right you but you sidestepped him. “Don’t touch me.”

Your whispered voice cracked before you walked away. You grabbed your cell phone that you had set down when the arguing match began. Dialing your parents you asked them to come and get you. You were too upset to drive and you didn’t want to wind up in an accident. Despite the anger you felt towards him you couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him alone if you got into an accident. Your dad was on his way to come and pick you up and take you back to your parents house. Back in the bedroom you got Hangman’s old gym bag down from the closet and began to fill it with your essentials and a change of clothes.

Hangman was left downstairs, stewing in his anger when he heard a zipper to a bag close. He knew he had pushed it too far now. You were leaving him, though he didn’t know if it was for the night or for good. He replayed the last twenty minutes in his mind and the memories caused his heart to sink. How could he say something so cruel? He knew he was angry but that didn’t justify telling you that he didn’t want anything to do with your pregnancy now. That’s the last way he felt, but his stupid mouth ran before his mind could catch up. Now you were coming back down the stairs, your cheeks tear stained and your swollen feet shoved into a pair of flip flops. You couldn’t wear tennis shoes anymore due to the swelling and that made him feel even guiltier.

“(Y/N),” Hangman started stepping towards you.

“Leave me alone Jake,” you snarled, body language stiff and ready to fight if need be. “I’m going to my parents. Go on your mission and whether you come back home or not is no concern of mine. I’ll probably be in the hospital anyway.”

He couldn’t say a word as you stepped out the door into your father’s embrace, before you slammed the door shut. The walls rattled from the blow knocking the photo of you and Hangman off the wall. It fell to the floor where a shattering noise was heard. Tears came to his eyes seeing the cracked glass splitting through the picture, it broke his heart to see the split right between you two. Hangman feared it was a sign. Gently setting it on the table by the door he hurried to make a phone call.

Your parents helped to soothe you after the argument but now you were afraid that everything was going to be messed up from now on. You began to wonder if you were going to have to raise your baby alone now. It was unknown if Hangman was ever going to forgive you for walking out, but you weren’t sure if you could forgive him for those horrible words he said either. Now as your parents checked on you one more time as you sat on the bed you had spent so many years on. They had left everything the same after all these years and the comfort of familiarity eased your turmoil. Despite everything you were still exhausted, pregnancy was rough on you and the argument didn’t help. So you got as comfortable as your belly would allow before easing into slumber. You were almost asleep when your phone went off. The notification showed that it was Hangman and while you were almost just asleep, now you were wide awake. Nervousness settled inside you as you were terrified of what he could possibly say.

Hangman: ‘I’m sorry (Y/N). I’m a crap husband.’

You: ‘I don’t really want to talk right now Jake.’

Hangman: ‘Please. I am really sorry and I feel like trash.’

You: …

Hangman: ‘I talked to Mav. He said that he can get me out of this mission to be with you.’

You: ‘Just go on ahead. I don’t need you. Mom and Dad will take care of me.’

Hangman: ‘(Y/N)’

You: ‘Leave me alone I don’t want to talk right now. I’m tired.’

Hangman: ‘Goodnight babe. I love you.’

You didn’t reply back. Shutting off your phone you fell asleep into a restless slumber.

In the morning you didn’t get to sleep in as voices were heard downstairs. It sounded like your parents and Jake. Surely he wouldn’t come here. But once you were downstairs there he was standing in the living room quietly arguing with your parents. You looked like a mess, but to Hangman you were the most beautiful he had ever seen you. Though your hair was sticking up everywhere, your eyes were bloodshot, and you looked like you had swallowed at least two watermelons.

“Mom. Dad.” You started walking towards Hangman. “Can you give us a minute? I think me and Jake really need to have a talk.”

“Are you sure,” your Dad asked. Worried about another argument in your state. You smiled at him and nodded. You couldn’t run away forever and if things could be patched up you wanted them to be.

“Hangman,” you started once you were both sitting on the couch. He held up a hand stopping you before you could continue. He cupped your cheek before pressing his forehead to yours.

“(Y/N) I am so sorry. You were completely right about me, I am an egotistical, selfish, stupid, idiot.”

“And a jerk,” you added.

“And a jerk,” Hangman repeated.

“And a crappy pilot,” you pushed.

“Let’s not go that far okay,” he rolled his eyes and you giggled. It made Hangman smile knowing that you still had that reaction when he was around. “But seriously. I shouldn’t have said those things to you last night. It’s my job to take care of you even through childbirth. So I contacted Maverick and he got Rooster to take the mission instead so I can be here for you and our baby.”

You shook your head, “I’m sorry too. I said some things I shouldn’t have and I was being really selfish.”

“No you weren’t,” Hangman held you tighter. “Being a Navy pilot’s wife is hard I know. I ask a lot of you, heck this country asks a lot of you. I need to be more sensitive to your needs. You’re scared, I realize that now. Man, I’m an idiot! You have to shove a baby out and I’m arguing with you.”

You sniffed as hormones got the better of your senses, “I am scared.” The admittance shook Hangman to the core. He didn’t want you to be afraid but you both didn’t know what to expect.

“I don’t want to do this alone,” you whimpered. “But, you also have a duty to your team. To this nation. I’ve always been second place and I knew that when I said yes. So if you are going to get in trouble for not going, I can’t ask you of that Hangman. Please go and be safe.”

Hangman wiped the tears from your eyes that spilled, “It’s okay. You think I’m a stranger of getting into trouble?”

You shook your head, “You stay in enough trouble with me. I can’t imagine what you do to your superior officers.”

Hangman laughed kissing you deeply, “So let me get you home and we’ll have a baby soon okay.”

You stiffened suddenly with eyes blowing wide open. Looking to Hangman with both panic and a little excitement. “Jake?”

“Yeah,” he answered looking anxiously.

“We don’t have to wait,” you breathed trying to get through the sudden shots of pain. “It’s time.”

“Oh crap.”

#Jake Seresin X Reader #Jake Seresin / Reader #Hangman X Reader #Hangman / Reader #Top Gun #Hangman Imagine #Top Gun Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing #Reader Request

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biographydivider · 2 years

Text

Another ‘it came to me on the train’ fic about my favourite turts 🐢

Stomp Stamp Stomp Stamp

Clap-clap!

Donnie winced, putting the soldering iron back into its holster preemtptively. He supposed three hours in the workshop without being bothered was verging on unheard-of territory, post-Kraang. He and his brothers hadn’t been more than a room apart ever since; but then Dad had taken Raph out into the countryside to ‘look after Todd’s puppies for a weekend’ (read: cuddle soft and drooling things, get some fresh air and probably have a good cry).

And after an uncomfortably huggy goodbye, Leo and Mikey had decided to medicate their way through the separation with sugar and Netflix specials. Donnie had declined to partake, of course. He had work to do - nothing to do with taking his mind off missing his big brother, not at all! - and besides, he wasn’t the biggest fan of sugar. It made his teeth itch. But now, apparently, the party was coming to him.

Joy.

Stomp Stamp Stomp Stamp

Clap-clap!

‘C.E.O, Entrepreneur,” his brothers sang in harmony,

“Born in 1964 -

Doooonnieeee,

Donatelloooooo...”

Donnie turned in his chair, pushing his goggles onto his forehead. In the doorway (time to change the entry code to the workshop, again) stood his twin and his baby brother; both wearing blazers, sunglasses and smirks. Mikey’s were pink and shaped like hearts, Leo’s were yellow and pointy, and neither were conducive to UV protection. The pair were practically trembling from repressed energy; Donnie could almost visualise the carnage of demolished Oreos, soda cans and sherbert (thank you soooo much for that one, April - ‘something sweet for your unsupervised night at home’, she’d said...) strewn across the common room floor.

“C’mon, Donnie, you can do it,” sang Mikey, bouncing in place to the beat.

“Pave the way, put your back into it,” Leo joined in, tapping his toe to keep time.

“Tell us why,” Mikey shimmied into the workshop, “show us how --”

Leo held up a picture of a soft-shelled turtle on his phone, pointing at it for unwarrented emphasis.

“Lookit where you came from --”

He then lunged across the floor, arms outstreched towards his twin, who smacked his hands away with a displeased snarl. “Look at you now.”

Donnie rested his chin on the back of his chair, unamused, as the pair launched into what could only be described as a TikTok dance. Perfectly in time, cheorographed to death, ending with Mikey doing the worm and Nardo attempting to stand on his hands to twerk against the workshop wall. A toolbox fell to the floor, knocked from a shelf by his flailing feet, and Donnie’s eye began to twitch.

“Zuckerberg and Gates and Buffet,

Amateurs can fuckin’ suck it...”

“I appreciate the sentiment, bretheren,” Donnie snarked, “but I really do have to work, and --”

“C’mon Don,” Mikey sang, yanking Donnie’s chair into the middle of the room and spinning it so violently that the room became a purple-tingled blur, “Get ‘em --!”

“That’s it!” Donnie yelled, his patience frying, limbs flailing wildly in rage. “Out!! Out, the pair of you, foul sugar-goblins! You...I...can’t...gaaaahhh you annoy me so much!!!”

Leo tumbled head over heels to the floor with a giggle, sending spikes of irritation through Donnie’s chest. He tried to rise to his feet in order to shoo them out...and succeeded only in falling back onto his butt with a thump, making Leo laugh even more. Inertia of the fluids in the inner ear; very much a thing, even for mad scientist turtles. “Ugh. Dizzy. Why you insist on bothering me, I’ll never know...”

“Because we love you, Donnie,” Mikey said, more sincerely than Donnie had expected, sitting cross-legged at his feet. Donnie swallowed the pang of surprise and guilt in his throat.

“Ahem...now, don’t pull that card,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You just wanted to irritate me, to distract me from my work, to...”

“Yeah.” Mikey blinked. “Because we love you. And we want to hang out with you.”

“I...um. Ah.”

There was suddenly a lump in Donnie’s throat, making speech - annoyed or otherwise - difficult. If Casey’s arrival had taught him one thing, it as that somewhere out there, in the millions upon billions of ultimate universes, timelines, paradoxes and whatever else lay tantalisingly out of his reach, there was a version of him that would have killed for the luxury of being annoyed by his brothers’ attention. Who would have loved one more day of sugar-rush-induced, hyperactive Leo - snickering to himself on the floor, bruised and scarred but healing. Who would’ve treasured a Mikey who was still a dumb kid, wearing silly, heart-shaped sunglasses indoors - not a Mystic Warrior with the fate of multiple worlds on his shoulders.

Who would give anything for their Raph to be ‘just’ a few hundred miles away, covered in dog slobber and tears and hopefully getting a good night’s sleep.

At least one version of him. There were a million ways the invasion could have succeeded. A million tiny mistakes that could have plunged them into disaster and dystopia. A million Donnies who would trade places with him in a heartbeat.

Sometimes, he really did feel every bit as selfish as people thought he was.

Donnie sighed.

“Is there any sherbert left?”

“Like, two packets?” Leo said. “The gross fake banana ones.”

“Wanna watch me snort both of them then skateboard down the new ramp?”

Mikey gasped. “The real steep one?! No waaay...”

“Standing on your hands,” Leo smirked.

“Wh --”

Donnie’s twin folded his arms across his chest. “It’ll be easy for you, Lair Games Champ.”

“I...uuuuuuuugh, fine.” The world was finally standing still for long enough for Donnie to haul himself to his feet. “On my hands it is.”

“Yeah, baby!” Mikey said, leaping to his feet with a beaming smile. “Don-ah-tell-oooooh, let’s gooo!”

“Come on, then. Last one there has to clean up the inevitable blood loss...”

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the tmnt fic #rise donnie #rise leo #rise mikey #Potential Title: The Boys Discover Bo Burnham; Shenanigans Ensue

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blackacre13 · 2 years

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Hello dear, could you please take my request? Lou has just gotten out of a rehab center but is still on the verge of losing her sobriety again. She has refused to talk or visit Debbie in prison until Rusty or Tammy check on her and seeing her state they reveal that Debbie has been hurt in prison but Danny didn’t want Lou to know. Lou is all angsty until she manages to get in touch with Danny and he finally tells her in which hospital Debbie is so she can sneak in. He hopes both of them get their lives in track together. Lou gets to see Deb and they promise each other they will survive.

Lou was in a stare down with a tall bottle of vodka on her coffee table. She’d locked eyes with it more than 40 minutes ago, and yet, she couldn’t bear to look away. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for. Or what she was doing. But then again, didn’t she know exactly what she had been doing?

It had only been a few months since she’d made her way out of rehab. Since she’d poured the bottles down the drain and handed over her old AA chips to Tammy with the face of a wounded puppy, upset that she was disappointing her friend. Letting her down. Letting down Debbie. Debbie. But Debbie was the reasons she was in this mess in the first place.

She’d been sober since she walked out the doors of the rehab center, squinting at the too bright sun without her trusted pair of aviators at the ready. And things had been good. Hard, but good. She got back into a routine. She put Debbie out of her mind as much as she could. She left Claude alone. She was done seeking out danger and revenge and escape. She was tired of drinking herself half-way to death just so the buzzing in her head would shut the hell up.

But something had seeped into her brain this morning. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what, but she knew it in her gut. And before she realized what she was doing, she was snatching a bottle of vodka off the shelf of her corner liquor store, sliding it across the counter with a blank expression. Buying vodka at 9 in the morning. And staring down that vodka for most of the morning afterward until there was a knock on the door that broke her from her stupor with a frustrated grunt.

“You didn’t think I’d let you get away with it being this long since our last visit, did you?” Tammy frowned, as the door swung open to reveal and somber and sad looking Lou. Tammy didn’t bother to comment on the outfit choice of boxer shorts, a sports bra, and what had to be one of Debbie’s cardigans either. “I brought back up,” Tammy smiled sheepishly, Rusty following past her inside, picking at a half-eaten tray of brownies. “And I had made you some goodies, but—“

“Well, I can always expect Tammy to visit at just the right moment,” Lou sighed, sinking back down on the couch, not meeting her eyes as Tammy eyed the vodka bottle. “But Rusty, you told me you’d only ever find me if—“ She looked up at him suddenly, with teary eyes.

“Lou,” Tammy started, crouching as she tried to sit near her, reaching a hand out towards her knee.

“What happened to her?” Lou hissed. “You have to tell me.”

“Lou, take a deep breath, sweetie. She’s alright. It’s just—“

“No she’s not,” Lou shook her head. “I knew something was wrong today. I Fucking knew it. That’s why I—why I almost—I didn’t, you know,” she finished with a whisper. “I couldn’t, Tam. I just—“

“I know,” Tammy nodded, smiling weakly.

“She’s hurt, Lou,” Rusty whispered, putting the tray down on the coffee table. “She needs you. Hell, you need her,” he murmured, nodding to the bottle.

“How hurt?” Lou swallowed, her throat suddenly unbearably dry.

“Danny didn’t want to tell you,” Tammy sighed. “He thought it would send you on a bender—or, I don’t know. You’d go all Romeo and freak but—“

“Where is she?” Lou seethed, the question more of a threat than a wonder, as Rusty passed her his phone, pressing the speed dial.

“He’ll pick up if he thinks it’s me,” Rusty whispered, Lou shooting him a look that was somehow both cold and grateful at once.

Rusty and Tammy watched her together as the blonde started pacing around, clutching the phone against her ear as she started to speak lowly, her voice rising in volume and anger as she went until she was backing up against the kitchen table and then slamming her fist down with a rage that made Tammy jump as Rusty tried to settle her, but what followed was worse than anger towards Danny. It was like they watched Lou break. Falling in on herself. Crumpling down in a chair as she sobbed against the table, her voice hoarse as she begged him.

“Danny, please, please. I need to know she’s okay. She needs to know I’m okay. I need—Danny, I’m in love with her.”

Tammy and Rusty shared a worried, but hopeful look, their silent mission accomplished as they watched Lou nod, a slow smile breaking out on her face as she started to scribble down information on a napkin, waving Tammy over hurriedly.

“When do the guards switch?” Lou asked suddenly, snapping into a new sort of mode. “They must have to take a break at some point. I need a wig. I need a fake ID. I—no, I was just going to say, thank you, Danny. I know you didn’t want me to—just, thanks. I’m gonna fix this, I promise. I’m gonna go get out girl. She’s gonna be okay, Danny. I’ve got her. I’ve got, Debs.”

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mudinyourshoes · 2 years

Text

My hot take is that a baby Venice is a goldmine for humor and conflict.

Imagine this: Pete and Vegas take home baby Venice. Vegas loves Macau and he’s protective of him - he feels that way towards Venice. This complicated by the fact that Vegas actually enjoys being a caretaker AND he’s got all these mixed up feelings of guilt and anger about his dad’s abuse and death, which he hasn’t dealt with properly and he’s projecting some of them onto Venice.

Meanwhile, Pete is trying to be a part of Vegas’ family and he thinks part of what that means is caring for Macau and Venice. He loves Vegas and is trying to fit in and it’s not working.

There should be a lot of humor worked in here, because babies are messy and reveal the foibles of adults - so we can get bathroom jokes, formula accidents, embarrassing public incidents, hilarity around trying to get the baby to bed, etc - but the joke is always on the adults (usually Vegas and Pete) and underneath the funny, things are going very, very badly.

Pete and Vegas are still emotionally compromised from the whole kidnapping-and-torture thing, the final shoot out, and Kan’s death; now they are also sleep deprived, exhausted and overwhelmed by trying to care for Venice when they haven’t even learned to care for themselves.

Vegas is on the verge of a supervolcano of a meltdown. Pete is about to end the relationship and leave Vegas in an act of self-preservation (again).

And then Porsche comes to visit. Pete and Porsche have been texting; Porsche is coming to check on his bestie - he’s heard about the baby, but hasn’t so much as seen a picture. He doesn’t do much checking up on Pete, though, because he’s distracted by how cute the baby is (this is like when your friend comes over to say “hi” but spends the visit on the floor talking to your cat).

Pete knows an opportunity when he sees one. Vegas is so tired and emotionally raw that Pete successfully convinces him to let Porsche “babysit” Venice for a couple of days. When Porsche is gone, Vegas and Pete sit down on the couch to catch their breath - and immediately fall asleep on top of one another.

Pol and Arm run into Porsche in the main family foyer and are like, Um, Porsche, did you kidnap a baby?!

Kinn walks in: Porsche, your hom- baby?

Everyone else is trying to get the story of where the baby came from, but Kinn makes a beeline for Porsche and starts cooing at Venice, petting his cheeks and making funny faces. He does not ask where the baby came from because he does not care if his husband has kidnapped a baby.

Anyway, Kinn and Porsche are superglued to Venice for the next couple of days. No one can get a coherent answer out of either of them about ANYTHING non-baby related. At one point, they have a legitimate fight over who gets to hold the baby.

Meanwhile, Pete and Vegas are doing a lot of crying and cuddling and introspection. They decide the can’t keep Venice. Vegas isn’t emotionally prepared to be a parent, it’s destroying their relationship, and Pete doesn’t really want kids anyway. They need to find a family to adopt Venice.

Pete calls Porsche to tell him to bring Venice back, but Porsche is weirdly evasive and then stops answering the phone. This worries Vegas, so Pete and Vegas “storm” the main family compound in search of their wayward baby.

They find Venice with Kinn and Porsche in that living room area that’s attached to Kinn’s bedroom. The marble coffee table, the long elegant couches….the sleek mafia vibe has been ruined because it looks like a baby catalogue vomited all over the furniture and floor.

Pete: …you’ve been babysitting for less than 48hrs…

Porsche, glancing around as if seeing the mess for the first time: Yeah, we’ve never had a baby before.

Vegas, snatching Venice up: And you don’t have a baby now!

Kinn: You could leave him with us. We don’t mind...

Vegas: You are raising my baby brother over my dead body and I mean that so very literally.

Pete: ...okay! It’s been great to see you - so nice to have a family reunion - we’ll be going now - no dead bodies today please!

Pete and Vegas take Venice away with them, leaving Kinn and Porsche with an empty nest. Vegas finds a nice lesbian couple who are looking to adopt and they arrange that Vegas will help cover childcare and education costs and he and Pete get to visit/babysit Venice on weekends.

Vegas: You don’t have to do this with me, I know you don’t like kids.

Pete: I don’t dislike kids, I just don’t want to have any. Venice is an important part of your life - I want to visit him with you.

Pete and Vegas now have time and space to work on themselves and their relationship and their baby adventure has given them new insight into their own needs and boundaries.

Porsche and Kinn do not get over their baby-craze. They go out and adopt a baby girl and spoil her badly because they are trying to give her all the love and goodness their own childhoods lacked but they have a poor sense of limits.

Chay: You never treated me like that!

Porsche, covering Baby’s ears: Don’t listen to your uncle.

(Venice grows up in a stable home far, far away from anything mafia related, raised by his two loving moms and his cool uncles. He thinks Macau is the coolest uncle/older brother and, as a toddler, he says so to Vegas’ face repeatedly).

(Baby grows up to the most entitled mafia heir EVER, but gets a reality check when she falls in love with a beautiful young woman, etc, etc).

(When Chay holds Baby, Kim’s brain short-circuits but, sadly, he’s emotionally allergic and breaks out into hives if he spends more than 5min in a room with a baby. Lucky for him, Chay is content with being an uncle).

(Tankhun declares himself the worlds greatest uncle. He is actually very good at dealing with poop, vomit, crying, etc, and he LOVES dressing Baby up and playing games with her, but he cannot put her to sleep at the end of the day. Kinn suggests this is because Khun’s version of a lullaby is pop karaoke, but Khun declines to take the hint. Porsche says he’s the “worlds greatest uncle from the hours of 9am to 9pm”).

#kinnporsche #vegaspete #possibly kinn and porsche need to adopt twin baby girls #so they don't have to fight over who gets the hold the baby #one for each of them #they go around dressed in their bespoke suits #but now they've each got a baby carrier strapped to their front #😂#every once and while in the years to come #vegas gets a twinge of regret that he's never going to be a dad #but he has Pete and Macau and Venice #and now also Venice's moms #and that's enough #....#fml #why is this so long

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thegendercocktail · 1 year

Text

8/5/2023 - A panic attack at the cinema

Yesterday was Monday, it was a quiet day following a work weekend and it was nice and relaxed. As part of the day, my folks made plans to go to the cinema to watch Guardians of the Galaxy 3. We got food, we sat down and watched the film. 2-3 hours later and the film is rolling credits. I started pulling out my phone and searching for if there were any post credit scenes to keep an eye out for.

As I did so, my mind wandered to my gender identity as a background thought but it was then, and I don’t know why, but I started feeling dizzy, struggling to breathe and on the verge of tears.

You see, yesterday I was thinking about coming out to my mum as transfemme, wanting to socially transition and medically transition to a primarily feminine idenitty as my doubts, while still occuring from time to time, had grown smaller in size. I wasn’t sure how to approach it from a conversation standpoint since me and my mum had discussed about my gender multiple times in previous failed attempts to come out when my tongue would start to feel like lead when I tried to get the words out. My mum would always take it as me trying to rush through trying to figure things out or if I’m looking at it because I don’t love myself. I love my mum, but her way of supporting me through this has not been the most prudent.

So I thought I wouldn’t tell her, I would just make myself look as feminine as I can with a she/they pronoun badge on my bag handle and my hair in a cute ponytail.

Part of me wonders if maybe I had started feeling panicked during the cinema cause I finally figured out or what if I was because I was so nervous about what would happen when the words are finally out. I don’t know...

Next thing I know, I grab my stuff and dash out the cinema, ignoring my mum as she calls my name. I exit the cinema and sit on the floor next to the door as I try to regain my breathing.

As I tried so, my mum exited the cinema and joined me in the corridor, with a look of concern on her face. She brought me round the corner and asked what brought it on, asking if it was something I read on my phone or maybe if I was even on some form of gender drug which was not a question I expected from her in that moment. All I knew in that moment was that I was struggling to breathe and trying to bring myself back to the present while my mum keeps asking me the same questions I don’t know the answer to and critiquing my response as over dramatic.

As a result, since, I’ve not said anything to my mum regarding my gender, which sucks because I was really hoping to finally get things out. But if I do it now, she’ll ask about it being related to my panic attack from yesterday and probably have a go at me for going on about the subject for so long when there are so much more important things to focus on like second hand cars and spots to visit while we’re on holiday.

I honestly just don’t know what to do anymore and it terrifies me. 4-5 years of questioning my own identity and that I finally have a form of confidence to come out with it, I’ve worked the subject to death with my mum over the years. I honestly don’t know how she’ll react or how I’ll come out to her now.,,

#genderfluid #transgender #trans #transgirl #transfemme #comingout #panic attack #mental health

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cultrise · 9 months

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omg??? imma need a second part of the hobie x r! sex tape fic🥵🥵🥵🥵

nsfw ahead ! ⸝⸝ part 1.

since you liked the sex tape req i did so much, i have written a part 2 that's hopefully a good follow-up. sorry it took so long😭 hope you enjoy !

you were yelling, screaming, on the verge of tears as you hid from the world in the comfort of your blankets. if death by embarrassment existed, you'd be a corpse. you wanted the ground to swallow you and your pathetic, horny little mind whole. you threw the phone away as far from you as possible. you weren't gonna call hobie, that was for sure.

that was maybe until your phone started to ring. your eyes shot to it in horror as you grabbed the device with shaky hands and looked at the screen. he was calling you. you let the call go through. there was no way you could talk to him after this. "would be rude not to answer" the notification read as you saw your best friend's name pop up on your phone again. fuck.

your fingers hovered over the refuse button. you couldn't talk to him. so why the fuck did you press answer? are you that stripped off of self-control? "finally" hobie spoke into the phone with a raspy voice, making your face turn beet-red. “need to talk to ya’ “ he said as you stood silent. even if you tried, no words would come out.

“kinda hard to do if you keepin’ silent” he scolded you. you felt your heart thump at an unreasonable pace against your chest cavity “sorry…” you let out weakly “hmm.. she speaks then” hobie muses as you bite down on your lip “can i come over?”

your eyes widen at his request “now?!” “yes, now. that an issue?” “my house isn’t clean!” “like i give a shit” “i don’t feel that great either!” “gonna find a way to cheer you up then” he continued, not wanting to let go.

you inhaled sharply, fingers gently tapping the back of your phone, in stress. “fine…” “good girl” you hear him say before he hangs up. you put your phone down and look around your room. just how will you get through this? soon enough, there’s frantic knocking on your window.

as the glass pane opens, hobie steps inside, throwing his spider-man mask onto your floor. “fuck, ‘s hot as shit outside” he curses as he fixes his clothes and looks at you — something you noticed immediately, a sign of how quickly he wanted to come over since he didn’t even bother to put his suit on. he looked so good in daylight. it had been a few days since you two saw each other — probably the reason for your little session that morning. one thing was clear though: you missed him. but for obvious reasons, you just couldn’t look him in the eye.

“you not gonna pay attention to me? ‘d figure you’d miss me at least” he mused as he got closer to you “of course i did i just… not feelin’.. too well..” he chuckled at your attempt to lie. “look at me, luv” his fingers gently cup the frame of your face as you looked up at him. god, he was perfect.

“you know why i’m here” you felt your stomach turn. you were hoping, praying, begging that he was not going to bring it up. “did you intend t’send that?” your lips purse, blush coating your cheeks. you fucked up. badly. “ ‘m talking to ya’ “

“no..” you say with a breath “thought as much” he moves away, giving you some space to breathe. “but” he sat himself on your desk as he looked at you “i enjoyed that nonetheless” he smirked, watching your eyes widen, ears turning red. “you shouldn’t have watched it!” you protested.

“right.. like ‘m not gonna watch you fuckin’ yourself and screamin’ my name. if anyone was to watch it, should’ve been me” he grins at you as you gulp. “i… it was.. it was not what it looked like” “really?” he reached over to you, pulling you closer as his eyes scanned your body. “think it was exactly what it looked like” “fuck..” you murmur as his hands find you hips, fingers tracing patterns on the fabric of your shorts.

“if you wanted me, ya’ could’ve just asked” he smirked as he got closer “what if.. i ask now?” his eyes widen at your request, a chuckle escaping his lips. your eyes traced the pattern of his collarbones, biting your lip slightly. you had no idea why you said that. must’ve been an impulse you couldn’t control. same as the wetness coating your panties.

hobie looks down at you, eyes glistening with desire as his thumb parts your lips open. you shivered under his touch, anticipating his next move. next thing you know his tongue is exploring your mouth as he presses himself onto you, his other arm on the small of your back as he keeps you secured, worried you might run away. you, on the other hand, were gripping onto his vest, hungry for his touch, absolutely drunk on the feeling that was hobie.

he groaned into the kiss as he pulled away to speak “jump up” and you did. your mind was absolutely controlled by him, he had you hooked on his finger. his palms supported your ass as you hook your legs around his tiny waist, lips finding his once again. he carries you to the bed, placing you on it as he climbs on top of you, laughing gently at your flushed face. “what?” you ask breathlessly as you pull away, trying to face him boldly.

he smiles, fingers playing with your hair “just thinkin’ about how good i finally get to fuck you into this mattress” your ears turn red as he looks around the room “where’d you put the phone? t'record that an’ all” you sigh “can we not talk about that?” hobie shakes his head, eyes traveling down your body.

“need to know where to set up my phone” he smirks as he looks up at you and meets your confused eyes “figured since you want me so much, i’ll get to make a video of my own” your hairs stand up on end as he climbs down, dragging your nightstand away from his original place and stacking books on it, making a makeshift tripod as he sets the phone down, screen turned to you as he presses record.

“need you t’watch how good i’ll make ya’ feel” he murmurs as hobie comes back to his original spot, starting to kiss down along your neck. you watch the phone with trembling eyes as you attempt to hide your face away into his shoulder. feeling you tense up, he speaks into your skin “relax, luv. you’re with me”

you part your legs slightly, letting him get comfortable on top of you as he pulls your shirt up, revealing your bare chest. “no bra?” he grins as he looks down at you, making you blush “stop staring like that” “nah, been waitin’ too long” he says as he bends down and starts kissing your breasts, playfully biting them.

you let out ragged, slow breaths as he pinches your left nipple, his lips sucking on the right one. you felt your cunt throb against his belt buckle and you prayed he couldn’t feel just how desperate you were for him. you felt so dirty because of it. so perverted. but little did you know just how into it he was. you soon became aware of it as he groaned against your tits, raising himself up slightly so he can take a look at your now-bitten and glistening chest.

“fuck.. your tits are so beautiful” he says as he watches your eyes scan his shirt. his finger hooks under your chin, raising it up so you can look into his eyes “want somethin’? speak up, lovey” your hands find their way under his shirt, making his pupils dilate as he watched you “take this shit off” you say as he chuckles “ouch. thought you liked my style” he teases as you roll your eyes “not what i meant” you stop as you watch him pull his shirt above his head, eyes darting immediately to the happy trail that peaked out of his pants “i know”

oh god. you were so wet. you knew damn well how good his body looked, how lean he was. it wasn’t the first time you saw him without his shirt on. he had a habit of playing guitar without his shirt on, cigarette between his lips as he strummed a lazy tune, knowing damn well your eyes were on him. but now that you were under him, it was different. your mouth watered as you thought of the way the cold metal of his nipple piercings would feel against your heated lips and tongue.

“you gonna keep starin’ at me or are you gonna do somethin’?” he smiles as you purse your lips, looking up at him. you grab him by the chain that dangles from his neck, pulling him into a kiss as your knee presses up on his crotch, his aching cock twitching at the sudden touch. he lets loose of a moan as his hands roam your body and you take this opportunity to push him, making him lay down next to you as you climb on top.

hobie’s eyes widen as he watches you, visibly flustered by your sudden boldness “if you want to make a new tape, might as well make a good one” you grin as you trace your lips down his torso. his hands grab at your hips, pressing your heated core onto his lap as you let out a small whine of despair. he chuckles as he slides your shorts down to your thighs, letting you finish taking them off.

as your shorts fall to the edge of the bed you find his belt, and you struggle to get it off. “easy ‘ere, doll” he smiles as he grabs your wrist “not yet” his smile grows as he watches you pout. he gently places you against the bed frame, opening your thighs and positioning his face between them as he purrs at the sight in front of him “gotta give ya’ a crash course first. cause ‘m nice like tha’ “ he licks his lips with anticipation as he moves your panties to the side, inserting one long finger in.

"oh, fuck!" you yell out impatiently as you beckon him to move, making him chuckle between your legs. hobie's rings leave imprints on the skin of your thigh as he presses his hand on it, parting your legs nicely for him to fuck his finger into you. "all wet f'me... fuck. wan' me t'fuck you so badly?" he raises a brow, a cocky smirk plastered on his lips. you whine as you move your hips down, fucking yourself on his hand as his index reaches deep between your sopping folds. "please.. i want you, hobie" you whine as he sighs.

"well, when ya' say it like tha'..." he adds a second finger in, leaning into you. you felt his hot breath against your throbbing cunt and let out a choked moan, desperate to get pleasured. hobie takes that as a signal to carry out his initial plan, applying a weirdly gentle kiss on your sensitive clit, sending shivers throughout your whole body. "what a pretty pussy.." he groans as he looks at it, memorizing its every crevice. your legs tremble as you let out a choked, needy whine. you see the crown of his head move as he nods his head "you're righ'.. enough stallin' "

his tongue starts to move strategic circles against your clit as you arch your back, gripping the sheets. your mind goes fuzzy. so much so that you completely forget about the phone recording you two. your walls sucked his long fingers in as he hummed, making music along with the sweet sounds your pussy made as he pumped his fingers skillfully.

you mewl as he pulls away from between your legs, leaving a trail of saliva behind as his fingers curl inside of you. you part your lips in pleasure, muttering an "ah, hobie! fuck.." as he mimics your moans, laughing. you take a mental note of the sheen on his lips, the juices that cover them. yours.

as you feel your orgasm build up he pulls his fingers out of your hole, making you squirm under him "should i show the camera the mess you made f'me?" he grins as you finally recall that he's filming all this. you watch him with shifty eyes as he parts his two fingers, a thick layer of slick stickiness on them. his eyes meet yours as he licks them clean, a glint jolting in his eyes as you sit there, hypnotized.

"now.. should i fuck you good, sweet thing?" you don't even realize that you're nodding at him until he pulls you up by your wrist, making you straddle him on the edge of the bed, the camera now filming your back. "you're right.. waited f'this for too long" he hisses as you raise your hips up so you can work out his belt, sliding the clothing downwards as his cock gets freed, slapping his lower abdomen.

you glance at the precum leaking down his beautiful dick, the stained boxers indicating how he had palmed himself while eating you out. you hear him breathe out as his boldness fades away, getting replaced by his own neediness, his own impatience. his hands slide on the sides of your hips as he tugs your panties down, making you raise your knees one by one so he can get them off.

he watches you as you gulp at his size, unsure whether or not it will fit, and, with a reassuring pat of his fingers on your thigh, he pulls you in for a gentle kiss, tongue licking your bottom lip. "fuck me, please.." you whisper as he pulls away, eyes wondering down your body. his large hands take control of your hips as he pushes them down on his length, making you both huff in unison. "ngh.. gettin' me s'wet" his accent thickens as he looks down at the way his cock gets lost between your thighs.

you cover your mouth as your eyes begin to get heavy, lidded with pleasure as you support yourself by holding onto his shoulder. his hands guide your hips up and down his cock, making you adjust to his length, to the way his tip kissed your cervix. "hobie.. oh my fucking god" you moan as he starts pressing messy kisses on your chest, between your tits. "i know, darlin'. she's takin' me s'good" he teases as your face starts burning.

soon enough you come back to your senses properly, straightening your back as much as you can so you can focus on riding him, craving the feeling of his cock abusing your insides. "mmh, s'deep!" you moan as he lets out a breathy chuckle "yeah? feel good?" he asks, lips meeting yours as his cold piercing gets dragged against your mouth. he had no intention of letting you go. after all, the way your walls clenched around him when he teased you made him see stars.

"so good" you say as you roll your hips into his, picking up your face. hobie's fingers dig into your sides as he tries to keep it together "fuck.. darlin'.. slow down" he groans as you shake your head, hand holding the nape of his neck as you buck your hips even faster. he did rob you of your chance to cum earlier so now that he left you in charge, it was hard to hold back.

"ah! hobie!" you yell out as he lets out a mix between a heavy breath and a moan, looking over your shoulder "fuck.. wished the camera could see how much y'want me righ' now..." he says as he starts making love bites on your breasts. you could only imagine how filthy and pathetic you looked, whining on your best friend's dick like that. that soon became unimportant as you felt a knot tighten in your belly.

"hobie... 'm close" you breathe out as he purrs into your ear "cum for me, luv. wanna please you" your fingernails drag across his shoulder blades as you inhale sharply, cursing violently "fuck fuck fuck!" you whine as hobie's throat goes dry with the sounds you are making. you sob as tears dry in the corners of your eyes and when you feel his thumb rub hasty circles on your clit you come all over his cock, making him look down.

your whole body shudders as he takes a glance back at you "you okay, beautiful?" "mhm" you let out a fucked out response as you try to keep your eyes open "keep going" you tell him, wanting to let him relieve his pent up frustration the same way you did. he takes control of your hips, pushing you down his dick and rutting his hips up into yours, filling the room with skin claps. "all mine" hobie groans in ecstasy as he watches the white, sticky ring at the base of his cock - a result of him pleasuring you just right.

he thrusts deeper, your moans filling his ears as he kisses your shoulder, whispering into it "y'squeezin' me up so well.. fuck.. gonna cum all over you" and he does, as he shoots out thick layers of cum inside you, feeling you up.

you both fall side by side on the bed, panting and flushed as you try to slow down your breaths, your beating hearts. after a few minutes of sitting in silence, hobie gets up and makes his way to the bathroom where he comes back with a towel, asking you if you want help with wiping yourself clean. when you deny he just walks to the window and opens it to let some fresh air in as he takes the water bottle from your desk, gulps down half, and then brings the rest back to you.

you raise your brows at his gesture as he rolls his eyes "drink up. y'need t'stay hydrated" and you empty the bottle without saying another word. he grabs the phone from the nightstand, closing the recording as he slides in bed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. you feel your cheeks heat as you ask him "you're not gonna keep that, are you?" he looks down at you, a smirk plastered on his face "why not? not fond of it?"

but you were. and he knew that. you were just too embarrassed to admit it. he pushes his chin down on the top of your head and closes his eyes, humming a peaceful tune as you settle into his arms, listening to his slow breaths. his lips part again, as he speaks up.

"next time i'll have you facin' the camera so y'can see how good you look while begging for my cock."

#𐙚 — pages.#𐙚— dreamscape.#atsv #across the spiderverse #hobie #hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader smut

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this-summertimes-sadness · 2 years

Text

my ocs (boys edition) as popular fanfiction tropes

because yes, i would like to see people write fanfic about my ocs.

- - - - -

arranged marriage - austin donovan

people talk, rumours echo through kingdoms while the truth wanders in abandoned wastelands — is this prince you’re marrying really what they say he is?

fit to be heaven’s heir, they say he was. a mind brighter than diamonds, a voice laced with the sweetest wine. you weren’t sure how much of it was true.

this was a contract. a wordless promise of alliance between kingdoms on the verge of warfront. a last-ditch attempt to preserve security in both nations. the involvement of emotional affairs are unnecessary.

but then you saw him. how he drew close to you, bowing deeper to you than he had even to kings and queens; how his smile was not forced but sunlit when he greeted you every morning to walk you to the dining hall; how he purposely walks closer to you, during councils and war meetings and strolls along the multiple terraces surrounding the castle, fingers always lightly brushing over yours if not holding your hand outright.

this marriage, this agreement, this prince…may not be as bad as you think it all would be.

red string soulmate au, near death experience - jaxon santiago

a red string. 25 years. when seemingly everyone had untied theirs from their pinkies and framed it up as remembrance of youthful years, yours still hung loose on your finger, lifeless, a piece of yarn with no apparent end.

it was hard to unlearn the habit of hiding your hands behind your back when some friend, some family comes to exchange conversations with you, arm around their soulmate as if they feared the sky would fall and separate them once again, a ring around where the crimson thread should’ve been.

‘your time will come.’ they’d say, pitiful glance following the empty promise of the line that reaches out into the unknown.

and it did. on a dreary, storm-ridden summer night, you met him.

‘miss, please stay awake!’ his fingers traced each valley, each curve of your throat, lightly trembling as they struggled to find a prominent pulsation in your veins.

the red string that once laid slumped over your finger had now found its new home on the doctor’s pinkie, begging for the first time to be noticed.

fake dating, famous au - astrid blair

he was supposed to be your body guard. it was supposed to stay strictly that. it was what was written on the contract when your manager hired him, and it was supposed to stay just that.

but alas, no one in the world is resilient to the allure of fresh, new scandal.

‘push me against the wall, now!’ you had made the demand out of desperation, in a bar that reeked of hard liquor and perfumed sweat, where multiple fans were making a pursuit for your time eager enough to be labelled assault. no one was looking at you two, it was happy hour and all were drunk on the revel of the lights and burning sounds. it should’ve been fine.

‘don’t question me, just do it!’ hand against his cheek, you stood on your tiptoes and lean in. try as you may, but you cannot put aside how warm his skin felt under the touch of your hand. how his hands traced surprisingly soothing circles on the bare small of your back. how his lips fit up just right against your own.

‘miss-’ it was curious, how when he broke away he seemed to be panting for breath. if it was just a cover, why did both of you stray, lingering, savour each sweet lemon drop and lavender syrup on the other’s lips?

‘sh…’ against all rationale of common sense, you smile at the fireworks sparking up against your chest as you let your lips reunite with one another. you could care about your manager’s phone call about the paparazzi photos taken of you with him making out later.

- - - - -

0 notes

vquacki · 3 years

Text

It's My Fatherly Duties!

Short DAD Scenarios

Characters: BONTEN - Rindou Haitani, Ran Haitani, Sanzu Haruchiyo

~ Inui Seishu, Kokonoi Hajime, Izana Kurokawa,

~ Souya Kawata (Angry), Nahoya Kawata (Smiley)

Warning ⚠︎︎ : Mature content, cussing, MINORS DNI

Note : requested, I added some characters. Hope ya don’t mind! These are pretty short, just little things I put together. Word barf kinda..? Anyways- I hope you enjoy :))

R I N D O U

His lashes fluttered open when he heard a loud crash coming from the hallway, along with a string of cuss words sounding like his daughter's voice.

“What the hell was that?” You groaned, not a single word was uttered from your husband when he sprung out of bed, bolting to the bedroom down the corridor.

“Tohru?!” Rindou yelled, flinging open the door. Revealing your teenage daughter fully dressed, half way through her second story window. A facade of pillows under her blanket seeminging meant to be her ‘sleeping body’.

“Oh dad, I-”

“What the hell are you doing” The man was fuming by the ears, pajamas ruffled when he jolted out of his slumber.

“Is Tohru okay?” You peeked from behind the broad shouldered man.

“I was just going to get fresh air!” Your daughter lied, making up a somewhat excuse to appease her angered father.

“Hey Tohru! Hurry up and get down here!” You heard a boy's voice call out, looking over at Rindou’s face to see the man's darkened expression.

“Who the fuck is down there? Is that a boy?!” He growled, stomping his feet over to the glass. Pushing past his daughter to take a look.

“Oh shit- her dads here. Let’s book it!” The kids whispered, but loud enough for Rindou to make out, hastily running down the dark street.

“You little shits! Don't you dare come back here!” Rindou growled, slamming the window shut in the process.

“What! Dad!” Tohru whined,

“You're so grounded young lady!” Rindou shouted, not caring for the sleeping neighbors beside his shared condo at three in the morning.

“Rin, she was just having some fun!” You defended, you were also like her when you were her age, trouble makers run in your blood. Actually Rindou couldn't even talk- he was running roppongi at her age.

“No! She's just too young to be hanging out with boys!” Rindou’s brows joined together as he withered in front of you.

“But we dated when we were her age-” You deadpanned at him,

“Grounded! My final answer!”

R A N

Ran was coming home from a late night bonten meeting, mouth agape when he saw his daughter’s feet dangling out from her window.

Fearing the worst he sprinted to the ground below his child, hands outstretched to catch her if she were to misstep.

“Mitsuri!” His voice boomed,

“Eh? Dad?!” His daughter stuttered, slowly slid out the window, climbing down like she had done this many times prior to this awkward occurrence.

Toes easily touching the grass with ease, not a scratch upon the females porcelain skin.

“Ran?” You yawned, cracking the door ajar. It was late, you waking up to your husband's screams outside your house.

“Mitsuri, what are you doing climbing out your window like a maniac?!” Ran scowled, hands running through his messed up hair. Sweat dripping down his temple from the not so pleasant adrenaline rush.

“I was just gonna hang out with some friends..” your daughter answered, fingers gripping the edge of her shirt, scarily waiting for her dad’s reaction.

“At this time of night? .. out your window?”

“Ye-”

“Phone privileges. Give me it.” Ran demanded, palm stretched out.

“But-” no question she was a tad bit spoiled by her father. You being the bad cop, while your husband played the good cop for his beloved daughter.

“If you want to go anywhere all you got to do is ask!” Ran plucked the phone from his daughter's hand, a wave of relief washing over him. Secretly thanking whatever being watching over him that it wasn't some sort of gang related subject.

“This is what you get for spoiling her!” You laughed from the sidelines, hand clutching your stomach.

“This is your fault too ya know!” Ran argued.

“I’m the one who tries to discipline her! But someone always lets it go!” You emphasized the special somebody.

“Whatever” Ran sighed, This was a lesson for the usual carefree man, a special lesson he wouldn't forget in the many years to come with his unborn future children.

S A N Z U

It was Sanzu’s best day of his life when his daughters were born, the two only being about one year apart. They were spoiled to the core, anything they wanted their money liberl father blessed them with. He thought they were the sweetest things ever, them both being a daddy's girl after all.

He never would have expected to see both of his daughters outside his humble abode, standing beside two boys, most likely a double date.

He stared in shock, hands pressed firmly against the glass, teeth gritting.

“Huh? I tucked them into bed an hour ago” You rubbed your eyes, riding yourself of the sleepiness threatening to drown you. The pink haired only tutted his teeth, swifty twisting the door knob to confront the four children outside.

“Oh you better run” your oldest daughter whispered, gesturing for the boys to make haste from her deadly father.

“You better not come back here, unless you want trouble you fuckers!” Sanzu yelled, red in the eyes from anger. Not bothering to chase after the two scoundrels.

“Dad, mom! What are you guys doing awake?” Your youngest asked, sheer panic in her eyes, watching her insane fathers unpleasant smile.

“I swear you two will be the death of me” Sanzu uttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. A irked gleen in his orbs as he stared them down.

“They were just friends dad, stop overreacting” the older daughter said,

“I- You little shi-” He bit his lip to suppress his anger fueled words, knowing well it would definitely hurt his precious children's feelings. Having regretted it later if he were to say those sinful words.

“Now now Sanzu, let's head to bed” You wrapped your arms around your lover, dragging him inside the house.

“You can sort out their punishment tomorrow, after a good night's sleep” , coating him with reassuring words. That day he learned how misjudged he was of his children, even so he still loved them with all his heart.

I Z A N A

Izana had his feet kicked up, relaxing in his office while he watched the moon. He had a clear view, the street lamps positioned next to the sidewalk, the side of his beautiful house facing his office window. He was enjoying his free time, mind taking over his body while he thought about his life choices. He was in ease until he saw his son's window light up, a long string of rope being tossed out the opening.

Sitting up from his chair, he rushed over to his clear casement. Throwing his window open, a boy and girl standing beneath his son's window. The two holding the rope still as your child tried to slid down.

“My my Yuki, where are you off to?” Izana laughed, nerves finally relaxing when he figured out what was going on. Calmly settling into the frame, head leaning on his chin. It wasn't like he had the right to be upset, he did much worse when he was his son's age. Robbing, fighting, killing. You name it, Izana’s done it.

Sneaking out was nothing compared to what he did, but he wasn't gonna just let his son go. He was more wise now, he knew for a fact he didn't want his son to end up anything like him. Sure, he wanted the boy to have fun, but in a normal kid way.

“Dad! Um- I”

“You better get your arse back up that window before I drag you around with that rope” Izana smiled, Totally different from the sentence he was portraying. Not forgetting his manners, giving a nonchalant wave to the other two kids.

“Zana? Who are you talking to?” You asked, placing a cup of tea you had prepared for Izana on his desk.

“Oh no one doll” Izana answered, closing the window before walking over to you.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He proposed, trailing his hands around your shoulders, guiding you to the door.

“But the tea I made”

“Im tired~”

Overall the male wouldn't want to talk further about the situation, nor would he discuss it with you. Trivial matters held no place between you both, as long as the child did not dare do it again.

I N U I

Inui wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead, the AC wasnt working at the motor shop. Him, draken and yourself were sweating bullets, the hot material around you not helping. You had decided to help the pair around the shop, cleaning what you could. Or helping with cashing every customer out, it would've been an easy task if it wasn't blazing hot.

Leaving your daughter home alone, obviously thinking she’d stay and do her teenage things. You couldn't be more mistaken, astounded as you watched her fiddle around with a boy across the street at the ice cream parlor.

“Y/N please don't tell me that Kagura..” Inui’s jaw dropped, the wrench that was once in his clasp dropping to the ground. Startling the concentrating Draken that was crouched over a motorbike.

“What's wrong Inui? Y/N” Draken twisted his body around, raising a brow when you two just started muttering to each other like two creeps.

“Is that... a boy” Inui held his chin between his fingers, squinting to get a better view of his kid.

“You trying to catch flies with your mouth Inui? Close your yap” You whispered,

“Y/N! She's too young, I feel like I just held her in my arms not too long ago. She can't get married just yet!” Inui argued, he would've been on the verge of tears if he didn't have a reputation to uphold.

“What? The fuck are you on Inui? She's probably just with a friend!” You patted his back, reassuring the man.

“Boys and girls can be friends ya’know” you added.

Cueing the two children across the road from you, feeding scoops of ice cream to each other.

“I don't think friends do that..” Inui looked over at you, eyes widening when you swung the motor shop’s door open. Hands coming around your mouth to amplify your words,

“Kagura, is that your boyfriend?”

“WHAT?” Inui almost fainted, the ledge behind him holding his wobbly frame up right.

“I didn't know you guys would be here!” Your daughter jogged across the street, leaving the boy sitting by himself.

“And no! Just a friend” She answered your embarrassing, blushing as she stared down at the ground.,

“I sense some lies” you wiggled playfully at the flustered girl.

“What! Anyways, Sorry I left the house without telling you” Kagura apologized,

“Just don't do it again, without my permission..” Inui stated,

“Especially not with a boy.”

K O K O N O I

Bribing people is his forte, and if they did not obliged? Threatening always did the trick.

And that's exactly what he did when he saw his descendant out with a male. All was dandy until the boy came running back, babbling about how his girl was the so called ‘love of his life’.

“Hey brat, you got a death wish?” Kokonoi asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Koko go easy on him, he’s just a kid” You nudged the man, a mischievous grin plastered on the males face.

“And I kinda think it's cute” You said, a small smile erupting from your daughter that was not so far behind her parents.

“I approve, kid! I like your romantic drive!” You clapped,

“Y/N!” Kokonoi pouted,

“You better not try to bribe him with money again” You threatened, waving a finger at the whiny man.

“Yeah! I like him too, dad!” Your daughter agreed.

“You're like twelve, go play chess or something” Kokonoi barked, crossing his arms in disapproval.

“Dad, I'm sixteen!”

“That's what I said”

S O U Y A

He almost had a panic attack at the sight, having to shield the man from the scene playing out. Your twin daughter saying their goodbyes to their dates, followed by a kiss. You removed your hand when the boys were no longer in view, riding off in their motorcycles.

“Shira, Nihra” You held Souya up by the shoulder, the light headed male limping towards the worried kids.

“What's wrong with dad?” Nihra questioned, eyeing her ghostly pale father.

“He's out of it” You giggled,

“I'm not crazy am i?” He stood tall, letting go of the arm you had draped around him.

“There was boys-” His voice cracked.

“You saw that dad?” Shira sweat dropped, watching as her fathers should leave his body.

“Next time ask before you go out” You smiled, you weren't too strict on the two. They were Souya’s children, earning most of their adorable traits from him. Even his fighting skills.

“This better not happen again, i'm trusting you” Souya grumbled.

“Sorry pops” The two girls remorsefully sollied the man, both hooking onto one of Souya’s arms as they helped his shell into the house.

N A H O Y A

Nahoya was beyond pissed, infamous smile widening. Taking fast steps towards your daughter and her significant other.

“Look boy, I don't know who you are. But my daughters not up for grabs” Nahoya grinned, cracking his fingers.

“O-okay sir” the boy was jittering, body trembling from the males intense arua.

“If I catch ya here again” he used his finger to slash his neck, motioning to the death that would happily greet the boy if they were to ever meet again.

“Yer dead meat kiddo” Nahoya laughed, watching as the boy ran for his life.

“Dad, that was really extra!” Your daughter sneered, a pout on her lips.

“Shut up!, you're grounded rat!” Nahoya shouted.

“Yeah Nahoya, there was no need to threaten the poor kid. He looked like he was gonna piss himself.”

“Exactly the effect i wanted”

End Note : as I said this was a word barf T-T, so it’s quite short.

Reblogs & Notes are always appreciated! Take care! ♡︎♡︎

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songbirdstyles · 3 years

Text

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red.

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him.

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.”

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips.

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory.

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow.

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times.

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night.

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap.

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead -

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer.

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply.

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze.

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh.

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him.

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone @harryslilkat @galacticferns @ficrecrry @morethanamelodyy @hoeeforstyles @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music @mintchipstyles @sstarkme @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #one direction smut #one direction writing #spyrry #holy shit #i can not believe how long this took to write i'm so glad to finally post it

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defprettysoul · 3 years

Text

𝕀𝕟𝕧𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 - Jackson Wang

Plot: every time he sits like that with ‘em legs spread open you can’t help but to suck him off.

Genre: Smut, kind of rough

Word count: 1.1k

Damn every time he sits like that.

Every time he’s sitting on the couch in front of his laptop working, meetings after meetings, phone calls after phone calls, looking all stressed as being a CEO at 23 is not easy,

But look at that, the way he’s sitting, leg spread open, hands-on his chin as he’s thinking very deeply, probably about the next big step of TEAM WANG, look at those pants almost about to rip as it’s too tight for those thick juicy thighs that you can’t have enough of, shirt’s sleeve rolled up with those veiny hands which you wish to grab you and choke you and teach you some disciplines, typing and writing things down various new ideas and plan which only he and his creative ass can think of, first three buttons of his shirt open for you to have a peak of his toned muscular chest, eyes of determination, hair messy, constantly flicking his tongue with noise and licking his lips as he’s trying to connect the dots on how to approach his next big project.

This is nothing but an invitation to you, the way he’s sitting with ‘em legs spread open, like asking you, inviting you, begging you. Or more so ordering/commanding you to crawl over to the couch, get on your knees, open his zipper, take out his gigantic length and put it on your mouth,

you can’t think of anything else but to suck him off with that view, as your mind, body and whole existence crave for him, you don’t mind if you can’t breathe, you don’t mind if it’s too deep down on your throat that it hurts, you don’t mind him grabbing your hair and moving your head as he wants all of him inside your mouth, eyes rolls up, drool comes out, everything inside your head gets messed up but you suck him with passion and determination like a good girl the princess you are to him and him getting lost in pleasure.

“If you are done staring can you bring me some coffee? I have to get done some more work by tonight”

His raspy voice brought you back from your world of imagination, you were staring at him for a long time unconsciously which he’s used to as you often get lost in your thoughts while staring at him.

“Are you tired? Why don’t you take a little break?” you got up and headed to the dining room to make him some coffee.

“No time to rest baby, new TEAM WANG design launching next week, I need to clarify a lot of things, then gotta planning for the MV shoot for the song that I recorded last month, finally finished the song, it’s a total bop you know, my fans will love it, can’t wait to announce all these”

You put down the hot cup of black coffee on the table in front of him and smiled with so much pride while watching him getting all excited for his hard work.

He was looking like a total cutie getting all excited, but that thought was still in your head and you realized you are soaking wet in front he thought from earlier.

After taking a sip from the cup he went back to concentrating on his work. You were hesitating to disturb him but you could not resist, both your body and mind wanting that one exact thing, so you slowly moved closer to him, and sat on his lap hugging him, you started planting soft kisses on his cheeks, neck forehead which made him look at you with puppy eyes.

“ What do you need? cuddles?”

You looked at him, didn’t say anything, and started stroking him down through his pants

“Ohhh...so you want this huh…. But right now i-”

Before he could finish his sentence you kneeled on the ground, in front of him, unzipping his pants.

“Babe…”

“Shhhhh….”

He could feel how desperate you were

“Guess I'll take a short break then” he smirked.

His length automatically bounced out as he got hard super fast. You started to stroke with your passionate hands while adjusting your position, pulled your hair behind your ears, and started licking the sides

It was super hot, you could feel the heat inside him, you felt pretty good about him on how your little desperation made him this horny.

You took few small slurps, as it takes time to adjust even half of his massive length fit in your smallmouth,

You were playing with your tongue as you were circling on the top of his tip, making him let out a few moans, you kept your speed as you were adjusting your mouth and throat with the length.

it was getting deeper and deeper with each stroke, you slightly looked up to take a quick glance at him. His head leaned back, eyes closed, hands resting on the sides as he was enjoying your speed, and you kept the same speed as his length was still too much for you to take in at once.

You choked on the sudden movement as he grabbed your hair and made it all in in one stroke, your eyes rolled up, and tears rolled down, you felt it on your throat all the way down.

“I’m getting impatient princess, now I’m gonna control the movement”

Your soul left the body the moment he grabbed your hair and moved your head at his speed and length. It was still impossible for you to take it all down your throat. You couldn’t breathe, tears keep falling down, head empty only the sound of his loud growl of a moan, can’t see or feel anything, everything is black, he’s moving your head with his speed and pace with all in, you couldn't feel any strength on your body you were on the verge of experiencing death and heaven at the same time as you were about to tap out cause it was impossible for you to continue or you will die or injure yourself, he stopped as he was on his climax.

It was all silent, he came all over your mouth but still didn’t pull out of your mouth. You were in pain, he was still in your mouth, and your mouth was overflowing with his come. He looked at you calmly but you couldn’t help but got nervous and gulped.

“ look at you the good you are didn’t let a single drop go waste, now don’t complain, you asked for it”

Both smirked. He lifted your face to take a good look as your face was a hot mess with tears, sweat, and his cum, and you knew there’s no place to complain cause you want this again.

#got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 smut #jackson wang #jackson wang smut #jaebeom #marktuan #jinyoung #youngjae #bambam #yugyeom #jackson wang x reader #kpop smut #got7 igot7 #kpop fanfic #fanfic #smut #jackson wang x you

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

If youre taking requests can you write something where the reader is having very bad period cramps all day especially when the reader and Bucky are trying to sleep at night so Bucky rubs her stomach and it feels really good and helps until she falls asleep

AN | Please, where do I find this 🥺 Its soft hours 💖 [I changed slightly, but I hope you don't mind!]

Warnings | period talk [reader on period, cramps], mention of sex [orgasms]

Masterlist | Bucky, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Bucky?" your voice felt tiny and pathetic, almost a whimper as soon as he answered the phone. He might have sensed that something was wrong right when he answered because all you heard was a sharp inhale.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," you lied - you currently felt like you were on the verge of death, "can you do me a huge favor?"

"Of course," his reply was almost instantaneous, "whatever you need."

"You can pick me up some tampons and painkillers on your way home?" you hadn't wanted to ask, but you were currently curled up in a small ball in bed, dealing with your cramps, "and maybe some ice cream? Or just anything sweet…"

"I'll go now and be home soon-"

"James," of course that was his immediate response. One of the many things you'd learn about Bucky since you'd been dating was that he was extremely protective over you. It was times like these that you really didn't mind, "I just meant whenever you're coming home, not drop everything and come now."

"I know," he agreed and you could already hear him rustling with his keys, "but I want to. I can't just let my girl suffer. Be home soon okay, sweetheart?"

"I love you," you whispered, "see you soon."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bucky ended up coming home with a small arsenal of items to hopefully help ease your suffering. Granted, some of the many snacks and sweets were for him too. After quickly putting everything away, he grabbed some water and chocolate and made his way back to find you.

Upon entering the bedroom, he spied you all bundled up, half awake as you attempted to watch some television. As soon as you heard him, you'd perked up and grinned at him, suddenly wide awake, "hi baby. You're home already!"

"Well I had to get home to you, didn't I?" he asked softly as he came over and sat next to you. Almost as if reading your mind he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, "how are you feeling?"

"Like death," you huffed lightly, "as soon as I got home from work, the cramps took me out and they wouldn't let up."

"Well, I am here to help you out," he promised, "I got lots of snacks, painkillers, and tampons. What can I do first?"

"Umm," you suddenly felt shy, not so much shy as almost embarrassed as you bit your lip. He raised an eyebrow and motioned for you to go on, "will you use your vibranium hand and message my tummy?"

"That's it?" he chuckled softly as you just nodded shyly, "of course, sweetheart. Just lay back and relax, okay? I've got you."

"I don't deserve you," you peeled the blankets back before lying on your back and trying to get comfortable. It felt like an impossible task right now with your body seemingly tearing itself apart.

"I think its the other way around," he insisted, getting comfortable next to you, spraying the black and gold vibranium hand along your abdomen, "tell me if it's too much or doesn't help at all, yeah?"

"Mhmm," you closed your eyes as he gently massaged the areas that were plaguing you the most. Bucky seemed to know the perfect balance of soft and gentle touches coupled with the harder pressure. He hummed softly under his breath, a tune you vaguely recognized as you relaxed. Whatever he possessed, magic seemed to be part of it.

"Come on baby," after a while, he tapped your hip, "let me massage your back too."

"Okay," you agreed softly, flipping over so he had easy access to your back. Bucky slowly pulled up your shirt before beginning to repeat his actions on your back. You had to bite back a moan at how good it felt; finally you could focus on the good pressure he was applying versus the internal cramping, "that feels so good, Bucky."

"Just tell me when to stop," he chuckled lightly as you mumbled a soft never from somewhere in your pillow, "you're going to have to get up eventually!"

"No," you pouted as you turned to face him, "I'll stay here forever with you massaging me. It's already helping a lot."

"Good," he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, "but I think maybe a hot bath and some chocolate would help too."

"Only if you promise to do that again later," you insisted as he nodded in amusement, "maybe you were meant to be a masseuse…but I don't want you touching anyone else but me. My personal masseuse!"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart," he sat back, holding his hand out to help you get up, "come on, a hot bath is calling your name."

"Join me?" you pleaded with him, knowing it wouldn't be hard to get to him to agree.

"Of course," he grinned, "you know what else helps with cramps?"

"Hmm?"

"Orgasms," he grinned at your surprised expression, "we'll save those for later, pretty girl."

"Oh."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #fluff

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mrhyde-mrseek · 2 years

Text

I’m in a Jekyll and Hyde mood now so here’s Jekyll and Hyde characters as things my friends said recently

•Enfield- “Do you have any friends who aren’t LGBTQ?”

Utterson-

Utterson- “Give me a second.”

•Utterson- “Jekyll! Jekyll’s straight—oh, that’s questionable.”

•Hyde- *screaming at his phone* “HEY, SIRI!”

•Hyde- “Wait. Lanyon, Lanyon, Lanyon—“

Hyde- *hits him on the head with an empty tea bottle* “Bonk.”

Lanyon- *spasms in surprise*

•Hyde- “I LOVE sex.”

•Poole- “Hyde is a walking headache.”

•Utterson- *puts his hand on Jekyll’s shoulder while making direct eye contact, right in front of him*

Jekyll- “Ah!”

•Jekyll- *is leaning back-to-back against Utterson and slowly losing his balance*

Utterson, getting gradually louder*- “You’re falling. You’re falling. You’re falling! You’re falling! HENRY!”

•Lanyon- “Haha, the inevitable heat death of the universe.”

•Jekyll- *throws an uninflated balloon to Poole right in front of Utterson’s face*

Utterson- “Very discreet. I did not notice at all.”

•Jekyll- *about Lanyon’s hair* “This is prime real estate!”

•Enfield- “There is a great barbershart—“

•Enfield- *verging on Boston accent* “There is a great barberSHAHP—“

•Jekyll- *rocking back and forth, desperately trying not to give in to the now knee-jerk reaction to say sorry* “Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—“

•Jekyll- *for the fifth time in five minutes* “Sorry!”

Utterson- “JEKYLL!”

Jekyll- “I had a reason that time!”

Poole- “What was it?”

Jekyll- “My back got cold.”

Utterson- “THAT IS NOT A REASON!”

•Hyde- *is wearing Jekyll’s massive hoodie and playing the drums on Poole’s leg with the sticks in the sleeves*

Hyde- *is singing “do do do do do” in a very toddler-ish way, not paying attention to anything around him*

Utterson- “. . . Hyde?”

Hyde- *looks over and sees him standing fifty feet away talking to Lanyon, staring at him*

•Hyde- *sitting on the floor, wearing Jekyll’s massive hoodie, with drumsticks sticking out of the sleeves like hands, staring off into space* “I think I’ve lost my mind.”

•Poole- “Utterson is tired and Jekyll is—“

Jekyll- “Mental-breaking-down . . . ness.”

•Jekyll- *apologizes 19 times in one period*

•Jekyll- “Lanyon would be a crazy cat lady.”

Lanyon-

Lanyon- “I have a lizard.”

•Jekyll- “I am missing one pair of scissors!”

Poole- *picks up a pair lying right in front of him that is not the missing pair* “They’re here!”

•Lanyon- *to Jekyll, who’s terrified* “You are excited! This is a chemical imbalance!”

•Utterson- *is doodling on a piano*

Hyde- *comes over and bangs a hand on the keys*

Utterson- “Thanks.”

Hyde- *bangs keys again walking away*

•Hyde- *headbuts Poole in the back of his head*

Poole- *jumps out of his skin

•Hyde- *haphazardly shoves his coat into the bottom shelf to hide it from Utterson*

Poole- “He won’t notice a thing.”

•Hyde- *uses a Cheez-It as a guitar pick*

Poole- “Don’t eat that Cheez-It. You don’t know where the guitar has been.”

•Lanyon- “Remember when you were like, ‘In France’—“

Jekyll- “No. That didn’t happen.”

•Utterson- “In the wise words of Enfield: there are people that are funny and there are people that have funny laughs.”

•Hyde- “More like Stega-whore-us!”

•Jekyll- “Depression corner.”

Jekyll- *makes a beeline to a corner and plops down*

•Hyde- *sprints into the room*

Hyde- *sprints out again*

*loud thud and pained Hyde noises*

Hyde- “DON’T RUN WHILE NOT WEARING SHOES!”

•Jekyll- *calling Poole* “Hi, is this bread?”

•Jekyll- *shakes his head while on the phone*

•Enfield- *walks away to clean up the milk he spilled from a canteen not realizing it has a cup and spilling it on his shirt*

Utterson- “How am I related to him?”

Utterson- “I share genes with this man!”

•Hyde- “What does human broth taste like?”

Poole- “That’s a bathtub.”

•Hyde- *is on his back with his legs up against the wall*

Utterson- “Hyde, are you okay?”

Hyde- “All the blood is rushing from my legs.”

Hyde- *somersaults right-side-up*

•Jekyll- “Oh, no, double team, DOUBLE TEAM!”

Jekyll- *runs for his life as Utterson and Poole sprint after him*

•Utterson- “Anyone have a weapon?”

Hyde- “My ass.”

•Hyde, stuck standing on the railing- “Utterson.” *grabby hands*

Poole- *goes and picks him up*

Hyde- “Oh, no.”

Poole- *staggers backwards with him in his arms*

•Utterson- *sprints past the band room*

Hyde- “Run, Utterson, run!”

•Jekyll- *rocks up violently from his back on the floor and almost kicks Lanyon in the face*

Jekyll- “OH! OH! MY BUTT! OW!”

•Hyde- “Pokémon, I choose you!”

Hyde- *spikes a McDonald’s toy Stitch at the floor*

•Hyde- “Stitch!”

Hyde- *launches the Stitch toy at Lanyon*

•Hyde- *turns the drum sounds up deafeningly loud*

•Everyone- *screams*

Poole- “Did that really warrant screaming?”

•Hyde- *spikes a piece of bread at the floor*

Bread- *bounces and lands in Utterson’s salad*

•Poole- “So Jekyll went into cardio arrest—“

•Hyde- “I’m reverting.”

Poole- “. . . To what?!”

Hyde- “A monkey!”

•Lanyon- “I’m gonna insert—I mean unsert—“

•Hyde- *grabs onto Lanyon’s leg half on the stage*

Utterson- *pulls Lanyon across the stage*

Hyde- *is dragged painfully slowly onto it*

•Jekyll- “I don’t want to be here until one o’clock—nine o’clock!”

Jekyll- “Brain breaking already!”

•Jekyll- “Brain breaking, back breaking.”

•Hyde, making a weird, piercing noise with the mouth part of a flute- “Edward make funny noise! Edward abuse his power!”

•Jekyll- “Um, can someone throw me a—“

Poolw- “I heard someone say wood. Hammer!”

•Hyde- *is wearing cheap plastic handcuffs*

Hyde- *yanks his wrists apart*

Hyde- *breaks the handcuffs*

•Hyde- *tries to unlock a lock*

Lock- *falls apart in his hands*

#the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde #dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde #dr jekyll #henry jekyll #mr hyde #edward hyde #gabriel john utterson #mr utterson #poole #hastie lanyon #dr lanyon #richard enfield #enfield #my friends

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

Keep holding my hand.

Harry was in an emotionally abusive relationship before y/n, something happens that makes his insecurities float back.

Impetuous reel of dithery thoughts rapidly bustles on the wall, Harry stares at it blankly – he stares and stares and stares ..... yet it does nothing for what he wishes.

His stomach fills with acid and his mouth burns with foulness with each painful beat his heart gives realizing maybe this's the end ---- he doesn’t spare a glance to the dinner wafting off he cooked with much happiness looking forward to tonight.

Where did I went wrong?

Did I hurt her in any way? What if she didn’t like me popping up at her studio that day to remind her of tonight

Well Keat didn’t like it ..... She used to hate it Infact,

No! She’s not like keat —--

But, then why isn’t she picking your phone? She knew, promised and she still didn’t came tonight?

What if she’s sick? Fuck, then I should go to her.

He shuts his screaming conscience down, shoving the heels of his palm against his pop-sockets wearily to make him feel something --- to escape the hurt that’s looming around him, crushing and squeezing him to death.

He blows off the candles, melted to their base from being sorrowfully lit from three hours atleast --- mocking him and his sincerity.

You deserve this.

Why did y’think ye' deserved anybody’s love?

She doesn’t love you anymore --- just like keat....

The corners of his glossy eyes prickles with pearly tears and it drops down his clavicles, with blurry vision he dials her one last time and it goes straight to her voicemail alike past three hours.

Hiya, Y/N here! Leave a message ‘cos I mighty be busy or maybe lazyin' round the farthest corner of my home .......

He tosses and turns, does it manifold times --- his sleep betrays him too and he’s angry soaring with venom, if he could scream from a cliff and throw stones down the pound furiously he'd instead his eyes runs droopy.

His shuddering breath sulks to tranquillity, all he could hear’s a screech of wind that’s hitting the window and his guts.

His body jerks at the chirp of voice he’s oh so familiar with —- other days he'd be submerging in the honeyness of it but at the moment he bites down his wrist to keep him wrenching his empty stomach out.

“Happy anniversary, bub!” His brows clinches down into a grumblish frown and he presses his hand between his thighs turning his back upon hearing the careful steps treading in.

The creaking stalls and she stands at his doorway with heavy heart, her throat —-- uff her throat feels like as if someone punched it several times.

Not letting her tongue to utter any word —- anything that’d assure him and her, everything’s alright --- it’s not a big deal.

Ofcourse, it is!

Little things matters most to him – told you —- he .. — he told you himself and you hurt him, you hurt him just because you couldn’t stand to your boss.

She wanted it to be perfect for him, for them — winded up the work her boss hoarded on her mercilessly last minute demanding her to wrap it up in an hour --- felt giddy and motivated to do it speedily looking forward to their celebration. Bought his favourite chocolate moose cake standing in the line of his favourite bakery, since he doesn’t like any other flavour.

She stands at the side bed looking down at him, heartbreaking in million pieces seeing him torn, all teary cheeks and this stoic for the first time they’ve been dating.

“’M sorry -- I –- my boss trapped me and – ‘n I really wanted to call you —-- then it took me forever at your favourite bakery, I’m so sorry baby.” She rambles nebbish-ly and catches onto his shoulder when he tries to face away from her.

He mutters, “Forget bout it. Go back home ‘s getting late.” Though, his heart lurches forward to embrace her and shower her in kisses telling her “it’s totally fine.” And that “how bout we celebrate now,” but being an emotionally sensitive person has it's very cons and one of it is requiring space and time to recover for better thinking.

His eyes slips into abyss and he holds back a sniffle when he feels the mattress dip behind him, she sighs, coos in the softest voice she only keeps it for her lover, “Oh baby .... you’re my home.” She's well aware of the anxiety he goes through. He feels like everything crumbling but she's there to catch him and she rubs his back.

The many many reassurances he needs from his lovie to keep going for them, the praises for him for treating her like the most precious daffodil —- because he never got praised before; even though how much of the world’s luxuries he'd lay at his ex's feet was never assured that how much she loves him (because she never did).

Y/N would never want his insecurities to float back and sting his scars, she'd never want him to ever go through from what he did in past —-- to be used like a toy and manipulated, might sound weird and whumpy of her but she’d kill many dragons to keep him protected at any cost.

He sleeps with her body cocooning him from behind and his erratic breath syncs to her calm ones.

His dreams full of suffering, void and darkness violently clashing and swirling against eachother as the ugly creature takes Y/N away from him, leaving him in prison of his own pathetic head.

Fear of loss —- he fears loosing her and does it make him toxic? He was snubbed so many times – being told his behaviour was toxic that he’d hesitate before doing anything precisely very fondly caring —- but then Y/N came in his life and she'd tell him how much she appreciates him, how he’s like the best sundae in hot summer and he felt like she’s the sunshine he was waiting for in the never-ending rainy days.

Y/N stirs from her light sleep on hearing the broken whimpers, the valley of her chest moist as he cries into her and she cups his cheeks gazing down at him concerned, “What happened sunny .... baby talk to me ...” Her voice groggy and on verge of tearing.

She sits back a little with him still between her legs and wipes his tears away gently, “I’m so sorry ...” He mumbles –-- eyes bloodshot and she shakes her head pulling him closer, if she’d be able to cradle him in his lap she'd but apparently he’s too big.

Queasy hiccups, “f – fo'--... d —- dou...” sad sniffles and hiccups that tightens his chest.

She tenders his wobbly lip kissing his temple, “shhh. shhh, puppy I should be the one apologising yeah?”

“no .. I didn’t gave another thought before doubting --- that –-- that you’re about to leave, no person in right mind does this – I —-,” His body trembles with blue sobs.

“Harry ...” she tries to gain his attention and when he still doesn’t listen, “I know I don’t deserve y'n – ‘n maybe you don’t want me anymore —--” she raises it a bit, “Harry!” he falls quiet --- nibbling the corner of his cheek to hold back hiccups.

“Look at me puppy, yeah? Shh hold my hand and take a breather.” She smiles. Takes his sweaty hand and aligns his palm to her mouth for a deep kiss – then squeezes it.

“Keep holding it baby, keep holding my hand, you’re going to be fine --- we – see us here,” she points between them with gleamy eyes and he nods timidly wiping his nose with his sweater paw, “we are fine baby –- we are okay..”

How could someone be this dreamy? This gentle and sweet? What did I do to deserve my lovie?

“Better?” She inquires. Little worried that he'll fall back into rabbit hole and tucks his head under her chin, keeping him warm against her chest and he clutches the hem of her shirt nuzzling into her.

“Did you really think, I’d leave you and that on our first year anniversary? Sorry to tell you .... ‘m stitched to your hip for life time, there’s no exchange policy puppy how much you grump.”

She grins. Happy to earn a feeble chuckle from him and scratches his head, looping his curls around her fingers.

“I love you.” She startles when he speaks hoarsely after the longest time and it’s not like he's saying it for the first –-- but it still doesn’t fail to engulf her in warmth, so much of it.

“I love you too, you’re my only puppy and very loved one.” His eyes crinkles prettily at that and she kisses the tip of his nose.

“You want to rest? We could eat the dinner you dearly made for me and oh we got moose cake in fridge too, what a coincidence!” She giggles. The room fills with wet treacly noises of smoochy kisses she’s patching on his cheeks and his jaw.

Without a word he holds her finger and leads her to kitchen, she creates proud noises of “ooh!” and “ahh!” trying to sneak a glimpse from over his shoulder but he'd shoo her away as he heats the food; she gets out gorgeous smiles from him she cherishes so much.

“You did all of this for me?” She gasps sweetly, hand over heart to accentuate the love she's feeling and walks towards him when he nods timidly rubbing his socks feetsies one over the other.

His cheeks blazes peach and she giggles pinching them, “You’re so cute aren’t you?”

“Okay then. Let’s eat!” she claps her hands together and pecks his lips before pulling her chair beside him rather than opposite to him and his heart flutters at that --- each pore oozing with deep love for her and every insecurity and anxious ideas completely drains out of him when she pats his seat and wiggles in her own --- anticipated to taste what he made.

“Hmm. This tastes so good, H! Your hands are really magical, huh?” She passes him a smirk pecking each of his knuckle to make him feel better about himself and his lips quirks up softly, “Thank you – d’ya w'na umm eat the moose here o'in bed?” Her face beams at that, him speaking more than two words and looking forward to spend the night with her.

“On bed, please –-- would you like tea? Think ‘m running out of if —- proper jello ....” She cleans the table and raises her brows when he gazes her adorningly as she’s the nymphs of stary oceans.

He shakes his head, nose twitchy as she nudges him teasingly and he takes her off-guard --- hugging her by waist and kisses her soft tummy.

“Nothing just love you bleedin’ much.”

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svnarintaro · 3 years

Note

BABY I HAVE AN IDEA,,, what about kuroo,suna and atsumu laying on your chest to cuddle?🥺

kuroo, suna and atsumu being the little spoon

a/n: YES AN ATSUMU REQUEST FJSDKJFSD IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE, TURN IT UP

also you calling me baby 0.0 me likey jfkdsljflsd

kuroo tetsurou

- he actually doesn’t really mind either cuddle position

- he is comparable to a baby

- he is in need of skin to skin contact

- usually after a long day of practice then a solid study session he is beat and just needs a nice relaxing break

- so when he sees you on your back lying on his bed watching a show

- being the needy baby he can be he cleans up his desk and proceeds to crawl in between your legs to lie down on your chest

your eyes followed the characters on your phone screen. watching the pixar film that was in front of you was really keeping you awake. waiting for kuroo tetsurou will personally be the death of you. he stays up really late when it comes to school work. your train of thought drifted to your little bicker session with kuroo earlier today on the way home.

“you should stop drinking so much caffeine.. it’s bad for you.” kuroo complained as he reached for your coffee. “you’re one to talk mr. ‘it’s only two am let me finish my notes’.” you say in a sarcastic tone and use your hip to purposefully bump into kuroo. “you’re really asking for it..” the captain said with a sickening grin on his face as he chased after you.

all things came to a halt for you when you felt a weight on your chest. you almost let out a noise only to stop yourself when you see it was a tired kuroo in between your legs, his eyes failing to remain open. you smile and turn off your phone. placing your phone onto the bed side table you sat up a littl ebit more and softly spoke, “tetsurou i know you are still awake, can you adjust a little bit i want to make sure your legs aren’t dangling on the bed.” you sat up and adjusted yourself and pulled kuroo back on you. seeing that he was on his bed completely you started to use your right hand to brush through his thick hair while the other massaged his back. “thank you kitten, i love you.” he mumbled as he nuzzled his nose into your body.

suna rintaro

- he loves to be held

- people find it weird when they figure out that he loves being held

- he skips practice just to walk you home and he practically begs to cuddle with you

- he wants nothing more than to be in your arms

- kiss his forehead please

- put on a movie in the background if you want

- and tell him you love him

- boom you get a blushy suna

“don’t you have a practice today?” you asked your tall boyfriend as you had a lolipop in your mouth and offered an unopened one. his fingers grabbed onto the stick and put it in his pocket for later. “yeah and what about it,” his eyes were already half open, he was done with dealing with the twins for a whole day and he saw no need to practice if he is already above subpar volleyball wise.

“shouldn’t you be spending your time doing- i don’t know productive?” you asked as you drifted from side to side on the pavement on the way home. “well i am using it to spend my time with you.” his hands got a hold of your shoulders and brought him closer as he noticed someone heading your direction.

small talk went back and forth between you two and you ended up going to his house since it was much closer to the school. you both took off your shoes and went straight to his room, put on a movie and started eating the food he had inside his bed side drawer. “for a really skinny guy you sure do eat a lot.” you mumbled out as you bit into a small chocolate bar, you learnt back to have your back supported by his pillows, “well i’m one big boy babe now lie down i need one hell of a nap.” he groaned out as he planted his head on your chest.

you giggled out and started patting his head like a child, “aww rinatrou wants a wittle nap,” you cooed in an annoying baby voice to tease him a little bit but to your surprised he nodded and looked up at you. “i want you to shut up and let me kiss you, you blabber mouth.” he smirked. and as the two of you leaned in to connect your lips his phone started to ring.

‘circus twin 1′

a groan came out of suna, “you have got to be kidding me, what the hell does this pig want from me.” “for you to go to practice you lanky idiot.”

miya atsumu

- he is a workaholic

- like he is almost as bad as oikawa

- so when he crashes at your place he is either full of energy or on the verge of falling asleep

- it is always the latter

- you were winding down from all the homework you finally finished

- with your laptop on your stomach watching random things on youtube

- to find your boyfriend standing at the frame of your door

“hey sweetcheeks,” your blond setter boyfriend sang as he slowly walked over to the foot of you bed, shutting your laptop shut and putting it away. “hey tsumu, how was your day?” you asked as you felt his body weight on your stomach.

“long as hell, i was teaching these first year on how to serve properly,” he tiredly smiled at you, the dim lighting just made him look more handsome. “i just missed you so much y/n,” atsumu nuzzle his head into your stomach. “hey tsumu come here,” you patted your collarbone, and like a little puppy his eyes shone so bright.

your fingers found themselves in the back of his neck. relieving his tension he sighed in relaxation, he loved feeling you hug him back, he loves being taken care of. “wow you really are tight in the neck,” you pointed out as you kissed the crown of his head.

your stomach filled with butterflies hearing his laugh, “i’m teaching little ducklings trust me i feel like i’m getting old as hell.” you grabbed hold of the side of his face, and looked him straight in the eyes. “yeah i can see your wrinkles showing,” you joked and that lead to the two of you playfully wrestling.

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