#haven't made one of these in a while but my friend sent me the original and it bewitched me.
Text
prosecutor's office
#haven't made one of these in a while but my friend sent me the original and it bewitched me.#ace attorney#📢#aa#i forget what my personal talky tag was for aa... its been so long..#ema honorarily gets looped in with everyone else here btw shes stuck working with them enough.
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
So this may be awkward but I saw your dbf fic and thought what about best friend's dad? Obviously it would either have to be a no outbreak au where Sarah is in her 20s or several years after the show when Ellie is an adult. Maybe the oc is a few years older than Ellie or Sarah or whichever you choose. Maybe I just haven't read enough TLOU smut but this is one I haven't seen and I would love to read something like this!
OMG Hi bestie!
So THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT WITH THIS??? You sent this in FOREVER ago but I've been so hung up on Lavender and Beskar Doll I just didn't get around to this.
Anyway, HERE'S THE ASK FINALLY! I hope you like it!
UPDATE A/N: This is now a full series (has been for a while but I just realized I never linked to the master list from here.) If you'd like to read more, you can find it here.
New in Town
When you move to Austin for work, your best friend Sarah recommends that you hang out with her dad, Joel, to get to know the area. Sarah just never mentioned the fact that her dad is just your type.
Pairing: BFD!Joel Miller x Female Reader
Warnings: SMUT! Fingering, oral (male receiving), protected P in V sex. Legal age gap (Reader is 35 Joel is 47.) No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only
Length: 5.6k (wtf is my problem)
You should have made Sarah text you a picture at the very least.
The bar was starting to get busy and you’d realized about 15 minutes earlier that you had no fucking clue what your best friend’s dad looked like.
“You’re sure it’s not weird that I hang out with your dad?” You asked Sarah the morning you left town.
“It’s not weird,” she waved you off, her curls bouncing. “Promise. He’s not like… an old dad. He’s fun. You get along with me so you’ll get along with him. It’s at least something so you’re not stuck in Austin not knowing anybody.”
“Yeah,” you nodded and then sighed, looking at your coffee. One last cup of the good stuff in Seattle before your flight in a few hours.
There was a knot in your stomach at the thought of leaving, now that it was actually here. You’d been in Seattle for two years now after moving here for work. Sarah was the only other woman in your department - not to mention the only other person under 40. She might have been 10 years younger than you but the two of you had become fast friends. She’d been there for a year - she’d started fresh out of college - when you came aboard and was kind enough to let you in on the office politics.
“So fucking glad to have another girl around here,” she said after you’d been there about two weeks, her arm looped through yours as you walked to a restaurant down the street from your office for lunch. “Lunch just isn’t as good with old dudes…”
Making friends outside of the office was just as awkward as you remembered and it wasn’t long before you and Sarah were hanging out all the time outside of work, too. She was probably going to be the thing you missed most about Seattle.
But the promise of a big promotion - setting up your own team at the new branch of your firm in Austin - was too good to pass up.
“Hey,” she put her hand on your wrist from across the small table. “You’re going to kill it down there. Just remember to demand me when the time comes to add a junior copywriter.”
“Well, simply no one else will do,” you smiled a little. She laughed.
You finished your coffee and Sarah dropped you off at the airport - your office paying to ship all your things down - and you flew off to your new life in Texas.
After a week of settling in, you finally caved and reached out to Sarah’s dad. She told you to just text him and you kind of hoped he wouldn’t respond. Once the ball was in his court, you’d be off the hook. If he never responded and you never met the guy, Sarah could hardly hold it against you.
“Hi! Is this Joel Miller?” You texted originally, following it up with your name and - just in case Sarah hadn’t bothered to tell him you were going to be texting - some indication that you weren’t a total stranger. “I just moved to town and Sarah told me to text you.”
“There,” you said to yourself, taking a sip of wine as you sat back on your couch. “Done. Not my problem any….”
Your phone lit up on your coffee table and you groaned. Of course he texted back. Of course he texted back fucking immediately.
“Hi,” he said. “Sarah mentioned you might text. Said you might need someone to show you around town. Want to grab a drink later this week?”
You rapped your fingers against the globe of your glass, the wine lush and red.
“Sure,” you said. “I don’t start work until next week, so just let me know when and where works for you and I’ll be there!”
You made plans to meet up two days later. You’d showed up a few minutes early, wanting to get the lay of the land before you met a stranger in a bar.
Joel, it seemed, was a bit late. You kept looking up at the door, waiting to see someone who looked something like Sarah walk in. But so far, there wasn’t anyone who fit the bill. A few guys who looked like they were UT students deciding to check out something further from campus, four guys who who definitely had just gotten off motorcycles, one man who was almost stupid hot and looked about 10 years too young to be Sarah’s dad and a guy about your age with a date.
You glanced at your phone. 9:13. At what point did you call it? Maybe try to pick up the hot guy who seemed to be hovering on his own at the bar. You hadn’t gotten laid in a while and you’d at least done your hair and makeup, even if you hadn’t tried to look like you were looking for a hookup.
Your phone screen hadn’t fully dimmed yet when it lit up bright, vibrating with Joel’s name on the caller ID. You sighed and answered.
“Hello?” You pressed your free hand against your ear, trying to drown out the sound of the bar behind you, but it sounded noisy on his end, too.
“Hi,” he said, a bit of a Texas twang in his voice. “Just wanted to make sure you were still plannin’ on comin’ out tonight…”
“Yeah,” you laughed a little. “I was wondering the same about you, I’m here…”
“Where?” He said. “Don’t see you…”
You started looking around then, too, looking at every face at every table around you before you settled on… the stupid hot guy at the bar.
Who looked too young to have a kid Sarah’s age.
Who had a phone pressed to his ear.
Who was now staring at you.
You raised a hand and smiled awkwardly, giving him a small wave.
He looked surprised for a moment before hanging up his phone, grabbing his beer from the bar, and heading for your table.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, setting his drink down across from you and taking his seat. “I didn’t mean to keep you waitin’, I was just expecting someone Sarah’s age…” His eyes went wide for a second. “Not that you look old or anythin’, just… Not what I was expecting.”
“Yeah, Sarah was the baby of the Seattle office,” you smiled a little. “She’s the best though. Thank God for her, I’d have been so bored there without her.”
“Yeah,” he smiled and nodded. “She is the best.”
Up close, Joel was still stupid hot. Uncomfortably hot. It was not fair how hot he was for him to be off limits because he was your best friend’s dad. His hair was dark and a little shaggy and you had to fight the urge to brush an unruly curl back from his brow. His eyes were the warmest brown with a light to them that made you want to just stare at him for a while. His crooked smile with one dimple, his slightly patchy beard, his unreasonably sculpted arms for a man who had to have at least a decade on you unless he was a teenager when Sarah was born. If you hadn’t met him this way, you’d be trying to get him home for at least a one night stand. But he was your best friend’s dad. Even if he made your core tighten and heat pool around your hips.
It turned out, you and Joel had more in common than you’d expected. You liked the same music and he knew some good live music spots in town. You were both into hiking - and both agreed that the views in this part of the country would be kind of lacking compared to the Pacific Northwest. You both liked trying to find the spiciest food in town and eating it as a matter of principle.
Of course, you hadn’t spent much time with men the age you THOUGHT Joel was going to be. Your only experience with men in their 50s was at work and that usually involved showing them how to save a word document as a PDF. You’d gone into this expecting to sit awkwardly with the guy for about an hour before going your separate ways. But you were pretty sure he was in his mid 40s, the same age as a lot of the guys you’d gone out with back in Seattle, and the more drinks you had the harder it was to remember that you weren’t on a date. You were hanging out with your best friend’s dad. She probably had to beg him to meet up with you, he probably had a girlfriend he’d much rather be spending time with on a Friday night instead of his daughter’s friend who was new in town.
But he seemed happy enough to stay for hours. The two of you were laughing over a particularly bad movie you’d somehow both seen - Giant Spider Invasion - when the bar announced last call.
“Shit,” Joel looked at his watch, clamping his hand over it after a second. “Didn’t realize how late it got. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your whole damn night…”
“No, I’m sorry,” you waved him off, reaching for your phone for the first time in hours to try and order an Uber. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than entertain me.”
“Not exactly,” he half smiled at you. That fucking dimple. “Don’t really got a thirvin’ social life. I get the feeling this arrangement was as much for me as it was you, knowin’ Sarah.”
“She’s cunning, that one,” you said, putting in your destination address. You groaned. “Shit!”
“What?” Joel asked.
“Surge pricing,” you sighed. “Come ON, it’s almost 2 a.m., it can’t be that busy…”
“It’s homecomin’ weekend at the school,” he shrugged. “Everyone’s in town drinking.”
“That’ll do it,” you sighed, bracing yourself to spend almost $100 on a car ride home.
“I can give you a ride,” he said. You looked up from your phone, frowning. “I’m good to drive.”
“I don’t want to put you out,” you said, about to push the button anyway.
“You’re not,” he said. “Trust me.”
***
Joel was very nearly in over his head with you.
Every part of him was practically screaming “mistake, mistake, mistake, you are a big fucking mistake!”
You were Sarah’s best friend.
You were more than a decade younger than him.
You were starting a new job and a new life and he really shouldn’t be trying to date someone he’d just hold back.
YOU WERE SARAH’S BEST FRIEND.
But none of that seemed to matter. He was damn near ready to kiss whatever asshole at Uber came up with surge pricing. He’d never been happier for an excuse to give someone a ride home.
It had been years - at least - since he’d felt like this about anyone. He’d known you for hours, no time at all, but it felt like years. Like he could say anything to you and you’d understand it. You were obviously smart, so fucking smart. After talking about movies with you for five minutes he was half convinced you saw an entirely different movie than he had, talking about allegories and symbolism and holding onto little lines he wasn’t sure anyone else would notice or think about twice. He wanted to see if you’d let him get to know you that way, if you’d have any interest in trying to know him that way. Fuck, he wanted to know you.
It didn’t help that he’d spotted you the second he was in the bar, absently turning your glass in your fingers, looking at one of the University of Texas themed Bud Light posters on the wall like you were examining it, your eyebrows drawn together, your mind clearly somewhere else entirely. You were fucking gorgeous. Gorgeous in a way that it was a problem, it was distracting, it made him not want to think about or look at or consider anything else. It took conscious effort to not stare at you. When he hadn’t known who you were, he’d been praying Sarah’s friend would stand him up so he could go talk to you. Fuck, he wanted to talk to you.
And then you answered the phone.
And you were Sarah’s best friend.
Fuck.
“You settlin’ in OK and all?” He asked after you gave him your address and he programmed it into Google Maps.
“Mostly,” you nodded. “It’d be better if I could actually get a maintenance guy to come out to my place but…”
Joel frowned.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“The garbage disposal has a hell of a leak,” you sighed. “I don’t know shit about plumbing so I’m afraid to try to fix it on my own. And the ceiling fan in my bedroom seems like it’s trying break out from its drywall prison whenever I turn it on so that’s been pretty useless. Maintenance keeps saying they’ll come by but they never do. I don’t think I’ll stay in that place longer than a year, this is what I get for apartment hunting from across the country.”
“I could look at it for you,” Joel shrugged before he was smart enough to stop himself.
“No,” you laughed and shook your head. “You’ve done enough for me as it is, I cannot ask you…”
“You didn’t ask, I offered,” he said. “I’m a contractor, my area of expertise is fixin’ shit shoddy builders fucked up. You have plans tomorrow? I can come by, take a look.”
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid. That’s what he was. Fucking stupid.
“Tomorrow would be great, actually,” you said. “I’m just about unpacked but I have a whole box of under the sink kitchen stuff that’s still sitting on my table and driving me insane. But you’re sure I’m not putting you out? I swear, it’s nothing that urgent, I just need to light a fire under management’s ass…”
“Not puttin’ me out,” he smiled a little at the idea of that. Fuck, you were doing him a favor, giving him an excuse to see you again.
Stupid.
Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid STUPID.
SARAH’S. BEST. FRIEND.
“Early afternoon OK?” He asked. “Unless you gotta be somewhere…”
“Yeah, so far my vibrant social life here includes you and the barista down the street who now knows I prefer my lattes skim,” you laughed. “I’ll be around, come over whenever works for you. I hugely appreciate it, you have no idea.”
He watched you go into your apartment when he dropped you off, a townhouse that had definitely been built in the last five years. He sighed and shook his head. Shoddy fucking craftsmanship, things breaking that fast. He’d help you find a decent place when your lease was up.
As a friend.
Because he could be friends with you. That would be fine. Encouraged by his meddling but well-meaning daughter who’d arranged this to begin with. Friends help friends apartment hunt. He could be your friend.
He fucked his hand before he passed out, trying to think of anything besides grabbing you and kissing you at the bar as he did.
“Hey Dad! How’d it go last night?”
His eyes were still bleary as he read the text from his daughter the next morning.
“Hey Baby Girl,” he wrote back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. How was it already 10 a.m.? How was Sarah a morning person? She sure as shit didn’t get that from him. “Went fine. Your friend seems nice.”
She wrote back immediately.
“She’s the BEST. Seriously. Give her like 5 minutes and she’s going to show you the best food in town, she always found the coolest restaurants up here, places no one else from the office even knew existed.”
Joel smiled a little at that. He’d heard a lot about you over the last few years, now that he thought about it. He wasn’t big on social media so he only ever saw pictures Sarah texted him - usually a selfie in front of some tourist attraction as she stuck her tongue out at him - so he’d never had a face to put to the stories. But you’d become an integral part of her life in Seattle.
You’d started as a “cool new coworker.” Then you got a name. And then you just became a “we.” “We went to this awesome new restaurant.” “We checked out this concert last night.” “We decided to go up the Space Needle because screw it, why not be a tourist in your own city sometimes?” He never needed to ask who she meant, he knew she was talking about you.
He just hadn’t known it was you.
Which was another reason this was stupid. He could not even consider doing something with you, even just in his head, not when you were that close with his daughter.
“You guys going to hang out again?” She asked. “I think you’d be friends!”
Joel ground his teeth for a second.
“Don’t need you to find me friends just because Uncle Tommy got married.”
Sarah replied right away.
“Well if you did it yourself maybe I wouldn’t,” she said. “And she needs friends, too. Plus this is really all for my benefit, if she can swing me coming to the new Austin office and y’all are friends, we can all just hang out together. Way easier to coordinate my schedule.”
Joel laughed a little.
“Going to help her with something at her apartment today,” he sent back. “We’ll see if she wants me around after that.”
Joel managed to keep from going to your house the second he was dressed. This wasn’t a problem he’d had since he was a fucking teenager, obsessed with some girl from his bio class. He was looking at his watch every five minutes, hoping it was reasonable to leave his house and go to yours.
He called it at 11:45. He figured he’d bring you lunch. You said you liked spicy food - the spicier the better - and if your garbage disposal was leaking, chances are you couldn’t cook much. You’d need to eat something. It was the polite thing to do, he reasoned.
Joel went to his favorite taco truck and got a little bit of almost everything. It was way too much food for two people but fuck it, he didn’t care. As long as it was something you’d like, he really didn’t give a shit.
You were in some kind of matching not quite sweatsuit when you opened the door, the tan fabric looking so fucking soft.
“Hey!” You smiled broadly, like him coming over made your day. You looked at your phone screen. “Damn you really mean early afternoon don’t you?”
He glanced at his watch. 12:23.
“Figured you could use some lunch,” he held up the takeout bag. “Didn’t think you were able to cook much, disposal outta commission…”
“Are you really bringing me food when you came over to do me a favor?” You asked, brows raised. He shrugged. “They weren’t kidding about that whole southern gentleman thing, were they?”
“Gotta give you pretty things some reason to put up with us,” he smiled a little. You smiled back and held the door open for him.
Your place was sparsely decorated but comfortable and it looked like you were just about unpacked. Joel set the bag of tacos on the small table off your kitchen and you staked your claim to the spiciest one.
“If it’s too hot for you, no shame in tappin’ out,” he teased, unwrapping his own taco.
“I eat men with low spice tolerance for breakfast,” you waved him off. “This’ll be cake.”
You took a bite and chewed for a second before your eyes went wide. Joel tried not to laugh at you.
“Holy shit,” you held a hand in front of your full mouth as you spoke, your eyes watering. “That’s so hot! How the fuck…”
“Yeah, you northerners don’t know what you’re dealin’ with,” Joel smirked. “Welcome to the big leagues.”
“Oh, it’s on now, Miller,” you said, wincing a little. “I’ve got this, you have no idea…”
He laughed but you finished the taco, eyes watering and face sweating, the whole way.
“Alright, think you’ve earned some handyman work,” he smiled a little. You chugged water, somehow managing to look good as you did. “Kitchen sink right?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Run the water for longer than 30 seconds and it leaks like crazy…”
He did as you said, opening the cabinet below. You had a pot inside to catch any stray water. He turned the faucet on and after less than a minute, water was gushing out from the pipe leading down to the disposal. He shut it off.
“Good news is, it ain’t the disposal itself,” he said, putting his tools down beside the cabinet. “Looks like they just replaced it and did a shit job setting it up…”
He got down on the ground, lying down so his upper body was in the cabinet just as you came and perched on the counter nearby, watching him closely.
“Let me know what I can do to help,” you said. “I feel bad, you coming over, bringing me food, fixing my shit…”
“Don’t,” he said, frowning up at the plumbing. “Got me outta my house… can you hand me the wrench that’s in the lower part of the tool kit, the adjustable one?”
He heard you slide off the counter to the floor and rifle through his tools before handing him the wrench, your fingertips brushing his when you did. His heart sped up. Fuck this was stupid.
You settled in on the floor near him, near enough that he’d feel your leg brush his when he adjusted while he worked. You asked him about his favorite band and he asked you about yours. About favorite foods. About the one place on Earth you’d go if money and time were no object.
“Alright, think I’ve got it,” he said. “Do me a favor, turn the water on…”
“You sure?” You asked, a frown in your voice. “Don’t you want to sit up first?”
“I’m confident,” he smiled a little.
“Alright, turning it on now.”
And his confidence was correct.
For a minute.
And then it was like the floodgates opened and Joel was suddenly soaked.
“Cut it!”
You scrambled to obey as he got out from under the sink, dripping wet, shirt soaked.
“Shit,” he looked down at himself.
“I am so sorry!” Your hands were over your mouth, eyes wide. “One minute, let me grab you a towel…”
You ran down the hall and came back with a small pile of towels handing them to him one by one. He started with himself and then put towels down below the sink.
“I’m so sorry, Joel,” your eyes were so wide and earnest.
“Not your fault,” he said, getting up, feeling like more than a bit of an idiot. “Your maintenance people just fucked something up big time…”
“I have a washer and dryer,” you said quickly. “Let me wash that for you…”
“Thanks,” he said and he peeled off the wet shirt and handed it to you. “Appreciate it…”
He was so busy trying not to look at you that he hadn’t realized that you were staring at him, looking up him slowly, your lower lip in your teeth. Like you were interested in him, too. Like you were trying to keep your hands to yourself, too.
Your eyes met his. This was stupid, this was very very stupid. You were standing close to him, so fucking close to him.
“Joel,” you breathed.
He was kissing you before he could talk himself out of it.
***
You weren’t sure if he kissed you or you kissed him but you didn’t really care because fuck, he was touching you. Your arms went around his neck and his hands went to your hips, pulling your body flush against his as he all but devoured you.
Like he’d done nothing but think of this since the night before, too.
You were up for an hour after you got home, cursing your best friend for having such a hot dad and trying to not think about what would have happened if you’d dragged him into your apartment when he dropped you off as you ran your vibrator over your needy clit.
Because how could you face Sarah if you’d fucked yourself to the thought of her dad?
But you weren’t worrying about that now.
Instead, you were leading Joel blindly through your apartment, to your bedroom. Your fingers tangled in his hair - wet from the explosive leak in your sink - as you kissed him. You pulled him against you as you sat back on your bed, crawling back toward the middle of it and tugging him along with you so he was hovering over you.
“You sure…” he began but you nodded so fast that he didn’t even finish asking, just smiling for a second before kissing you again.
His tongue was insistent inside your mouth, like he was trying to reach every part of you, but you liked it. The hot, aching need gathering in you liked it, liked that he was demanding and hungry for you to the point that, when his tongue slid back behind his own teeth it’s because he wanted to bite your lip with a growl.
You squirmed out of the soft wrap that was covering your arms and he pulled at your tank top, peeling it away from you and leaving you in just your lacy bralette you liked to wear before you really got dressed for the day. His hand cupped your breast, palm brushing your firm nipple, and you moaned. Joel slipped his hand into the lace and touched the bare skin below and you involuntarily thrust your hips up toward him. He smiled against your mouth at that.
“So eager,” he said, teasing.
“We both have way too much on,” you panted against him.
“Let me help you with that,” he slid his fingers below the band of the bralette and tugged it up and over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up. “Jesus Christ…”
“What?” You asked, breathless.
“And I thought you were gorgeous before,” his eyes went over you slowly, tracing the edges of you. “Fucking hell…”
You smiled and arched into kissing him again, fumbling with the button and zipper on his jeans as you did. When you got his pants open, you slipped your hand inside his underwear, finding his thick, hard cock and stroking him. It was gentle at first, getting a feel for him and fuck he was hard as steel below your touch. He was also easily the biggest cock you’d ever held, so thick and long you knew you were going to be feeling him for hours after you were done.
Not that you minded. You wanted nothing more than to walk around with a reminder of him inside you for a while.
Joel’s hands ran over you until he reached your pants and underwear. He pulled them off together, pausing just before your panties would be so far down that they would expose your dripping, aching slit. He pulled his lips from you.
“This really what you want?” He asked quietly, his eyes searching yours.
“I’ve been wanting this since last night,” you smiled a little at him.
“Fuck, I was hopin’ you’d say that.”
He pulled what remained of your clothes off and cast it aside, nudging you down so you were flat on the bed. He ran his finger over your slit, dipping into you just enough to make your entrance try to grip him but not enough that it gave your body something to hold. You moaned.
“Don’t worry, beautiful,” he pressed his finger against your clit, rubbing in circles, making you moan. “Gonna take real good care of you…”
He trailed his finger back down and sank it into you as his thumb pressed against your clit, making your body go tight around him. You rocked your hips against him and arched your back and you heard the smile in his voice as your hands flew to your comforter, knotting in the fabric there.
“There you go,” he said softly, kissing over your jaw to your throat, nipping and sucking you as he went. “Fuck you’re tight, need you to relax and come for me so I can get inside you…”
He added another finger, hooking them up into you, pressing into your inner walls and making you get tense and tight before you came hard around him, pussy throbbing so hard it almost hurt.
“You’re gonna feel so goddamn good,” he groaned as he slid his fingers from you. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pulled them down with his jeans before he stroked himself, his fingers still slick with you as he did.
“One sec,” you managed to find your voice and you stretched back to reach into your nightstand and grabbed a box of condoms. You needed to open it and pull one foil packet apart from the rest. “Sorry, haven’t needed one of these in a bit…”
“Won’t hear me arguin’,” he half smiled at you. Fuck, that fucking dimple. You opened the condom and slid it on his tip, watching his chest heave as you did. You looked up at him through your eyelashes as you took his covered tip in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him and using them to unroll the condom the rest of the way onto his thick, hard length. “Fuck, beautiful, tryin’ to rush me through this?”
You just sucked him for a moment, his head lodged at the back of your throat as you started to work his shaft with your mouth. His hand flew to your head, fingers twisting in your hair, as you went. He moaned as your tongue pressed against the underside of him before curling around his shaft. His grip on your hair tightened and you picked up the pace, all but choking yourself on his cock, not able to help yourself, until he pulled you back off him sharply, abruptly.
“Really don’t want things to be over that fast,” he panted, tilting his head back toward the ceiling for a moment. “Fucking hell you’re good at that…”
You smirked a little and he pushed you back down onto the bed before lining his cock up with your entrance. He paused and you moaned, rocking your hips against him, your whole body feeling like a spring that was coiled a bit too tight. His hands splayed wide over your thighs for a moment before sliding over your stomach, your breasts, back down again.
“Still want this?” He asked, voice needy.
“Want you,” you panted, nodding. “Need you, need you inside me…”
“Good,” he said, his large hands spread on your thighs, holding you open for him, watching where he was entering you as his cock split you open. He moaned, panting for breath. “Fuck, gonna be addicted to you, just fuckin’ know it…”
You pressed your hips up into him as he filled you totally, collapsing onto you as his hips met yours. He stilled in you, giving you a moment to adjust to the delicious stretch of him inside you. He was big enough that - if you hadn’t been so desperate for him, if he hadn’t already made you come once - you were sure that it would feel like he was breaking you in two. Like this, though, it was all pleasure with a hint of pain, just enough to make you feel so fucking full you thought you might burst with it.
He started slowly but forcefully, dragging his cock back so only his head was inside you, his pace so slow that you felt his head on every ridge inside you. But he thrust himself back into you hard, like he couldn’t bear not feeling you again immediately, like being without you was almost painful.
But he increased his pace, thrusting himself deep into you and pulling back before changing again, more rocking his hips down into you than fully thrusting into you. It meant he kept almost constant pressure on your clit, that the head of him was all but permanently against the spot inside that you immediately sought out whenever you used your vibrator. Your back arched into him and your pussy was so tight around him you were certain you couldn’t get any more wanting.
“Fuck, need to feel you come while I’m inside you,” he managed, sliding his arms below you to press your bare chest against him. “Please, Beautiful, fuck, please come for me…”
“Joel!” You cried out his name as you came around him and he fucked into you for another moment before you felt him throb inside as he spilled into the condom.
He collapsed on top of you, panting for breath and you ran your hands over his broad back. After a minute, he kissed you gently and pulled himself from your wrung out body and lying beside you.
“So,” he was still short of breath. “Got anythin’ around here I can come by and fix tomorrow?”
You laughed a little, trying not to think of the fact that you’d just fucked your best friend’s dad. Trying not to think of the fact that there was no way this could be a one time thing.
“Oh, I’m sure I can think of something,” you said. “I’m sure I can think of a lot of things.”
#fanfic#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#smut fic#joel miller smut#bfd!joel#one shot
808 notes
·
View notes
Note
...so you just threw this beautiful idea of Fyuuture kid, and left me with a brainrot? Especially after you answered one ask with i quote "he loves his parent so much and was really fighting it to keep it together when he saw them alive again" end of the quote. WHAT DO YOU MEAN AGAIN? WHAT? HOW?
ask 1 and ask 2
Oh 👉👈? I wasn't expecting to get an ask about this au ever again actually, but I am so glad you did, I like it a lot. I mentioned Fire Emblem Awakening in the first ask I got about it but for those of you who haven't played the game, the plot features the children of your army traveling back in time to try and prevent the end of the world. That's more or less what happened in the fyuuture kid au, at least in my first draft... I always end up associating the "future kid meets their parents" trope with either FE: Awakening or I guess Golden Sun? Which I think is the name of the jrpg where something similar happens idk I just like there being a reason for the kid to need to meet their parents.
In my original draft of the au, Yuu was told by Crowley there was no way home for them, so they settled down with Yutu's father and started building a life together. This turned out to not be true, as the Magical Marshall's office began investigating the overblots that happened while Yuu was in school and came to the conclusion Yuu had something to do with them; so they were secretly arrested, cursed to forget everything about Twisted Wonderland, and sent home. The curse was meant to trigger every time Yuu vaguely remembered their time in the otherworld, with the idea their brain would prevent them from thinking about it after a while. They would have justified it, if anyone had been there to ask, by saying Yuu wouldn't know they were missing anything and would be able to live a happy life. When Yutu was born that made that outcome impossible, but the Marshal's office didn't think to check if Yuu was pregnant...
Shortly after they did that though strange things started happening. Monster attacks got more frequent, blot levels started rising, not to extremes immediately but still enough to be concerning. Reports of a strange, abyssal magic using beast, started pouring in to S.T.Y.X. suspiciously close to Grim's description. While Yuu was busy trying to put their life back together in their world, Twisted Wonderland slowly began to fall apart drowning under an ink colored sky. The overblot phantoms they fought come back and begin hunting in their respective homelands, and rumor has it they can turn certain mages into their thralls...
The curse slowly eats away at Yuu's brain, every time they see something that reminds them of their friends, their time at NRC, every time Yutu does something that would make them think about how much he takes after his dad, they feel a great deal of physical pain and temporarily lose the ability to function. It's killing them, and no doctor or specialist can figure out the cause, so Yutu just has to sit there and watch his parent slowly die and not be able to do anything about it. I was uncertain of where exactly I wanted Yuu to die in the story, but it always was around when Yutu gets isekaid to NRC, either before and he had to leave them behind or after when they both get to go home finally! But Yuu doesn't completely make it, they're able to have one moment of peace with their son and Professor Crewel before passing on.
Yutu's dad changes depending on who you want it to be of course, as does whether they met before he and his friends decided to go back in time to prevent this version of the future from ever happening, but his feelings about Yuu never changes. Yutu really admires his parent, he did even before he learned about them facing down overblots! They were really close and the more he learned about their curse, the more responsible he felt for their death. He's very determined to keep Yuu alive and safe in Twisted Wonderland in this timeline, even if it costs him his life.
His opinion on his dad really changes depending on who it is and what he learns about them. Like can you imagine learning your dad was known for being obsessed with teeth and no he had no intention of being a dentist? Clown behavior 💀💀💀 His friends were all ocs I made but never really developed... I do remember that one was a younger sibling of Kalim's (who could be his aunt if you like Kalim and absolutely embraces that role), her retainer, Crewel's son who also sees himself as Yutu's uncle (the feeling isn't mutual) because he is old enough to sort of remember Yuu and thinks of them as a sibling, and a random oc I based off of the kid from Up for no reason other than I like the movie. They also came back in time, but only Yutu ended up in the right place, just like fire emblem awakening.
idk I should probably do something with it. like writing the reactions for the other dorms...
#<3 asks#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#future kid au#i am so sorry if you wanted more domestic moments w yuu and yutu and got a lore dump instead#if you want those feel free to ask i need a distraction from the long fic i am writing ha
77 notes
·
View notes
Text
professional help, c4. The waltz of the Snowflakes.
simon riley x original character.
trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.
song to listen to when reading this: Harden my heart, Quarterflash.
abstract: he can get fucked, and his captain too. it's Jude if you haven't noticed. I have nothing more to add really, he's an ass and I'm not getting paid enough to deal with this shit, see ya. also, forgive me for the swearing it's a real problem I know!!
Well. That didn't exactly go to plan. Simon Whatever, what the fuck is your problem? She called a friend while driving home. 'Salvo, io gli volevo mettere le mani addosso, stu scemu…’ She was going over the speed limit, holding her phone with one hand. ‘Una merda Salvo, mi hanno mandato via come una cretina, son andata, ho parlato, mi ha detto non si puoi fare guagliù, chi cazz si pe me dicr chell c’agg fa oh!’
Now, to all my readers, I will translate. Jude speaks dialect when she's mad, bare with her. Her voice usually drooped an octave when she spoke it to accommodate the guttural and rough sounds of her language. Swear words that would make your racist grandad cry. She was calling Salvatore, she met him in 2021, he was currently deployed in South Korea. She told him she wanted to hit him, she said, they sent me away without hearing me out, they said what you're suggesting can't be done. 'Scusa, cosa hai proposto tu?' She loved Salvo, he was so understanding, he could read her mind. It was refreshing, when she found out he was from the same country as her. Speaking a bit of Italian with him was a break from all the English, the accents and the words she didn't know how to pronounce. 'Cosa ho detto, ho proposto che lo seguissero, anche grazie al cazzo vorrei dire… ( I refuse to translate all the swearing, Jude.) Questi vogliono aspettare e non fare nulla, però mi fanno perdere tempo con ste cazz'e riunioni!' (This means, 'I told them to follow him, obviously. They don't want to do anything, they want to wait and see, and yet they make me go out of my way for these fucking meetings.')
Salvo tried to reassure her that it wasn't really her problem, to which she replied, Arash was her patient. He asked her about the captain, she commented he stood there, watched her argue with his guard dog Lieutenant without saying a word. Coward, she called him. Who's the Lieutenant, he then asked. She told him, maybe she messed up the name a bit, but he seemed to recognise him. 'No, veramente?' He asked. 'Il Fantasma'. That made sense, you know, the mask an all. He told her he was quite famous for his mask and his story, which he didn't fully know. Lots of trauma I think, you could work with him. She parked her car in front of the dance school and got her bag. 'Non me ne fott, possono fare quello che vogliono, non sono io che ci rimetto. Lui nu strunz, fammi dire…' She explained she didn't care anymore and that they could do whatever they wanted. He was a dick, that's what she added, probably referring to the famous Lieutenant.
The girls could sense she wasn't having the best day and didn't want to mess with her. They stood quiet and avoided their usual chatting. They did warm up, barre and some center, she sent them off early. 'Miss Alba, we're gonna start rehearsals soon? For the Nutcracker.' It was Luna that spoke. She almost forgot. 'Yes girls next time.' Shit.
The Waltz of the Snowflakes. That's what she was gonna have to teach them. The owner of the school was crazy, the piece was way too difficult for her class. She didn't have time or strength to explain the piece was not meant for girls that young, she would have to simplify it. She put on a video on her laptop, trying to remember the best she could the original piece. She stripped of her leg warmers and her black shrug. Her mind kept wandering off the meeting with Price, not letting her concentrate. She was mad. Not because she didn’t get her way, they were the ones dying in the Middle East, not her. But because it was fucking humiliating. As a woman as well, you know. Maybe she made a mistake, going in there looking all pretty. But again, why would she sacrifice herself just to earn some basic respect? After she failed her pirouettes for the third time, she decided it was time to go home. She would talk to Arash and, if needed, follow him on her own.
notes: Since this is a shorter chapter (I've been incredibly busy with uni and work), here are some details about Jude:
height: 5’2’’ - eye colour: green - hair colour: blonde
traits: mole on her cheek, slightly crooked nose. mole on her right butt cheek, scar on her knee. at least 30 smaller moles all over her body. small boobie queen.
if she was a colour: dark blue
if she was an animal: killer whale
if she was a place: a forest
if she was a food: spicy pho - motto: for the plot
favourite position in bed: on top/doggy
favourite part of her body: eyebrows, hips
what she looks for in boys: loyalty, someone stable, good manners, honesty.
tattoos: big flower on her back, her grandmas house on ribcage with ivy on it, lavander flower between breasts, dagger on right arm, wine glass and whisky sour ingredients. nike (goddess of victory) statue on left arm, goth looking stars and white ferrari doodle. oui, non written on both knees. heaven written on ankle made with stick and poke needle.
loves to talk about: time, space, her dog, humanity, world wars, greek mythology, vegan recipes, life after death.
do not talk about: her family, weight, fire, not being the best in school and at work.
she would like to: try hotpot, paint pottery, start a podcast, go on more hikes, visit thailand, get another dog, attend a wedding.
she will never: have kids, get married, go to australia, go skiing again after she fell, have plastic surgery, drink beer.
if you’d like to know more stuff about her let me know!!
notes: Salvatore, Salvo for short, is a common southern Italy male name. Salvatore means 'the saviour', Salvo means 'safe'. Full translation of the speech: 'Salvo, I wanted to hit him, this fucker. It went to shit Salvo, they sent me away like I was stupid, I went there I told them what I thought, he said we can't do that, who the hell are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?' 'Sorry, what did you say to them?' 'I told them to follow him, obviously. They don't want to do anything, they want to wait and see, and yet they make me go out of my way for these fucking meetings.'
'No, veramente? Il Fantasma' means 'no, seriously? The Ghost.'
notes: if you want to hear what the dialect sounds like you can hear it in the tv series 'Gomorra' on YouTube.
taglist:
@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess
@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut
@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight
@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me
#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#ghost fanfiction#ghost headcanons#simon ghost x reader#call of duty#cod fic#cod modern warfare#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon ghost x you#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#simon ghost smut#141 headcanons#task force 141#tf 141#141 x reader#cod 141#mw2 141#cod#modern warfare#john soap mactavish#john price#captain price#kyle gaz garrick#gaz cod#gaz call of duty
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Magnus Protocol
I know I should have posted something before now. After all, we are five episodes in, and not a word have I written.
So, here's my take on the characters.
First of all, Samama Kahlid is a treasure and should be protected at all costs. He is a ray of sunshine that the OAIR's night shift desperately needs, but he also has a connection to the old Magnus Institute. It may or may not be tied to the breakdown that brought him there, but whatever it is, I think he's looking for answers.
After listening to today's episode, I think Colin is in the same boat as Jon was in TMA season 2 - twitchy, feral, and paranoid. I think he's seen or experienced something that sent him straight over the edge, and I'm guessing that Chester, Norris, or Augustus were at least partially involved.
Alice, as a friend of mine said, throws off some serious Spiral vibes. I think she knows more about what's going on than what she's saying, but I'm not sure what her motives are. On one hand, she could see the job as nothing more than a paycheck, but on the other hand, given her reaction to even the mention of the Magnus Protocol, she may have reasons for beihg there that haven't come up yet.
Gwen, at this point, intrigues me. She doesn't strike me as this world's answer to Elias, and I think she sees herself as the Lone Sane Person in the office. She is focused, she is meticulous, and she is ambitious, and for some reason, she thinks that becoming the manager of the OAIR office would be the start of a stellar career in civil service. I think she is looking for information, though on what, I don't know. If she is related to Elias, she's probably his neice or his daughter. And If Elias worked at the Institute in this timeline, then he is either dead, or he blinded himself to escape. If that's the case, Gwen may be wanting either answers as to what happened to him, and possibly vengeance.
Lena, I think, is probably as close to an analogue of Elias as we're going to get. She's manipulative, she knows that something is wrong in the office, and rather than take steps to deal with it, she's letting it continue, and probably enjoying the show. Frankly, she's throwing off the same vibes as Jonah did when Jon got kidnapped by the Circus in TMA Season 3. Whether she turns out to be as violent as Jonah Magnus, we'll have to see.
And now, we get to the voices.
The end of the Eyepocalypse in the original timeline was roughly a year before Chester, Norris, and Augustus made their appearance in the OAIR's computer system, and I'm inclined to believe that they are what's left of Jon, Martin, and Jonah. I don't think they're ever going to regain any kind of sentience, but I like to think that Jon and Martin, at least, have counterparts in that universe who are out there living their best lives while that world's version of Jonah Magnus has been in his grave for more than 150 years.
Although, given what happened to RedCanary when they went exploring in the Magnus Institute ruins, I doubt it.
I think Jonah Magnus, or whatever he became in this world, is still out there and is extremely dangerous.
#the magnus protocol#the magnus archive#samama khalid#gwendolyn bouchard#alice dyer#colin becher#lena kelley#jon sims#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jonah magnus#tma#tmagp#gwen bouchard
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
Originally, I wasn't going to go public about this...
But I realized something yesterday: Suffering in silence is stupid. While it is true that there are a lot of horrible people on the internet, there are also a lot of incredibly kind people--people who may be complete strangers to you, but are more than willing to reach out a helping hand if you let them know that something is wrong, and I'm tired of pretending that everything is fine around here when it's not. So here we are.
The short version is this: Ever since I disabled anonymous asks back on the 6th of this month, I've been repeatedly stalked and harassed by an individual I've taken to calling Troll-san. Why Troll-san? Because I'm an older internet user, I've been active online since the mid-2000s, and that's what they are: a troll, and they've gone through so many URLs at this point that I have nothing better to call them.
Troll-san primarily harasses me through my ask box, but they've occasionally attempted to do what they've been doing through reblogs on my posts as well. I will give them credit where it's due because they've been incredibly persistent; every time I block one of their URLs, they proceed to delete and then remake it in order to circumvent the block feature and continue sending me more hateful messages. This also has the side effect of making reporting their behavior incredibly difficult, and that's assuming that Tumblr staff decides to even try doing something about this. (And I do not trust Tumblr staff at all.)
This is one of the only asks I made an effort to take a screencap of, sent not too long after I made my post on Friday regarding my recent ER visit, and let it be said that this is FAR from the worst message they've sent me. (They have, in fact, sent a couple of asks telling me to kill myself.)
So, at this point in their little harassment campaign, I can confirm a few key details about Troll-san.
This is indeed over the fact I disabled anonymous asks. I'm not particularly special for disabling them since so many Tumblr users do it, but presumably the reason Troll-san is so wound up over it is that if they're having a bad day and feel like being a dick someone (me), they can no longer send rude asks and avoid the consequences for it by using the anon feature. (In fact, that's the entire reason why so many Tumblr users disabled anons in the first place! Because people were abusing them to be assholes!)
I am definitely not their first victim. I did some digging around yesterday and can confirm that there is at least one other user who has also been harassed by Troll-san, and there are likely more people who may have/are dealing with the same person.
Even though Troll-san has been constantly deleting and remaking their URLs in order to bypass the block feature and continue their harassment, I am about 99% positive that their primary URL is grandangelkitty. It's one of the only URLs that they haven't deleted and remade at some point, and the other user who was harassed confirmed it was one of the URLs that they had to block. Whether it'll still exist by the time anyone reads this, I don't know, but I figured it was worth mentioning.
I realize that by acknowledging what's going on, I am potentially inviting yet more harassment and allowing this situation to drag out even longer than it needs to, but A) cyberbulling is never okay, and knowing I'm not the first person to be harassed by this particular individual makes me more angry than knowing I have to put up with it at all and B) I've never been afraid of Troll-san. They lost all my respect when they ignored my first block and I had pretty much lost my ability to take them seriously by the time they remade their URL for the fourth time. I just wish they'd learn their damn lesson already that no means no and that being horrible to strangers online is going to result in them making enemies rather than any friends.
I did finally reach out to a couple people online regarding this ongoing fiasco and while I won't be naming anyone specific; thank you all so, so much for your kindness and support. I was originally quite content to try and deal with this problem on my own, but I find so much comfort and renewed energy in knowing that I'm no longer alone and that there are people who do have my back. I'm not at all weak for having to ask for help; in fact, I'm all the stronger for it.
I am hoping that by finally acknowledging what I've had to endure for the last week that not only will I be helping to protect more users from this person, but that they'll finally get the message that this kind of behavior is not tolerated in this community. For anyone who has read this far, please, stay safe and I hope you have a good day!
P.S.
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
18+ Drabble: The Great Tease
A few days ago, I was inspired to write a thirst trap story, but with a twist and that's what this is. I made a moodboard and I used photos I found here on tumblr and shared with friends in a discord, but that means I don't remember which blogs the photos originally came from...
Title: The Great Tease
Pairing: Andy Barber x female reader
Rating: R
Warnings: suggestive, fade to black sex scene
Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.
18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.
Usage Disclaimer: This work is for fans only. This author does not give permission for it to be shared, spoken of, referred to in any public manner (podcast, tv, online, etc.) that wants to either make a celebrity uncomfortable, mock fan fiction/fandom in any way, or the author themselves. Requests can be made, but it is unlikely the author will change their mind. If no response is given to a request then the answer is a solid no, not interested and the work cannot be shared, spoken of or even referred to, regardless of the manner or context.
“Have fun this weekend,” you said to Andy before you kiss him goodbye.
“Ugh, come on, you two,” your best friend said, feigning disgust. “Save something for the honeymoon.”
“Go wait in the car,” you told her with a laugh. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Fine, but I’m setting a timer for five minutes,” she said before leaving with your bags.
“What are you doing this weekend?” you asked Andy.
“Just hanging with the guys,” he replied with a shrug. “Probably play some golf, maybe some video games. I’ll definitely be available for anyone who needs to escape…”
“She’d kill us both,” you said with a laugh. “And killing the bride and groom during the bachelorette party would probably ruin the wedding…”
“LET’S GO!” your friend yelled from outside.
“I’ll text you when we get in there,” you told him then gave him one more kiss before you left.
“About time,” your friend muttered.
You stuck your tongue out at her then got into the car.
It wasn't until the two of you arrived at the rental house and you grabbed your phone to let Andy know that you were there, that your friend said, "This is a no boys allowed weekend. That includes texting."
"Just let me tell him that we got here, I promised," you told her.
"Fine, but I'm warning you right now, if he texts you at all while we're here, you're showing it to all of us," she stated. "No matter what. And no warning him, either."
You shook your head and sent Andy a quick text:
Here. Have a good weekend! 😘
Then you showed it to your friend. She nodded her approval and then the two of you got out of the car.
—------
"I know this was meant to be a girls' weekend, but I'm surprised I haven't gotten a single text," Andy said, later that evening as he and his friends had dinner together.
"Maybe we should text them and make sure they're ok?" one of the guys he didn't know as well said.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," your best friend's husband said.
"Why not?" one of the others asked.
"What do you know?" Andy asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I overheard my wife on this phone this morning," the husband explained. "If anyone, but especially you, Andy, sends a text while they're at this thing, it's getting read aloud and shown to everyone."
"Even dick pics?" one guy asked, nervously glancing at his phone.
"Anything that is sent from the moment they arrive to the moment they leave," your best friend's husband stated. "So be careful what you send."
After dinner, Andy went back to the house with your best friend's husband and another of their mutual friends, who were crashing at the house since they lived out of town.
"Your wife doesn't know you know, right?" Andy said as they drank beers.
"No, I didn't say anything to her about it, why?" the husband asked.
"Because we could have some fun with this," Andy said with a smirk.
"I'm not showing my junk to all those crazies," the mutual friend stated.
"We're not showing junk to any of them," Andy agreed. "But it doesn't mean we can't take some staged photos and send them to them. Think thirst traps."
"But won't it be suspicious if we all do them?" the husband asked. "Maybe it should just be you."
"I agree, it should just be you," the mutual friend stated with a laugh. "It will get the best reaction."
"Fine, you chicken shits," Andy said. "But I'm going to need help taking the photos."
————
The first text came as you, your best friend and your three bridesmaids were getting ready to play a game.
At your best friend’s insistence, you’d all changed your text alerts to be something different so it was easier to tell them apart. You and the others had overruled her idea, however, that the person receiving the text couldn’t be the one to look at the phone.
“That’s you,” she said, smugly.
“I know,” you replied as you got up to get your phone from where they sat on the counter. Looking at your phone, you saw that Andy had sent a photo and found yourself grateful that the majority had overruled the dick pic sharing rule, too. Meaning no dicks would be exposed.
Going into your messages, you nearly choked when you saw the photo Andy had sent you. It was just his bare pecs and torso, but it was a close up, showing off all his muscles.
“She definitely got something good,” one of the others cackled.
“Come share it with the group,” your best friend said with a smirk.
Grudgingly, you handed her your phone and they all leaned in to take a look.
“Hot damn,” one of them said while another whistled.
“I knew he was hot, but lucky you,” another said, winking at you.
“Ok, enough ogling my future husband,” you said, grabbing the phone. “We have a game to play.”
“Fine, but you aren’t allowed to text him back,” your best friend reminded you.
“I know,” you replied though you were suddenly wishing you were at home with Andy and his muscles instead of with your friends.
Hours later, a second photo came as you all were getting ready for bed. This photo was of Andy in bed with a picture of his torso and half of his hip 'V' on display with the rest of his lower body hidden under the sheets.
“Are you sure we can’t call our partners?” one of your friends asked after passing the phone.
“No boys allowed!” your best friend stated.
“She’s just jealous 'cause her husband doesn’t look like that,” another muttered as she looked at the photo a little too long for your liking.
Once you had your phone back, you gave it a last, longing look then locked it for the night, thankful that each of you had your own room.
The third and fourth photos were waiting for you when you woke up the next morning. One was Andy standing at the kitchen island, coffee cup on the counter and his hoodie unzipped showing his entire torso. The other was Andy with his back to the camera and only wearing an apron with the top of his ass showing.
“I don’t know if I can look Andy in the eye anymore,” one of your friends said. “Not after these thirst traps.”
“Did you tell him?” your best friend asked, looking at you.
“When would I have told him? You only let me text him once and that was to let him know we were here,” you replied. “And you read that message.”
“You told me on the phone the other day,” another friend spoke up, looking at your best friend. “Did your husband overhear? He’s with Andy isn’t he?”
“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered and reached for her phone.
“Uh huh,” you said, grabbing it with a grin on your face. “No boys allowed. Your rule.”
“Your future husband is sharing all his goodies,” she replied.
“Not all of them,” you stated. “Besides, it’s kind of fun. They think they have one over on us.”
Your phone dinged at that moment and you opened it and your jaw dropped. Andy was wearing his wedding tux with the shirt completely open and he was stretched across the bed, showing off his torso.
“Fuck,” you muttered when you could finally think again. You looked up at your friends and blinked, once again wishing Andy was nearby to jump.
“Distance makes the bride to be hornier,” one of the girls teased.
You flipped her off and placed the phone on the table for them all to see.
Five additional thirst trap photos were sent to your phone during the remainder of your girls weekend, each of them highlighting Andy’s torso and/or arms and proving that Andy knew just which parts of his body you liked the most.
You were so turned on by the photos that you didn't invite your friends and their significant others to have dinner with you and Andy like you had originally planned to. Instead, you had practically rushed them all out of the house, upon getting home, then turned to your future husband.
"Strip," you ordered him.
Andy's eyebrows shot up and then he grinned. "You did get the photos then," he said, obviously pleased with himself.
"And we figured out that you knew about the no boys allowed rules," you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. "Now stop stalling, hot stuff, you showed off all weekend and now I want a taste."
"As you wish," Andy said, simply.
Then took his sweet time undressing, which you normally appreciated, but your desire had been building for nearly two days. Yes, you had masturbated last night in the shower, but that wasn't the same as being with Andy.
After what seemed like forever, he was naked before you, partially aroused.
You'd planned to play with him a little, but you needed him sooner rather than later. You quickly removed your clothes and then closed the gap between the two of you.
"Remind me to torture you a bit later," you said to him before you pressed your lips against his.
"Will do," he whispered against your lips.
Then he made love to you.
#theycallmebecca#theycallmebeccawrites#Andy Barber#Andy Barber fanfiction#Andy Barber fanfic#Andy Barber fan fiction#Andy Barber x you#Andy Barber x female reader#Andy Barber x y/n#becca writes 18+ drabbles
106 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mistletoe
TW: Fem!Reader x Madelyn. Smut. Language. Public sexual acts.
SUMMARY: The effects of mistletoe hold consequences for you and Madelyn.
WORD COUNT: 1000
*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*
Mistletoe
"You know the deal..." Madison egged you on while your gaze met with Madelyn after falling from the sight of the mistletoe overhead.
"Actually, I don't..." You confessed as Carlacia was quick to explain, "Why do we have to?"
"Superstition claims if you don't that you'll be single for another year..."
"Well I for one, don't want to risk that." Madelyn teased before offering a shrug, "I'm game if you are..."
Until this moment you'd never thought of anything even remotely romantic with Madelyn as she had been one of your closest friends. But since it had been addressed, you couldn't silence the curiosity of how her full, soft lips would feel pressed to yours. So with a rise of your shoulders to express indifference, you would feel her hands rest at your cheeks for placement. But just before she would make contact with your mouth, she would brush a hair from your face, curving it behind your ear as you would actually be the one to close the distance.
Lips as soft as petals sent a rush of heat between your thighs as the taste of strawberries and champagne made you breathless. For what should have been a means to silence the fear of breaking tradition had awoken something between you. A curiosity that was silent and dormant until this interaction as the kiss quickly drew more passionate. As she pulled you tighter against her, enough to feel her heart race beside your own, your fingers would move just beneath the rim of her blouse to chill her skin beneath your touch. A slight hitch made you smirk as you were forced apart by this alone, joining together with a renewed placement of hands.
"Oh shit..." JD commented as you and Madelyn were too focused on each other to make a note of anything surrounding you. The graze of your bottom lip met with her tongue having strengthened this delusion until an applause from Drew and Odessa returned you to reality.
"Well then...shall we go to dinner now?" Rudy exclaimed, eyes wide with amusement as Elaine rolled her own with playful annoyance before Madelyn caught your arm.
"Sit with me?" She asked as you agreed, sitting beside her in the car as you were reserved to the shadows of the late hour as she began to play with the tips of your fingers as the car set in motion. The small flirtations confirmed to her that the kiss had not remained something strictly a spur of the moment and it was well reciprocated.
"Are you as wet as I am right now?" She asked into your ear as you nodded.
"Soaked." You guided her hand slowly between your thighs as she would feel your saturated panties.
"Poor thing...All from a little kiss? Good thing you can't read my mind then..."
"Tell me, Madelyn...please?" You taunted as you brought a trace down her arms and to the line of her own skirt, but kept from making contact until you got an answer.
"Please?" You asked again, waging an offer by your fingers inching up her leg as she took her lips to your ear.
"I want to rub your breasts...I want to kiss them and suck on them...and then I want to do the same between your legs..."
"I wanna make you come, Maddy..."
"It wouldn't take long..."
"No?" You pushed her panties aside as you basked in her gasp. Her eyes rolled as it caught the illumination of a streetlight having been passed as you then inserted a second finger.
"Gotta be quiet for me Maddy, okay?"
"Oh my god...I've never done this with another girl..."
"Do you like it?" She took your wrist, "Oh you do, don't you?"
"You tell me...I'm already dripping..." You smirked against her cheek.
"I haven't even bent them yet..." She released a deep exhale, doing so in an attempt to remain silent as you scoffed.
"Or told you what I wanted."
"Tell me. Please...." She urged.
"I want to make you come with my fingers first...then my tongue...then against me...maybe a vibrator....make you really go crazy...see how loud I can make you-"
"I'm gonna come...shit...oh my god..." You kept her quiet with another kiss, careless to who would see as you needed to taste her again. And with a rush of thrusts of your fingers and a thumb brushing her clit, you felt her tremble over your hand and spill to your digits.
"You're so sweet-" You confessed while sucking her off of her fingers. But she was unable to return the favor immediately due to the car coming to a stop. She considered keeping you behind, but instead found a rush in the idea of reciprocating in public.
After sitting down at the table and ordering drinks, you felt her hand rise up your thigh as she whispered into your ear.
"Slip off your panties for me...I want to make you stain this seat..." You cocked a jaw before obliging, doing so rather stealthily as she made contact to your sex.
"Don't let them know...I love how you're making it so easy to get away with this..."
"Fuck." You breathed softly.
"Sorry, sweets, but if I had to be quiet, so do you..." She inserted a second finger as you watched her grin widely in amusement to your struggle.
"Imagine how much worse it would be if I had access to your perfect nipples right now..."
Your eyes rolled closed as you fixated on a praying position, Madelyn covering for you and claiming you and a headache, as you were otherwise ignored by everyone but her vigorous fingers.
"Oh you're so close..."
"Maddy..." You breathed. "Maddy..." You whimpered.
"Come for me...right now sweets..." Your body obeyed, the buckle of your release drawing attention that silenced once the food was delivered as you exchanged coquettish glances to one another through the rest of the night, unable to keep your hands, lips, dirty words, or gazes to yourselves all from the effects of mistletoe.
Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916
#madelyn cline x fem!reader#madelyn cline smut#madelyn cline#madelyn cline fanfiction#outer banks#outerbanks#obx#Cameron Chronicles Christmas 2022
219 notes
·
View notes
Note
You have me crying over your Unconventional fiction, it was so good!! Broke my heart 😭😭
I need a Pt. 3 where Leo is grieving over his lost love. April and Casey keep in touch with reader over the phone, but it's not the same of course.
Maybe someone convinces Leo to speak to reader over the phone?
Maybe after some time, reader gets to come back to New York (for college?) and reader and Leo get to reunite and try to work things out (maybe even start a relationship).
Thank you for the ask. This will be the final part to this series!
TMNT 12 Leonardo x Reader - Unconventional Pt. 3
Summary: Years have passed since you left for North Carolina, and you have mixed feelings about returning to New York for your first semester of college.
Warnings: More angst! A tiny bit of fluff too.
"I'm here," you sighed into your cell phone. "Yep. Getting off now." Just as you'd said, you carefully stepped off the train, the tile of the station slick beneath your feet. You struggled to haul your steam trunk off with you, but somehow managed. Scanning the crowd, you looked for your friend, the one you'd spoken to on the phone.
"(Y/N)!" a shrill voice called, as you spotted a ginger woman pushing passed irritated people, and darting towards you, a ravenette man being dragged behind her. "I can't believe you're really here!"
"April!" you shrieked, meeting her halfway and engulfing her in a much needed hug, before pulling her away and holding her at arms length. "God, I missed you guys so much." you beamed.
In the three years you'd been apart, your friendship with Casey and April had never once faltered. She always made a point to call you at least a few times a week, and he often texted you to check up on you, or sent you funny videos he found online. You had even managed to talk to the turtles on occasion. Your T-Phone had broken ages ago, but every once in a while, April would let Mikey or Donnie sit in on a call to say hello.
As you exited the subway, you chittered without friends about what had happened while you were away, and what the future had in store. Some how, the topic of living arrangements came up, and April was appalled to find that you hadn't secured an apartment yet. "What do you mean you haven't found a place yet?!"
You chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. "Well, I originally intended to move into the dorms, but they only allow payment by the semester and I don't have eight grand just laying around." you explained with a small smile. "I've got enough to put me up in a hotel for the night, I'll go house hunting tomorrow." you reassured, but obviously, this wasn't enough.
"Like hell!" she scolded. "How are going to waste your money on a hotel when not having enough money was the problem in the first place?"
"Well, what other choice do I have?" you shrugged. "I'll be fine, really."
"Absolutely not," she protested. "You're staying with me tonight." Before you had the chance to protest, she was already dragging you back down the steps into the subway system. As you walked, you began to become cautious of her intentions when she hung a sharp right that lead the three of you deeper into a seemingly defunct station.
"April, where are we going? I thought you lived on 31st?" you pondered, withdrawing your hand from hers as she lead.
"Not anymore, I moved out." she simply said, grabbing your hand again, before marching forward with even more vigor than before.
"Maybe this is a bad idea," Casey piped up from behind. "Babe, let's not do this. We could just stay with her in the hotel." Your head instantly snapped back to look at him, his features coated in uncertainty. If Casey Jones, the king of bad ideas, was unsure about this, than it was definitely not something you wanted to be apart of.
In the distance, you could hear chatter and background noise, and taking note of your surroundings, the color left your face. You spotted a broken skateboard, half submerged in sewage, and junk food wrappers scattered about. Even worse were the ruminants of deteriorating pizza boxes everywhere, becoming more numerous as you went further. It suddenly clicked for you where she was taking you, and Casey was right. This was a very bad idea.
"April, stop! I don't want to see them!" you vocalized, trying to tear yourself away from her. She finally let go and stopped, turning to look you in the eye.
"But they miss you, (Y/N)! They already know you're back in town, and they're just gonna come find you if you don't visit." she rationed.
You felt anger bubble in your chest as your fists balled themselves. "you told them I was coming back?! I specifically told you NOT to do that! April, how could you?"
The ginger rolled her eyes at your anger, clearly not understand her mistakes. "Are you really that mad?"
"Yes! I don't want to be here, April!" you shouted, huffing to turn back around and leave the way you'd come. You were born and raised in New York, surely you could find your way.
"(Y/N)?" you blood ran cold at the laid back voice that called out to you, knowing exactly who it was, and that there was no way you could leave now. Slowly, you pivoted on your heels with the fakest smile you could muster and wave back at him.
"Hey Mikey..."
-----
You were now sitting on that old familiar couch, crowded with ghosts from your past, having the absolute worst time. You felt sick, like you could vomit at any moment, without warning. Despite this, you continued to humor the turtles as they all rambled to you about what they'd been up to the last three years. There was nothing you wanted more than to leave again and never have any contact with these people again.
That was made ten fold when you noticed Leo standing in the doorway to the dojo, staring you down. Unbeknownst to you, he was feeling exactly how you were- nauseous and faint. Were couldn't been any words that anyone could string together to make him understand. Not how he felt, not why your were in his living room, nothing. Unwilling to deal with this at the moment, he turned away and went back into the dojo.
Apart of you felt an overwhelming grief watching him turn his back on your again, but the other part was so grateful. You could now go back to hating your current situation without the added pressure. Unluckily for you, it had already been decided that you'd sleep here, and you'd have much more torture to sit through as the night progessed.
-----
The lair laid quiet, all of it's inhabitants asleep, apart from you. You bustled around the living room, collecting your things and hasting tossing them into your trunk. Mentally, you went over a list of what you'd unpacked. Clothes, check. Wallet, check. Phone, check. With bated breath, you locked the final latch on your steamer and collapsed the handle, deciding to simply carry it and not risk the wheels making any noise. Finally, you were ready to make your escape.
"Leaving already?" a tired voice called from the kitchen, prompting you to freeze. How does this keep happening! Laughing nervously, you set the trunk down and turned to confront the person who'd caught you.
"N-No! Just going out for a snack-" you once again froze, that sick feeling bubbling back up in your throat, almost intense enough to make you visibly gag. "Leo?"
"It's just weird that you'd take your clothes with you to go get a snack. Especially at one in the morning." he chided, sipping from a glass of water and leaning against the countertop.
"Don't act like you care," you rolled your eyes. "Yes, I'm leaving. Just keep quiet about it, please."
"Were are we going?" he asked smugly, setting his drink down. "I don't know how many restaurants are open right now, but I bet we could find something."
You stared at him through glossy eyes, picking up your suitcase and marching up to the stairs. "That's enough, Leo. I really can't handle your shit talking right now. I just want to be away from you."
His brows furrowed, his hurt pride now becoming more important than his joy of seeing you again. "Go then. But don't say I didn't try."
You halted in your tracks, balled your fists and stomped back over to him, entirely snapped and no longer caring if you woke anyone up or not. "You didn't try, Leo! All you've ever done is hate me and bully me ever since I met you! The last time I saw you, you refused to even say goodbye, and then you never even called!" your chest heaved as tears began to flow freely from your eyes. "And then, after I was dragged here against my own will, when you saw that I was back, you didn't even bother to say anything! Don't you dare say you've tried!"
Leo stood in front of you, and for the first time he took the full force of your beratements, with nothing to say. When he finally did think of something, you didn't even give him the chance. "(Y/N), I-"
"Don't you '(Y/N)' me!" you sobbed, wiping fat tears off on the sleeve of your shirt. "I loved you, Leo! I don't know why, but I did, and all I ever wanted was for you to say one nice thing about me, but you can't even do that! You made it your mission to make my life here a live hell, and now that I'm back you expect to be able to go on midnight snack runs with me and have a cute little back and forth?!"
"Well, no-"
"Just stop." you finally said, hanging your head. "I never even intended for you guys to know I was coming back, because I didn't want to see you. Please, if you have any shred of respect for me, just let me go and don't tell anyone."
"Please don't go." he muttered desperately, catching your attention.
"Why does it matter to you?" you responded sadly, sniffling away the last few tears you had to offer.
"You're really unconventional in how you do things." he finally said quietly, and a bit shamefully.
"Leo, what does that even mean?" You questioned suspiciously, setting your trunk down to relieve your arm of it's weight.
"You said I can't say anything nice about you." he replied, in an almost annoyed tone.
"So that's your idea of a compliment?" you scoffed, shaking your head at him.
"I meant it in a good way." he clarified with a deep breath, refusing to let himself loose his cool again. "It's just something I admire about you."
"That's funny," you dismissed. "I didn't think you admired anything about me."
Guilt ate away at Leo as he continued to shift his gaze between you and the floor. "Look," he finally sighed, sitting down on the couch. "I wont make you stay. Please just here me out, and if you still wanna leave, I'll let you, no strings attached. I just have to get this off my chest."
You groaned, dropping your things and sitting down as well, as far from him as possible. "Whatever, just hurry up. Nothing you could say could change my mind."
With the inhalation of deep breath Leo turned to you, and for possibly the first time, he looked you in the eye. "I want you to know that above all else, I'm sorry." he began, deciding that putting any explanation before an apology would simply be inappropriate. "Secondly, I want you to know that I think I've done a lot of growing over the last few years and...there've been some bad habits I've had to work myself out of, and how I treated you was one of them."
"Cruelty doesn't count as a habit if it's only towards one person, Leo." you scoffed, dramatically rolling your eyes with arms crossed.
"I wouldn't necessarily call it cruelty, per say." he digressed. "But more how I process my feelings...and show affection." Your eyes widened a bit at his half confession.
"Are you really going to sit here and say you bullied me relentlessly over some stupid crush you didn't know how to express?" You spat, eyes narrowing venomously. "Because that's fucking pathetic."
"But it's the truth." he confirmed. "That doesn't make it any less wrong, though. I truly am so sorry, (Y/N). I don't expect forgiveness, but I wanted you to know that there was never a problem with you, it was all me."
You sat in silence for a moment, emotions a flurry of negative and positive. "Thank you for telling me this." you finally said calmly. "But I'd still like to stay somewhere else tonight. I don't feel comfortable here." Leo felt his heart break over you again, just as it bad many times before, and he hung his head low. "But you can walk me there, if you want."
-----
The trek across town was mostly quiet. there was so much to said, but it seemed no one had the right. Leo politely carried your trunk as you walked along side him to the closest budget in. He looked the place up and down while you booked a room in the lobby. He didn't like it at all. It was run down and shady, with barred windows siding, and tacky, dated furnishings. Though, he guessed he didn't have the right to complain if you felt safer here then in his home.
"Well, this is me," you sighed as you both strolled over to your door. "I booked this room for three days, that should give me plenty of time to find an apartment without- well, ya know." He nodded, humming in agreement.
"Well...I guess I'll let you sleep then." he muttered softly, turning to leave.
"Hey, uhm- Leo?" you called out, voice laced with uncertainty.
"Yeah?" he replied, a little too excitedly, turning back to you with a hopeful gleam in his eye.
"M-maybe we could get coffee together sometime this week? After I find a place and get settled in, I mean."
"Coffee...y-yeah. I'd like that, thanks."
Taglist:
@sunshinesdaydream @helpyaw @thelaundrybitch @momii @camillahorne26 @turtle-babe83 @fyreball66 @sharpwindow @roseygardenfan @witchofthenorthstar @pheradream15 @post-apocalyptic-daydream
152 notes
·
View notes
Text
Papillon
While preparing themselves for the dangerous job ahead of them, Y/N moves into Harry’s apartment to remain under his protection. They are soon forced to convince everyone in their lives that they hate each other to keep Leo’s suspicion off of them as they grow closer. (or hitman!h part five)
17k (18+)
Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, daddy kink, soft dom/sub dynamics, dry-humping, public sex, strong language, referenced murder/death, referenced violence, substance use, and toxic relationship dynamics.
-
On the car ride over to the safe house the next morning, Harry laid down a few ground rules about how they'll have to conduct themselves to act as inconspicuous as possible about the new job they've been given, as well as their undefined sexual relationship.
"Y'have to stay with me until it's over," he said. And before she could open her mouth to tell him no, he held a hand up as if to tell her to keep quiet. "Listen, if we're doing this, we're doing it my way. I know Leo, I've known him since I was a teenager, and I know that I need you close to keep you safe from him. We can't spend any time apart."
What else was she supposed to do? Say no? Not when their potential escape from Leo depended on this future job going smoothly. Did she want to live with Harry? No, especially not with how they're prone to fighting and fucking like uncivilized beasts at the drop of a hat, and she still hadn't fully forgiven his treachery from that night at Leo's house yet.
Naturally, none of this could be spoken of outside of the four walls of his penthouse apartment. He made sure to check later for any recording devices or cameras that may have been planted by either Leo or Garrett, though he didn't know how they could've gotten inside, and gave her a strict story to stick to.
As they approached the safe house on foot, his Escalade parked around the corner, he said to her, "If anyone presses for information, tell them the original story. The one Leo thinks is true—that Perez sent his men after him in revenge f'me attacking Tate, and I had to kill the one that got away. That's it. If they keep asking more questions, stick to that. Keep saying it until it becomes the truth."
If this plan were to succeed, they would need to be perfect. She would need to be perfect in playing the part of the trapped damsel, forced to work alongside a monster she hates and who hates her in return.
That was another thing.
"When we're around everyone, Leo in particular, don't talk to me unless y'have to. Don't touch me, don't look at me too long—just don't let anyone suspect it." He paused, then went on, "Or since everyone already thinks we fucked, make it look like it was a one-time thing that ended badly. They already think I'm a piece of shit anyway, so let them think I used you. Y'have to hate me."
Y/N spun around to halt his swift walking pace and crossed her arms over his chest as she looked up at him. The morning sun warmed her battered face and haloed his head from behind, nature crowning him one of its angels—a dim shadow wreathed in golden light. His wording caught her interest, and it took every morsel of control she had not to call him on it.
Just don't let anyone suspect it.
It. What is it, then? They haven't fucked since the day Leo had her beaten on his behalf, a fact she's unfortunately reminded of every other moment due to the simmering sexual tension that never dissipates between them, and she didn't consider their relationship outside of sex to be more than friendly. So, what were they? What was it? If it was her as both the hitman's Achilles heel and his plaything, then so be it. She was beyond pretending to care about whatever title their relationship held after the news they received from "Perez".
Checking twice to ensure no one watched them, she asked, batting her lashes dramatically, "You mean I can't follow you around like a little puppy and beg you to date me in front of all our friends?" Her hands pressed into the center of her chest as she let out a forced sigh, staring at him. "You know that's my favorite pastime. How will I survive?"
As amusing as he found her teasing him to be, he kept his face blank and stared at her right back. The dominance in that stare, as well as the words that followed, sparked a rush of pleasure to life between her thighs that she missed in their time apart.
"Behave," was all he said, and some deep, primal part of her had no choice but to obey.
And, so, the dance began again—of him possessing her, body and soul, and her having to pretend as if that connection didn't exist whenever they found themselves in the company of others. In all fairness, it pained him as much as it did her when they met with the boys that morning after breakfast. To stand there and not be allowed to dote on her, to be her shadow with a hand resting on the gun strapped to his hip should anyone make a move against her, was torture whether she was aware or not.
They both followed the rules.
Niall, Liam, and Louis were easy. All they needed to do was stick to their agreed-upon story and not budge when additional pressure was added. There were endless questions about what happened at the club mere days prior to them all reuniting, and they answered with honesty in regard to that. Harry took responsibility for his part in it and left her blameless, saying it was an act of treason for Tate to try to hurt one of their own. Then, of course, there was the matter of what happened after. Of Tate belonging to Perez, Leo punishing them, and Harry being sent after the remaining attackers.
Zayn, however, was a whole different story.
The entire time they spent at the safe house, forcing themselves to indulge in their questions and wait around for Louis to pay them, he eyed the pair in suspicion. It occurred to him as they exchanged glares from across the room and refused to speak more than a few words to one another that the way they were acting was different from what he saw at her place. She'd been angry with him, but not like this. And, he'd never expect to see Harry ignore her. In a room full of people, Harry's eyes would never stray from her.
He hardly looked at her that day.
She already knew he had a talent for masking his emotions, but what he did at the safe house was nothing short of a winning performance. It brought her mind back to how he acted after they left Leo's house, the show he put on to distance her from him under the guise of keeping her safe, and she had to keep reminding herself that it was an act.
They didn't give Zayn the chance to pull either of them aside afterward. First, Y/N left as soon as she got the money from Louis, not offering more than a quick, "Goodbye," before sauntering out of the front door with her sunglasses, gifted to her by Harry, in place to conceal her black eye.
That was another thing. The gifts.
The gloves and sunglasses were for specific reasons. The gloves were for their job, something he was getting on her for not buying in favor of hastily wiping down the steering wheel, and the sunglasses were tossed to her before they got out of the car that morning to cover her eye. They could've been his, or an ex-girlfriend's, but he didn't offer an explanation other than telling her to keep them.
In the week following, however, the little gifts he left behind for her at his place while he was busy doing whatever he does in his free time were for no good reason.
Perhaps they were apologies—one for every offense he's made against her. If so, one for every day of the week isn't going to come close to everything he's said or done to her. Every day, whether it be morning, midday, or nighttime, she'd come out to find a box sitting on the coffee table beside the pile of folded blankets and pillows sitting on the couch he made up for himself every night. She ended up taking his room upon his insistence, though it took a solid hour of bickering on the way back from the safe house for him to wear her down.
The gifts were anything from a dainty gold necklace to lingerie. The latter of the two is the one she found seconds ago. It was left for her on her bed this time, a warning sign she didn't care to notice until she was lifting the top to the box to find a matching set of lace undergarments with a handwritten note on top of it. Scrawled in his handwriting, it read—
So I won't have to tear them off of you this time. H.
Y/N reaches down to pick up the thin material of the panties, running it between her fingers in quiet appreciation of its quality. A glance at the name printed on the box confirms her suspicions. Undergarments cost a ridiculous sum at a well-priced store in the first place, but buying them from the store he had must have cost him a small fortune.
They're a shade deep enough to match her blood-red nails, a detail she knows he caught onto and matched the lingerie to on purpose, and it's wholly transparent. Everything would be exposed to anyone who saw her in it. Even the cups of the bra are flimsy panels of lace with no true support short of the underwire and shoulder straps. The underwear is the true star of the show. Being the self-indulgent prick he is, it shouldn't surprise her that Harry picked a pair of crotchless panties to replace the ones he destroyed the first time they slept together.
A soft chuckle escapes her.
That's what the note meant, then.
On her personal phone, the one she bought weeks ago to replace her original one, she snaps a picture of her new undergarments to send alongside a text message to him.
Y/N
In your dreams.
Harry peeks down at the notification the second it pops up, and it makes his lips curl upwards in a smirk. It's so easy to rile her, isn't it?
Harry
I wasn't dreaming last week.
Y/N
And that was a one-time lapse in judgment I'll be sure not to make again.
Harry
*Three-time
She scoffs.
Y/N
Don't make me pull a knife on you like I did last week.
The three dots indicating he's typing appear immediately, then disappear a few seconds later as though he's hesitating in his response. She's ready to click off her phone screen and shove the lingerie into the drawers in the dresser he gave up to her when her phone pings with a notification.
Harry
Don't threaten me with a good time.
A minute later, she sends back a middle finger emoji and he must stifle a laugh in the presence of the others around him waiting in line to order their midday coffee.
For the rest of the day after their back and forth about the lingerie, Y/N takes it upon herself to pick up a few things from her apartment to bring over to Harry's place that she initially forgot to pack. The items of most importance and urgency are the framed photos of her family, her baking tools, and, ironically enough, the rest of the undergarments in her dresser. At first, she swore to herself that all she would bring were her toothbrush and a few day's worth of clothes at a time rather than fully moving into his place.
That lasted about five days before she finally admitted to herself that she would tire of running back and forth between the two apartments and decided to get the rest of her stuff. Half of the dresser and closet are hers, as per their agreement, and by the afternoon, both are filled with the rest of her clothes.
She folds up the last pair of pants she has, sets them down in the drawer, and falls back onto his bed with a heavy sigh. The plush comforter deflates under her body weight, soft on her skin as she shifts onto her side and nudges her cheek against it.
For a moment, she lies there in silence.
It's strange being in his bedroom. All alone without the excuse of being brought there for refuge after being drugged or to have sex somewhere other than a car park, she looks around from her spot on the mattress with a tender smile playing at her lips. Though she fought with him over his wish for her to take his room, she can't deny the comfort found in it. The floor-to-ceiling windows leave the space wide open for her, allowing a small bit of moonlight in at night and a generous view of sunset in the afternoon, and she doesn't feel trapped here as she has in her own bedroom. The walls don't close in on her the way they do at her own place, and, for that, she's thankful.
She's about to crawl beneath the covers for a nap when the sound of her burner phone buzzing on the bedside table has her head snapping up in surprise.
They haven't been called to do anyone's bidding yet, whether it be Leo's or Garrett's, since last week. After all the time that has passed, it's something she should've expected, but she was thrown off by what has happened in the meantime—staying at Harry's place, sending meaningless flirtations to each other by text to fill the yawning void inside of her, and looking forward to his daily gifts. None of those pleasantries could ever keep the devil at bay, though. Not for long.
Her approach is slow and careful, like a predator stalking down its prey, as she slides her legs off the side of the bed and reaches for the flip phone. It rings twice more in her hand before she picks up the call and brings it to her ear.
"Meet me in the building's parking garage."
The line goes dead.
-
The parking garage is deserted at this time of night.
Being the pest he is, Harry didn't specify which level of the parking garage to meet him at, so she's been scaling the staircase for the better part of five minutes, peeking her head inside each level to listen for any signs of life. By the time she finds the roof level of the car park, her entire body is strained from it, and she has to take a second to breathe before she walks through the door.
There's a chill in the air. It's something to be expected with it being the second week of November, but she forgot to throw a hoodie on over her long sleeve shirt, and the skirt she wears doesn't do much to protect her from the breeze either.
Her arms cross over her chest as she walks out into the mostly empty top floor of the garage and scans the area in search of her hitman. A few street lamps placed on the perimeter of the parking lot illuminate her path, but she's left mostly in the dark. It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to spot the shadowy figure leaning against the farthest wall of the parking level.
The closer she gets, the better her view of him becomes.
Harry stands with one elbow resting back on the top of the concrete wall to stabilize himself while the other hand is raised to bring a joint to his lips.
It's almost burned down to the end, and she realizes that the smell no longer annoys her as she comes to a stop and leans against the wall beside him. If anything, she enjoys the way it clings to his clothes. The shirt of his she inadvertently stole the day she stayed over at his apartment smells of a mixture of weed, his cologne, and his own personal scent. She would never admit it to him, but she wears it to sleep every night. Once the door to his room is shut and he's gotten all he needs from inside before he retires to the couch for the night, she slips it on over her pajama tank and allows the familiar scent of him to sing her to sleep.
There's no mask covering his face as there always is when they meet up for a hit. The gloves are never missing from his ensemble of clothing, of course, but the lack of a mask causes her brows to furrow.
"Why don't you have your mask on?"
With that, he puts out the lit end of the joint and tosses it over the edge of the roof.
"Cause, we aren't working tonight," he says, then cuts her one of his commanding stares. The type that tells her to follow along without him having to open his mouth to say the words.
And, of course, she is right behind him without question, eager as ever to follow in his footsteps until he leads her off the edge of a cliff. The wind blows around the hem of her skirt and threatens to expose her to the empty rooftop, so she spends the better part of the walk awkwardly petting the fabric down against her thighs.
"What are we doing, then?" she asks.
The question is promptly answered when they come to a stop in front of a parked car. Not just any parked car, either. Sitting in front of her, in all of its legend and glory, is his original 427 Shelby Cobra. It's still the most beautiful car she's ever seen. Painted with its original coloring, it robs her of her breath to see it sitting so close, knowing that it isn't a client at the Auto Shop's but rather Harry's car.
Breaking the silence, she says, "I will literally give you a lifetime supply of blowjobs if you let me drive that."
He cocks a brow at her.
"Is that all upfront or, like, once per week, 'cause I feel like that'd be kind of hard on your jaw?"
She doesn't even dignify that with a response. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and turns to him, staring with the same commanding expression he throws her way when he wants her to do something. Although, when she does it, she has all the intimidation of a disgruntled puppy. They remain this way for what feels like a while before he finally bends to the will of her silent demands.
"S'kinda cute when you try to act scary," he says with a coy smile. "Y'look like an angry little puppy."
A pause, then—
"I take back the blowjob thing. I'll just kill you and steal the keys instead."
His loud, cackling laugh fills the entire space of the parking level, and it takes a lot for her to not smile as an instinctive response to hearing it. For a person who has been entrenched in perpetual darkness for the past ten years, the lightness found in his laugh and smile has been a pleasant surprise. She'd never guess that a person with a laugh that infectious would be a cold-blooded murderer for hire. It calls to mind many questions she never thought to consider before. Questions surrounding how he grew up and his parents. Last week, he mentioned his mother twice. First, when she asked about the Bible in his bedside table. Second, when he was calming her from her panic and swore on his mother never to let anyone hurt her.
The way he said it implied death from her perspective. If so, when did he lose her? Was she all he had growing up, or was his father in the picture? Did he have siblings? She doesn't make the mistake of asking any of these and ruining their night before it has begun, however. It's clear that he's trying now. He apologized to her for what he said, something she never thought he'd do, and has made an effort to be nicer. For that, she must give him some grace. He'll talk about it when he's ready, if he ever is.
When she makes a quick move to snatch the keys from his hand amidst the distraction of his laughter, he dodges with ease. Her other hand shoots out to reach for where he pulled his away, but he simply lifts his arm as far as he can over his head to dangle them just out of her reach.
Harry says, his dimples appearing as he smirks at her, "Take 'em from me."
"What do I get if I do?"
"To drive the car, obviously," he instantly counters with, "...and a sexual favor if y'really want some incentive."
To this, she smiles back at him with mischief lighting up her eyes and steps up closer until her chest is touching his. With every rise and fall of their breaths, he feels her breasts pushing up against him, and, suddenly, he is hyper-aware of every place they connect. Particularly the places farther south where they connect...
Her head tilts to the side, their lips a few inches away as she asks, feigning innocence, "Just a favor?"
Their mouths brush in a tentative kiss under her insistence, once, twice, three times without his participation, until he starts to lean into it and truly kiss her back. Her lips taste like the berry-flavored lip gloss she constantly applies and reapplies, and he hums in approval of it as he reaches with one free hand to cup the back of her neck in a possessive grasp. It's the first time they've done anything together since the day they fought. Both of them are left yearning for more the second they get a taste of one another. She kisses him with a pang of desperate hunger and he returns the favor tenfold, head dipping to hers as if her every sweet, sighing exhale were the breath of life.
Y/N's hand slips down the length of his torso until it's wedged between their hips, rubbing at his cock through his pants. The sudden contact earns a muted groan from him, and she decides right at this moment that she'd do anything it took to hear him make that lovely noise again. It's music to her ears.
Another moment of breathlessness and heady desire passes, and she's whispering into his parted lips, "Fuck me." There's a whining quality to it that makes his knees go weak and his cock harden. "It's been too long." The last thing she says is what hammers the nail in his coffin. "Please, daddy..."
The hand placed on the back of her neck squeezes with an inexorable grip in reaction to her calling him that. It never fails to get him to do whatever she wants, does it? This woman has him wrapped around her finger, and he isn't sure if he ever wants to be set free.
Harry loses whatever remaining scraps he had left of his composure and starts to walk her toward the edge of the roof in pursuit of the short wall bordering it. The arm he had lifted over his head is now snaked around her waist to keep her body flush against his, and he feels her smiling into the kiss. Just before he pushes her back against the wall, she spins them around and traps him there instead, her hands sliding up and down his arms in a gentle touch, as if soothing a wild animal prone to lashing out at any moment. He isn't fond of being the one who's out of control, but, for her, he allows it.
She was right, it has been too long, and he already knows it'll be over too soon if she keeps rutting her hips against him like that. He unwinds his arms from around her hips and reaches back to place the forgotten car keys on the ledge, readying himself to slip his hands up her skirt and—
Before he can act on his urges, she disappears.
His eyes snap open, and there she is, retreating as quickly as she can with the keys to the Cobra dangling on the key ring hung on her pointer finger.
"You're so easy, you know that?" she asks with a teasing smirk thrown over her shoulder at him. Then, she waves an arm in the direction of the car, ignoring the obvious tent in his pants caused by her scheming. "C'mon."
-
The Cobra is everything she dreamt it would be.
Her dad once drove one as a birthday gift from a friend of his in the industry, but she never did anything but watch. On the sidelines, she dreamt of the day she could drive one, a day she assumed would never come, but here it is.
In the ten minutes it took for her to follow his directions to the mystery location he planned for them to go to, she thinks she was the happiest she's been since before her dad died. It brought her closer to him, in a way. Holding the same steering wheel he once held, hearing the gorgeous engine roaring like a great beast, feeling the wind whooshing through her hair—it was nothing short of magic.
The whole time, Harry watched her with a smile fighting its way to show on his face. Her little manipulation at the parking garage was something he tucked away for later, making a note to get her back for it another time. For the moment, he took pleasure in watching her in her element. The image of her grinning behind the wheel with the wind whipping her hair back from her face at a speed that far exceeded the limit set for the road was breathtaking. There was a certain discomfort to it due to this. He shifted in his seat, unsure what to make of the feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach, and it didn't go away until she followed his instructions to drive into the private raceway.
With the car put in park, she leans her head back on the seat and takes a deep breath to steady herself.
Harry sits with his arm propped on the passenger's side door, and the smile that's been begging to show on his face finally makes its appearance as he asks, "What's the verdict?"
Her head rolls to the side to meet his gaze. There's a hazy bliss visible on her face, not unlike the expression he's witnessed it wear as she comes down from the peak of an orgasm, and her lips curl up from her teeth in a smile to match his.
"You are my favorite person on earth right now. I'm so serious," she says. "How the fuck did you get your hands on this lovely creature"—her hand caresses the steering wheel affectionately as those two words are said—"in the first place?"
His previously sweet smile turns downright devious at this as he recalls the day, years ago, when he came across it.
"Well," he starts, and she already knows she's in for a treat based on the way he utters the word, "The debt with Leo isn't about money, even if he makes it seem like that. You're just doing jobs for him until he decides you're out. When I found this out, I was pissed. I knew he'd never let me have m'freedom back, so I got drunk." The smile widens for a second as if he cannot control himself. "And, back then, Leo trusted me enough to give me access to his funds..."
At the direction she thinks the story is about to take, pride flares up inside of her on his behalf. On behalf of the younger, wilder version of him that had yet to be fully broken by Leo's torment. There's a part of her that wishes that were the Harry she first met. Then, she's reminded of the good parts of him, however small they may be, that still exist today and cannot imagine wanting him to be different. She cannot imagine wanting another man to cut her pancakes for her, protect her, and argue with her.
The car is parked just beyond the automatic gates to the raceway. Neither of them makes a move to get out or continue driving, they stay locked into this moment.
"There's a reason Louis handles his finances. Back then, it was me. He actually trusted me to an extent until I emptied one of his accounts buying this. He was angry, for sure, but he was mostly just shocked and sort of impressed," he explains. "I thought he'd kill me for it. If m'being honest, that's why I did it. I wanted him to after I realized he could keep me trapped forever, but...I think he knew that. And that's why he let me keep it and get away with nothing more than a beating, so it could always be a reminder that he couldn't be outsmarted."
That wave of pride that rose up within her recedes the second he tells her the true reasoning behind it. What she thought was an act of defiance was actually an act of attempted suicide, and she doesn't know what to make of the ache this knowledge blossoms in her heart. Rather than show this concern, knowing it'd make him uncomfortable, she opts to ask him another question.
"Did he make you think the debt was about money?"
There's a flickering darkness settling over his face at this. The mere thought of the memories he has to recall to answer her must bring him pain, if she had to guess. Knowing his typical response when confronted with prying questions, she prepares for him to shut her out. She readies herself for him to tell her to mind her business, to stop acting like she's important enough to be entitled to the details of his past, but he says no such thing.
He worries his lip between his teeth for a second before saying, his voice low, "I was stupid and young. Long story short, I needed money I didn't have working at the bakery I had a job at, and Leo was a regular. He asked me how I was doing, so I was honest. He didn't seem like a bad guy, and he offered to help." There's a split-second where their eyes meet, and he immediately drops her gaze. "We were friends, I guess. He knew everything I went through with my dad and used it to get me to trust him."
Her stomach churns at the thought of such a young man being lured into one of Leo's elaborate traps.
"He lent me the money and said I had six months to pay it back. Obviously, I didn't have it, and he told me I could work for him to pay it off," he explains. "But it wasn't the money he wanted, it was me, and once I realized that it was too late."
She tries her best to keep her face as neutral as possible so as to not cause him any discomfort. Though he's shown great progress in opening his heart to her and not treating her with disrespect since they talked in her kitchen, she doesn't want to risk pushing him too far. It's much easier to reign him in from his intense reactions before they occur rather than after. If she avoids the triggers, sooner or later, they'll have to lessen, right?
Y/N, much to his surprise, offers him a grin.
"In that case, I'm glad we're gonna take that son of a bitch out together."
Anyone else would have taken the chance to coddle him. He remembers it well from the few times he tried to open up to the people he was sleeping with when it all began. Their eyes would go wide and flood with sympathy, and they'd scoot closer and try to touch him, offering softly spoken apologies he didn't want. But she doesn't. She has never coddled him, and as he looks at her now, he thinks she might be his favorite person in the world. If only for the duration of this moment.
Before he can say anything, she asks, "So, what are we here for? Just fun?"
Her question breaks him out of his trance, forcing him to confront reality again, and he turns his head to look out at the race track as if in answer.
"Garrett and I met up yesterday."
The silence that follows almost begins to ring in her ears. So, that's what he's been up to this week when he was out of the apartment. It probably took days to arrange a safe meeting spot outside of the prying eyes of Leo's spies, and it would also explain his strange behavior yesterday. He came home and, rather than poking his head inside the bedroom and telling her he was back, spent the rest of the night on his computer with a pair of headphones over his ears.
He says, "He told me to teach you to ride a motorcycle. You'll need to drive one with me on the back of it for the hit we're doing for him. Said a car won't be quick enough, you'll need to ride between lanes to get away fast enough. Even then, it'll be close."
"You know how to ride a motorcycle?"
A scoff leaves him at this.
"Y'really thought I didn't?" he asks.
When imagining the types of men who do and don't know how to ride motorcycles, she must admit, he appears on the side of one who does. With his tatted-up body, intimidating stare, and talent for murder, it only makes sense.
She shrugs.
"Fair point."
The car is parked on the side of the road leading up to the racetrack. Although he muttered to her as she put it in park that no one else would be here tonight, she felt the need to leave the path free just in case someone miraculously appeared. Their phones are both left behind on their respective seats as they shut the car doors behind them and continue along the paved pathway to the track. The back of their gloved hands brush as their arms swing between them, and, taking a bold chance, Y/N reaches her pointer and middle finger out and hooks them around his pinky. Not quite hand-holding, but not nothing.
He doesn't object, although, based on the way his shoulders stiffen up, he's tolerating it for her sake, not enjoying it. That small factor matters little to her, however. His acceptance of this small intimacy puts added confidence in her step. Ahead, she sees two identical bikes parked side by side on the straightaway of the track.
As they approach them, she drops his hand to run hers along the seat of the one closest to her.
"Holy shit," she says without turning her head to look at him. "These are gorgeous."
He walks around the side of the bike she's inspecting and smiles at her excitement while he thinks she isn't looking. Out of her peripheral vision, she picks up on it.
"They're the fastest street-legal bikes y'can buy. Garrett had these dropped off for us here. After we're done, some of his guys will come to take them back until we need to use 'em again."
Her focus lifts from the masterfully crafted vehicle to see him, and she thinks she could spend an eternity getting lost in those pale green eyes. Especially when they no longer look at her with constant disdain and annoyance.
"Are you sure it's safe to talk about this out here? What if Leo has people watching us after last week?" she asks.
One of his hands reaches into the pocket of his hands and pulls out a single key, which she assumes is for the bike, to slip into the ignition without turning over the engine yet. His face is wholly calm, and not hidden behind one of his many masks. It tells her the answer to her question before he can open his mouth to speak it aloud.
"Garrett has more reach than Leo does alone. He can afford to pay off the staff here," he explains, then continues on softly, "Leo likes to think he sees everything, but he doesn't. He sees a lot, but not everything. He didn't know we were fucking until last week. If he were watching us as closely as he wants us to think he is, he would've checked the security cameras from the parking garage."
"There were cameras?"
All he does is scoff in offense.
"Settle down. I went in and erased the footage the next day. Nobody really watches it closely unless there's an incident and they need to investigate. The club's watched much more closely than the garage." After a pause, he teases her, "I don't share, sweetheart. I'd sooner gouge his eyes out than let him see y'like that."
She teases him right back.
"I may have been rolling but I do remember you acting like a caveman when you noticed Tate talking to me."
"Enough," he says, only half serious as he uses her obedience to him to his advantage, "get on the bike."
For the second time tonight, he watches her eyes light up with mischief, and she shoots him a smirk as she swings her leg over the side of the bike and says quietly, "Yes, daddy."
Opting to ignore that jab, he remains quiet to not give her the reaction she seeks and forces himself to remain focused on what they're here to do. Never mind the fact that he can only think about what happened back at his building's parking garage and the fact that her short skirt is riding up her thighs as she settles into place astride the bike. The same skirt she wore the first time they worked together when he bent her over the hood of the car and promised to fuck the attitude out of her.
Later, he thinks to himself.
The downright filthy turn his thoughts have begun to take would typically prompt him to initiate sex immediately, but, unfortunately for him, he must teach her to ride a motorcycle in less than three months. And that's at most. Garrett told him it could have to happen sooner should any unforeseen obstacles, such as anyone ratting them out ahead of time, make themselves known.
Wordlessly, he reaches for the helmet sitting on the seat of the other bike and walks up closer to where she's sitting to place it over her head. She doesn't bother protesting, both because she knows very well the importance of helmets after what happened to her father and because he'd never let her start the vehicle without it on.
"Put the kickstand up and start it up," he commands, reaching out to turn the ignition for her while she gets to work doing as he says.
She simply looks at him with wide, pleading eyes that beg him to instruct her further.
"Pull down the clutch and press that button under the kill switch."
The engine roars to life and overpowers the sound of their voices as she begins to get feel for it, standing the bike up with her feet firmly on the ground on either side. After she's gotten her bearings, she looks over her shoulder at him once again with those puppy eyes again.
"How do I do this?" she asks.
Harry comes up as close to her as he can get without hopping onto the backseat of the bike and leans down over her shoulder, reaching with both hands to settle on top of hers. The leather of their gloves glides together with ease as he wraps his fingers over where hers are pulling back the clutch. His exhales cloud against the side of her next with a heat that takes her back to the less innocent moments they've spent together like this; with him pressed up against her back and his breath hitting her neck. The pressure of the seat against her clit draws a sharp breath from her.
"Start letting go of the clutch." His deep voice murmuring in her ear sends shivers skittering down her spine. With her gradual release of the clutch, the bike begins to roll forward at a slow rate. "When I let y'go, pull on the throttle to keep it from stalling and start to accelerate. Pull your feet up and ride in a straight line until you get to the end of the straightaway. Y'have to start with the front brake over here"—his right hand guides hers to the front hand break—"before y'use the rear brake to stop. Okay?"
With that, he pulls away from her and takes a few steps back until he's nearly leaning against the other bike, his arms crossing over his chest in preparation to analyze her every decision and minute movement. But, she doesn't start to ride right away. Instead, she stops the bike and looks at him one last time before speaking.
"I was just fucking with you."
The bike takes off with such speed, he almost stumbles back over the second bike in surprise.
It's hard to do so much as blink as he watches her fly around the track, turning around the bend of the track and guiding the bike with a practiced mastery only someone who's been riding for years can have. Of all the things she's done to turn him on tonight, this is what gets under his skin the most. There's nothing hotter than a woman who can ride, is there? He used to have those corny pin-up posters of women on motorcycles hidden between the pages of his books as an older teen to jerk off to, but now it seems he has a woman of his own to admire.
She whips around the track past him once, twice, three more times before he curses under his breath and mounts the second bike with little thought of what he plans to do once he catches up with her. Seeing that he forced her to take the only helmet, he starts it up exactly as he "taught" her to and takes off without one. The violent roaring of the vehicle vibrates through his body, rattling his bones as he faces the slight chill of the November night with the wind blowing against his face.
Soon enough, she approaches behind him at her faster pace, and right when he hears her approach, he pulls harder on the throttle and lets more of the clutch go until he's matching her speed.
He cannot hear anything but the sounds of the bikes they ride as they both take the corner of the track together. Nothing except for her loud laughter the second she sees him in her periphery and takes note of the unamused expression on his face. Her head is tipped back in laughter, her body operating on autopilot with her muscle memory from years of both racing on a track and riding a motorcycle, and he wishes he were better at riding so he could continue to turn his head to watch her throughout it. The skirt wrapped around her hips has ridden up so much that he can almost see all of her. If he cared less about the hit they're training to complete, he'd gladly crash in exchange for a few more seconds of watching her ride.
They proceed to pass and catch up with one another, swerving in and out of each other's way in a playful dance that'd threaten death were they less skilled at it. As per usual when it comes to driving any sort of vehicle, her skill outweighs his by a landslide. He should've suspected as much to begin with, but, foolishly, he let the confused puppy dog effect she had going take hold.
She finally comes to a stop ahead of him after another few minutes, and he nearly burns the side of his leg on the exhaust pipe with how quickly and carelessly he dismounts the bike in order to confront her. The helmet has been ripped off her head by the time he takes in the sight of her.
"Oh, come on!" The toothy smile worn proud on her face warms the center of his chest as he marches up to her. "It was funny, don't pretend it wasn—"
The remaining words of her defense are swallowed up by a surprised moan at the feeling of his lips melding to hers. His hands cup her face between them, keeping her locked into his grasp as he leans down to kiss her where she sits still straddling the bike. Her hands reach out to stabilize themselves on his hips. The tips of her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, and she can nearly feel the warmth of his bare skin through the thick material of her gloves.
Seconds later, he pulls away to mutter, "Get off, we're going home."
The part of her that would've worried whether or not he was angry with her weeks ago no longer exists. Instead, she's excited. She knows him well enough now to understand that he isn't mad at her, he's antsy. He can't wait any longer to get his hands on her after all she's put him through tonight.
She shakes her head and leans back up to kiss him, but before she can reconnect their lips, Harry jerks away to dodge it. When she tries again, he does the same and refuses to let her proceed. The hands she has slipped underneath his shirt caress up and down the side of his waist.
"No, I want you here," she whispers. "Please."
It's visible on his face that he is having a difficult time deciding. On one hand, if they go home, he'll have the luxury of drawing it out and making it last all night if he pleases. On the other, here she is begging him to take her with a whining desperation that makes his cock twitch in his pants. And, this time, she isn't doing it to win a game going on between them, she's being truthful. Seeing that she already knows how to ride a motorcycle and all of the workers are inside with strict instructions from Garrett to leave them to their own devices...
"Put the kickstand down," he says.
She obeys.
He brings his unburnt hand up to his mouth and bites the end of the glove to tug it off. It's thrown somewhere to the ground behind her, but he doesn't pay it any mind, he's too preoccupied with her to care about anything.
Her lips taste of her berry-flavored lip balm when they next kiss, and his other hand raises to collar her neck with a demanding grip while the other descends the length of her torso. The tips of his fingers study every peak and valley found along the way, dipping between her breasts and ghosting over the softness of her stomach until he has reached the hem of her short skirt. Her breath hitches in her throat in anticipation of his reaction as his touch glides up the inside of her thighs—
The gentle rhythm of their kissing stops short.
Rather than finding a thin panel of fabric covering her, his fingers delved right into her slick folds without any resistance. It takes him longer than it should to realize that she isn't wearing no underwear, she's wearing the panties he gifted her today. To think he'd been seconds away from discovering this back at the parking garage...
He doesn't waste any time.
Harry hefts her up from the bike and repositions her so she's sitting sideways on it, no longer straddling it, and stands between her parted legs with an eagerness she can feel from how hard he is in his pants. Neither of them bothers with foreplay considering that she's already wet enough to have left a damp spot on the seat of the bike. It was difficult to keep her cool throughout the entire affair. The vibration of the bike on her bare cunt after their heated moment back at the garage had her halfway to orgasm on its own. With him kissing her as though his life depends on it, that arousal only increases.
With the bike leaning onto the kickstand on the side opposite to where he stands, it gives them enough stability to do what they wish without toppling it onto its side. He wouldn't let her get hurt, that much she knows, so she doesn't spare it another thought before reaching to undo his belt buckle. It's a fumbling process, but after a half minute of attempting to slip it out from around his pants, she lets it fall to the ground beside his feet.
Her hand dips beneath the waistband of both his pants and underwear to take his cock into her hand, using the drops of precum that have leaked from the tip as lubrication to stroke him a few times. Seeing that he's already hard, she doesn't continue on for much longer. She does it for just long enough to pull back and watch his eyes flutter shut in appreciation, his brows pinching together, and uses her other hand to tug his clothes down his thighs.
The tiger tattooed onto his left thigh is there to greet her as his pants and underwear are brought down to expose him to her. It's quite chilly out, so she makes certain not to stop the steady pace of her hand pumping up and down his length until she's guiding him into her. Her skirt is rolled up around her hips to allow him better access, and her arms twine around his neck to bring him in close as he slides home with a groan.
His mouth falls open against hers to take in heavy breaths at the feeling of her squeezing around his cock, the tight resistance making him have to thrust a bit harder to sink all the way in until his hips meet the soft backs of her thighs.
"Fuck," he curses under his breath. Their lips collide in a sloppy, languid kiss that is interrupted by their panting breaths. "I missed this."
That small confession brings a lazy smile to her face amidst the slightly painful stretch of having him inside of her. For the most part, it's easy to take him, but after spending a week apart, the longest they've gone in the past month, she isn't as prepared for the adjustment to his size. It's the type of pain she finds a strange pleasure in, though. She loves it, the pressure of feeling him so deep, she could press her hand down on the southernmost point of her stomach and nearly feel the bulge of him inside.
"Me too," she breathes out.
Despite her attempts to appear unbothered and hateful in their initial time apart, she did miss this. She missed him. His snarky retorts, his deadpan stares, and his giggle when she finally digs through the hard exterior built up around his heart and gets him to break. More than anything, she missed feeling close to him, and, when it comes to their relationship, this is currently the closest he will allow. Sex allows him to let his guard down in a way he can't consciously allow outside of it. The one time he let her hold his burnt hand was because he was too caught up in pleasuring her to notice or care.
Less than a minute after he first pushed into her, she rocks her hips forward, using the arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck as leverage to lift her ass off the seat of the bike, in the hope that it'll get him to start fucking her properly.
The message is intercepted with haste, which she assumes is because he barely had the restraint to hold himself back after their brief dry spell, and he makes good on her silent request. It's much gentler than it was in past times due to how she's balanced precariously on the seat of the bike with most of her weight held in his strong embrace. If his shirt were off, she'd be able to crane her neck down and watch his abdomen muscles contract and release with the effort of keeping her upright as he fucks into her at an unhurried pace.
It's the very antithesis of what their first time was like.
Their first time in Leo's parking garage had been flooded with rage and hatred. It'd been an aggressive yet passionate argument in the physical form, but this...it's even different from the last time they had sex in his bedroom. The circumstances of where and how they're doing it force him to take it slow and remain face-to-face with her through to the end of it, and she can't deny how overwhelming it feels to have him making eye contact with her during.
It seems that the inherent intimacy of it has occurred to him as well because he leans forward to press his forehead to hers and shuts his eyes to avoid the foreign feeling it sparks in his chest. The pace and depth of his thrusts pick up little by little, and, soon enough, it draws a strangled gasp from the back of her throat. Still, she remains as focused as she can on him.
Her hand slides from the back of his head, down his neck, and to his chin to grab hold of his face. It forces an inch or so of distance between them so they are no longer pressed together.
She whispers, "Open your eyes." It's a request he doesn't comply with the first time, so she clenches down around his cock and rocks her hips into his in time with his quickening thrusts. "Look at me." His eyelids flutter as though he's about to do it, and she juts her head to the side to make her face level with where his has been tilted down just so. The heat of her exhales can be felt puffing against his neck. "I'm right here, Harry."
The practiced cadence of his hips slapping against hers falters at the sound of his name falling from her lips.
His eyes open right away.
He hears it on a loop, Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.
He never saw the beauty in his name until he heard it coming from her at a moment like this. Every time they've had sex, she's only ever called him daddy, not his name, and he thought he preferred it that way. He thought he preferred the buffer the kink put between them, as well as the cruel irony of it, but, now, he isn't as certain. Most of the people he's hooked up with weren't aware of his name, so he never had to worry about that invisible line being crossed. But, it isn't the problem he assumed it would be when coming from her.
Invigorated by hearing her say his name, as well as the rush of getting to fuck her again for the first time in what felt like forever, he drops one of his hands to hold onto the other side of the seat to ensure it won't tip over and starts pounding into her just the way she likes it. He isn't a selfish lover. Contrary to the assumptions people may make of him at first glance due to his reputation and career, he is attentive and takes note of what gets the best reaction from her. As far as he's concerned, if she doesn't come, he hasn't done his job right.
He doesn't look away from her or close his eyes this time. The arm slung around her waist keeps her trapped against his body, pinned in place so he can drive himself into her soaked pussy with a relentlessness that earns moans and gasps from her on the upstroke of each thrust.
"Perfect," he whispers. "So fucking perfect f'me, baby." The use of the nickname while he stares into her eyes spikes the pleasure already rising within the pit of her belly, and she can't do anything but whine his name incoherently in response. "Do y'know how hard it was not to come in, like, twenty seconds the first time? God, s'like your cunt was made just for me, sweet girl. Could hardly handle it. Still can't—fuck—"
The indescribable sensation of her purposefully squeezing down around his cock as a non-verbal, "Thank you," for the sweet words whispered to her halts him midway through speaking. He doesn't let his face fall against hers the way it would've had she not told him to look at her. Along with that request came the silent urging for him to keep looking at her, to never let her out of his sight from now until the end of their time together, however short or long that time may be.
And while there's a degree of discomfort involved with having her in such an intimate way, he does his best to push that feeling away. He likes it. Even though there's a part of him that remains conflicted, he's getting more out of fucking her like this—impossibly deep and urgent with her eyes burning into his—than he has from doing it any other way. It doesn't mean he wouldn't take pleasure in fucking the way he's grown accustomed to, but, this...this is a bliss unlike anything he's felt in the past ten years.
It's so unknown to him, he doesn't know what to do other than welcome the feeling into him with equal parts gratitude and skepticism. The first time he had sex was with a woman he met at one of Leo's clubs when he was nineteen. It wasn't warm or caring. It wasn't like this. Sex has always been a release for him, a place to take out his frustrations and anger without being destructive. Whenever people spoke of it being a way to express feelings for another person, he didn't understand, but, right now, everything clicks into place. With her, sex isn't just sex. She was the missing component in his life, and, now that he has her, he'll never let her go.
The wet sound of their bodies smacking together fills the open air around them and pushes her closer to the edge every time she hears it. With a particularly well-aimed thrust that brushes that overly-sensitive spot inside of her, her mouth falls open and her eyes clamp shut from the pleasure.
This time, it's Harry who gets to chide her, throwing the same words she used right back at her.
"Open your eyes." His voice is nothing more than a tender caress. "M'right here, baby."
She doesn't risk going against his orders when she's already on the verge of coming undone, so she does as he says without question. Every time he thrusts into her, his pubic bone presses down hard against her clit due to the angle of their aligned hips and shocks her body with pulses of pleasure that push her closer and closer. It's not that that ends up pushing her over the edge, however, it's him. Looking up at him, feeling him, listening to his voice murmuring to soothe her amidst her cries and emphatic moans—that's what does it for her.
It's a yawning void of euphoria.
It opens up around her and threatens to swallow her whole, urging her to forget everything except the high flooding through her, but she still doesn't look away from him. Throughout every surging wave of her climax, she wills herself to obey his command and allows the sight of him, as well as the smooth drag of him sliding in and out of her, to prolong its effect. Her arms hold tighter around his shoulders as she rides it out. Soft, tired moans escape her at the rough pace that now begins to feel overwhelming in the sensitivity following an orgasm, yet she doesn't need him to stop. If anything, she wants him to go harder. To use her for his own pleasure until she can do little more than cling onto him for support and babble his name.
The sensation of her clenching and unclenching around him throughout her orgasm is what inevitably brings him to his end.
He crosses the inches of space left between them and claims her mouth with his own as it hits him, his body tensing up in her hold. His thrusts have turned desperate and sloppy, much less focused on finding the sweet spot inside of her and more intent on burying his cock as deep as he can. A wince is pulled from her lips at his tip hitting her cervix, and, even through the heady pleasure of coming undone, his kiss turns gentler in an apology for the rough intrusion.
Her tight walls milk his cock until he's unable to stand it any longer and must stop moving in her due to the sensitivity that comes along with the refractory period. As he slowly pulls out of her, his cum drips down from her hole and threatens to stain the seat of the bike, but he's quick to remedy that. His ungloved fingers wipe it up from between her thighs on instinct, then push back inside of her to gather as much of the rest as they can. The sticky substance drips down his middle and forefinger when he raises his hand to her mouth.
Those pretty green eyes are heavy-lidded and sleepy, and he doesn't allow them to stray from her face throughout the process.
"Clean it up," he murmurs. "Go on, baby."
Even if she hadn't originally planned to follow every order he gives her for the time being, hearing him call her that again—this time after sex, not during—has her wrapping her lips around his fingers in a matter of seconds. He hums his approval, watching her suck his cum off of his fingers with a stare that's downright predatory in its intent. If they weren't in the middle of a race track, he'd go down on her until he was hard again and go for another round. But, due to the fact that they've already risked being seen by nosy workers, he simply pulls his fingers from her mouth and reaches down to pull his pants and underwear back up his thighs.
In the time he takes to tuck his softening cock back into his briefs and zip his pants up, she stands from the seat to shimmy her skirt back down into place. And, after they've both pulled themselves back together and redressed, he catches her by surprise.
He squats down partway and hefts her up by her legs to throw her over his shoulder before she can say a single word. The rich sound of her laughter reaches far around the race track, so far that anyone walking by the property could likely hear it. Neither of them cares, though, least of all him. Her laughter is music as far as he's concerned, and anyone would be lucky to have their ears blessed by such a gift.
"Put me down, you brute!"
This does nothing to convince him. All he does is chuckle to himself and walk in the direction of the parked Cobra with a wide grin on his face. The feeling of his hand patting her ass makes her jump in his arms.
"No, m'gonna lock you up in my room and fuck you till y'can't stay awake," he promises. "You're lucky I let you come after that shit y'pulled back at the garage."
Parroting his text from earlier in the day back at him, she says, "Don't threaten me with a good time."
Now, it's his laughter that echoes around the empty raceway for any bystanders to listen to and admire. They may not realize it either, but for the duration of this fleeting moment, they're both happier than they've been in the years preceding it. For him, it's been ten whole years since he's felt as light and playful as he does with her tonight. For her, it's been since the day her dad crashed his car three years ago.
Her head bops up and down into his back with every one of his long strides, and she ends up relaxing over his shoulder rather than feigning protest and acting like she wants to be set free. When it all began, perhaps she did want to avoid him for the rest of her life. She had every reason to, after all. But, after tonight and all else they've endured side by side, she's his. Now and always.
Harry sets her down on her feet outside of the shut passenger's side door to the car, yet he doesn't let go of her. Not yet. When they meet eyes, his lips twitch up at one end in a smile he tries his best to fight, and it isn't long before he's leaning in. Every second it takes for him to close the distance is painful, a second she wishes she could spend lost in the pleasure of kissing him.
The second their lips are about to brush, the ringtone to his personal phone blares out into the night air.
At first, he considers ignoring it, but he doesn't on the off chance that it's Leo or Garrett. The former only calls his cell when it's a dire emergency, so he doesn't want to risk upsetting the man holding her life over his head. He mumbles a quiet, "Gotta take this," into her parted lips before shifting in place to grab his ringing phone from the seat below.
Whoever it is that calls him, she doesn't know. His shoulder blocks the name of the contact from view, even as he goes as still as death and refuses to respond to her questioning what's wrong.
"Is it Leo, or—"
He walks off in the direction of the motorcycles with his phone raised to his ear without a glance spared in her direction. It's as if a switch was flipped and she no longer exists to him. She doesn't bother calling after him at this point. Based on the look he wore on his face when he turned around, it was something worthy of his undivided attention. Definitely more of a priority than their second round.
She observes him from afar the entire time.
For the most part, he doesn't do anything other than stand still and nod along with whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying. The fear of it being Leo ties her stomach into knots, allowing her thoughts to run away with the idea that he has somehow unraveled their elaborate plan to partner with his enemy and take him down. The death he'll give them should he figure it out won't be a pretty one.
Across the ample distance he put between them in order to keep her from overhearing anything, she picks up on the only thing he says back to the other person.
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
The phone is stashed away in his back pocket after the words leave his mouth, and right when she expects him to come walking back over to tell her where they have to go or what they have to do, he swings one of his legs over the bike she was riding and turns the key left in the ignition to get it started again. She doesn't even think before she starts walking over there. Her feet are moving of their own volition without her willing them to do so, steps hard and fast as it clicks with her what's happening.
When the engine begins to roar to life, she doesn't find it as beautiful as she had the first time around.
"Harry!" she shouts to be heard over the noise. "Where are you going?"
Just before she reaches him, he looks up at her one last time and pulls back on the throttle to drive away. The bike rips past her with enough speed to blow her hair back from her face. She stumbles back in fear of being run down, despite him leaving a decent few feet of space between her and the path he takes, and whips her head to the side to watch him disappear beyond the automatic gates to the property.
-
She doesn't see him for over a week.
In his absence, there haven't been any gifts left on the coffee table to remind her that he's still there, even if she doesn't physically see him. All that's there are the two missed phone calls she left that haven't been returned and his bag filled with weapons hidden away on the top shelf of his closet. That ruled out him having to work for Leo without her, so, she couldn't help but wonder, where was he? Who had called him away from her and why had he listened? The only living person she knows to have that amount of sway over his actions is their boss.
It's sheer dumb luck that the devil himself hasn't called her, screaming and asking where the hitman is and why he hasn't answered him in days. It's either that or he already knows where he is and is allowing his time away.
The lingerie he gifted her was ripped off the night he left and shunned to the bottom drawer of the dresser to keep any reminder of his abandonment away. How had she been foolish enough to believe he'd actually change? They enjoyed mere days of harmony and happiness before he inevitably led them back to ruin, refusing to speak to her or explain anything when he rode off into the night.
For the week and two days he has spent away, she has packed her schedule to the brim and kept busy. The thought of moping around his penthouse like a lovelorn schoolgirl was too pathetic for her to allow herself the downtime. In its place, she did everything she could think of.
First, she moved the envelope of money hidden in the air vent at her old apartment under the mattress in his bedroom. Were he home, he wouldn't go near the bed anyway. All he does is change his clothes and use the adjoining bathroom the few times he ventures into the room she now calls her own. She'd been meaning to place it somewhere she could keep an eye on it since moving into his apartment, but she was too distracted with him to prioritize it.
Second, she planned lunches, dinners, and movie nights with Alanis every night her dear friend had an opening. It ended up being two nights out of the nine he has left her for, but she was grateful for her company nonetheless. Although, she made certain not to clue her in on the fact that she started having sex with him again. As per their agreement after joining Garrett's team, no one could know what went on between them, and no matter how frustrated she was with Harry, she wouldn't break her word.
Third, she finally found time to do mundane acts of self-care such as going to the gym to exercise, getting her nails redone, and getting a haircut for the first time in over a year. All, of course, paid for by the money she stole from him. Although he'll never know, it brought a grin to her face to know she was getting back at him for his radio silence in the small way she knew how.
The fourth and final addition to her week-long break from Harry was nightly joyrides around the race track with the Cobra. Since he left it there for her to drive home and she had yet to chip away at her full anger for him, she took it upon herself to drive it there at sunset and ride until the urge to sleep made her weary down to her very bones. If the staff there had an issue with her presence, they didn't make it known. She soon began operating under the assumption that Garrett paid them well enough that either she or Harry could come over whenever they pleased. So long as they came after their closing hours.
Somehow, she still found herself idle during the late mornings and nights, and that is how she found herself baking an absurd amount every day. Cheesecake, apple pie, chocolate-chip croissants, pumpkin scones, Canelés de Bordeaux—anything and everything she could imagine. All of it she walked down to gift to any neighbors lingering on the ground floor, as well as the kind, old doorman who smiled at her whenever she came back to the building. By the fourth day of non-stop confectionaries, he told her his wife and children had begun to expect her delicious treats whenever he comes home from work. To this, she giggled and promised him she'd continue the tradition at least a few times a week once the frenzy calmed down.
Alanis' apartment building isn't much better than hers, but at least it has one thing her old place didn't: an elevator. It makes her task of bringing her her favorite type of baked good, simple raspberry thumbprint cookies, as a surprise gift easier than it would've been had she been burdened with climbing flight after flight of stairs.
She has to balance the large platter of cookies covered with plastic wrap in one hand while she lifts the other to knock at her front door. The last time they saw each other for a movie night, she mentioned feeling overworked and exhausted lately, so Y/N thinks this will be exactly what she needs to brighten her week.
There's no sign of life behind the door for the first minute and a half she stands there. Usually, Alanis can be heard playing guitar or talking with her latest fling on the phone while sitting on the couch, watching whichever Studio Ghibli movie she chose to fixate on for the week. On their most recent movie night, it was Howl's Moving Castle, so that's what she expected to hear faintly playing through the walls. Either that or a new song she's writing.
Her closed fist knocks on the door harder this time, and she tells herself that if she doesn't answer this time, she'll leave them at her doorstep and shoot her a text saying they're from her. A minute passes without anyone coming to the door, so she moves to set them down on the doormat without thinking anything of it.
Right when she's setting the platter down, the door swings open into the apartment to reveal Alanis standing with one arm braced against the frame. Her chest rises and falls at a rapid rate, her curls are wild and untamed where they frame her face, and her eyes have gone wide at the sight of her. Y/N knows with one glance that she's scared. Of what, she isn't sure, but there's no mistaking the look on her face.
"Hey!" Alanis exclaims and forces a wide smile, "Um, what're you doing here?"
Her brows furrow.
"I was just stopping by to drop off some of your favorite cookies. You said you were having a tough week, so..."
The strange way Alanis behaves isn't entirely foreign to her. She witnessed it one other time, two years ago when she walked in on what she assumed had been a heated moment between her and Peter in the kitchen of their old house. It was one of their movie nights, and when she excused herself to go to the bathroom, Peter took it upon himself to refill the bowl of popcorn the three of them shared.
This was back when Peter was still Peter. Before their mom committed suicide and with her also died what little resilience he had left in the aftermath of their father's crash. It was a known fact among her parents that Y/N was the stronger of the two, to the extent that her mom didn't worry as much about her in the grieving process as she had him.
When ten minutes had elapsed without either of them coming back to the living room, Y/N called out for Peter and started walking over to the kitchen. Whatever they were doing or talking about before she warned them of her approach, it was ripe with intensity if the looks on their faces had anything to show for it. And, right now, her best friend is wearing that look on her face again.
Alanis raises her hand to scratch the back of her neck, saying, "Thank you, I—uh—I really appreciate it, but I'm kind of, like, in the middle of something right now."
It's a fair reaction as far as Y/N is concerned. If she texted her saying she was coming to drop something off ahead of time, perhaps she'd feel somewhat scorned by the lack of enthusiasm, but it's understandable. In their friendship, they've been known to swing by each other's places whenever they please, so she didn't feel the need.
"Oh," she murmurs, then the buried connotations of what was said finally hits her, and a grin appears on her face.
Before she can say a thing, Alanis is shaking her head.
"Y/N--"
"No, no, don't mind me." She holds out the wrapped-up platter with a stifled laugh fighting its way out of her. "I'll just leave the cookies and let you get back to your orgy."
Just like that, the awkward tension that was bubbling up disintegrates with the light-hearted direction she drives the interaction into. This right here is one of the things they mutually cherish most about their years-long friendship. No matter how fumbling or awkward moments may become, there's always a way to bring them back to their natural state in minutes or less.
Alanis scoffs, scandalized, and steps out of the doorway to whisper to her, "I wasn't having an orgy, I just have a guy over. I may be a proud slut, but I haven't reached orgy status yet, let's be realistic here."
"Well," Y/N says, hardly containing her giggles, "There are about thirty tiny cookies in here so it should keep the group well-nourished for the next couple of rounds."
If it were a topic too raw to joke about, neither of them would touch it, but, as it stands, Alanis relishes in jesting about her various hook-ups and open relationships. Perhaps if they weren't such good friends from childhood, they would have something between them as well. She's of the belief that love and sex are things that shouldn't be withheld whether or not someone already has a frequent fuck buddy or not. Her parents, much to everyone's surprise, were not part of the "free love" hippie crowd she identifies with. In fact, her father is a pastor back in their hometown, and he thinks she's currently attending a Catholic college in the city.
The gasp Alanis takes in only fuels Y/N's stifled giggling.
"I won't be taking slander from the woman who fucked a literal murderer!" she whisper-shouts.
At this, the play-fighting pretense is dropped, at least on Y/N's side of it, and she hands off the cookies to the other woman with an overly dramatic roll of her eyes. Their hands brush as she takes it from her.
"Go on, enjoy your man," she says. "But, I expect a full report in the morning. I want all the nasty details."
It's a ritual at this point for Alanis to retell her adventures in dating and fucking to her over breakfast, working on the cars at the shop, or on their movie nights together. For Y/N, the reciprocation of this particular ritual hasn't occurred since she got into bed with Harry, but she doesn't let her guilt sway her into spilling anything about him yet. It isn't because she doesn't trust Alanis either, she does, but she promised Harry she wouldn't. Also, it is mildly embarrassing how easy it was for him to get her back after the disgusting things he said two weeks ago.
As Y/N turns to go, Alanis asks, "Breakfast tomorrow at the diner? I'll buy this time. You can tell me all the nasty details about you and the murderer, then I'll let you in on my next orgy."
Her cheeks ache from smiling.
"Deal."
-
The sun has set by the time Y/N gets back to his apartment building.
Part of her had been hoping Alanis would invite her in and help her chip away at another night she otherwise would spend alone in his bedroom, but she can't blame her for it. If anyone interrupted her and Harry on the race track, she probably would have ripped one of her shoes off and flung it at their head to shoo them away. The thought of it alone brings a dry chuckle out of her as she waits for the elevator to reach the top floor of the building.
Despite her not doing anything today other than baking cookies and watching television, there's a fog of exhaustion looming over her head and weighing her down. Her head is tilted back to rest against the wall of the elevator, and she shuts her eyes for a moment of peace and quiet, but all she sees when she does so is him. Somewhere underneath the frustration, she worries for his well-being. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, she wishes he could find a way to tell her he's okay.
The elevator doors ding and open up to the single hallway leading to his front door.
At this point, she doesn't know what to expect from him. The way he acts around her has changed, that's for sure, but he's still prone to icing her out at a moment's notice. What they shared together on the race track was one of the happiest times of her life, and, yet, he managed to drop the ball. If he had to leave, why didn't he just talk to her about it? Why did he have to abandon her and leave no explanation, or at least a text message letting her know he isn't in danger?
The apartment looks the same as it had when she left it.
Dishes from her baking marathon have piled up to a tower in the kitchen sink, the mere sight of them making her groan to herself as she realizes that she has to get those finished before retiring to bed for the night. Other than those, the place is spotless for the most part. She tried to be a good house guest in the time he spent away despite her annoyance with him.
A glance at the clock hung on the wall of the living room shows it's half past nine, so she takes that as her cue to get everything set up for bed before she works on doing the dishes. On her way past the couch, though, something catches her eye. Since the first time she visited his apartment, the neatly kept bookshelf sitting against the wall across from the door is out of order. Not by much. There's a single book sitting on top of the shelf, face down and flipped open two-thirds of the way through.
"What the..." she mutters and walks off in the direction of it, her face scrunched up in confusion.
It's a battered paperback on the verge of ripping in half. When she finally arrives at the bookshelf and reaches to take it from its spot, she handles it as carefully as she can out of fear of breaking it. Every other book on the shelf is in pristine condition. They remain untouched, ordered in the Dewey Decimal system—which has her muttering a soft, "Nerd," under her breath at him—and covered in dust on their top sides. The only one of his books that doesn't have dust coating it on top is this one.
The illustration on the cover displays a butterfly breaking free of a set of chains and flying upward toward the burning sun. She's heard of it but never took the time to check it out of the library or go buy it for herself. She hasn't even seen the film adaptation of it.
"Y'changed your hair."
Hearing a man's voice speak from behind makes her shriek in fear and spin around with her back pressed to the bookshelf, the paperback raised as a weapon to whoever came to harm or rob her. But, it isn't Tate, Leo, or any one of the sort who she'd expect to break in and threaten her for information or the sick thrill of it. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the back of the couch, Harry stares at her with tired eyes.
She doesn't know what to do, let alone what to say. In the time he spent away, she thought she'd either fist-fight him, hate-fuck him, cry, start a yelling match, or all of the above when she next saw him, but all of those options evade her in the moment. What stops her from yelling at him right away is how he looks. The facial hair he makes sure to shave off every morning has grown out to a decent stubble, his eyes are sunken in from lacking sleep, and his shoulders are slouched as though the weight of whatever it is he was called away for presses him into the ground like gravity itself.
Leaving wasn't a choice, then, it was an obligation. One that he didn't take lightly. One that wore him down into a less put-together version of himself over the course of the week. It's at this moment that she decides that his leaving won't be a dealbreaker for her. She won't start a fight, yell, or cry, but he will be given a warning.
He speaks again, waving a hand at the book she's holding, "That's my favorite."
"What's it about?"
A heavy sigh of release sinks his chest at the sound of her softly spoken question, as if he'd be anticipating a hurricane of problems when returning home and found her merciful and forgiving instead. He doesn't move from his spot against the couch.
"It's about a prisoner wrongfully convicted of murder. The other inmates call him Papillon, that's the french word for butterfly, cause of the tattoo on his chest. S'where I got the idea," he explains, and his voice sounds so weary and broken, it snaps her heart in two. "He tries to escape so many times, they send him to this prison on an island where nobody's ever escaped from."
She flips through the pages to get a feel for it, noting the marked pages and places in which the paper feels more worn than others. By the time she flips through to the end, she notices that the last one hundred or so pages are in better condition than the rest. They've never been folded down to mark his place, or accidentally ripped in places as some of the others have been.
"How does it end? Is he ever free?"
He says, "I dunno. I always stop before he actually tries to escape from the island."
"Why?"
All she gets in response is an unsure shrug. Apparently, not even he knows the answer.
There's a moment of pause following this during which she can't do anything but fidget with the book and grasp for ideas of what to say to him in her mind. Everything she practiced saying alone in his bedroom for days had been scattered to the wind by his sorry-looking state tonight. He looks like a kicked puppy, and she can't bear the thought of hurting him anymore, but she doesn't know why. She used to have no problem hurling insults and picking fights, it became their "thing" after a while, but the words can't be said anymore.
She sets the book down back on top of the shelf and makes her way over to him. It's a slow process. Though she wouldn't insult or yell at him, she lets him feel the tension he put on her with his absence over the course of the week, and when she finally reaches him, she sees his chest halt in its pattern of breathing for a second.
Softly, she says, "Never do that to me again."
There's a brief few seconds he spends entertaining the idea of telling her what happened and why he left with such haste, but he catches himself before it can be done. He may not react as harshly as he wants to on instinct and push her away with cruelty, but he's not ready to let her in. In truth, he isn't sure if he ever will be, and that's what he decides to tell her.
Harry reaches up and cups her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze, and fights to keep the tears begging to fall from slipping over the veins of his eyes.
"I can't tell you everything. I know I should've said something, but I couldn't"—he takes a deep breath, and she can hear the wavering in his voice—"It was family. I couldn't say no."
"You don't have to tell me what's happening, it's your personal business, and I get that, but..." She blinks away the urge to cry that stings behind her eyes at the sight of him holding back tears himself and shakes her head, not allowing her hands to raise to touch him or comfort him with touch on the off chance it makes him uncomfortable. "I thought something really bad happened to you. You talk about how much you want to protect me, and how much you worry about me, but you don't even realize how much I worry about you. You didn't even text me to tell me you were okay. I used to have family emergencies a few times a month, I understand, okay? You just have to tell me you're alive so I don't spend a week going out of my fucking mind."
When he takes a breath in to speak, she keeps going.
"I felt kind of used. You just fucked me and took off. You just...you left me there all by myself. I know that's all we are to each other, but I'm still a person. I have feelings. I matter, and if you keep doing shit like this, I can't do this anymore. I won't," she finishes with a sob.
The hand cupping her face slips down to tug her into his arms, and when he wraps his arms around her, she just breaks. Her cries fill the open space of the living room as she shrinks down into his comforting embrace. What she hates most of all, she thinks, is that it helps. He may be the reason for her tears, but being held by him is the remedy to it all. With him, even the worst moments are beautiful.
His arms tighten around her the harder she cries, and his hand brushes her hair from her face in a soothing, repetitive touch that quiets her loud sobs to a volume that won't alert the downstairs neighbors of her distress.
"I promise I won't do that again," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "I promise."
And, for now, that's enough.
A sorrowful smile finds its way to her lips at that, and she reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. All the while, he's bracing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her with genuine concern in his gaze. She realizes it's the first time in their relationship that a disagreement or falling out between them hasn't ended in total disaster, and she doesn't know what to do with it. The prospect of things changing between them is something she's longed for for the past few weeks, but, now that it's occurring, it's strangely uncomfortable.
The mutual chaos they fed off of kept them at a safe distance. Although they indulged in each other physically, it never had to pass a certain line emotionally. Tonight, however, she can feel the shift in energy humming in the air around them. She already began to feel it that day on the race track too. Things have changed, and what else can she do but hold on for dear life and pray he doesn't ruin her life more than he already has?
She sniffles, tears still shining on her face despite her attempts to wipe them away, and looks up at him. One of her thumbs brushes over the coarse facial hair poking out from his jawline in an inquisitive touch. It must be at least six days since he last shaved.
"No offense, but you look like you haven't slept or shaved in ages," she says, then allows herself to fully smile at the sound of him chuckling. The thumb caressing his jaw slides down to his chin and inspects the hair growing from it. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"
-
"I don't understand why y'insisted on doing it like this, I do know how to shave my own face, y'know that, right?"
"Oh, hush. If you keep talking I might nick you," Y/N mutters back with an equal amount of sass from where she is perched atop his lap with a razor raised to his face.
Harry doesn't know how he allowed this to happen. Actually, he does. He knew damn well how badly he fucked up a few hours after he left her there on the race track, alone and scared that something terrible had happened, and when she asked to shave his face, he couldn't deny her. One look at those tear-filled eyes and he caved in a matter of seconds. Still, he considers it a better alternative to her holding a knife to his crotch. Knowing her, she'd make it a gun this time if he hadn't wanted to get back in her good graces.
The scent of the shaving cream smeared under his nostrils and along his chin is all he can smell as she dips the razor beneath the running tap to get the hairs off of it. When he reluctantly agreed to the proposal, she dragged in a chair from the kitchen and gestured for him to sit beside the sink. One of his hands rests on the curve of her hip, not to keep her steady but rather because he wants to touch her after spending a week away, agonizing over the reason behind the call he got and how Y/N would react once he returned.
Just for the sake of torturing him, she says, "You know, I kind of digged the stubble. I liked how it felt when I sat on your face that one time."
As per her request, he remains quiet when she has the razor to his face, but he does allow his lip to twitch upward in a slight grin at the recollection of that day. What a little brat, teasing him with talk about sex and face-sitting while he's on strict orders to remain silent. She’s lucky he's being a suck-up tonight or else he'd have her bent over his knee with her panties shoved in her mouth.
The second she moves to run the razor back underwater, he asks, "So, all I have to do to get you to sit on m'face again is not shave for a week?"
She scoffs.
"Keep dreaming. You've lost your face-sitting privileges for the week."
Before she can start shaving off more of the hair, he leans forward to nuzzle his face in the curve of her neck and nips at the stretch of sensitive skin just underneath her earlobe with his teeth. His next words are muffled by it, but not before she lands a playful smack onto his arm for the bite, as well as getting shaving cream on her.
"What about next week?"
"If you keep talking while I'm shaving you, I will toss you out of your bedroom window," she snaps.
Harry offers an overly enthusiastic, "Yes, ma'am," and tilts his chin up to present it to her dramatically, shutting his eyes in acceptance of his horrid fate. The feeling of her body jerking with sweet laughter brings a warmth to the center of his chest again, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know how cute she looks right now. With her hair swept up away from her face with a scrunchie and pimple cream dotted over a few patches of disobedient skin, she looks better than he's ever seen her. Best of all, in his humble opinion, is the teeny tank top he can feel her nipples poking through against his chest whenever she inhales.
For the next few minutes, she works with diligence. Every curve of her wrist that brings the razor against his face is filled with care and caution, and she never, not once, cuts him in the process. All that's left to do is the mustache.
His hand grabs around her wrist to stop her from shaving it.
"Leave it," he says, his face unreadable.
Back in late October, he remembers her saying something along the lines of thinking mustaches are for firemen, dads, and pedophiles who like creeping around at the park, so he's trying to hold out on the little joke for as long as he can. Not that he's against the idea of a mustache. He isn't. Yet, knowing her dislike of them, he wouldn't keep it there.
Her eyebrows might as well be at her hairline with how high she raises them.
"I am not letting you ruin your beautiful face with a pedo-stache. I won't allow it," she says, then continues on with desperation tinging her speech as he tries to remain stone-faced. "Please, don't make me do this! I will literally never sit on your face again if you make me give you a mustache, you sadist!"
He tilts his head to the side, not unlike a confused dog.
"Beautiful face? Thought you were mad at me, sweetheart."
"Yeah, and I'm about to reach murder-level anger if you make me go through with this."
It's impossible to imagine her reaching "murder-level anger" seeing that she's the same woman who has berated him for killing people with nonchalance multiple times, but he puts a pin in that comment for another time. The razor raised in her right hand comes off as more of a threat than anything else, so he better come clean before she cuts his face up in revenge.
"I was just fucking with you," he says. "Y'can shave it, I don't care."
She takes his permission and runs with it as soon as it's given. It's almost comical how swiftly she has the razor to his upper lip after he gives her the go-ahead. And, as promised, he doesn't talk at all throughout the process of shaving it off. Instead, he watches her eyes narrow in focus at the task before her and takes in the sight of her straddled over his lap. His gaze slips down to look at her breasts, hugged tightly by the cotton fabric of the shirt she wears, and he watches her chest rise and fall with admiration gleaming on his face.
The degree to which he's grown attached to her scares him shitless, sure, but he ignores it the best he can. At every turn, she reminds him of the fact that their relationship is nothing more than a coworkers-with-benefits arrangement, and that reassurance puts him at ease more than she'll ever know. He doesn't have to worry about her developing feelings for him like he thought he did. They can simply exist together in mundane moments like this, and that's all he's ready for.
When she shifts in place to rinse off the razor and set it down on the counter, she goes still at the feeling of something semi-hard pressing up against her clothed cunt. Her accusatory stare settles on his face right away.
"...Are you seriously getting hard right now?"
His eyes avert to the ground for a second as his face flushes pink with what appears to be embarrassment. Much to her surprise, it seems he is capable of that basic human emotion without shutting down like a robot programmed to kill everything in sight.
He says, "I can take care of it myself if m'still on time out."
Back when the week began, she was infuriated with him. To the extent that she even went out of her way to do the little things that would piss him off even though he wasn't there to notice or care. She swore to herself that she wouldn't let him close enough to abandon or hurt her again, and yet...Yet here she sits, her heart hammering in her chest and arousal already bringing her back to life as she goes to war with herself over it. The sound of Alanis' disappointed voice when she told her she slept with him is clear in her mind when she recalls the moment, but having him right beneath her muddles her thoughts.
Her lip is bitten between her teeth with enough pressure to draw blood. She can already tell where this will lead. Her resolve is slipping, but she has a hard time forcing herself to care anymore. Maybe that makes her weak, maybe it makes her everything she swore to herself she wouldn't be, but when she shifts in his lap to feel his hard length pressing up against her, she can't help but sigh in relief at the contact.
She whispers, "It's okay."
His free hand slips down the length of her back until it settles on her other hip and slowly, very slowly, drags her hips forward to grind her against his cock through their clothes. The soft breaths he takes turn heavier the second he feels the delightful pressure of her on top of him.
If he were being honest, he'd tell her the real reason why he got aroused so quickly wasn't as cut and dry as going a week without sex and having her sitting on his lap, squirming around. It confuses him too much to put it into words, but he was watching her focus all of her attention on shaving his face, her eyes narrowing in focus, and found himself overwhelmed by everything that has happened. By her. He never likes being the one who gets taken care of, he's always been the one looking after her, but watching her dote on him like that made something inside of him click into place.
She'd never believe him if he told her that seeing her sticking her tongue out in focus and straddling his lap with pimple cream dotted on her face is what got him hard. It wasn't even for the sake of having sex, he could've ignored it, but she noticed, and who is he to pass up an opportunity to get his hands on her?
Harry drops his face into her neck as she begins to rock back and forth against him, her arms thrown over his shoulders while his cinch around her waist to guide her through the motions of it. Her cheek presses into the top of his head, and she relaxes against him. Curls of brunette hair brush against her face with every lazy thrust of her hips that heighten the inklings of arousal swirling in the pit of her abdomen little by little.
Whatever problems they may have, no matter how complicated and fucked up they are, she knows now that there's no looking back.
-
Hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed this, I had so much fun writing it and would love to hear all of your thoughts, so shoot me an ask or comment to let me know how you liked it :)
280 notes
·
View notes
Text
tuesday again 7/11/23, timezone change edition
the last time i wrote one of these things, i was not quite fully packed up in ma. now, i am technically temporarily homeless in houston, bc the apartment i originally signed on was completely unlivable. crashing in an acquaintance's guest room for a bit while i have a very bad time with apartment hunting round 2
i have lived in south florida, staten island, and various shithole student housing. i understand seasonal bugs in hot places and things such as different kinds of roaches and palmetto bugs. when i say that apartment had the worst roach infestation i've ever seen i fucking mean it. in theory i will get my full deposits back, but they're taking their sweet fucking time about it.
but having that full yes-i-know-about-seasonal-roaches conversation with new acquaintances and leasing agents takes too long so i've resorted to saying it had a horrific bedbug problem, which everyone seems to go Oh Okay Yeah Reasonable For You To Leave much more quickly.
listening
a lot of early aughts dance pop standards, to chase away the agonies as i drive to and from apartments only to get ghosted, find they were rented a week ago, or find that they look absolutely nothing like the pictures. i was really torn on which britney song to pick for this week until my sister sent me Twin Flame by Maude Latour, which i can only describe as "douchebag get the girl back song but for lesbians". spotify
also how do we like the "featured link from bandcamp or soundcloud with additional spotify link" format? in an ideal world i would buy all my music directly from the artists but realistically i use spotify 90% of the time. i don't know what your life is like, tell me if this is helpful or not.
-
reading
my best friend made sad faces at me until i read The Flatshare by Beth O'Leary, and it was a little nice to see someone else's dire housing situation get resolved neatly and with thematic consistence in several hundred pages. it was also nice to text her snippets with "WHAT?????" every so often. this is a reading experience i don't have very often bc our current reading tastes don't overlap even a little bit.
i don't have much to say about it bc i didn't have particularly strong feelings and don't really read mainstream straight romance, so i can't point out what this did differently or well compared to its peers. if nothing else, it was a fluffy bit of distraction, and i think that's kind of the point?
(image from Tor) also read Saad Z. Hossein's Kundo Wakes Up novella in a waffle house while eating some of the best scrambled eggs i've ever had in my life.
this novella was the closest thing i've ever read to "aging English professor has an affair" without actually containing any of those elements. generally i enjoy his work, but this was sort of a way to check up and tie off many characters from previous works with a sort of light frosting of "my wife left me and i don't know why [ rot13:v pna znxr fbzr thrffrf ohg gurer vf ab zbzrag bs frys-ernyvmngvba, bapr ur svaqf uvf jvsr ur whfg perrcf ba ure sebz nsne naq nsgre qrgrezvavat fur'f abg jvgu nalbar arj znxrf gur gerzraqbhf fnpevsvpvny qrpvfvba gb yrnir ure nybar op fur'f zhpu unccvre jvgubhg uvz. gurer vf ab zbzrag bs frys-ernyvmngvba nobhg jul fur zvtug unir yrsg uvz. xhaqb arire trgf bhg bs uvf bja shpxvat urnq bapr.]"
while The Gurkha and the Lord of Thursday novella (TREMENDOUS) and Cyber Mage book (fun but with some dire pacing issues) are fairly standalone, i cannot imagine you'd get much out of Kundo Wakes Up if you haven't read the other two. for some reason none of the libraries i have access to have his other book Djinn City, so we'll have to procure that elsewhere.
-
watching
the dnd movie, the day after i broke my lease on the roach apartment. i don't remember a ton about this movie. do generally like a heist. michelle rodriguez was hot
-
playing
genshin. listen. it is a free and familiar way to turn my brain off by doing open world exploration and puzzles but CRUCIALLY! most of it is completely new to me. i have not played this game in a year and a half. i have not played this game since right before enkanomiya. there was no chasm. there was no Sumeru. i have absolutely no idea what’s happening lore-wise.
i pulled for the fancy ice claymore lady and got a catboy archer (at least i think it is a catboy? the ears do give a pharaoh hound vibe... he is distinct from the extant dogboy archer). not terrible but not my vibe.
youtube
i have been enjoying the shit out of the temporary summer event carnival space. they really did pull out several stops by introducing a ton of genuinely interesting and innovating little new mechanics and mini games. delightful!
-
making
altering the worst shorts ive ever seeeeeeeeen with a demure little two-inch side slit on both legs bc my thighs simply will not quit. mens shorts are so much better than womens shorts in nearly every way except for the catastrophic physical fit issues.
when i got ghosted by two different apartments on saturday i bought myself a spoon ring so chunky it makes my other chunky rings look positively delicate by comparison. not very comfy to drive in but fine to wear while tippy tappying on the spreadsheets
a girl i saw for one singular awful date in 2016 called my hands "coarse but honest" and i think about that every time my hands are in a photo. what did that even fucking MEAN, [REDACTED]?
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
a tiger's dominion [teaser] • k.s.y.
“Some days you tame the tiger, and some days the tiger has you for lunch.”
Pairing: kwon soonyoung x afab!reader
Genres: porn with PLOT (minors dni!), camstars!au, university!au, best friends/idiots!au, goofy comedy, cheesy fluff, and angst
Teaser Warnings: swearing, maybe some angst wahoo, smut, sex toys (collars/leashes, ball gag lol fsdkjfj), um I think that's it wheee
Teaser WC: ~0.9k
A/N: If you saw me post this by accident NO YOU DIDN'T anyways ~ it's almost here! My svthub fic! Banner made by the illustrious @huiranghaes :3 Please check out the other awesome fics in the collab on the masterlist!! Pspspspps if you haven't read @onlymingyus fun lil origin story for my Hoshi, please do so as well! I will be sure to keep this updated with each part I post, thank you for your hopeful interest!! (Snippets are subject to change until released 😄)
Personal Taglist: @aceofvernons @joshibambi @junhui-recs @httpswonwoosglasses @pandorashbox @rubyscoups @noraehey @charcharfairy @woozluv @hoshistar96
◇ Part 1: [Read here!]
➯ snippet: (full length ~8k)
Once you've confirmed that you've turned off the recording and your computer is shut off, you collapse on your bed. Feeling woozy and sluggish, an arm flops across your closed eyes. This was by no means the first time Soonyoung has been in your thoughts during a livestream. Even now after all that, you feel yourself clench instinctively, the feeling blossoming even more because he had been watching you. Talking to you. Commanding you.
Fuck.
You're afraid that once you get a real taste of him you won't be able to let him go. Ever. You'll want him more than he wants you and you're not sure if you can handle that.
But this collaboration is happening. You might as well get the chance to fuck him once in your life than never at all.
Tears wash away in the shower, disappearing down the drain. For the hundredth time, you push down your feelings and let the warm water soothe away the aches and pains instead. Self-care is a must. Fluffy towels dry away the moisture, lotion to keep your skin smooth, and comfy granny pajamas to curl up under your clean bedsheets. Time for a good wallow in your feels.
◇ Part 2: [Read here!]
➯ snippet: (full length: 21k)
beg4gyu: N E WAYZ why is he called 0rginaltiger if he's 69th 🤔🤔🤔
That makes you laugh and turn back to Soonyoung with a devious smirk, hand brushing against his bulging cheek. "Wanna tell 'em, tiger boy?"
It's a mocking tone you use, the ball gag still in his mouth obviously preventing the man from uttering anything except incomprehensible sounds at this point. He's not below begging in whatever way desired — rather be drowning in your arousal than his own saliva — and raises his eyebrows pleadingly. Dancer hips hump up pathetically but oh-so-temptingly, another strangled whine thrown in for good measure and shiny eyes threatening to tear up.
Of course, you concede to finally taking it and helping with his boxers after removing the leash that's left pretty red streaks across his forearms showing where he strained against the binding. Your hands brush tenderly across the marks, a questioning hum while you wait for him to collect himself to respond.
"Guess we should," Soonyoung eventually chokes out in a raspy voice, "ya know…" a little too eager in the way he reaches for your hips, "demonstrate."
You click your tongue and gently yank on the collar before he can touch. His upper body jerks forward, merely inches from your face, nose brushing against his.
"I don't remember you having the control here, Hoshi."
"Ah, but don't forget to lemme know if I'm doing a good job like before… "
And with that, you respond by pushing against his chest after the saucy wink and smirk sent your way. Urging your best friend to lay down on his back so you can place your knees around his waist, untying one side of your panties with a flourish while he rushes to slide a naughty hand over to assist with the other. Across the room they fly, joining the discarded toys on the floor with the nastiest splat imaginable.
NewUser94594: holy shit! 🫣 💦
dickarawrous420: my god... 👅
deathbyd1cks: 👁️ did sum1 say before?
deathbydicks: hahaha n e ways — ruined ☑
You can't even be bothered to care, all your focus instead on the heat of your bare cunt pressed against Soonyoung's hard abs just as you imagined. He seems to be in a better mood and is finally obeying. But you don't like the look of the mischievous glint in his eyes when his teeth sink into his bottom lip, feeling what a sopping mess you still are.
He's covered in it. And he hopes for more.
"You're so fuckin' beautiful," slips out before he can stop it which causes you to click your tongue to cover up the fact you're extremely flattered, cheeks aflame.
"Looks like I'll have to shut you up, huh?"
Twisting around and moving further up his body until your fluttering hole is over his mouth, you see his brow raise questionably.
"Aren't you gonna... ?"
"Work for it," you interrupt with a command and don't wait for his reply before seating yourself against his swollen lips. "Work for it and maybe I'll suck you off as a reward, baby boy."
◇ Part 3: [TBA]
➯ snippet: (full length: tbd)
"Listen to your gut."
"Isn't it 'listen to your heart'?" you ask, referencing the comfort song with a tilt of your head.
"Your heart tends to follow based on emotions and your brain holds you back out of caution of getting hurt. But if you trust your intuition and interpret it correctly, it will never lead you astray."
"Okay, Dr. Lee, thanks so much for your cryptic advice."
"Anytime," Seokmin leans back with a smug smile despite your sarcasm, "I look forward to seeing the results."
"That's because it won't be your heart that's being broken."
"I was in the exact place a year ago and look what happened — thanks to your encouragement, no less. So, don't think like that. I have a good feeling."
"You say that but it's better to brace myself for the inevitable heartbreak, no?" You stand up and push in your chair. "Either way, I expect to be taken out for ice cream to soothe my dick-whipped woes."
Seokmin opens the door for you and you duck under his arm as he shakes his head with a good-natured smile. "You're whipped for something, that's for sure. Fine, it's a date. Perhaps even a double-date. I look forward to meeting this tiger boy of yours in person."
onlyseokmins: September 2022 ©
#ez.creates#svthub#svthub.collab#kwon hoshi smut#hoshi smut#kwon soonyoung smut#soonyoung smut#svt smut#seventeen smut#kpop smut#svt.smut
206 notes
·
View notes
Text
Twenty Questions for Fanfic Writers
Tagged by @numinousmysteries! Thank you!
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
37
2. What's your total AO3 word count?
493,156
3. What fandoms do you write for?
The X-Files, pretty much exclusively.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
By the Dim and Flaring Lamps
Ripper Weather
She's Beauty, She's Grace
Between Sorrow and Bliss
Someday Your Child May Cry
5. Do you respond to comments?
I do if someone has a question, or if someone comments on the way I've written something in a way that makes me feel like I should explain the choices I made (biggest example was a commenter on BtDaFL who seemed to be viewing the story through a modern lens without taking the time period into account). I wish I did respond to every comment but honestly I get so in my head about it that I end up paralyzed most of the time. But I absolutely read every single one and return to them frequently, especially when my self-confidence is ebbing.
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Probably the short prompt where I gave elderly Mulder pancreatic cancer?
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Most of mine have happy endings but By the Dim and Flaring Lamps was probably the most unambiguously happy since everyone who dies in canon- Melissa, Samantha, Ahab, Bill and Teena Mulder- are all alive and well at the end of it.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Not really? There was some out-of-the-corner-of-their-mouth sniping about Pequod (not to my face), but it was clear that person didn't understand how character arcs work. Someone sent an anonymous message that BtDaFL was boring, but lots of people find historical fiction boring.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Only if it fits into the plot of the story, and only if I can make it match the overall tone of the fic.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
I have one short Doctor Who crossover on AO3. I also have a Harry Potter crossover where William is a wizard and a wizard friend of Scully's secretly adopts him when she finds out Scully gave him up because she recognizes the phenomena happening around him, but that's never seeing the light of day while I'm still alive.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not to the best of my knowledge.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Someone asked if they could translate one of mine into Russian but I'm not sure if they did or not.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
No.
14. What’s your all time favorite ship?
Always gonna be MSR.
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
That ballroom dancing lessons one is languishing and I doubt I'll get back to it anytime soon, mostly because I have no idea what the rest of the plot was going to be.
16. What are your writing strengths?
Dialogue, plot, and distinct original characters, I think.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
I'm not very good at making my words beautiful or lyrical. I'm in awe of authors like @aloysiavirgata, @leiascully, and @slippinmickeys whose styles are so fluid and lovely. I feel like mine is often very matter-of-fact and clinical.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
I've had to do it once or twice.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
I wrote something about The Land Before Time when I was in elementary school, long before I knew what fanfic was.
20. Favorite fic you’ve written?
Probably But Always Together.
Tagging @leiascully and @mldrgrl if they haven't done it yet!
10 notes
·
View notes
Note
I know I am wildly late to this observation, but I just rewatched Thor for the first time in a very long while, and. I'd genuinely forgotten that at the start Thor is headed down a path at least as dark as Loki's? I mean Loki is making very extremely bad choices, but Thor isn't exactly less horrifying with his whole jumping straight to the 'lets "break the spirit" of an entire realm by murdering as many of them as it takes' shtick. And it's just so clearly laid out that the divergent paths they are on by the end of the first film isn't illustrative of some inherent difference in their natures or predetermined by choices they'd made before the film started. The difference is that Thor gets the opportunity to love and be loved by people outside the skewed and insulated world he grew up in, to be loved without strings attached, and discovers that the friends he had all along loved him more unconditionally, aside from his power and conquests, than he'd realized. While Loki learns that their father attaches all sorts of strings to his love, and 'learns' (somewhat truthfully with regard to Odin I think, though not with Thor or Frigga), that the love he had from them was always conditional, mitigated, based on lies and offered to a version of himself that never existed.
And I just—my point isn't 'you can't blame him for his war crimes 'cause he was sad', just that. Man it really was about love from the very beginning!!!
(P.S. I sent you an inordinately long series of messages about s1 Loki a couple weeks back, and your response was delightful, and added excellent points—just wanted to say that you; that was lovely of you, and I really appreciate how kind you always are on this blog!!)
Hey there anon, lovely to hear from you again! Thank you so much for your own kind words and taking the time to send another message! Your previous ones were a wonderful read as is this and as far as I'm concerned there's no such thing as being late to anything that isn't already scheduled, especially regarding media or fandom when there's a chance to discover someone/something new around every corner 💖💖
(Case in point how unexpected getting this captivated by a Marvel series was for me, which I only bring up because, well... quick disclaimer, I have an understanding of everything that happened in phase 1 but haven't exactly seen any of the Thor movies or until a few weeks into the airing of Loki had any real exposure to anything Marvel/Loki related between the original Avengers movie and then, which ironically I love because the moment S1 kicks off Loki's journey is where my perspective starts as well!)
As Loki mentioned many times previously, Thor truly wasn't ready to rule back then (not that Loki was either, lol) and you're not only exactly right about them both going down dark paths but I see Thor's view as worse considering he grew up surrounded by a level of confidence in companionship Loki never knew. The attack on Jotunheim pretty much says it all when Thor didn't hesitate to use hurt pride as an excuse to kill as many Frost Giants as possible, then after getting an entire war kicked off all Thor's friends were actually angrier with Loki for letting news of their visit get back to Odin despite the fact that they would've all been killed otherwise 🙃
Odin not being the best father to either of them is an understatement but there are unspoken conditions to his interactions with and love for Loki specifically due to his birth that (by nature of what an imposing figure Odin is) would almost subliminally impact everyone within range so I can't even imagine growing up in the midst of that and having no idea of the real cause, though I don't doubt Frigga's love for him or that the Thor of now wants them to be equals. It really does all come back to love from beginning to end, and makes it all the more important that Loki finally found that love and acceptance beyond his wildest dreams in Mobius so here we are now just waiting for them to find their way back to each other :')
#yes i'm aware of the universe audibly laughing at me as i devote my life to a marvel property lol#all bc of silver dilf owen wilson. the mcu knew mine and loki's weakness was a time bureaucrat with a heart of gold before we did 😔🙏#and ty again for the ask!! i might not know quite as much about things outside the loki series but love learning about them in comparison#just previously had little mcu interest and now very limited free time that only goes towards watching owen related media 😂#but i completely agree with all the points you made and have interestingly noticed they're ones not often acknowledged in the fandom#also always appreciate so much when anyone thinks of me when something about the show or anything else is on their mind!!#sending lots of love your way towards an amazing weekend! 💕#ask
14 notes
·
View notes
Note
For the ask game:
✦ what was your easiest fic to write & your hardest?
✿ did anything major change when you started writing [fic] to when you finished? - For 'Terok Nor AU'
▵ pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite line - choosing 'An Influx of Bashirs'
↻ pick a fic and a different ship and I’ll tell you how I’d rewrite it - 'Necessary Storms' for Kira/Ezri!
Thank you, friend! You know I love an ask game <3
✦ what was your easiest fic to write & your hardest?
The easiest fic for me to write was Whisper a Dangerous Secret, because all I did was come up with a silly little ficlet, and then ectogeo did all the work of turning it into a whole real story with feelings and stakes! My tendency historically has been to say that whatever multichapter fic I finished most recently was the hardest, but I think the award is still held by I Will Choose Free Will, because it cut deep to my own fears about mortality and what it means to make a meaningful life.
✿ did anything major change when you started writing [fic] to when you finished? - For 'Terok Nor AU'
For the whole series? So so much! It was supposed to end with the arrival of the Federation, but everyone kept leaving such delicious comments and giving me more and more ideas about how to keep it going. Julian and Garak were also supposed to have successfully gotten together already, but every time I sat down to write the scene where it was meant to happen (and it was meant to have happened multiple times by now), I found myself reveling in the tension and angst instead. Originally, I hadn't even decided if it was Section 31 specifically that Julian was running from, and now I've got Sloan running around in season 1! It keeps surprising me, but that's become part of the fun.
▵ pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite line - choosing 'An Influx of Bashirs'
Ooh, I haven't thought about this fic in a little while, thank you for inviting me to return to it. I'm going to go with...
Once he could have withstood it, but that was before Tain sent an assassin after him and Mila thought that Tain was the one who needed saving, before Tain dangled redemption in front of him along with Mila’s life, before Tain died finally and forever and Garak realized he would never return home and Mila’s face on a viewscreen was the only family he had left.
Which is really angsty, but I like the rhythm of that sentence for reasons I can't articulate.
I'm also delighted to be reminded of this fic in tandem with the Terok Nor AU series, because you reminded me that I had once intended to add a one-shot of canon Julian meeting his Terok Nor AU self!
↻ pick a fic and a different ship and I’ll tell you how I’d rewrite it - 'Necessary Storms' for Kira/Ezri!
Now this is interesting! Kira wasn't in that fic, so the first big question is how to get her there. It's possible she and Ezri are married, and she's become a Starfleet Spouse in parallel to Garak, but I don't see her easily agreeing to leave Bajor to join a starship. Unless, again parallel to Garak, something has forced her to leave Bajor, maybe a political push she couldn't agree with? Like a return to d'jarra? Or maybe her past ties to Odo or something have made her unpalatable to the masses, or maybe there's another isolationist movement and she's too close to the Federation... It's an interesting question to consider, but for these purposes let's keep her with Bajor and have something bring her to Trill. I could see her as already in a relationship with Ezri before the story starts, joining to investigate maybe because Ezri has gone incommunicado and she's worried? Or she also gets kidnapped like Julian because she was close to Dax and knows about the symbiosis commission's secret. Then she and Ezri are in captivity together, and maybe that could provide the space and push for them to admit feelings for each other... Or, if I were really going to restructure the story, maybe what I'd do is have the crew request Kira's help as an expert in resistance movements, to infiltrate or otherwise interact with the uprising, to help rescue Julian and Ezri. And then Garak and Kira have to team up to save their partners.
This is a really fun question to consider, thanks for asking it!
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Compiling potential Dogmeat origins from the poll, alongside my thoughts on each option:
Just a Regular Dog: I guess this is an option. Kinda boring, but hey, a dog is a dog, and I'm happy to have one. Does open up the possibility of someone (probably a ghoul) out there maintaining prewar dog breeds, which is a fun space you could play around in. Maybe they have dog shows.
Synth: We know the Institute has made synthetic animals, and his placement right in your way at Red Rocket is suspicious to me. However, the game has nothing else to say about this. I wouldn't be surprised if he was sent your way on purpose, or else is an escaped synth dog.
Time traveler: Joel Burgess said in a twitter thread that Dogmeat is caught out of time and does not belong. I also for personal worldbuilding reasons associate dogs with time in fallout. And yes, time travel is established in the fallout canon. A couple of times, even. Alternatively, he came from another dimension. @/fetidcursedswamp proposes that the Power of Love ripped a hole in space-time, allowing sole's original prewar dog to hop through (this is very cute but I feel like sole would have something to say about this identical dog lol)
Spirit of the Wasteland: proposed by @/lost-in-interwebs. Exactly what it sounds like. I am in love with this concept and will probably implement it. Also works as a parallel to the Pariah dog from fo2.
Immortality: A couple different versions. As proposed by @/thewordinvention: Dogmeat came into contact with some weird science or maybe magic, and now lives forever. This one is pretty cute. I like to imagine his presence only getting weirder as time goes on as individual dog breeds fade out. @/iwillwalk500miles proposes he's the souls of the american people/everyone who died in the blast compressed into the form of a dog which is...interesting.
Offspring of cyberdogs: proposed by @/gecko-in-a-can. You know what, I can see this one. The Old Worlds Blues ending mentions Roxie and Rex having a litter of puppies, so it is feasible for a pair of (functionally immortal) cyberdogs to have had Dogmeat.
Descendant: Of the dog that sole says is missing at the start of the game (proposed by @/thetruecrystalvixen).
Eldritch entity: proposed by @/murmeloni, @/wingwaver (specifically comparing him to how scooby-doo is an elder god), & @/fuzzydreamin (comparing him to the Mysterious Stranger - very, very cool). Y'know what, there's enough eldritch stuff in fallout that I can see this. Kinda mad I didn't think of it myself, actually.
That's god: why not? by @/lostjediis.
The Thing: by @/jackinaboxx. Admittedly I haven't seen The Thing but from what I know this would be super funny. Murder monster is friends with one (1) human.
A Good Boy: said by many; very true.
Additional note: reincarnation (mentioned by @/reefman-a). I'm glad to see other people share this idea. While it doesn't explain how he's a german shepherd, it is a fun concept - that every Dogmeat, from fo1 to fo4, is the same Dogmeat in spirit. This is another one that's true to my personal version of canon.
#fallout 4#fallout dogmeat#sorry i didn't get this out right when the poll ended#i was really busy with work & school stuff lol#if you have even more dogmeat thoughts feel free to share them here! i love one baffling pupper
52 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
