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strawhbrrries · 1 year

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Cowgirl

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: a trip to the store with your dad’s best friend ends in a lack of a swimsuit and the feeling of his beard scratching you forever engraved in your mind.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!, mention of a divorced dad?, fingering, no real sex, bearded frank <3, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 2711 words

author’s note: the line “ride cowgirl” in pyramid by frank ocean inspired this whole fic, which i kinda wanna make into multiple fics?? a story if you will?? anyway, i think this is a huge step up from my last writing piece so please enjoy :)

read the sequel ride, cowgirl !

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe.” You sang along to the song blaring from your dad’s speaker, you hijacked it when he went inside to get more beer for him and his friends, swinging your hips and slowly spinning in a circle. Your music was way better than his divorced dad rock music, which you secretly enjoyed, and if you were going to enjoy the get together he was throwing you were absolutely going to play your own music.

“But you keep fronting.” Tiffany, your long time best friend, sang back into the imaginary microphone in her hand as she pranced around you in a circle. The two of you putting on a performance to the imaginary crowd in your backyard, or so you thought. Twenty feet away, sitting in perfect position across the fire to watch you swing your hips around, was your dad’s best friend Frank.

Frank was only half listening to the conversation between the men around him, he was more focused on the way you danced and how it was making him rethink every decision he ever made and was about to make, his knuckles going white from the grip he had on the bottle in his hand. Sure, he’d always known you were a gorgeous girl but something about tonight was different. The fire barely illuminating your skin softly had him wanting to slide behind you as your hips moved in time with the song, his lips dragging across the skin of your neck before moving to your ear where he whispered promises of what he’d do to you later. He took a sip of the lukewarm beer, watching you for a second more before turning back to whatever bullshit conversation that was going on. It paled in comparison to you. Currently, everything did.

The summers in Texas were your favorite, the air was never too humid and warmed you up when the wind came through at night, the lightning bugs never failed to show up every night and lit up the trees if you paid enough attention. Truthfully you were biased, but the thing that made them truly the best was having no true responsibilities again and you would always enjoy that, especially when your beloved dad bought your alcohol for three months. One of your favorite perks was the swimming pool, you were either swimming with a few of your friends or tanning on the side but you were almost always found by it. The swimsuits you typically donned weren’t the slightest bit modest, and now wasn’t any different. You were barely covered in a green bikini, the top consisting of two triangles and a string, and the bottoms high cut and covered with a mesh skirt.

“Castle, how’s work been man? Ain’t heard much bout it ‘n normally ya don’t shut up bout it.” Goddamnit is all Frank thought as your dad dragged him back into the conversation, ruining the imagery in his head. If looks could kill, the one he shot your dad would’ve murdered him beyond recognition. “‘s alright, busy. Always picks up in the summertime. Ready to have some more downtime, spend it with family.” More like with your daughter.

“I hear ya. Promise ol’ girl over there we’d do some family shit this summer, if business keeps the way it is I ain’t too sure how well I can keep that promise.” Your dad responded, pointing you out to the guys as if Frank hadn’t been oogling you all night. You and Tiff had stopped dancing to the music and instead opted to sitting with your legs in the pool, gossiping about town drama and Tiff’s newest boy of the week.

“Understandable, if ya’ll need anything just holler at me.” Frank responded, ready for the conversation to be done, ready to continue watching you like a creep from afar. He’d be a creep if it meant staring at you all night, he’d be a creep if it meant a chance to feel your hair wrapped around his hand while he-

“Dad, Tiff and I are going to get snacks from the gas station!” You called out happily, ripping Frank out of his delusion with the angelic smile of yours, walking over to the group of men surrounding the fire.

“C’mere, I’ll give you my card so you can get some more drinks.” You happily grabbed the card from your dad, bending over to give him a small hug. Frank was no better than the next man, he scratched at his scruff as he admired the way the green of your bikini complimented the tan skin threatening to spill from the lack of support.

“Frank, can you drive us? It’s dark and neither of us wanna drive.” It was like the perfect opportunity fell right into his lap and he’d be damned if he wasn’t taking it. The smile you were flashing him made him want to get down on his knees and beg, a god he wasn’t sure existed for, forgiveness for what he was about to do.

“Course darlin’, let me get my wallet.” He looked at your dad who seemed to have no qualms about the situation before getting out of the chair, placing his mostly empty bottle of now warm beer on the ground and following you into the house.

“I’m gonna go put a shirt on, give me a second.” Up until tonight, much like Frank with you, you hadn’t noticed how attractive he was. Older men had always excited you but this was different. Frank was big, strong, rough around the edges but had that southern hospitality you loved. You couldn’t help but think about how his scruff would feel rubbing against your skin, would it leave redness in its wake? would it help spur your orgasm as he fucked you with his fingers?

You picked up some oversized t shirt that probably once belonged to your dad and put it on, shaking your head as if it would get rid of the thoughts.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Horrible timing I know! But y’know, boy of the week is calling.” Tiff spoke, her expression clearly apologetic, giving you a hug and promising to make plans for later this week before grabbing her things and leaving.

“So for taking so long, got caught up in my thoughts.” Of you. You smiled softly, suddenly aware of how the sun had brought out freckles you didn’t know he had and how muscular he truly was.

“‘S alright, lets get goin’ ‘for your dad starts wonderin’.” He matched your smile, placing his hand on the small of your back as the two of you walked out of the house and to his truck. You were painfully aware of how big his hands felt, triggering your mind to think about his fingers. You rubbed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension aching at your core, it felt so taboo to lust after a man your dad’s age. Not just his age! His own best friend!

The trip to the gas station was uneventful, unfortunately, the two of you exchanged conversation like the tension wasn’t thick enough to cut. Like Frank’s jeans were getting uncomfortably tight and your bikini bottoms uncomfortably wet. Like neither of you wanted to jump the bones of the other person.

“Hey, Frank?” You asked softly, trying to gain the courage to ask the question you wanted the answer to.

“Darlin’?” He put the car in park, looking over at you expecting you to call him every disgusting name under the sun for his thoughts about you tonight.

“Do you, uhm…”

“I’m not a mind reader, baby.” At first you thought you imagined the word, that he didn’t actually say it but it was your imagination fueling the growing fire you had for Frank Castle. But he did say it, and he did it on purpose. Testing the waters, seeing how far he could go without making you uncomfortable.

“Have you ever been with someone younger?” Not the fucking question, idiot. You scolded yourself, you didn’t want to know the answer to this. What if his answer was yes and you were imagining his interest in you, that you weren’t special.

“No, I uh haven’t. Not yet, anyway.” There he went again, saying things that made you think you were imagining it. Maybe you’d wake up any minute and none of it was real. He could see the wheels turning in your head, you were a smart girl and he knew that.

You, timidly, leaned over the console of his truck and experimentally ran your fingers through his scruff. You’d never been with a man, much less a man with a beard, you’d only been with what your father classified as boys. Frank leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours and dragging it to his lips. Placing kisses on your palm, keeping eye contact with you. You were having trouble breathing, he was going to kill you. The beautiful hunk of a man was going to be the cause of your death, you’d make sure Tiff had it written on your tombstone. “Death by Frank Castle.”

Frank let your hand drop into your lap, threading his own hand through your hair to grab the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He leaned forward to meet you halfway, eyes scanning your face just taking in your beauty. His lips were made to fit yours, you were convinced, moving in motion with yours. His beard scratching your skin deliciously, his fingers wrapping themselves in your hair, his scent. He was everywhere, he consumed you.

“Need you, Frank please.” You breathed, pleading with him. “Need you so bad, need to feel you, your fingers.” You carried on, your voice sounding like you were on the verge of tears.

“Baby, not here.” He spoke softly, committing the way you sounded to memory for him to reference later when he was alone, “I’ll get you off though. Make you cum, all over my seat.”

His words eliciting a whimper, you’d take anything he was willing to give you. It didn’t matter that anyone could see into his truck at any moment, made the situation so much more intense. He tapped your thigh, signaling he wanted you to open your legs.

Frank let his fingers dance over the exposed skin your lack of pants left, dragging them up your thighs slowly. Painfully slow. He left open mouth kisses down your neck, occasionally biting and soothing the bite with his tongue. What felt like a decade later his middle finger traced your clothed folds, chuckling into your neck at how wet you were. You bucked your hips at the stimulation, earning another chuckle from the man in the driver’s seat, you were dying to receive some more stimulation from him. At this point, you’d sell a kidney and probably your soul to just have a singular finger inside you. You’d probably sell his soul too.

He dipped a finger underneath your swimsuit, groaning at how wet you truly were and that he was the cause of it all. His dreams were, partially, coming true and he needed to thank the heavens and the stars. Your moans and whimpers were music to Frank’s ears and he’d do anything and everything to keep them coming, to keep those angelic noises from leaving your pretty mouth. The truck was silent except for your noises and the squelch of Frank playing with your pussy.

“‘S wet, pretty girl. All for me? Did I do this to you, baby?” He taunted you, sliding his finger through your folds and swirling your clit as he waited for an answer.

“All for you, promise.” You whined, leaning your head against him, sweat beading on your skin as the car started to heat up from the summer air and the actions being performed.

Your pleas were answered when he finally plunged a finger inside of you, pulling it all the way out and admiring how it glistened in the light provided by the street light in the corner of a parking lot. He did this a few times, thrusting his finger in and pulling it all the way back out before plunging it back inside of you. His lips found your neck again, moving your head back to the original position it was in, kissing every spot of open skin he could reach. As if he read your mind, he inserted another finger alongside the one already inside. The stretch burned in a way that made you feel alive, made you feel on top of the world. All because Frank’s fingers were inside you. God, his fingers were big. So big it made you think about how right your dad had been to call everyone else a boy and not a man. So big all you could do was think about how big his cock must be, if his jeans were any indication you were in for a real treat. Not here though, stupid stupid gas station stupid truck. Your thoughts soon turned to mush.

His fingers curled right against the spongy spot inside of you, hitting it over and over again, he readjusted his hand to put his thumb on your clit.

“C’mon pretty girl, let go for me.” He spoke low, trailing kisses back up your neck and nipping at your earlobe.

You could feel the warmth growing in your stomach, the knots forming into bigger knots and then even bigger knots. Could feel the heat spreading throughout your body, your orgasm so close you could taste it. It was right there, his fingers hitting all the right spots and his thumb working wonders on your clit, his scruff scratching your skin and his mouth kissing everywhere. He was suffocating you in all the best ways possible. All you could see, hear, smell and taste was Frank fucking Castle.

Stars. Your vision turned to stars as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking in the passenger seat as he fucked you with his fingers. Those damn fingers. You couldn’t see anything but stars, for all you knew you had gone to heaven and it was thanks to the magical orgasm given to you at the hands of your new god.

When you came down from your high, Frank was whispering how well you had done and how pretty you were. He was caressing your thigh and placing kisses to your head.

“Did so good, gonna get me addicted.” He reached behind your seat and handed you a water bottle, opening it and holding the lid so you could drink it.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him, that killer smile that got him here in the first place. He truly was going to get addicted to you and he had no complaints about it, could die a happy man tonight if fingering you in his passenger seat is all he gets to do to you. His phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the situation at hand.

Shit. Both of you thought, remembering what you were supposed to be doing and how it was now an entire forty-five minutes later.

“Hey, ah yeah we’re good. Small fender bender, yeah….to make it all worse the gas station was closed when we got here.” Frank spoke to your dad on the phone, coming up with a lie like his life depended on it and he hadn’t just fingered you to the edge of your life. “Should be back soon, don’t worry man. I’m keepin’ her safe, precious cargo.”

You chuckled softly at his sentence, relaxing completely in the seat and taking a few sips of water, thinking about the future of your relationship with him. Or whatever it was, you made out and he had his fingers inside you but that didn’t mean shit. What if he regretted it and now didn’t want anything to do with you, what if he was too worried about his friendship with your dad?

“Quit thinkin’ too much. We’ll figure out whatever this is, all I know for sure is I need to see you again. And you to ride me, like a fuckin’ cowgirl. Ya hear?”

#maddies fics #dbf frank castle #frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #jon bernthal #dads best friend #dbf!frank castle #dads best friend frank castle #jon bernthal smut #the punisher #punisher smut #fic: cowgirl <3

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satansapostle6 · 3 months

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fire and ice | james cook

Cook’s interest is piqued when an old childhood friend moves in across the street.

Warning: Mature themes/language. Drug use. Sexual content.

part one. those girls.

Cook was in need of something to get his day going when he left the house that morning. He had just woken up and was completely sober, no alcohol, and no spliff. Yet. He was about to be on his way to school, before he saw her.

New neighbors had moved in across the street a few days before, but James Cook hadn’t really seen any of them, until this very moment. The new neighbors, it seemed, had a daughter. Most likely his age. Cook was stunned for a moment, forgetting where he was as he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, just looking at her.

There was something so strongly familiar about this girl, as if he’d seen her before, as if he knew her. But he thought it couldn’t have been; she’d only just moved in. Cook studied her features eagerly as he took in her appearance.

Her white T-shirt sporting the logo of a popular beer, he was delighted to find, had no undergarments beneath it. Her jeans, he thought as he slowly scanned her tall form, were fitted, at least in the right place. She had long dark hair, with bangs that hid eyes that, even from a far, were quite alluring.

Already having made his decision, he ran straight across the street as he saw her walking in the same direction he was meant to head in. He had to shag this girl, he knew.

As he ran up behind the girl, he was frustrated by the fact that she wasn’t particularly alerted in any way by his presence. He’d assumed that since he’d ran up to her, she’d at least look to see who was just behind her, but she didn’t really seem to notice any as she kept walking.

“Got some sort of death wish, do you?” Cook asked her as she finally turned her head.

“No more than anybody else,” she responded.

He smiled, appreciating her devil-may-care sort of nonchalance.

“What’s your name, death wish?” he asked her.

“Why don’t you tell me yours?” she challenged softly.

Cook grinned, enjoying whatever game she was playing. “I asked you first,” he pointed out with a foolish expression on his face.

“I already answered your first question,” she pointed out patiently.

“Alright. Fair enough,” he conceded. “I’m Cook.”

He saw as the girl paused for a moment, thinking before she finally spoke.

“You wouldn’t happen to be… James Cook, would you?” she said finally.

“Why, have we shagged before?” he asked eagerly. “If so, that’s nothing to me, I’ll do it again.”

“Absolutely not,” the girl scoffed, crossing her arms. “We were ‘best mates’. In primary school. Remember?” she teased.

Cook froze, petrified as he traced his memory as far back as he could, trying to place this girl’s face.

“Wait, wait…” he trailed off in awe, slowly able to place her brown hair and green eyes, “Wheeler?! Bollocks, Tiffany Wheeler?!”

”That’s me,” she nodded, watching with satisfaction as he lost his mind over the fact.

“Fucking hell! No way that’s really you!” he cackled in disbelief. “I remember you used to let me copy off you in second year!”

“You said it made us best mates,” Tiffany nodded, watching him as he reminisced.

“I did. We were best mates,” Cook insisted. “You were the only one who didn’t laugh at me cuz I didn’t know my letters.”

“You still seem like you don’t,” she pointed out.

He just laughed, jumping up in excitement as he lazily threw an arm around her.

“We’re still best mates!” he jeered, playfully tousling her hair as she laughed.

Cook was just as she remembered from when they were small, loud, rambunctious, and excitable. He looked how she would’ve imagined even before, disheveled and reckless with his short, messy hair and collar half sticking up.

“Okay, Wheeler,” he beamed, still following her more so than walking alongside her. “We go to the same college?” he wondered.

“Probably,” she deduced.

“So… Since we’re, you know, best mates, and classmates, and neighbors, and such,” Cook trailed off, somehow sounding as if he were speaking with a mouthful, “Come to my place later? Like… you know. Come?” he grinned.

“Fuck no, Cookie,” Tiffany said firmly, much to his disappointment. “I’ve already heard enough about you.”

“Really?” he demanded. “From who?!”

“Friends.”

“You’ve got friends already?” he realized.

“Yeah,” she nodded, intentionally giving him nothing.

“Like who?” he questioned skeptically.

“Effy. And Katie. And Karen,” she said pointedly.

“You’re friends with them?” Cook asked skeptically.

“I mean… I don’t really have friends,” she said with disdain, not a particularly social person. “But if I did, they’d be Effy and Karen. And Katie, I guess. I met Effy and Katie at a pub. Then we saw Freddie, and he spotted Karen. She told me she liked my top.”

”Fucking hell,” he remarked. “You’re one of those girls, eh?”

“‘Those’ girls meaning?” she interjected.

“You know,” he responded playfully. “The kind you mostly just have to wank to… They show you enough, but they’re usually too good to give it up to you.”

“…If that’s how you want to see it,” she said indifferently.

“You know, Wheeler,” Cook thought as he lingered behind her, “You certainly grew up nice…” he smirked, only for her to nearly shove him into the street.

*****

Cook was seated in English beside Freddie and JJ, his closest friend since childhood. There was an empty seat next to Cook, and he knew exactly what he wanted with it once he saw Tiffany Wheeler come through the door. All eyes were on her when she walked in; most of the people in the room had never seen her before, and she was certainly worth looking at.

Cook watched as even some of the people he knew were taken with her. JJ was the first to spot her, giggling awkwardly and avoiding eye contact as he realized a pretty girl had entered the room. Freddie noticed her too, but went back to pining over Effy once he realized that she was pretty, but not Effy.

Naomi spotted her, but just rolled her eyes upon seeing all the boys in the room glancing in the same direction. Emily Fitch looked at her for just a moment, while her identical twin, Katie Fitch, excitedly waved her over, pointing to an empty seat next to her.

“Hey, Tiff!” Katie called.

Effy Stonem’s cold blue eyes were trained on Tiffany, as if finally recognizing an equal.

Effy watched with great interest as Tiffany saw Katie, and smiled politely, before spotting Cook, who was now grinning and looking to the empty chair next to him. Effy allowed herself a little smirk as Tiffany knowingly walked past and sat down next to Cook, who turned to greet her pleasantly.

“How you doing, Tiff?” he asked her.

“Alright,” she shrugged.

The two of them both faced forward, separate smiles plastered on their faces.

part two.

#james cook #skins uk #skins cook #jack oconnell #skins gen 2 #skins fic #cook x reader #james cook fanfic #jack o'connell #jack o’connell fanfic #cook fanfic

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backtothestart02 · 1 year

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Until There Was You - 4/7 | westallen fanfiction

Westallen secret santa gift

For: @dickandcr

From: @backtothestart02

Rating: T - for some language and suggestive material

Christmas note: I hope you enjoy! Have an amazing holiday season!

Chapter 4 -

Iris’ and Linda’s walk to Tiffany’s during their lunch hour wasn’t exactly the shortest, but anything to get out of the chaos that was their workplace around the holidays. Linda, as always, didn’t have the slightest problem making this Eddie’s fault.

“Shouldn’t your boyfriend be the one returning this ring, since he was the one who picked up the wrong gift?”

Iris shot her a glare.

“What? It is his fault, isn’t it?”

“Eddie is working today. He couldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, well, so are we, and look at us. What if the manager to see him anyway, since he’s the one who bought whatever the other thing is.”

Iris sighed.

“I have the receipt. That should be all they need.”

“And what if this other person doesn’t show up?”

“Um, whoever it was bought an expensive engagement ring at Tiffany’s. At the very least, I doubt they’d want all that money to go down the drain.”

Linda pursed her lips.

“Hmm. True.”

“Come on. We’re almost there.”

She looped her arm through her best friend’s, and they continued down the sidewalk the many blocks until they reached their destination. In fact, they were just about to reach for the door handle leading into the building when another hand reached it first.

“Oh, uh-”

“Sorry, you fir-”

Iris and the young man she was trying to speak over laughed. Linda watched them curiously.

“We’re going to Tiffany’s,” Linda informed him, since the two had apparently become blushing, fumbling fools.

“Oh?” He lifted his bag up. “Me too. I’m hoping to talk to the manager about some sort of mix-up I had. Hoping he can get me my-”

“Engagement ring?” Iris lifted up her bag and smiled with a slight wince.

“It’s you?” he asked, mystified.

“It’s me. Well, my boyfriend. Apparently, he wasn’t actually trying to propose.” She stifled a laugh.

He stepped away from the door and gestured for the two ladies to come with him.

“Mind if I see? Just to make sure?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Iris dipped her hand into the bag and pulled out the blue box. “It’s gorgeous by the way, if it is yours. You have excellent taste.”

“Ah, I can’t take credit for that. I took my cousin, Jesse, with me, because her taste is impeccable.”

“I see.”

Iris’ cheeks had started to hurt she was smiling so wide, and she couldn’t seem to stop. With shaky hands she handed him the box, and he opened it and confirmed it was his.

“That’s the one,” he said. He handed her his bag. “Did you want to check or-”

“I better let it be a surprise from my boyfriend,” she said.

“Right. That’s probably a good idea.”

“Uh-huh.”

Linda shook her head, in disbelief that these two couldn’t seem to take their eyes off the other – or stop dropping their gazes from eyes to lips for that matter.

She cleared her throat loudly, causing the trance to momentarily shatter.

“Well, I, uh, think I actually left my lunch at work. So, I’ll see you later, Iris, okay?”

“Oh. Uh, Linda, you don’t have to-”

“Thanks for running into us…?” she waited for him to answer.

“Barry.”

“Barry. Nice name. Beautiful green eyes too.”

He blushed slightly at the compliment, and she turned to look at Iris again.

“I’ll see you at work. Take your time.”

Grinning, she turned and started heading back the way they’d come, leaving Iris’ mouth hanging open at the audacity of her departure.

“I…uh…can’t believe she did that.”

He smirked.

“I can.”

“Yeah?”

“A little.” He chuckled.

She shook her head and laughed.

“Does this mean you’re free for lunch now?”

“Oh. I…um…”

“We don’t have to eat. We could go ice skating.”

“Ice skating?”

She caught her breath in her throat.

“Unless you don’t want to. We totally don’t have to. I know I’m not very good at ice skating. I don’t even know why I suggested it. It’s just there’s a place around the corner, and you look like someone who likes ice skating. And is good at it. Not that I know what someone looks like who likes ice skating and is good at it. I mean, for all I know-”

“Barry.” She grabbed his arm to stop his rambling, then laughed an infectious laugh that had him staring at her, dazed. “I would love to go ice skating.”

“Yeah?”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

“Lead the way.”

So, arm in arm, they turned and strutted across the street in the direction of the skating rink.

…

Barry didn’t know what had been in his head when he invited to go ice skating, but it certainly hadn’t been his girlfriend. In fact it still wasn’t, and it wouldn’t be until he saw Patty face to face later that afternoon.

In the present – now – all he could see was this vision before him.

Iris.

What a perfect name for her. She was a flower, a stunning flower. He bet purple and yellow would look great on her like a real iris. He bet anything would look good on her.

“We’re here,” she announced, and he was forced to look away from her to glance at the skating rink before them. “We’ll have to rent skates, but I do have my own.”

“Me too,” he said.

“Yeah? I thought you said you can’t skate.”

He laughed.

“That doesn’t mean I haven’t tried!”

She giggled.

“Fair. Let’s go get some then,” she said, tugging at his hand to bring him along after her.

The coat on her rested just over the curve of her ass, and everything inside him was aching to touch her. She was beautiful to look at, but just the feel of her hand pressing into his threatened his sanity. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage touching her anywhere else.

“Right. Yes. Okay.”

She giggled again, and damn if it wasn’t the most glorious sound he’d ever heard.

He was absolutely losing his mind just being around her.

In time though they’d gotten their skates and were putting them on, and Barry was just grateful there weren’t too many people skating at this particular time.

“So, when did you learn to ice skate?” she asked, tying the laces on her skates.

“Oh, uh, my mom taught me when I was…six, I think? We used to go together.”

He stood up and nearly toppled on top of her but braced himself on the bench instead, making her hold her breath, not just from him almost falling but how he was suddenly very close to her face.

“S-sorry.”

“Have you not skated since you were six?” she asked, bubbling over with giggles again.

He watched her face, totally enraptured, and then he started laughing too.

She stood up, getting control of herself as she balanced on her own skates, and then she took his hand again.

“Come on, we’ll take it slow.”

She winked at him, making his pants tighten below his belt.

“Okay.”

And so they approached the ice and miraculously made it into the center of the rink without either of them falling. Then they made large strides skating in a wider circle, never letting go of each other’s hand. And then Barry fell when he made the mistake of looking at her longer than the ice in front of him.

“Oh, no, Barry!”

She crouched down and then kneeled on the ice beside him.

“Are you okay?”

She brushed some of his soft brown hair out of his face and threaded her fingers through it. He froze, only looking at her, only nodding along, hardly daring to breathe.

“Tell me about you,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“I want to know more about you,” he said honestly.

She licked her lips.

“Okay, uh, let’s get you up first. Then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Okay.”

And so they carefully got up, then skated over to the side of the rink and stood there for a while to chat.

“So?” he asked.

“Oh. Right. Um, well, Linda, who you met, is my best friend and co-worker at New York Times. I’ve worked there for about five years, and I’m desperate to get out of there and get on TV.”

“As an actress?” he asked, dumbfounded.

She smiled.

“As a reporter.”

“Ah.”

“Your turn.”

“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m originally from Central City, Missouri, but I’m looking to move here. I work as a CSI at the local police station back home, so I was thinking of looking into that same position here. I’m…pretty good at it.” He smirked.

“I bet you are,” she said, and her voice ran low and gravelly, and it scandalized her seconds later, but in the moment she couldn’t get her head out of the gutter.

“So, why don’t you skate? I want to see how good you are. I bet you’re the best.”

“I’m not bad.” Her eyes twinkled. “Okay. Watch me.”

“Not a problem,” he teased, and she rolled her eyes but skated back onto the ice, doing some rounds around the rink but also going into the center to do some spins and twirling, absolutely mesmerizing him.

It completely escaped him that his girlfriend was an exceptional skater, and that he’d even gone to see her do some lower-level competitions when they first started dating. He’d probably been impressed then, but now – in the moment – he found himself so caught up in Iris, and the way she moved on the ice, that he couldn’t imagine anyone better.

And so they spent the next couple hours skating and watching each other skate, helping each other skate, walking around the park, drinking some hot cocoa when finally late afternoon approached, and almost simultaneously they realized just how long they’d spent enjoying someone that wasn’t their friend or their significant other or anyone they’d ever met before.

“I…I should go,” Iris said first, looking like she regretted saying it but that it needed to be said nonetheless.

“Oh. Right. Me too.”

She extended her hand.

“It was nice to meet you, Barry.”

He looked down at her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it softly.

“It was nice meeting you as well, Iris.”

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand free of his gentle grasp and went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, stepping back slowly and then finally turning around and leaving.

Barry watched her until she was gone.

“Bye.”

#westallen #westallen secret santa #westallen secret santa 2022 #backtothestart02 fanfiction #westallen fanfiction

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imperfectly360 · 1 month

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I told Rick Ross or Rick Marshalls whatever his name is that I'm tired of being Amazon basics or scrubs with a flair or student edition back to the school look and I told Rick Rick that my skinny jeans flats and abermoomie t shirt Tiffany belt and side swept bangs days look like abomination because Rick Rick still thinks I look like an Instagram model like Rick Rick are you out of your mind Rick Rick?? I don't want a Starbucks gift card and I don't want to take my child to target day and I also don't want to participate in bake mommy a flower pancake with whatever rotten flowers I find outside Rick Rick my boohoo days are making me look like I belong in a festival Rick Rick!!! I am not a weed thank you. Stop smoking me like capital one pork chops!!!! Rick Rick told me I could be his teenage sweetheart forever Rick Rick I am 29!!!!!!! Can you even math????? My huevos are getting shriveled and you don't want my instant potato gravy powder anymore!!!!!! It makes us look really retarded as a collective whole and my abermoomie t shirt is getting raggedy and Plato's closet wants to ban me for life because they claim to be trendy not weirdly. Rick Rick told me for Christmas I get another north face coat cause it's better than dinky Canadian goose like I get it Rick Rick you are new wave American!!!!!!! Bigger the better LMAO. How tall are my uggs this year Rick Rick???? Anyways, stop telling me Walmart bikinios and forever 21 rhinestone flip flops are sexy because you don't understand body mist like Listerine strips clutch face. The other day you told me you invented something for periods and I said lol good one!!! Rick Rick told me my nickname is pinktoria vink and I said put that on my Starbucks order!!!! Since I needed a special treat to get out of bed apparently. In a lingerie set. Awkward hey I have an idea buy me shmancy lipgloss pls!!! WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE. 😭🌅🛍️🪽❤️💋🍃👄💖😻🍼 Thank you r.r. 🫵🫵🫵🫵

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keenexpressions · 1 year

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Yoki Lui

1. Name, Year, & Major

Yoki Lui, 4th Year, Managerial Economics

2. If you were a luxury brand, what would it be and why?

If I were a luxury brand, I would choose to be Tiffany & Co since it is also a brand that seems to value simplicity, quality, and traditions.

3. Who is your personal hero and why?

I don’t have one particular person in mind. Instead, I would say my family are my personal heroes, because they’ve always been there for me.

4. How do you react after a conflict occurs, and why?

When a conflict occurs, I tend to get anxious first because of overthinking.

5. If you were granted 3 wishes, what would it be?

My three wishes would be: for my family and I to be able to live 1.) happy, 2.) healthy, and 3.) successful lives.

6. What would you Google about your life?

I don’t think Google can tell me anything about my life so I wouldn’t search anything. If it could, that would be creepy.

7. What’s your favorite thing about yourself?

One thing I like about myself is that I hold myself accountable in ensuring that I accomplish the goals I set for myself.

8. What's your toxic trait?

One toxic trait I have is my overthinking.

9. Would you visit the future or past?

It’s tempting, but I would not visit the past or the future. The reason being– that a part of me feels like knowing what would happen in the future may change the way I act in the present. And if visiting the past means having the opportunity to change the present, I just don’t think it would be fair; Not only that, but I believe that our past contributes to who we are today.

10. What are the biggest differences between you today/now and five years ago? And what advice would you give to yourself from five years ago?

Five years ago, I was a Junior in High School attending Abraham Lincoln High School located in San Francisco, California. I guess between then and now, I still stress about academics a lot; But on the contrary, the biggest difference between then and now– would be that I used to stress about getting the best grades possible, and joining random clubs and other extracurricular activities (i.e. Dragon Boat) that I didn’t really find all that interesting; I did all of these things just in hopes to get into a good college. And now, I am just trying to pass all my courses in order to graduate.

An advice I would give to my past self, would be to do whatever makes you happy and to not care what others think. In the past, I had often let others' opinions affect my perspective on things and my decisions. This might also be one of the reasons I had several major changes throughout college. Initially, I had wanted to become a Dermatologist Physician Assistant, a Graphic Designer, and or a Dietitian.

Another advice I would give myself is to stop doubting yourself, because that is the only way to refrain from letting others' opinions affect you. That is, if you already believe you can’t do something and someone also confirms this by saying it to you, the likelihood of being able to accomplish that task automatically diminishes. After a while, I was able to realize that the person who was stopping me from possibly succeeding– is probably me.

#kikideliverdeeznutz

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hooman4ever · 2 years

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Hey, if I may please, and I understand not because it can be a triggering topic, but if I may, could I please have Herbert West, Baby Firefly, Carrie White, Vincent Sinclair, and Tiffany Valentine with a fem or gn s/o who is dealing with trauma from having been assaulted or abused by an ex-boyfriend and having to overcome said trauma. I understand if you do not want to write this, as it is triggering, and completely get if you don’t. Thank you.

Hey, sorry this took me so long to get done!

Contains: TW Abuse, Mention of Past Abuse, Abuse Comfort, Mentions of Murder, Murder, Protective Slashers, Emotional/Hurt Comfort, Some May Be OCC, Gender Ambiguous Reader

Herbert West

Herbert is very awkward at first, not knowing the best way to go about comforting you since he is not very in tune with others’ emotions.

One of the few things that could pull him from his experiments is you having a hard day dealing with the trauma caused by your past relationship.

He’ll just take one look at you seeing your red-rimmed eyes and immediately ask what’s wrong. His hands not stopping in his current experiment until you tell him about how you were struggling.

If he is on the cusp of something he will either, softly, ask you to wait with him or upstairs. Herbert is not one to rush, impulsive yes, but he doesn’t like to rush his experiments. Yet as he thinks of how you need him, his actions are not as careful and slow as they usually would be, and eventually, he would give up on working.

Will be uncharacteristically gentle with you, he will make somewhat of an effort to watch what he says and how he acts with you. For once Herbert is making an effort to quell his brash personality and trying to be more empathetic towards you.

Since he is a pretty explosive person there will be times (if you are triggered by yelling and aggression like I am) that he may trigger some bad memories on accident. It wouldn’t be your fault the man would just be stressed out in the lab only to come upstairs for the toaster to not work in the morning. He would be cursing it out and most likely throwing the thing. As soon as he sees your panicked state, however, he is trying to calm himself down, reaching out for you apologetically.

While he can’t understand what you are going through he will try. Expect poor comparisons when he is trying to have you explain your feelings.

He will keep a notebook tracking your bad nights and writing down things that he found had helped you and things that had done the opposite. That notebook will be guarded with his life right alongside his reagent and work notes.

Since he can’t offer you much on the emotional support side other than a pat on the back and an awkward “It will be alright.” he will be there for you physically. He will let you cry on his chest for as long as you need to and if you ask for any reassurance he will give it to you.

He will do everything in his power to get your mind off of whatever bad thoughts are plaguing your mind. Whether that be going for a walk together, or just cuddling and talking he will do it.

If you are a person who can not stand touch while in a bad state he will still be near you talking to you and just taking care of you to the best of his abilities.

May ask for certain info of your attacker/abuser such as a name and addresses for– reasons. Herbert has been meaning to obtain some live specimens for some time. However, he was certain your ex would be one who was sure to not survive.

Herbert will be so proud of you whenever you are able to overcome some of your trauma. He will simply give you a sincere “Good job my little lab assistant.” with a head nod of approval. A soft smile on his face. (God I live for Herbert’s little smiles)

You weren’t having the best night as it was stressed from work and coworkers, all you wanted was to go home and curl into Herbert. Sadly the man seemed to be just as distressed as you– all his experiments had failed and as the poor kitchen appliances seemed to do the same he couldn’t take it and snapped. In a fitful rage, he shouted profanities, the broken utility being tossed across the kitchen resulting in a loud crashing sound the second you had entered the room.

Immediately your hands started shaking, your chest rising and falling quickly. “Her-Herbert-” you breathed out through gasps of air. Tears already forming in your eyes.

“Shit–” the man exclaimed, surprised by your sudden presence. Herbert took a few steps towards you, cringing at the way you flinched back. Herbert then slowed his pace, not making any sudden movements for your sake. “[Y/n], it’s alright,” Herbert said his fingers just barely touching the sides of your arms which shook. “I’m not mad at you,” he clarified, pulling you into his chest once you let him.

“It’s okay, I got you now. No one is going to hurt you.”

Baby Firefly

If you don’t tell her about your trauma, she most likely will think you’re just having a moody day and brush it off.

However, once you tell her about your past abusive relationship, her bubbly eccentric personality flips and she is dead serious. With hands on your shoulders she will force you to face her as she gets close to your face “Who done it,” she will ask you, her tone dark and cold. She won’t let up until you tell her everything about your ex when it comes to how to find them.

If he’s nearby– good for Baby– bad for them.

She will kill them. No doubt in my mind. Will probably send you photos just because well it’s Baby, and she wants you to know what she did for you and that you don’t need to worry about them anymore.

Now the Firefly house will be louder at times and aggression in that environment is unavoidable. So if you see or experience something triggering, Baby will be there removing you from the situation as quickly as possible; comforting you in a calm quiet space.

When you need her she is right beside you, holding you, or comforting you in whatever way you need.

Will crack little jokes to get you to smile and laugh once again.

Your tears and pain are something she takes seriously, and will always validate. Sympathizing with you and helping you work through your emotions.

Whatever you need. She’ll get it in a heartbeat. As soon as the words leave your mouth she is storming off to secure whatever you need before rushing back to you.

Lots of words of affirmation. She is practically oozing soft words and praise all while cursing the piece of shit that dared to hurt you.

Expect her to get creative with her insults for your ex.

You are Baby’s entire world– her partner in crime– her baby bug– you are the one thing she values most in the world and the thought of anyone hurting you makes her more protective of you. It drives her to treat you right in every way possible, even though she never planned otherwise because it’s what you deserve.

Will worship you in every sense of the word, making sure you spend the rest of your days loved and happy.

When she sees you overcoming your trauma she will be quite literally cheering for you. “Ma strong baby!” She’ll yell absolutely livid with joy no matter where the both of you are.

Will gush over how cool you are and how you’re the strongest person she knows. Brags to everyone about how amazing you are constantly.

Baby looked at you with the biggest grin on her face that you have ever seen. You were radiating confidence as you approached her, and she was loving it.

She grabbed your hands in hers before yelling “Ma Baby bug did it!” she was practically jumping up and down as love for you oozed from her. Praise fell from her lips like a mantra before she pulled you into a spontaneous kiss almost knocking you completely into herself. “Fuck– that was real hot,” she gushed “My strong Baby bug. What did a girl like me ever do to deserve you?”

Carrie White

With Carrie she can relate to you somewhat– her mother wasn’t the best so she can understand some of what you feel.

Like you, Carrie will also have bad days so it’s easier for her to recognize when you aren’t doing so well yourself.

On those days she will be gentle when approaching you– quietly asking how you are doing, if you need anything, if you want anything, if there is anything she can do for you. She just wants to know what she can do to help and be there for you when you’re struggling.

You are her entire world and she values you above all else.

Once you told her about the abuse you suffered she immediately took your hands in hers whipping your tears away. She was in shock– how could someone hurt you? You were such a beautiful person… it wasn't fair.

Will remind you every day how special you are to her and how much she loves and values you. Whether it be through small gestures of gratitude or words filled with love she will never forget to remind you.

She is a gentle soul and will be more than happy to hold you, soothing away your pain one day at a time. She will work through things at your pace making sure you are comfortable.

Carrie will be mindful if you have PTSD and will ask before she touches you and keep in mind not to yell suddenly– which I could barely see her doing anyway.

If however, she does get overwhelmed and yells or her powers go off without her control and scare you she will break down alongside you. She will think she has failed you and that you would hate her.

Will come to you for both reinsurance and to reassure you at those times.

When Carrie sees you overcoming your trauma she will be like a proud mother watching her child take their first steps.

Cooing and proud words fly from her mouth as she holds your hands. Will gush about it and tell you “How strong you were,” how “She wishes she was more like you.”

Carrie smiled softly at you; understanding and sympathy in her eyes. “Are you feeling better, angel?” she asked, her soft voice soothing. From where you sat, your head resting against her chest, you nodded ‘yes’ while further curling into her craving the warmth and love she provided so generously.

The way she was so willing to wrap her arms around you– to hold you– through your most troubled of times, it was all so wonderfully different from anything you had experienced before. It made you feel safe and truly loved.

You were like gold in her hands and eyes. “The most valuable thing I have ever held,” she would often say to you while wiping away your tears. Love radiating in her eyes.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is no stranger to abuse– his parents, while not so harsh to him, had put his brother, Bo, through hell. Vincent had grown up watching it all.

He will be very attuned when it comes to the signs that you’re having a bad day and what to do. As soon as you approach him with red eyes and shaking hands Vincent is put into protective mode. The project he was working on long forgotten, you were his main priority.

He will give you anything you need. Cuddles? No problem. A warm bath? No problem! I’ll go run one now [Y/n]. Do you want to watch me work? Even better, come help me with this sculpture I'm working on!

Due to Vincent never leaving Ambrose he sadly can not avenge you but he will often think of ridding your ex from that world. Even if it was just to put your worries to ease when it came to them.

If they were to wander into town and you pointed them out, Vincent would be more than willing to come out of hiding, raging past Bo and his faux charm before killing them. They wouldn’t be turned into wax– no they would be sent off with Lester to rot in the roadkill pit.

Much like with Baby violence is something prevalent in everyday life in Ambrose. This fact would make Vincent much more driven to watch over you at all times and keep you near him.

Vincent had definitely lashed out at Bo before when he was yelling and you came into his radar. As soon as the first derogatory word was sent your way Vincent’s fist had collided with his brother's face.

Safe to say Bo left you alone after that.

Yelling was what Vincent heard as he made his way up the stairs leading to the basement. It was a common sound in Ambrose so Vincent paid it little mind. That was until your own shaky voice met the man’s ears.

With that Vincent was surging forward taking the remaining steps two at a time before surging into the living room. There Vincent saw you standing a few inches from a yelling drunk Bo.

Vincent never before had struck his twin, but at that moment the usually calm artist had pushed forward. His fist connects with Bo’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man topped to the floor at the same time that you were being ushered away from the explosive man now on the ground holding his jaw in shock.

Tiffany Valentine

All it takes is one look at those red-rimmed eyes and she’s melting whatever she was talking about or doing forgotten “Oh my poor baby doll,” she’ll say while pulling you to her chest. “It’s all right now– Tiffs here darling.” lots of cuddling and soft words from her as she tries to comfort you.

She will question you on what’s wrong and will be pretty pushy about it wanting to know what’s troubling you. (If you aren’t ready to talk about it she’ll back off, but she won’t forget about it.)

Once you reveal how you were struggling with a past abusive relationship her demeanor changes from worried to furious. She questions you on who your ex was and what they have done to you. Tiffany won’t stop her questioning till she has a name and address.

As soon as she knows what she needs to, she gets rid of him before returning home to gush about it to you. Saying things like “They got what was coming to them, thinking they could hurt my baby and get away with it.” and that “You’re safe now, safe with me, doll.”

Tiffany will make sure to be mindful of your trauma and keep her violent hobbies separated from you in fear the violence may trigger you.

She will remind you of your worth and of how much you are loved every day.

Tiff encourages you to branch out and helps you deal with any internal issues you are facing, shooting down any self-doubt you may have immediately.

When she sees you overcoming your trauma she will praise you obsessively saying things like “I knew you could do it,”. She will 100% be your number 1 supporter throughout everything and will kill anyone who tries to bring you down.

Soft fingers stroked your tear-stained cheek. “It’s alright, doll.” Tiffany’s voice was comforting despite the sharp edge it held. “Everything will be fine. Just let me know what’s bothering you and Tiff will take care of it.” she was practically begging, desperate to know who had hurt you. Desperate to comfort you and rid you of whatever was troubling you.

“Just give me a name, I promise that’s all I need and I'll take care of them.” She held you close to her, letting your tears soak the front of her shirt.

Hesitantly a name fell from your mouth, one you would rather forget. “They’ll never hurt you again– I promise.” her fingers stopped their gentle stroking holding your cheek instead. As you gazed up into her eyes, you knew she would keep her promise.

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the-pale-goddess · 2 years

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Compound Fracture - Ethan Ramsey x MC

Tiffany and Ethan meet again, joined by the ghosts of their past.

Conclusion to my Drunk Lord Ethan AU aka Tiffany finds out about Ethan’s drunken encounter whilst in the Amazon AU.

Rating/Category: Explicit (+18) / mini series, completed

Warnings: language, mention of alcoholism, explicit adult content (the short explicit part is separated by red tape if you’d wish to skip it)

Author’s note: I’m waving my problematic fav goodbye with tears streaming down my face. Huge thanks to everyone who followed us on this painful journey! Your wonderful support brought us here and I’m immensely grateful for every comment and message ❤️

Without further ado, I invite you for the messy last ride through this Angst Town!

____

“Doctor Addams?”

The sound of her name whizzes through the air like a bullet trying to reach her flesh, but Tiffany dodges it, too mesmerized by the breathtaking Boston skyline to trade the old friend for a willful shot in the heart.

The city she once called home spellbinds her with sophisticated vibrancy; blinding lights blend into familiar colors and shapes, redolent of the intensity of her olden days. For the briefest moment Tiffany forgets about the pinprick of memories, inhaling the brisk April wind. For a minute she's still that young bright thing, all fired up about the new chapter in her life. For just a second, her lungs fill with long-forgotten hope.

“Excuse me, Doctor?” The relentless waiter forces Tiffany to give up the last moment of peace before diving into the pond of her chequered past. He nods at her apologetic smile and points at the door across the hall. “Right this way.”

Dressed in the finest silk stained with qualm, Tiffany heaves a deep, steadying breath and follows the directions.

Perhaps she should know better. She should be stronger, wiser. Mind her business and thrive in the confines of the life she’s built.

But it’s too late to turn back now.

The crowd takes notice of her presence; faint whispers and knowing looks hedge her in as soon as she steps into the gallery. Her shiny black dress floats gracefully with every stride, unshakeable, armor-like confidence protecting her.

There’s a rumor claiming that Dr. Ramsey was offered loads of money to dash off a memoir of his work in The Amazon, but she knows him better than any of the jealous wolves spreading false information.

Knew. She knew him once. Or she never knew him at all.

Nonetheless, anyone with at least one operational brain cell could attest that Ethan Ramsey has no interest in material possessions. Whatever his reason for writing Into The Unknown was, it had nothing to do with money.

The unpleasant churning in her stomach is the ultimate warning—this Boston trip down memory lane proves to be courting disaster. The successful doctor is well aware of the fault in her logic, but trouble seems to find her wherever she hides.

A tray of sparkling straw yellow liquor flashes nearby, and Tiffany doesn’t waste the opportunity to snatch a glass when the waitress moves past her. In essential preparation for what may come next, she drinks her fill, hoping to wash away the forbidding feeling.

Trouble found her busy in the heart of The Big Apple. The copy of Ethan’s book she received bears a deeply personal inscription, an elegantly scribbled admission inviting chaos to her neatly organized life once more.

Of all the lives that needed saving, I couldn't save ours.

Every word pulses under her skin like poison running through her veins when she finds the trouble she’s looking for tonight.

Ethan is trapped; he's frowning at a swarm of doctors Tiffany's passed in the hallway before, blatantly unconcerned with their lively chatter.

A wistful smile stretching across her face is a treachery of reason, but she can't stop it from spreading at the sight of him: stern and rigid, with edges as sharp as his jawline. Time might have been a pitiless mistress, but Ethan hasn't changed one bit—only a splash of grey in his mocha brown hair twinkles as a lasting testament to another year added to the score.

Her heart quickens all of a sudden, revisiting a nostalgic memory of the sassy intern thrilled to talk to her medical hero, playing the idolatry card to tip the scales to her advantage. Time might have blurred the sentiment, but it hasn't dimmed its power.

She tries to contain the fire, trap the uncomfortable feeling inside her chest and take control of the situation. Despite her bravest effort, it’s all in vain: she can’t take her eyes off Ethan, having the hazardous warmth spill over.

“New York looks fantastic on you, Doctor Addams.” A familiar voice puts an abrupt end to her lurking. Come what may, she doesn’t even flinch.

“Long time no see, Doctor Carrick.” Tiffany’s wide grin greets the elegant intruder scanning her face with intent. “Wish I could return the compliment, but I’m willing to bet a lot of money you haven’t changed your ways.”

Tobias grins back, his smug expression inseparable from his cocky attitude. “I’m the whole package, darling. Why change something that’s already perfect?”

“Your package could use some humility.” Tiffany quips, raising a brow.

“Humility doesn’t blend well with my charm.”

“You’d have to try it first to know for sure.”

Defeated, Tobias shakes his head before sinking his lips into the glass of bubbly, and Tiffany immediately follows suit.

A few sips later, he swirls to a less lighthearted topic. “I must admit, I didn’t think you’d show up.”

“You clearly don’t know me very well.”

“I know someone who does.”

Tiffany doesn’t seem fazed by the casual remark, her dense lashes sweep the crowd with airy nonchalance as she takes a long sip of her champagne. The subtle blot on her deceit flashes in her gaze for one split second, catching the unlooked-for attention.

But she’s always been a masterful actress, and Tobias has always lacked the instinct for precise observation.

Before he makes a feeble attempt at grasping the nuance of her reaction, the moment is gone forever, forcing him to rely on the skill he's more proficient in: improvisation.

“How does it feel to be the muse to one of the greatest minds of our generation?”

Though the comment provokes a flurry of interest demanding him to elaborate on the notion, she rolls her eyes. “It feels like I need more alcohol before engaging in a conversation with you, Tobias.”

“Listen, I’m not trying to manipulate you into leaving your husband. I’m simply curious what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Why would I share my innermost thoughts with some random guy at a work event?”

“Some random guy?” Tobias clutches his chest theatrically. “You’re hurting my feelings, Morticia. I thought we were making progress here.”

Suppressing the urge to snort with laughter, Tiffany scrunches her face up, letting her amusement shine through. “Why does Ethan tolerate you, again?”

“I know some of his secrets and I’m hilarious.”

“The latter is all hearsay.” Ethan’s deep, smoky voice cuts through their banter.

Tiffany’s eyes are instantly drawn to his, emerald and sapphire alight with matching intensity that puts the crystal chandelier above them to shame. The small, private smile these two old lovers share is charged with sentiment and trepidation neither of them tries to conceal.

“Great, you’re ganging up on me. Luckily, I have an escape plan.” Tobias waves an empty glass and pats Ethan’s shoulder as he moves past him. “Have fun without me, kids.”

Ethan and Tiffany barely acknowledge his absence, wholly absorbed in the staredown.

Her hand extends as if in greeting, but lands combing through her chestnut locks instead. It’s an odd feeling—to have your heart hammering in your chest, desperate to break free from the cage, and withhold any evidence of the silent yearning.

“You look good.” She blurts out, her spontaneous compliment lights up Ethan’s face with a mysterious smirk.

“You look better.”

Their eyes seem to carry a separate conversation; the palpable undertones of excitement in the pleasantries are no match to the thrill sparkling in their gaze.

Not allowing the frisson to impair her judgement, Tiffany attempts harmless small talk. “Congratulations on your book. Who would’ve thought we’ll be getting an eye-opening memoir from The Ethan Ramsey.”

“Certainly that someone wouldn’t be me.” Ethan’s eyes never leave Tiffany, brazenly studying her face. “The WHO Foundation wished to use my Brazil journals. I figured it would be best to crystallize their medical worth myself.”

“Control what you can control.” A winsome grin sneaks in unbidden, and she’s thankful for the power of make-up covering a tint of flush blossoming her cheeks.

“Precisely.” He nods imperceptibly, pleased at the reference, then glances sharply over the crowd. “Where’s, uhm, Brett?”

“Brian.” She corrects him, the mischievous glint storming in his eyes a convincing proof that the innocent mistake was there on purpose. “He’s closing a deal in London.”

His brows waggle slightly, a momentary flash of surprise crossing his features. “You’re here all by yourself?”

“I don’t need a supervisor, Doctor.”

“That’s not what I—” Before he gets a chance to finish the thought, a short, panicked redhead almost jumps at him.

“There you are, Doctor! We need you for a quick photoshoot.”

„You need me for what?” Ethan winces.

“We have to send some pictures to the press. Please, Doctor Ramsey, it’ll take just a minute.”

Her pleading looks don’t work on Ethan—the crease on his forehead only deepens, announcing his hardline stance against any buffoonery in front of the camera.

Tiffany chuckles to herself, deciding to help the poor woman and try out an old trick.

“Go.” Her alluring voice casts a spell on him just as she grabs his forearm, squeezing gently. “Find me when you’re done schmoozing.”

Her unexpected gesture seeps away Ethan’s grimace. “All right. I’ll find you later.”

The electrifying glance passing between them seals the promise, only sowing Tiffany’s confusion. She scrutinizes his tall, imposing frame until he’s lost in the huddle of guests.

“You're Tiffany, right?”

She turns around upon hearing her name, cheerful and unprepared.

Like a sandcastle swept by the tide, Tiffany's smile falters when her gaze meets battleship grey—cold and majestic, all but forgotten after years of recurring nightmares about the very same pair of eyes.

The crimson on her lips is not bold enough to challenge the nauseating churning in her stomach.

“You look just like I imagined.” A distinctive Portuguese lilt rings in her ears, inducing a persistent headache of memories she's buried deep with no intention of reawakening. But they're back, uninvited, flooding her with an overfamiliar torrent of destructive emotions.

The meaning of the casually uttered statement finally dawns on Tiffany, twisting her features in shock. Though she knows the answer, she asks as if to smother her own delusions. “And you are?”

“Gia. Gia Macedo.” She announces with a short giggle, the high-pitched sound splitting Tiffany’s head in two. “I was helping the team led by Eth…Doctor Ramsey in The Amazon.”

“I'm sorry, why would this concern me? What is your business with me?”

“No business other than curiosity.” Gia declares, the intention behind her playful smirk unfamiliar. “I was wondering what you’re like. He was obsessed with you when he wasn’t working. Such a fascinating man, huh?”

“Fascinating, right.” Tiffany’s best fake smile strains her muscles while she struggles to offer a coherent reply in this raging chaos. Leaping to the safest form of defence, she pursues a spontaneous plan. “Now that you’ve seen what I’m like…Excuse me.”

Unceremoniously, Doctor Addams spins on her heel, leaving Miss Macedo alone in the crowd.

A secluded balcony on the other side of the gallery becomes her temporary shelter. Gut-wrenching feelings bubbling up inside of her evaporate with every deep breath when the fresh, chilly wind calms her nerves.

Past has no control over Tiffany anymore, she’s learned to ignore the ache. Barbed wire surrounding her heart protects her from its detrimental impact. But no matter how convincing her inner voice sounds, the old wounds itch all the same when she returns to the party.

The bar calls her in for another glass of liquid mettle. Half-way through the room, Ethan’s impeccable navy suit catches her attention, but she instantly curses at the spontaneous reflex to spy on him.

The man of the hour is deeply engrossed in a discussion with a group of fancy strangers. However, to his left, there is one person Tiffany has just got acquainted with.

Thousands tiny splinters of the past hit Tiffany at once, cutting through her flesh. Her mouth falls open in horror, entire body freezes on the spot as the sanity leaves her, completely unnoticed.

Her first instinct is to run, but she’s frozen to the spot while her eyes bore into Miss Macedo beaming by Ethan’s side.

Tobias is watching the scene from afar, and though he has no goddamn clue what petrified Tiffany, he suspects that his best friend must’ve been involved. Before he makes sense of the mess unfolding in front of him, Doctor Addams is already on her way to the exit.

„Fucking donkey.” He grumbles to himself and quickly sends out a text.

Your Cinderella is running away. I’d suggest taking the stairs.

* * *

Tears blur Tiffany’s vision the second she’s outside the building and within seconds, a waterfall begins to rain down her skin despite her best effort to block it out. She feels pathetic for grasping at the scraps of the reverie that brought her back to him. She knew that preserving a fickle illusion was a mistake, but apparently she had to let her silly little heart shatter again to realize just how disastrous.

The next thing that follows seems to be just another delusion: her name drifts in the air like an arrow, almost stopping her dead.

She speeds up upon Ethan shouting her name again, frenetic steps combined with sky-high stilettos almost trip her over, but she doesn’t let any obstacle slow her down.

“Tiffany, wait!”

The older doctor doesn’t give up; she’s no competition to a runner as excellent as him. He catches up with Tiffany, trying to block the way with his stately body, but she ducks away to avoid crashing into his arms.

She finally looks up, presenting her moonlit features in all their heartbreaking glory.

He’s taken aback by a cascade of heavy tears and mascara falling down her alabaster cheeks violently. This miserable occasion marks the first time she’s cried in front of him and the sight pierces him as deep as her words when Tiffany’s voice manages to rise over her muted sobbing.

“You lured me here with your long overdue poetic bullshit remorse just to punish me?”

“What?” Shell-shocked, Ethan inspects her face twisted by distress.

“Do you talk about me before or after she gets you off?”

“For fuck’s sake, Tiffany, what the hell are you talking about?”

Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as she hisses. “Your fucking Amazon girl.”

In utter confusion, Ethan recollects all faces he’s seen today—all random, meaningless—until a flash of recognition provides him with the image of the woman he anticipated to never meet again.

The tie around his neck gets too tight all of a sudden and the urge to drink himself into oblivion splashes in his brain for the third time today.

“I didn’t invite her. I didn’t even recognize her in the crowd.” His firm reassurance only elicits a peal of lunatic laughter from Tiffany.

“She sure as hell recognizes you. She came up to me, knowing exactly who I am.”

“Tiffany, please, can we…”

“You told me it was a one time thing.” She interjects, her eyes are closed as she rubs her temples.

“It was. I haven’t contacted her ever since that trip.” He gasps for air, unsure whether his sincerity can back him up at this point. “I didn't know she’d be in attendance. You have to believe me.”

His mistakes and misconceptions pay him a visit, keeping company with his demons, the unsparing team weakening the resolve he’s built to endure his silent despair.

“Can we please talk somewhere private?” Ethan pleads.

“And where would that be?”

Through the eyes of his mind Ethan sees his old self cowardly leaving the scene, but the man he is today knows better than to let the stench of the past overpower him now.

“We could drive to my apartment.” He offers, his candid voice giving no sign of the internal struggle.

There’s a glint in Tiffany’s eyes far stronger than his will, a glitch in her fury helping him arrive at a realization he didn’t expect.

Under Ethan’s expectant gaze, she lets the proposition marinate in silence until her breath evens slightly and she shrugs her shoulders in defeat.

“Fine.”

* * *

Ethan’s Back Bay condo appears to be identical to Tiffany’s dim memory of it; her feet carry her to the bathroom through the dark on autopilot.

Bright mirror lights reveal the aftermath of her uncharacteristic display of rage while she stares into her reflection: streaks of mascara and glitter smudged all over her eyes and cheeks, eyelids all puffy from crying. Swallowing another wave of tears, she steals one of the cotton wool pads from the nearby shelf and starts cleaning up the mess.

With a skillful touch-up, her make-up could at least pretend to play the part. And so could Tiffany.

When she emerges into the living room, Ethan waits by the window, his wistful gaze fixed on the limitless horizon.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Hit me with a glass of Redemption.”

Ethan hangs his head. He assumed the brutal truth would sooner or later join their conversation, but it wouldn’t stop his bruised heart from naively hoping for the latter. “How about something non-alcoholic?”

Before Tiffany strikes him with a well-aimed mockery connected to the telling name of the bourbon company, he cuts to the chase.

“I’ve been sober for five months. Having liquor around isn’t safe.”

The revelation drains color out of Tiffany’s face and puts a lump in her throat. Braving through her horrified gaze, Ethan decides to address the issue directly.

“I was in rehab twice.”

The vastness of her dismay broadcasts in her glossy eyes and parted lips almost too frightened to utter a sound. A long, quiet moment later, a barely audible whisper breaks through. “Do you think that…Maybe if you didn’t…”

“No, Tiffany.” He steps in to alleviate her worries, knowing the exact shade of her thoughts. “Not coming to meet you in LA wouldn't change anything. I have only myself to blame.”

Her emerald eyes shift the focus to the exquisite view behind the window, clearly skeptical of Ethan’s reliability.

“How are you feeling?”

“In all honesty, it’s been difficult. But I’ve managed to regain control of my life. Naveen and Tobias harass me daily just to make sure I’m fine.”

“And are you really?”

Her voice, thick with concern, echoes in his head asking the same words over and over again, and though the answer is dreadfully obvious, he feels obliged to frame it differently.

“I’m doing my best.” Ethan’s weak, stilted smile offers no reassurance as the silent horrors of his struggle gnaw at Tiffany. “It has to suffice.”

Her own misery dissipates in collision with his experiences, filling her mind with niggling worry. Her own scars and resentment drown in it, allowing a new shade of regret to spring up the surface.

She sniffles, strangling all treacherous ideas forming in her head along with the hopeless need to comfort Ethan.

Ethan sizes her up, noticing a seemingly irrelevant detail that triggers a wave of hidden memories dawning on him at once. He picks them up like evidence and sets apart, searching for clues. Big sapphire ring and elegant wedding band announcing her marriage a year ago in Los Angeles, her manicured hand clutching the bag like it was her lifeline. Her humorless laugh at that balcony. Her hesitation back then, her tantrum tonight.

A violent adrenaline rush fuels him, and he runs with it, allowing the madman to emerge from the prison of his mind.

“What does it feel like to move on?” He asks, peeking at Tiffany’s hand. Impressive ruby coruscating in the light taunts him, but it’s not a sound reason for a direct confrontation.

“Move on?”

He calculates the risk, quickly realizing that he has nothing left to lose. “My therapist told me I should let you go. But I don’t want to.”

At that, Tiffany freezes, holding her breath for a dreadful second.

„You let me go years ago.” She swiftly schools her features and sneaks a furtive glance at Ethan, her studied numbness convincing enough to stir his blood. “I was never yours to begin with.”

“I wanted you to be mine.” He asserts with a sigh. “I still do. I always do.”

Tiffany lets the weight of his words sink in, her defence still up high, keeping her afloat. To get in, Ethan needs to drag her underwater.

He takes a step in her direction, the shy movement getting a side-eye from Tiffany. “I should’ve fought for you when I had the chance.”

“We can’t cling to the past forever.” A ghost of a smile followed by her soundless sigh are not exclusively reserved for him, and that subtle difference in her tone pushes him over the edge.

“Why did you come to Boston?”

“I—” She trails off, blinking furiously. “I wouldn’t miss your book launch.”

“Is that why you’re here? To support your mentor?”

She scoffs, half-amused, half-irritated, twisting the ring on her finger nervously. “Why else would I be here?”

Tiffany’s cryptic answers vex him in a similar manner. Though Ethan is vaguely aware of the consequences, he decides to express his mounting frustration, firing another question like a missile aimed at her heart.

“Are you happy, Tiffany?”

Her award-winning smile dims like stage lights at the end of a play and a genuine, unfiltered expression finally shines through her act.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She retorts in voice as steady as a sinking ship. “I have everything I could possibly need.”

Dissatisfied with the reply, Ethan challenges her again. “It’s a simple question. Are you happy with your life? Your husband?”

She stares at him with a deadpan expression for a silent moment. Soon, her empty stare is replaced with blazing fury as she fights to keep her composure.

“I have everything I could possibly need.” Dewy-eyed, she repeats the sentence through gritted teeth.

He should take pity on her and cancel whatever devious plan he’s manically hatched, but the tears streaming flawlessly down Tiffany’s face have only proven there is no way back now.

Ignoring the painful twinge of shame, Ethan probes into Tiffany’s facade further. “Does he know the real you? Has he ever seen you at your lowest?”

Another attempt proves to be successful. “This absurd interrogation is over. I’m not going to take part in another one of your games.”

At last, Tiffany goes ballistic, vehemently rushing towards the door with hands balled into fists. Showing no mercy, he chases her down the hall.

“Have you ever told him how it feels to bust a gut trying to save someone’s life with an outside chance of succeeding, but fighting nevertheless, only to end up losing the battle? Has he ever seen you torn apart? Have you let him in, Tiffany?”

The series of questions makes her snap. She turns around, looking daggers at Ethan, her lip quivers as she fumes. “Spare me the therapy session and save your talents for someone who actually needs your fucking charity.”

But the session isn’t over yet.

“Has he ever made you weak at the knees?”

Tiffany remains silent, though the forest in her eyes goes up in flames, and it’s the scrap of an answer Ethan requires to draw his robust conclusion.

Driven by the storm inside of him, the diagnostician takes another dangerous step and goes for the throat, the question mirroring his own anguish. “Have you ever ruined the best damn thing that happened in your life?”

“I have fucked it all up.” She roars, tears scalding her witch-bright eyes as she tries to wipe them off.

Silence consumes them whole as the unbearable tension exacerbates, and yet, it’s not enough to break the forlorn stare keeping them locked in the heated space.

Tiffany finally spoils the ominous muteness, muttering as if to herself with misty gaze tumbling down. „Me and Brian are separated.”

Ethan’s heart threatens to pound out of his chest, his diagnosis steering towards the final confirmation. “Why?”

“He’s not you.”

All of a sudden, he’s excruciatingly close, almost invading her space. She refuses to look up, to admit defeat, to give him the satisfaction of throwing her out of gear and spreading wide open, to let him see how much she still wants him.

But he already knows.

Ethan reaches out to her face tentatively, afraid she’s going to shatter. His touch is given unspoken permission and the gentlest brush of his fingertips follows up and down her cheeks, her neck, across her jaw, before he tilts her chin up, forcing Tiffany to look him in the eye.

Their frustration takes a different form, pent-up tension verges on erupting, imploring eyes ablaze with a new purpose.

Unsure who moved first, the distance shrinks even further—their faces merely inches apart now, the dizzying closeness and hot, heavy breaths inviting them even closer.

With extreme caution, Ethan’s lips brush the corners of her eyes, kissing the tears away. She doesn’t protest, doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe for a good second. His feather-light kisses trail down until their lips meet at last, gliding over each other ever so slightly.

The dainty brush fulfilling the long-held dream makes the dam burst, their emotions threatening to overflow when their lips connect in a bruising kiss—salty and sweet, lipstick mixed with tears, pulling them into a crushing embrace.

Starved tongues and hands join them with reckless abandon as the kiss deepens, their hearts screaming louder than the scars they’re used to hide.

Breathless and intoxicated, they part for air, only to be seized by another wave of sizzling need. Their mouths overlap in a frenzied dance again, letting the moment devour them completely.

Then, unexpectedly, Ethan retreats.

Like a sinner seeking repentance, he drops to his knees, resting his forehead against her belly with hungry, penitent lips planting fervent kisses wherever they reach. His careful hands thread through the layers of her dress, hiking the material up for Tiffany to drape it around her waist.

She shivers at his touch; his fingers burn her skin as they move up her thigh with devotion, eager lips follow the same path, his beard deliciously scratching cashmere-like skin, only adding to the overwhelming sensation.

A groan of approval escapes him when he’s finally near her lacy thong. He nuzzles her folds, all soaked because of him, but doesn’t go beyond subtle teasing—not without her permission.

“Can I taste you?” His voice trembles much like her entire body.

She is at his mercy just as much as he is at hers.

The reply is immediate: she hastily pulls her panties down, using Ethan’s help to get out of them completely. Once she’s fully exposed, he groans again, as if to remind himself that this moment isn’t a figment of his imagination.

Wasting no time, he hooks her leg over his shoulder as she steadies herself against the wall, and dives between her legs.

His tongue begs for absolution with every persistent flick, eliciting ardent affirmation from Tiffany; her moans reign in the room, inspiring Ethan to work her up, licking and sucking with expert precision as her hands keep his head deliciously trapped between her thighs. His eyes are shamelessly locked with hers, witnessing how gracefully she welcomes the piercing thrill taking hold of her body.

Two glorious fingers bolstering the pleasure finish Tiffany faster than expected; she comes hard and loud, panting his name in awe, her trembling legs struggling to stand on the ground—Ethan’s lips still savoring her don’t help the cause.

“Come here.” Tiffany purrs, urging him into her arms.

Slightly out of practice, they move onto the bedroom as their impatient hands clumsily peel off all layers of clothing in haste, abandoning any pretence of restraint. Soon, they’re skin on skin, focused on frenzied licks and kisses while their fingers are occupied with keen caress.

The scene is strikingly similar to their first time: a glint of devotion in her lust-hazed eyes spurring him on, the most erotic gasp escaping her parted lips when his throbbing cock sinks into her slowly, quiet desperation pulling them into hypnotic rhythm as they give in to the yearning.

He drives deep into her and she takes him all in, with nails digging into his flesh and eyes half shut. The sublime, pleasure-driven melody of their moans floats in the air to the accompaniment of the rhythmic slapping, the sound as obscene as it is sacred.

Unable to separate himself from Tiffany’s mouth for even a second, Ethan drinks up every wondrous sound off her kiss-bitten lips. Her hands and legs draw him as close as possible, basking in the heavenly feeling of his weight on top of her.

An incredibly rare, wide smile breaks through, lighting Ethan’s face up as his thrusts become slower, more relaxed because he’s finally home.

He’s been lost, but he’s home now.

Tiffany comes first; the way she unravels into his arms as she arches her back, tense and out of breath with bliss flooding her cheeks with siren-red, reminds him that she’s real.

The enthralling sight of her orgasm ignites his own. With a gravelly groan, he fills her up, feeling her legs tighten the grip around his hips. The ripple of pleasure passing through them cements the unity of two bodies melting into one, their violent heartbeats delightfully in-sync.

Refusing to mangle the airtight space binding them together, they share a drugging kiss as the embers of the rapture burn down on their glistening skin. The reality seems dimensions away—there’s just this moment and this bed, their tangled limbs and racing pulse. No past, no future, just two lovers seeking reunion instead of definitive closure.

Despite the uncomfortable weight of the unspoken issues eating them alive, they bask in the afterglow, allowing their bodies to do all the talking.

Tiffany takes Ethan’s hand in hers, the difference in size curls their mouths into languorous smiles. The bliss quickly fades away when Tiffany’s alert eyes notice a scar stretched on his palm. She trails her finger up and down the long, thin line with genuine concern.

“What happened?”

Ethan gulps at the question. The blurry memory of the night he reached his rock bottom clouds his features. “I, erm, don’t want to spoil the mood.”

“It’s okay.” She whispers as she presses Ethan’s palm to her lips, peppering the damaged skin with a series of lingering kisses. “You can tell me whenever you’re ready.”

Her soft touch and reassuring smile subside the tension in his chest with ease, replacing the grim flashback with the comforting warmth of her presence.

The ever vibrant Boston skyline glimmers in glorious emerald when he stares into Tiffany’s eyes, the evanescent glow making him realize he hasn’t seen the full variety of shades yet. Inevitably, guilt creeps up at him again, prompting to disturb the intimate silence.

“I’m sorry for ruining your marriage.”

Dumbstruck, Tiffany raises her brows and snorts with laughter. “No, you’re not.”

“But I am.” Ethan cups her cheek, emphasizing the magnitude of his statement. “I didn’t mean to disrupt your life. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

“Want to hear the truth?” The query sounds like a threat, but Ethan only nods and Tiffany averts her gaze before proceeding. “I could never move on from you. I tried…God, how much I tried. But I failed every time. I forced myself into believing that one day I’d be able to return the love Brian offered to me.”

Her wickedly bittersweet smile feels like a punch when she looks him in the eye again. “But how could I when my heart was still bleeding for you?”

Overwhelmed by emotion, Ethan closes his eyes, trying to keep his tears at bay. His arms lock Tiffany in a strong embrace as her story continues.

“So I’ve decided to put you in a cage to stop the pain from spreading and, at the same time, prevent you from disappearing completely.” A pensive expression transforms her angelic face, her finger tracing mindlessly along his collarbone during the short pause.

“All my good memories of you, my love, everything I had left of you...You set it all free in LA. I couldn’t delude myself anymore. I couldn’t lead him on with a promise I wouldn’t keep.”

In a surge of sympathy, Ethan twines his hand with Tiffany’s, placing a loving kiss on each of her knuckles.

„Both of you are free now. He must know you didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Tiffany lets out a mirthless laugh, nodding slowly. An everlasting connection between their eyes offers consolation when green meets up with soothing ocean blue.

“Do you think we can move on from the past? From our mistakes?”

“It depends.” Ethan muses, brooding over the words that slip through his mouth next. „Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago.”

“Then we’ll be fine.” His smile holds the vow Tiffany chooses to believe in. “I want to be better. I intend to dedicate every day to proving how much you mean to me, if you’d let me.”

Despite years of repressed feelings and the catastrophic damage to their history, some semblance of a new beginning seems to be within their reach.

“Are you asking me for a second chance?”

“I am. I wasn’t ready then, but I’ve learned my lesson. I am ready now. I want to be with you.”

Even though she doesn’t verbalize her thought, the irresistible beam dancing on her lips conveys the message quite vividly.

She nuzzles Ethan’s neck. “Look at us, talking about our feelings like we’re not fucked in the head.”

For a change, Ethan lets out an unrestrained snort. “We’re a work in progress.”

“Is that what they tell you in rehab?”

“Will you mock me if I confirm?”

“I’ll kiss you first.”

The innocent peck on the lips turns ravenous at a stroke of their tongues, only whetting their appetite anew. Renewed excitement is hindered by a muffled ringtone coming from Ethan’s phone vibrating on the floor.

“That must be Tobias.” He murmurs into Tiffany’s mouth, reluctant to pull apart. “Who else would be calling in the middle of the night?”

Her soft giggle and the dimples it creates only encourage him to stay in her arms. “Let me remind you that you ditched your own party without a proper goodbye. Pick it up.”

Groaning in annoyance, Ethan untangles himself from Tiffany to reach for the jacket carelessly swept under the bed and fishes out the phone. When he answers, he’s immediately greeted by a relieved sigh loud enough for both of them to hear.

“I don’t have to drag you out of some shitty bar, do I?”

“No. I’m, erm…” Ethan’s voice cracks when he looks at Tiffany snuggling up his side with a content smile. “Home and more sober than ever.”

“Thank fuck.” Tobias all but shouts. “Have you found Addams?”

“I have.”

“Is she with you now?��

“Affirmative.”

“She’s a married woman, Ramsey, don’t you have any shame?” The fake reproof in Tobias’ voice is immediately overshadowed by a wolf whistle that makes Tiffany dive under the blanket. “Just kidding, I orchestrated this. Play it safe, buddy.”

Tiffany’s contagious laughter takes over the room the second Ethan finishes the phone call. “Of all people, you’ve chosen this guy to be your friend. Oh, sweet irony.”

„That’s the thing, I haven’t.” Ethan joins in, unsure whether he’s laughing out of sheer joy of being around her and seeing her this relaxed or the fact that his turbulent friendship with Tobias might have just saved his miserable life.

The reality slowly sets back in, gradually silencing the fervent commotion.

„Speaking of…” Ethan clears his throat. “Is your divorce scheduled yet?”

“Yeah, the process starts in two weeks.”

“Would you like to go out with me then?” He asks without hesitation.

Her mouth falls open for a single moment, then a hint of a smirk sprawls across her plushy lips. “Maybe.”

“Have a dinner with me, Tiffany.” Ethan murmurs into her neck, lightly biting at her silky skin.

“Aren’t you greedy?” She chokes off a moan with a chuckle, her fingers rake through Ethan’s hair. “Some time to grieve my marriage would be appropriate.”

“I just made you come twice. We’ve already crossed the line of propriety.” He states, the matter-of-fact tone of his voice melts within seconds when another emotional confession follows. “I don’t want to waste anymore time.”

A thought occurs to Tiffany, inspired by the clearest blue gazing at her fixedly like a beacon of hope.

Maybe moving on is accepting that some things are meant to be broken, and some other are worth fighting for until the very last breath. Maybe it’s learning to differentiate between the two.

After a long pause, a pout twisting into a tentative smile precedes her final answer. “All right. I’ll go on a date with you.”

Her skin is hot and smooth beneath his fingertips as he brushes a damp lock off her forehead, then kisses the spot, his lips trailing a path down to meet hers, both of them failing to hold in a smile.

This is real.

#ethan ramsey #open heart #ethan x mc #guest appearance: tobias carrick #ethan ramsey x mc #angst fest #open heart fanfiction #ethan x tiffany

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donutloverxo · 3 years

Text

Forever

*gif is not mine*

Note - this is for @buckyownsmylife 's 2k celebration and birthday. Congrats and happy birthday! I've never done a breeding kink so it's very new to me but I hope you like it.

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers

Summary - You've been in a secret relationship with Steve for two years. What happens when he tells you he wants to be with you forever?

Warnings - 18+ ONLY PLEASE, smut, breeding kink, sir kink, cum play, anal play, d/s relationship, deepthroating, boss/employee relationship, loosely edited.

Pairing - CEO!Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.6k

You watched him carefully, on the edge of your seat to see how he’d react, although you had a pretty good idea of what he’d say.

“Mm,” Steve made a face, scrunching his nose up, “What is this?”

“Why, it’s pumpkin spiced latte!” you gushed, “Starbucks most popular drink,” trying to hold in a giggle to not give away your little scheme of annoying him.

“I--that’s not my drink, doll,” he frowned.

“Yes! I remember, your drink is iced black coffee, no sugar or cream. I’ve been working for you for two years, sir, it'll be pretty hard to forget.”

“Then why did you get--whatever this is?” he put the cup on his desk, too disgusted to even hold it in his hand.

“I thought you’d like to try something new! Be a bit more adventurous!”

It’ll be pretty hard to get your sir to be anything like that. He has always been so uptight and set in his ways, he had a rigid routine, a clean and proper house which was frankly kinda boring looking which is why you refused to live with him. He had asked you so many times. But you always refused. There’s no way you could live in a house that looked like it was taken out of a magazine catalogue. Where you’d be afraid to even eat anything on or near his expensive and spotless furniture. You’d probably murder him in a month or so.

But maybe he can be more open to other possibilities, he was with you, he should adopt maybe a little bit of your personality as you had done his.

“I’ve got all the adventure right here,” he smiled, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you into him, putting his cheek on the softness of your stomach.

“Hm, your next meetings in thirty minutes,” you hummed as you felt his fingers massage your hips, tempted to run your hands through his golden hair but not wanting to mess it up or make him look sloppy for his important meeting.

“Well, princess, I didn’t have my coffee so now my days off to a bad start. How will I sit through a meeting with Tony Stark? It’s impossible to keep up with that man.

“Um...” you bit your lip, “I didn’t really think of that... maybe I’ll go run and get you a new one right now!”

He chuckled, shaking his head at your naiveté, you were too innocent for you own good, even after being with him and doing the most depraved of things for so long.

He leant back in his chair, spreading his legs, “There is a way you can make it up to me and help me clear my mind.”

You blinked for a moment trying to process his words, “Oh,” you let out when you realised what he meant. “I’m, but...”

“What?”

“My implants expired. I need to get a new one, I’ve got an appoint in two days and I don’t want to take a chance...” you trailed off. There was no way you’d make him come in a condom or anywhere that wasn’t inside you either. So sex was off the table.

“Doll, you need to use that brain of yours sometimes, I know you can, you’re so much more than a pretty face,” he taunted you.

His harsh words really shouldn’t make your panties wet, so much so that you could feel slick running down your thigh but they did.

“You act as if you’ve got just the one hole,” he gave you a faux pout, a hand trailing up your thigh, up your skirt and past your stockings, “I can just use your mouth

....or your ass.”

“What? My ass?” you jumped, wanting to get away from him but he firmly held onto your hip.

You were well aware of his unhealthy obsession with your ass. He had ate it and fingered it, made you wear all sorts and colors of butt plugs so many times, sometimes even in the office. But you absolutely refused to take his dick up your ass.

Nope. Never. Absolutely not. No. Nada.

No matter how many times he’d ask for it, you were not taking his nine inch dick up your poor small ass.

“Relax, doll,” he grinned, “Get to work. I don’t have much time,” he motioned to his bulge.

You simply nodded, quickly scrambling to get on your knees. There were many ways to have sex than the good ol' penis in vagina--even if that was your personal favorite. You could just blow him for the next couple of days and ride his face.

It was honestly ridiculous how you literally couldn’t go just two days without his dick.

You were using your hands to pump his throbbing shaft, giving light kitten licks to his tip to rile him up and to maybe get a taste of your favorite creamy goodies.

“No hands,” he commanded.

And you almost whined. He always does this! Ruins your fun by taking away control from you.

“Not fair!” you mumbled, putting your hands behind your back as he held onto your face to properly use it.

“I decide what’s fair and what’s not, princess,” he stated, pushing your head down on him.

Lifting his hips up, cooing when you choked on him, tears streaming down your face and ruining your sweet makeup.

He tutted, brushing them away with his thumb, “Look at me, doll,” he told you and like the subservient secretary that you were, you immediately looked up. “What the fuck do you spend thousands of dollars on Sephora for if you can’t even get waterproof makeup?”

You frowned in confusion because you didn’t he if he was seriously asking or not. Did he expect you to answer? With your mouth full of dick?”

It wasn’t surprising that he knew what you spent money on, he let you spend as much money as you wanted on anything you liked, but he insisted on having a joint account so you both could be transparent with each other.

He shushed you when you tried to speak--to explain that you’ll try a better mascara next time.

“You look so pretty with your face stuffed,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he emptied his load in your mouth.

You swallowed it all, knowing well and good by now that sir didn’tlike it when you let anything go to waste, “Thank you, sir,” you smiled up at him as you popped his dick out of your mouth. “I’ll go clean up.”

“You go do that. And remember to be at my place at seven sharp for dinner.”

“Yes sir,” you answered as you tried to stand on wobbly legs.

💍💍💍

He looked at the ring in the turquoise blue box, so bright and shiny and beautiful, so much like you. A big diamond with smaller ones on the band. He was sure you’ll love it. With the fortune that he had spent on it--you have to.

He just wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.

Or how he should go about asking you.

He couldn’t do it at a public restaurant. Even after all this time your relationship was still very much a secret. If people found out you’d have to stop being his secretary. And he wasn’t sure he could bear going so many hours everyday without you. YOU were his life now. How did he ever even live without you?

“Guess who,” he smiled when he heard your sweet voice, and felt your soft hands over his eyes, closing the box in his hand on instinct.

“Oh my god!” you squealed, removing your hands and jumping up and down in mirth, “Is that Tiffany’s?! Is it for me!”

All the screeching and the screaming made him flinch, he got up from his chair, turning around to see you, “Who else would it be for, doll?”

You squealed again, clapping your hands, you tried to snatch it away from him but he held it away, making you frown. You whined like a petulant child when he held it above his head, too tall for you to get your hands on.

“Sir!” you stomped your foot.“Please give it to me! What is it?” you jumped, hoping to snatch but with Steve being over a foot taller than you, it proved to be difficult.

“Uh... honey, you’ll have to wait a bit...” he had planned on cooking a five course meal for you and asking over candle lights, but you decided to show up over an hour early.

You stopped your ministrations, your lip wobbling, “Why...”

He sighed, his heart breaking at the mere thought of upsetting you, “You just have to, princess. Do you trust me?”

You nodded without a second thought. You most definitely did.

“Then you’ll just have to wait.”

💍💍💍

“Oo sir...,” you moaned, pushing on his wide shoulders when you felt his tip brushing against your pussy lips, “Not on birth control. Remember? Just... um.. just.”

He released your nipple from his mouth with a loud, obscene pop, his elbows on either side of your face as he looked down at you, “Just what, princess?”

“Just... um... well could you just eat my pussy tonight? I was so good in the morning to you!” And you missed having his talented tongue on you. Even though you were pretty sure he made you pass out by eating you out just two days ago.

“Of course I can, princess, you know I love the way your cunt tastes.”

Your cheeks heated up as he moved you onto your stomach, propping your hops up with a pillow.

Shivers running down your spine as he pressed kisses to it with his soft lips, over your butt before biting it and making you gasp.

“Love how I can pull all those sounds out of you,” Steve mused. There was no way in hell he could ever be with anyone who wasn’t you. He looked up at your empty hands, how he should have out a ring on it ages ago. He can’t let you go.

He wanted to do this forever. To be with you forever. What was he even waiting for?

“I want to give you my name,” he blurted.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, meeting your lust blown dark eyes, “Huh?” you asked, not sure that you heard him right.

“Mrs Rogers. It has a nice ring to it don’t you think?”

“Um, yes, maybe,” you immediately pushed your head into your pillow, too shy to even look at his beautiful face.

You had thought about being Mrs Steve Rogers the moment you met him. You loved the idea of being his wife and bride. You liked practicing your signature with his name, write your name along with his whenever you wanted to doodle or pass time. He had caught you more than once but never mentioned it.

Since he didn’t even want to tell others about your relationship, you doubted he’d want that kind of life long commitment.

Which was okay. For now.

It sucked but you were never going to beg him or even ask him to marry you.

“Are you just teasing me? If so... then that’s very cruel.”

You knew he wouldn’t play with your feelings like that but then why would he bring that up out of nowhere?

“You know I never lie, sweetheart,” he said, spreading your cheeks to reveal your glistening cunt and your small hole to him. “In fact I think I should prove it to you. Pump you full of my come tonight and knock you up.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked back at him, stuttering over your words and gaping at him like a goldfish.

“What? Are you serious?”

“Hopefully I can we can conceive tonight itself.”

“I – uh – I don’t wanna be pregnant on my wedding day, I don’t want anyone thinking that it’s a shotgun wedding or that I’m trapping you,” you stammered.

“Then we can get married in a month, or even a week. I can’t wait anymore. I want a family with you, I want the whole world to know that you’re mine.” What better way to do that then to literally make you round with his child?

Before you he hadn’t really given having kids any thought. But now he knew he wanted to have a little you. He imagined having just one kid with you. He wasn’t too keen on sharing you so maybe one would be more than enough.

But he hadn’t thought about this aspect of it. The trying phase. How he'd get to keep you full of his cum till you got pregnant.

And how much more beautiful you’d look when you were round with his child, carrying his seed.

“Uh, okay,” you whispered you couldn’t really think straight, it was all happening so fast, but there was one thing you knew for sure--this was all that you ever wanted. To be married to the love of your life and to have his kids.

“What? You’ll have to speak up, doll.”

“Yes, sir, I want to have a baby with you. I want us to be married. Please make me yours,” your eyes watery as you bore yourself to him.

He smiled, moving up to press a kiss to your temple, “That’s all I needed to hear,” he promised.

Turning you to your back, “Wanna see your face when I come in your pussy, doll.” He told you.

Your face was heating up, with the way he was looking at you--as if you were the most precious thing he had ever seen, you couldn’t bear to keep facing him but decided to look into his eyes, dig your nails into his biceps as he entered your channel.

“You’re squeezing me so tight, doll, will make me come, ugh,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours once he was completely sheathed in you. He wrapped you up in his strong arms, slowly rocking into you.

“Steve,” you whimpered, “wanna come...”

“I got you, baby,” he hushed you, pecking your lips before being his hand down between your bodies to roll your bud, which had you squeezing him even tighter.

Your entire body quivered as you clenched around his length, gushing all over him. Laying limp in his arms as he started fucking into you.

“You’ll make such an amazing mother... your titts,” he looked down at them, bouncing due to the force of his hips driving into yours. He latched his lips onto a hardened nipple, imagining them fuller and heavier.

“They’ll be even bigger, your hips too...” he whispered against your skin, his nails digging into your skin, sure to leave scars.

“Oh... you’d... you’d...” Make good dad too. He had all the qualities it took to be a good father. And where he lacked you flourished.

You sighed, feeling his warm cum fill you up, he stayed inside you, a leg between and under yours as he laid on his side.

Wiggling his hips to make sure his softening cock was as deep as it could be, so his spend would stay inside you. He collected some that leaked out of your joined sexes with his fingers, bringing it up to your mouth, “Don’t let it go to waste, sweetheart.” As you eagerly sucked his fingers clean.

“Hopefully it takes,” he said, drawing random patterns on your stomach.

“Mhm, guess I can cancel my appointment...” you murmured before drifting off to sleep.

💍💍💍

You yawned widely, sitting up and stretching out all your limbs, aching so painfully since Steve was hell bent on keeping you full of his seed, you could still feel it seeping out of you, he made love to you three more times before he finally let you get some shut eye.

Something sparkly caught your eye, you looked in at your hand and the diamond on it. Smiling in awe at just how lucky you were.

“Wonder if it worked,” you said to yourself, rubbing hand over your tummy.

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#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #chris evans x you #ceo!steve rogers x reader #ceo!steve rogers

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lockefanfic · 3 years

Text

Black Silk

Shin Ryujin hated waiting.

“This is so unprofessional,” she says, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel with hands covered in black leather driving gloves. “You would think considering how desperately they wanted the package that they’d be here on time.”

You grin to yourself. People in your line of work weren’t the most upstanding of folk, and you knew from experience that punctuality was relatively low on the list of virtues held in high regard.

“They’ll be here, Ryujin,” you say, turning to her to offer an appeasing smile. “Be patient. Just make sure you’re ready to move once the deal is done.”

Ryujin lets out a sharp, dismissive huff from her nose.

“I’m always ready,” she states, finally stopping her incessant tapping on the steering wheel to cross her arms in frustration, choosing instead to glare at something through the driver’s side window. You’re happy to let her frustration simmer. Ryujin could be beautiful or sexy or cute or some mixture of all three at her whim - but she was downright adorable when she was frustrated.

You are about to tease her further when three sets of headlights appear at the opposite entrance to the large, abandoned plane hangar you were currently parked in.

Ryujin snaps to attention - suddenly alert, senses primed. When the other vehicles come to a stop inside the hangar, she flashes your car’s high beams three times. The first of the three vehicles opposite you flashes its lights three times in return.

“Here we go,” you say as you swing the passenger seat open and make your way out of the car. Ryujin exits the vehicle as well, although she keeps the driver side door open. She meets you at the trunk, which she pops open with a click on her key fob. Inside is a metallic secure container the size of a large briefcase - and an H&K 416c rifle fitted with a large capacity drum magazine.

You grab the package by its handle. Ryujin grabs the short barrelled rifle, discreetly racking the charging handle to chamber a round before keeping it low and behind her to keep it concealed from view. She takes up position behind the reinforced, bulletproof driver side door with one hand resting casually on the window, the other on the rifle’s pistol grip as it rests near the door's hinge.

“Be careful,” she says.

You turn back to her with a reassuring smile, even though her eyes are locked on the three vehicles. Package swinging casually in one hand, you make your way towards the old office table and chair that stood at the midway point between you and the new arrivals.

The occupants of the vehicles file out, and a quick headcount reveals that there are eight of them, all women. It wasn’t hard to see which one was the leader - her bright red leather jacket and fishnet stockings stood out starkly from the dark, subdued business and formal wear of the rest of her crew.

“Sorry we’re late,” she says nonchalantly with a vaguely Californian twang. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No, not too long,” you answer, as casually as you could manage. You take advantage of the relatively dim lighting inside the hangar to take note of the positions of the other seven members of the crew, running through possible contingency plans in your head. Twenty or so metres behind you, you were sure Ryujin was doing much the same. Even though your brain was running at a million miles a minute, it was important that you at least appear calm and collected.

“You got the goods, I see?” the leader asks with a nod of her head towards the package in your hand.

“Maybe,” you answer, as casually as you are able. “I was told to deliver it to someone codenamed The Queen. Are you her?”

“Maybe. You can call me Tiffany.”

“Nice to meet you, Tiffany. Unfortunately I’d prefer not to give my name - I’m sure you understand. Now we’re all busy people, so how about I give you the package, you pay me my fees, and we each go on our merry little way?”

A sly smile appears on the young woman’s cherry red lips. She regards you for a moment longer before giving Ryujin and your car an appraising glance. With the wave of a hand, she motions one of her minions forward.

“Give him the cash, Yoona.”

A tall, slender woman with beautiful, delicate features steps forward, a metallic briefcase similar in size to yours clasped in one hand. The thick-thock of her high heels sound almost obnoxiously loud in the relative silence of the hangar as she makes her way towards the table.

She places her briefcase onto it with a loud thud, motioning with her head for you to do the same.

There was always a momentary moment of sheer dread when it came to making the exchange. If things were going to go sideways, it would be now. Your fingers squeeze the handle of the package a little tighter. Your heart beats a little quicker. A bead of sweat drips down the side of your head, and you are happy that the dim lighting doesn’t betray your anxiety to your business partners.

Thankfully, the pale, beautiful girl in front of you shows none of the warning signs that you’d seen in other exchanges. There is a no-nonsense resting bitch face on her otherwise pretty features - absentmindedly, you wonder for a moment what she would look like if she smiled.

You place the package onto the table next to the briefcase. She takes it, and sparing not a single moment more, turns and heads back towards her waiting group. Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief as you take the briefcase containing your payment off the table before taking a few steps backward toward Ryujin and your waiting car.

Yoona presents the package to one of the shorter members of her group - a soft, cute woman with a shock of short, bright blonde hair. She has opened a laptop on the hood of one of their vehicles, and after opening the package, she hooks it up to whatever was inside before typing furiously into the keyboard.

Throughout it all, Tiffany’s eyes remain locked on you, a slim smile on her dark red lips, as though there were something about the transaction that amused her.

“You don’t care what was inside?”

“Not even a little bit,” you answer. “There are three-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tiffany interrupts, her eyes rolling back in her head disdainfully, as though she’d heard what you were about to say a million times before. “Never change the deal, no names, and never look in the package. You couriers are all the same.”

“I’m glad we’ve made such a positive impression,” you answer with a hint of sarcasm. You rest a hand as casually as you could on the old swivel chair next to the desk - ready to reach for the pistol Ryujin had duct-taped to its underside should shit hit the fan.

“And you’re not gonna check the briefcase? It could be full of Monopoly money, for all you know.”

“I trust you. And if you screw me over, well, I’ll know where to find you in order to rectify the situation.”

A smirk appears on Tiffany’s lips at your thinly veiled threat, but the sense of amusement on her face doesn’t fade in the slightest.

“You have balls. You and your partner,” she says with a nod behind you, towards Ryujin.

Not wanting to engage any further and prolong the transaction, you settle for giving her a shrug and a smile. For a few long, uncomfortable seconds, the soft typing of the girl at the keyboard is the only sound filling the otherwise quiet hangar.

“Is it legit, Sunny?” Tiffany eventually asks, breaking the uneasy silence.

“It’s legit,” the short girl answers, packing up her laptop and the package. Tiffany gives you one last smirk.

“Alright then,” she begins. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go-”

Tiffany is interrupted when a third member of her crew, a short, slender woman in a black dress, emerges from the rear of their crew to whisper something into her ear. The sarcastic smirk that seemed permanently affixed to Tiffany’s face widens.

“It’s your lucky day, Mr. Courier. It seems our boss has arranged for a bonus for you - a reward for having transported the package to us so safely and… promptly.”

This wasn’t good - anything that changed the terms of the deal was never a good sign, even if it was labelled as a bonus. Your mind runs at a million miles a second. Your hand tightens a little more around the briefcase, while the other one inches slowly towards the hidden pistol under the chair.

“Is that so?” you answer, as casually and nonchalantly as you could manage. You had to stall for time while you came up with a plan to escape whatever it was that was about to sent your way. “I didn’t know someone called The Queen could even have a boss.”

“We all have bosses,” Tiffany replies, with a matter-of-fact sigh. “Anyway, I think you’ll want some privacy while you indulge in this particular... bonus. Perhaps you can ask your driver over there to give you some space.”

She makes a twirling motion in the air with her finger, and the members of her crew all re-enter their vehicles - all except the woman in the black dress. Tiffany is the last to board, turning around to shoot you one last smile.

“Toodles,” she says with a casual wave. “Oh, and do enjoy.”

The three vehicles quickly back up from the hangar, seemingly leaving the girl in the black dress behind. Once you are satisfied that they are a safe distance away, you turn to Ryujin and give her a nod.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks.

You nod to her again, giving her a smile of reassurance that only half-satisfies her. Shooting you an uneasy frown, she gets into your vehicle, closes the door, and after starting the car, backs it up until she leaves via the same entrance you arrived in.

Alone now with the girl in the black dress, you give her an appraising look from head to toe. She was slender, short, the black silk of her dress wrapping tightly around her small frame and showing off the soft curves and slim lines beneath it. Wavy black hair frames a face filled with soft and youthful features, making placing her age a difficult proposition.

“So what’s this bonus your boss has for me?” you ask, as nonchalantly as you could.

A slim smile appears on the girl’s lips. There is a mysteriousness about her, a strangeness that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. She wore it like a dress, as much of her clothing as the black silk draped around her small frame.

“I think you know what it is,” she answers, her first words calm and measured, “...it’s me.”

The girl steps closer to you, and your body tenses at her proximity - although the allure of her deep, dark eyes keeps you from answering the alarm bells ringing in your head. A pale, slender hand reaches out to the briefcase of cash in your hand, her fingers wrapping themselves around its handle before taking it from your grasp and placing it delicately onto the ground. The ease at which she’d divested you of your hard-earned fees surprised and frightened you in equal measure.

Her fingers play with the front flap of your blazer, her long, slim fingers tracing lazy patterns on your chest.

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Miss-”

“Taeyeon,” she answers, firmly and confidently. “Kim Taeyeon.” Names weren’t always freely exchanged in your line of work, and her willingness to divulge hers, even if it was a pseudonym, spoke of her complete confidence. Her finger suddenly ceases playing with your chest to slowly trace a path down towards your waist.

“Taeyeon,” you repeat. “Anyway, as thankful as I am for your boss’s generosity, I…”

Your sentence dies in your mouth as Taeyeon’s finger reaches your waist. Her other hand joins it, quickly undoing your belt, and soon after the button and zipper to your jeans. Her fingers hook into the waistline of your boxers before she gives them a gentle tug, pulling them and your jeans down halfway your thighs - and freeing your quickly hardening cock.

Throughout the entire process of undressing you her eyes have not left yours. There is a playful confidence there. Hers was the look of a woman who knew exactly who she was and what she was doing - while enjoying every second of it. Every alarm and alert in your brain was telling you to stop her from going any further, but there is something in her eyes that keeps you from paying heed to your brain’s warnings.

“Miss Kim, this really isn’t necessary,” you say, although the words lack conviction. “I don’t really want-”

Taeyeon’s slim, pale fingers wrap themselves around your shaft for the first time - and your final words of resistance die in your throat. The sly smile on the girl’s lips widens. Her fingers begin to pump up and down your length softly, every stroke sending sweet little shocks of pleasure up your spine as your cock quickly comes to full stiffness.

“Really?” she asks, with exaggerated incredulousness. “What’s the matter, too much of a gentleman to fuck a girl that’s been bought and paid for?”

“I… I, uh, I don’t usually fuck-”

“...whores?” Taeyeon snaps, although the sly smile on her lips carries no hint of condescension. The word leaves her lips without any sense of hesitation or judgement, as though she were asking you a simple, obvious question.

“I, no, Taeyeon, I meant-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she answers, her eyes temporarily leaving yours to look down on your cock, which she has continued to pump and up down with a closed fist. “I know what I am. And I won’t judge you for not wanting to fuck me… although your friend here begs to differ.”

“My friend has a habit of getting me into trouble,” you answer with a smirk.

“Does it?” she answers, her tone playful. She breaks eye contact with you to glance down at your shaft again, now leaking glistening pre-cum over your head. She licks her lips - and you take it to mean that she liked what she saw.

“Yeah. It always wants to stick around and play when I really should be leaving.”

“Interesting,” Taeyeon answers, fixing her gaze on yours once more. “My mouth does that to me too.”

Eyes not leaving yours, Taeyeon slowly drops to her knees. With one hand on the base of your cock she points it towards her mouth before her small, pink tongue darts out to give it a long, wet lick from base to tip. You shiver with pleasure. Your eyes close involuntarily, and it takes more effort than you cared to admit to force them open once more so you could watch as Taeyeon reaches the tip of your cock, swirling her pink tip around your head, slathering it with saliva and milky pre-cum.

The sly, devilish smile on her lips widens. Those eyes had never left yours, drinking in the pleasure she was conjuring in your body like it was some fine wine to be tasted and savored.

Satisfied that you were bound now to her whim, a slave to her thrall, she takes you into her mouth.

Your attempts to keep your eyes open fail almost immediately, your lids shutting over thankful eyes as those first delicious sparks of pleasure begin to radiate from your shaft, travelling up your spine and into an overwhelmed brain. Your mind had been running a million miles a minute over the past hour or so - and to go so rapidly from being tense and on-edge to an unforeseen but not unwelcome windfall of pleasure was a little more than it could handle.

Nonetheless you do your best to savor it, savor every second as the young woman on her knees in front of you takes your hard, stiff cock in and out of her hot, wet mouth, perfect pink lips closed tightly around its length, lathering it with a slick sheen of her spit and your pre-cum. Your left hand reaches out under its own volition, resting on the side of Taeyeon’s head as it bobs up and down on your shaft, your fingers slowly drifting down to cup her chin.

She looks up at you again - soft, innocent eyes that held a glimmer of something devious in their corners, as though she were only barely repressing something else behind the cloak of confidence she wore around her.

Your hips begin to move in time with Taeyeon’s movements on your cock, shoving your length even deeper and faster into her wanton mouth. The girl welcomes it, encourages it by bracing her hands on the sides of your hips, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling them back towards her.

Your other hand joins your left, cradling the back of her head, taking your liberties with her face as it continues to suck tightly on every inch of your cock with every entrance and exit of it between her tightly pursed lips. Soon she has ceased moving her head, letting you truly fuck her face, thrusting in and out of her wet mouth at your own pace. Her eyes remain locked on yours the whole time, her gaze never wavering, that look of fulfilled lust never diminishing - only strengthening with every thrust you made into her face.

Your eyes close involuntarily once again, a sigh of wordless pleasure leaving your throat as your head tilts back and you take a moment to savor the sensations flowing outward from your crotch. Only a few minutes ago you were so tense, so anxious and fearful about the possibility of a deal gone wrong; and your weary brain had no capacity left to fight the orgasm quickly building in your loins. Your peak nears after only a few minutes - quicker than you would have liked, but you were too lost, too drunk in the tight wetness of the woman’s mouth to give a damn about it.

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” you hiss. Taeyeon’s only response is to slip her hands from your hips to the cheeks of your ass, pulling you against her mouth, strengthening each thrust between her lips, removing any thought of pulling your cock out of her wet cavern. She lets out a wet gurgle that could have been acceptance, or permission - not that it mattered, when her swirling tongue and the tight grip on your butt told you all you needed to know.

It only takes you a few moments more before you let your orgasm overtake you, the stress and anxiety of the past hour or so finding release in thick, white semen that spurts wetly from your tip and into the back of Kim Taeyeon’s needy throat. Her throat works as fast as it can, gulping down and swallowing every rope that fills her small mouth. Her eyes remain locked on yours the whole time, even as they water slightly, even as they flinch with each spurt of semen you leave in her throat.

As your orgasm begins to subside you give her mouth a few more thrusts, grunting with each one, your body possessed of a temporary but undeniable need to watch her choke on your cum. And she does so, a wet cough leaving her mouth as the tip of your shaft hits the back of her mouth and temporarily cuts off her air supply.

You are suddenly ashamed, and afraid that you’d hurt her. But when your spent cock finally slips out of her mouth and she lets out a wet gurgle, allowing a spill of her spit and your cum to drip from the corners of her lips, the lust in the gaze that she fixes upon you is undiminished. In fact, it is only deepened, as though the taste of your cum and the roughness with which you’d given it to her had only heightened her need for more.

She rises from her knees, a slender hand with slender fingers wiping the wetness from her messy chin before bringing the slick mess to her mouth for her wet, semen-glazed tongue to lick off. Eyes never once leaving yours, she takes a few steps backwards towards the waiting office table, her black high heels echoing oddly loudly in the hangar.

The young woman leans her butt on the edge of the table before reaching up with hands and pulling the straps of her black dress down, revealing her small, round breasts and the tight, taut nipples atop each one.

She bends over at the waist to grasp the hem of her knee-length dress, giving you a generous view of her hanging breasts as she does so. Her slim fingers grasp its edge before pulling it up her body, revealing the pale, creamy skin of her thighs and the slick wet lips between them. She only stops when the dress is a mere slash of silk around her waist, more like a fancy belt than a dress.

There is no slow undressing, no teasing, seductive dance. Only a stripping of unnecessary obstacles that stood in the way between her and needs that needed to be satiated.

“Come take what’s yours,” she says, her eyes half-lidded now, every syllable of the words leaving her mouth dripping with desire.

Your body moves of its own volition, driven solely by the need to claim the reward offered to you. When you reach her your lips crash into hers in a frenzied kiss that had little passion but plenty of lust - tongues quickly find and explored mouths, teeth, and lips; hands explore shoulders, breasts, and backs; legs press torsos against torsos, hers wrapping quickly around your waist as you pick her up and deposit her upon the desk.

You tear your lips from hers - which proved more difficult than you cared to admit, the soft sweetness of her lips like a delicious dessert that was almost too decadent to finish. Your mouth moves to her neck, to her soft, round breasts and her tight, stiff nipples, latching onto the small buds with hungry lips before sucking deeply - savoring each inch of her pale, creamy skin, devouring the young woman’s body like a starving man indulging in an unexpected feast.

Taeyeon moans and sighs and gasps with every movement of your mouth and lips, every suck on her tight nipples. Her hand finds its way onto the back of your scalp, pressing you against her needy breasts, pulling you by the hair from one needy mound to the other, ensuring both of her tight, stiff peaks received the attention she needed. After a while she rips your mouth from her saliva-soaked breasts, and with a wicked glint in her eye, she pushes you down between her legs.

You go to your knees willingly, taking only a moment to drink in the sight of Taeyeon’s wet, glistening lips before diving in, indulging and feasting on her wet, slick flesh with the same hunger and need you showed to her breasts. The girl’s gasps turn into heavy moans as your tongue swipes up and down her tender lips, drinking in her taste and her juices like her body was a newly opened fruit, lapping her up, licking every drop, gorging yourself on her sweet, tender flesh.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, just the beginning of a long string of profanity and filth that begins to leave her mouth - not that you could hear most of it, as she quickly closes her warm, flushed thighs around your head, trapping you against her crotch, forcing you to finish a meal you were going to devour anyway.

Her pussy is as delicious a meal as you could have ever wanted, but you want to heighten it for her, ensure that she was being fed as much as you. And so you latch your lips around the tender, taut bud at the top of her opening before devoting tender licks of your needy tongue upon it. As her moans rise in volume and need, your fingers find her slick opening and slip inside it, building to and maintaining a steady rhythm as you thrust them in and out of her folds.

It doesn’t take long for your actions to achieve the desired effect - soon she is a writhing, squirming mess atop the desk, the wordless gasps and occasional hissed profanity muffled by the thighs pressed tightly against your ears as she wraps her legs around your head. Her fingers dig almost painfully into the back of your scalp, pressing your head against her flesh and making it difficult to breathe.

But oxygen was a secondary concern. The wet, slick, hot flesh of the woman beneath your tongue was all that mattered. You slurp up her juices onto a thirsty tongue, savoring her bittersweet taste on your palette, before returning your lips back onto her needy clit and resuming swiping at it with firm, steady strokes.

When she orgasms she fills your mouth with even more of her delicious juices, her slick wetness flowing freely into your mouth and onto your still-thrusting fingers. She makes a mess of your face and hand. You could not have cared less. When you finally release her quivering bud from your lips and even as your fingers slip out of her satiated pussy, you lap up every drop of her juices you could find - your hunger not at all satiated, not at all satisfied.

You return to her feet to find the same look of need on her eyes. She hops up onto the desk and spreads her legs wantonly, welcoming you between them. Your stiff cock rests on a warm thigh, still streaked with her own juices.

“Fuck me now,” she hisses with a tone that was more of an order than a request.

“Tell me you want this,” you reply, the words leaving your tongue before you knew you were speaking them. There was no doubt in your mind that she did - but you wanted to hear her say it, wanted to hear her admit it. “Tell me how you want me to treat you.”

“Treat me like a fucking whore,” she hisses in reply, eyes dark and needy. “Fuck me like a dirty litlte whore that your boss bought you.”

She spreads her legs wider. Your cock quivers with need. You grip it by the base and place it at her entrance, swirling its head around her needy clit. Her glistening lips lather the head with her slick juices. Her eyes drip with lust, mirroring the slickness of her body.

“If you want to be treated like a whore,” you hiss as you fill her tight, hot pussy for the first time, leaving her breathless, “then you’re going to be fucked like one.”

You begin fucking her, pounding her on the creaking, protesting desk. Not giving a damn about a slow building up of speed, not caring about anything other than driving yourself in and out of the young woman’s wet, slick, hot pussy at a fast and frantic pace. For her part Taeyeon seemed to welcome it, even revel in it - any initial pain and discomfort she felt was quickly overwhelmed by the welcome feeling of being filled again and again by your stiff meat.

She lets out sharp gasps with each wet meeting of your bodies, her sweet little mouth frozen in an open “O” as if each thrust of your cock into her needy pussy drove the air from her lungs. Her right hand involuntarily clenches tightly onto your left shoulder, nails digging so painfully into your skin that she might have drawn blood - not that you would have cared or even noticed. Her body tightens around you. Her pussy pulsates. Her eyes remain locked on yours.

The old desk creaks loudly with each thrust into her body as it protests the rough treatment it is being given. For a moment you fear it would give out and break, sending you both crashing to the floor. Not that you would have given a damn. You would’ve fucked the mewling, quivering young woman right on the dirty, cold floor if you needed to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me like that,” Taeyeon hisses, the filthy profanity leaving her mouth at odds with the innocence of her youthful face. “Fuck me! Harder! Fuck me as hard as you want.”

You take her words as a challenge, and to that end you grasp her behind her knees, pulling them from your hips and bending them over her torso until they are hovering just over her shoulders. You fuck her like that for a few minutes, every thrust giving her the full length of your cock from base to tip. You groan at her tightness. She moans at your size.

“Treat me… treat me like the fucking whore I am,” she snaps, the vulgarity of her words momentarily stealing your attention away from the tightness of her body. “Choke me. Slap me. Hurt me!”

You normally weren’t one to indulge in such kinks aside from relatively tame hair pulling or ass slapping, and so her demands for rougher treatment surprise you somewhat. But there was something in Kim Taeyeon that enticed you in a way other women didn’t - perhaps it was her youthful appearance, perhaps it was the fact that she was so confident and demanding about what she wanted. Perhaps it was that she knew who and what she was, and she revelled in it, enjoyed every moment of what she was hired to do.

Your hand moves - again, almost of its own volition - to grasp a bouncing, soft breast, squeezing it none-too-gently, enjoying the feel of her warm flesh in your hand and the stiffness of the nipple poking into your palm. Not breaking contact with her milky skin for a moment, your hand travels up her chest, until it closes tightly around her thin, pale throat.

A wicked smile appears at the corners of her mouth as your fingers close around her windpipe, as though she were happy to see you give in to her desires. You grunt as you pump harder into her body, feeling more and more of your self-control erode with every thrust. Her moans rise in volume until they become shrieks.

And then she slaps you hard on the cheek with an open hand.

“You fuck like a pussy,” she snaps, the words dulled somewhat by the hand clasped around her throat. You stop thrusting into her for a second. Her words sting - your pride hurt as much as the side of your reddened cheek; in your mouth you can taste the coppery twang of blood. Your fingers tighten somewhat around her neck, as though wanting to exact some measure of revenge for the pain she has inflicted.

Never in your life had you hit a woman before. But before you know it your free hand has reached up and slapped Taeyeon across the cheek.

You expect a look of pained shock to appear on her flushed cheeks.

Instead there is only a wicked smile, as though she were proud of having made you do something you never would have done otherwise. Her hand moves to slap you in return, but you catch her by the wrist, and pin her hand down onto the table. With one hand still around her throat and the other holding down her struggling wrist, you resume fucking the helpless young woman atop the desk. You are afraid for a moment that she would slap you with her free hand, but instead it reaches up to your skull, fingers digging deeply into your skin. Soon you feel a warm liquid in your scalp, and you know she has drawn blood from you for the second time.

You are in a frenzy now, your cock slamming in and out of her body with a reckless abandon, using the young woman’s pussy like it were a toy, and object to be used for your pleasure. The pain you have caused each other only heightens each sensation, focuses it and makes it more pure, more intense.

Taeyeon not only allows it but welcomes it, if the look of sheer bliss on her face and the continued tightening and pulsating of her wet, slick tunnel is anything to go by. She squirms and quivers and writhes atop the desk, fingers digging ever deeper into your increasingly painful scalp - but your hands at her throat and wrist keep her pinned down onto it as your cock continues to nail her onto it like some obscene piece of art.

“Fuck!” she moans inbetween wordless gasps of pleasure, “Fuck, yes, own me, use me like this- fuck me like the little whore I am, fuck me like your little whore!”

Satisfied that you’d broken her, you release her throat and wrist - and she lets out a whimper of disappointment as you do so. But the whimper is soon replaced by a wicked sigh as you grasp her by the hips and pull her off the desk, before turning her around and pushing her roughly back onto it with a hand in the middle of her back.

No teasing, no build up or prelude. As soon as you are able you grasp the base of your cock with your right hand, line it up with her dripping opening, and then you are fucking Kim Taeyeon again, this time from behind, with her small, tight little body bent over the creaking desk.

“Oh, fuck!” she gasps, “Fuck, you’re so big like this, fuck, you’re so big you’re stretching me out you’re filling me so much oh fuck, oh fuck oh I’m gonna, I’m close, I’m gonna-”

The string of profanity leaving her mouth is cut short abruptly when your hand grasps the back of her head - and slams it down onto the table.

“Shut up and just take my dick, Taeyeon,” you hiss as you continue to fuck her roughly into the table. “Take it like a good little whore.”

Your words, and your implicit surrender to the darker needs, seem to push her over the edge. Her pussy pulsates and quivers and tightens so much around your cock that it drives you dizzy with pleasure. Her limbs shake so violently with her orgasm that you fear she would have fallen from the table had she not been pinned to it by your hands at her head and shoulder.

Throughout it all you are fucking her into the desk, relishing in the feel of her orgasming pussy wrapped tightly around your cock with each entry and exit. Your hand tightens around her skull, your teeth gritting with effort as the pleasure builds in your loins, making you feel light headed and dizzy.

“Beg for it, Taeyeon,” you spit. Your pace quickens as you reach your peak, hammering hard and fast into her pussy. “Fucking beg for my cum. Beg me to cum in you. Beg for it like a good little slut. Like a good little whore.”

“Cum in me already,” she manages to say, turning her head enough to hiss at you despite your hand still pushing her onto the table. “Fucking cum inside your dirty little whore! Fill my dirty little pussy with cum!”

Just as your words broke her, hers break you - and you bury yourself as deeply as you can inside Kim Taeyeon’s wet, hot body before you finally orgasm. Your cock pulsates as it sends thick, white cum into her pussy, your entire body jerking involuntarily with each spurt. Taeyeon moans deeply with each rope of semen that fills her, her pussy squeezing tightly around your spurting cock, welcoming each and every drop of your seed.

You keep her pressed onto the table throughout the length of your orgasm, your hands at her skull and her shoulder not loosening until your strength finally gives out with the last few ropes of cum that you manage to force from your spent, tired cock. Finally releasing her, you lean over the young woman’s body on the desk, breathing heavily, suddenly exhausted.

After a few more seconds trying to catch your breath, you eventually straighten up, enjoying one last glance at Taeyeon’s body bent over the desk, her round, full ass still pressed against your crotch. Giving her a soft smack on the ass cheek, you grasp her hips as you slowly draw your spent cock out of her body, enjoying the sight of glistening cum that quickly appears from her well-used pussy. It flows wetly down her thighs and onto the floor in thick drops, forming a small puddle between her still shaky legs.

You expect her to say something filthy, something vulgar about the mess you’d made of her body. But to your surprise she says nothing as she bites her lip slightly, shooting you a sensual, wicked smile from over her shoulder.

You begin to tuck yourself back into your pants, and she does the same, adjusting her wrinkled black dress as best she could around her body, it having been twisted around by your frenzied movements.

For a split second, just before she pulls it back down over her hips, you catch a glimpse of a tattoo at the small of her back - one that had been covered by the dress while you were fucking.

It is the outline of a chess piece - a queen.

As if on cue, one of the black vehicles her crew arrived in pulls into the hangar. You are momentarily alarmed, but there is nothing in Taeyeon’s movements that suggests you are in any sort of danger, so you do nothing but watch as it pulls up next to the both of you. Out of the passenger side hops Tiffany, who quickly moves to open the rear door for Taeyeon. There is no trace of the confident, brash persona the Californian had displayed not even an hour ago - she seemed more like an obedient servant now, eager to please her superior.

Taeyeon shoots you a sweet smile, her secret identity having been revealed.

You want to say something, something clever or witty in response to the little charade that you had just walked into and played an unknowing part in.

“I hope I can call on your services again in the near future,” Taeyeon says - in a formal British accent.

Unexpected accent shift aside, her tone was clear and confident, showing no hint of the rough, wanton woman she’d been just a few moments before. There is a grace and elegance around her now - were you to ignore the wrinkled dress and slightly frazzled hair she would not have looked out of place at a fancy cocktail party. With her perfect posture and confident smile, she seemed, suddenly, more like the royalty suggested by her codename.

“I hope you do,” you answer, unable to really come up with anything else to say.

Shooting you one last smile upon soft, perfect lips, Taeyeon steps into the waiting vehicle. Tiffany closes the door behind her and hops back into the passenger seat before it speeds away, leaving you alone and speechless.

---

When you approach Ryujin’s vehicle the driver’s side window is open, a lazy trail of smoke is rising from it.

Inside, the young woman is lazily cradling a cigarette in one hand, taking a long drag from it as you open the door and sit in the passenger seat. From her undone button, lowered zipper of her pants, and her wrinkled shirt it was obvious what she was up to while you were with Taeyeon.

“It wasn’t fair that only you got that bonus,” she says, answering your unspoken question. “Besides, that hangar isn’t exactly soundproof.”

You smile slyly at her as you place the briefcase with your fees into the backseat. “When we get back to the hotel you’ll get your cut of the money.”

“I better be getting more than just money,” she answers as she tosses her cigarette butt out the window and starts up the car. “I’m charging you an additional fee for making me wait.”

“I can’t wait to pay it,” you say with a smile. Ryujin gives you a sly smile of her own before she puts the car into drive and you both screech away from the hangar.

---

Author’s Note: *preps holy water bath to cleanse himself of that filth*

Been wanting to write Taeyeon (and at least mention SNSD) for a long time, and I finally came up with an interesting scenario for it. The driver was initially going to be Seohyun but I couldn’t resist putting Ryujin in it as a cameo (and maybe as a sequel hook for part 2 lol).

Hope you all enjoyed it. Stay cool and stay safe, fellow sickdirtyfreaks!

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader #pov smut #snsd smut #girls generation smut #taeyeon #kim taeyeon #girls generation #snsd

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be-gay-do-heists · 3 years

Text

hello yall :) the holy month of elul started last night, which is typically a time for contemplation, so since it is impossible for me to stop thinking about leverage, i decided to write an essay. hope anyone interested in reading it enjoys, and that it makes at least a little sense!! spoilers for leverage redemption

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Leverage, Judaism, and “Doing the Work”: An Essay for Elul

When it comes to Elul and the approaching High Holidays, Leverage might seem like an odd topic to meditate on.

The TNT crime drama that ran from 2008-2012, and which released a new season this summer following its renewal, centers on a group of found-family thieves who help the victims of corporations and oligarchs (sometimes based on real-world examples), using wacky heists and cons to bring down the rich and powerful. In one episode, the team’s clients want to reclaim their father’s prized Glimt piece that had been stolen in the Shoah and never returned, but aside from this and the throwaway lines and jokes standard for most mainstream television, there’s not a ton textually Jewish about Leverage. However, despite this, I have found that the show has strong resonance among Jewish fans, and lots of potential for analysis along Jewish themes. This tends to focus on one character in particular: the group’s brilliant, pop culture-savvy, and personable hacker, Alec Hardison, played by the phenomenally talented Aldis Hodge.

I can’t remember when or where I first encountered a reading of Hardison as Jewish, but not only is this a somewhat popular interpretation, it doesn’t feel like that much of a leap. In the show itself, Hardison has a couple of the aforementioned throwaway lines that potentially point to him being Jewish, even if they’re only in service of that moment’s grift. It’s hard to point to what exactly makes reading Hardison as Jewish feel so natural. My first guess is the easy way Hardison fits into the traditional paradigms of Jewish masculinity explored by scholars such as Daniel Boyarin (2). Most of the time, the hacker is not portrayed as athletic or physical; he is usually the foil to the team’s more physically-adept characters like fighter Eliot, or thief Parker. Indeed, Hardison’s strength is mental, expressed not only through his computer wizardry but his passions for science, technology, music, popular media, as well as his studious research into whatever scenario the group might come up against. In spite of his self-identification as a “geek,” Hardison is nevertheless confident, emotionally sensitive, and secure in his masculinity. I would argue he is representative of the traditional Jewish masculine ideal, originating in the rabbinic period and solidified in medieval Europe, of the dedicated and thoughtful scholar (3). Another reason for popular readings of Hardison as Jewish may be the desire for more representation of Jews of color. Although mainstream American Jewish institutions are beginning to recognize the incredible diversity of Jews in the United States (4), and popular figures such as Tiffany Haddish are amplifying the experiences of non-white Jews, it is still difficult to find Jews of color represented in popular media. For those eager to see this kind of representation, then, interpreting Hardison, a black man who places himself tangential to Jewishness, in this way is a tempting avenue.

Regardless, all of the above remains fan interpretation, and there was little in the text of the show that seriously tied Judaism into Hardison’s identity. At least, until we got this beautiful speech from Hardison in the very first episode of the renewed show, directed at the character of Harry Wilson, a former corporate lawyer looking to atone for the injustice he was partner to throughout his career:

“In the Jewish faith, repentance, redemption, is a process. You can’t make restitution and then promise to change. You have to change first. Do the work, Harry. Then and only then can you begin to ask for forgiveness. [...] So this… this isn’t the win. It’s the start, Harry.”

I was floored to hear this speech, and thrilled that it explained the reboot’s title, Leverage: Redemption. Although not mentioned by its Hebrew name, teshuvah forms the whole basis for the new season. Teshuvah is the concept of repentance or atonement for the sins one has committed. Stemming from the root shuv/shuva, it carries the literal sense of “return.” In a spiritual context, this usually means a return to G-d, of finding one’s way back to holiness and by extension good favor in the eyes of the Divine. But equally important is restoring one’s relationships with fellow humans by repairing any hurt one has caused over the past year. This is of special significance in the holy month of Elul, leading into Rosh haShanah, the Yamim Noraim, and Yom Kippur, but one can undertake a journey of redemption at any point in time. That teshuvah is a journey is a vital message for Harry to hear; one job, one reparative act isn’t enough to overturn years of being on the wrong side of justice, to his chagrin. As the season progresses, we get to watch his path of teshuvah unfold, with all its frustrations and consequences. Harry grows into his role as a fixer, not only someone who can find jobs and marks for the team, but fixes what he has broken or harmed.

So why was Hardison the one to make this speech?

I do maintain that it does provide a stronger textual basis for reading Hardison as Jewish by implication (though the brief on-screen explanation for why he knows about teshuvah, that his foster-parent Nana raised a multi-faith household, is important in its own merit, and meshes well with his character traits of empathy and understanding for diverse experiences). However, beyond this, Hardison isn’t exactly an archetypical model for teshuvah. In the original series, he was the youngest character of the main ensemble, a hacking prodigy in the start of his adult career, with few mistakes or slights against others under his belt. In one flashback we see that his possibly first crime was stealing from the Bank of Iceland to pay off his Nana’s medical bills, and that his other early hacking exploits were in the service of fulfilling personal desires, with only those who could afford to pay the bill as targets. Indeed, in the middle of his speech, Hardison points to Eliot, the character with the most violent and gritty past who views his work with the Leverage team as atonement, for a prime example of ongoing teshuvah. So while no one is perfect and everyone has a reason for doing teshuvah, this question of why Hardison is the one to give this series-defining speech inspired me to look at his character choices and behavior, and see how they resonate with a different but interrelated Jewish principle, that of tikkun olam.

Tikkun olam is literally translated as “repairing the world,” and can take many different forms, such as protecting the rights of vulnerable people in society, or giving tzedakah (5). In modern times, tikkun olam is often the rallying cry for Jewish social activists, particularly among environmentalists for whom literally restoring the health of the natural world is the key goal. Teshuvah and tikkun olam are intertwined (the former is the latter performed at an interpersonal level) and both hold a sense of fixing or repairing, but tikkun olam really revolves around a person feeling called to address an injustice that they may have not had a personal hand in creating. Hardison’s sense of a universal scale of justice which he has the power to help right on a global level and his newfound drive to do humanitarian work, picked up sometime after the end of the original series, make tikkun olam a central value for his character. This is why we get this nice bit of dialogue from Eliot to Hardison in the second episode of the reboot, when the latter’s outside efforts to organize international aid start distracting him from his work with the team: “Is [humanitarian work] a side gig? In our line of work, you’re one of the best. But in that line of work… you’re the only one, man.” The character who most exemplifies teshuvah reminds Hardison of his amazing ability to effect change for the better on a huge stage, to do some effective tikkun olam. It’s this acknowledgement of where Hardison can do the most good that prompts the character’s absence for the remainder of the episodes released thus far, turning his side gig into his main gig.

With this in mind, it will be interesting to see where Hardison’s arc for this season goes. Separated from the rest of the team, the hacker still has remarkable power to change the world, because it is, after all, the “age of the geek.” However, he is still one person. For all that both teshuvah and tikkun olam are individual responsibilities and require individual decision-making and effort, the latter especially relies on collective work to actually make things happen. Hardison leaving is better than trying to do humanitarian work and Leverage at the same time, but there’s only so long he can be the “only one” in the field before burning out. I’m reminded of one of the most famous (for good reason) maxims in Judaism:

It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to neglect it. (6)

Elul is traditionally a time for introspection and heeding the calls to repentance. After a year where it’s never been easier to feel powerless and drained by everything going on around us, I think it’s worth taking the time to examine what kind of work we are capable of in our own lives. Maybe it’s fixing the very recent and tangible hurts we’ve left behind, like Harry. Maybe it’s the little changes for the better that we make every day, motivated by our sense of responsibility, like Eliot. And maybe it’s the grueling challenge of major social change, like Hardison. And if any of this work gets too much, who can we fall back on for support and healing? Determining what needs repair, working on our own scale and where our efforts are most helpful, and thereby contributing to justice in realistic ways means that we can start the new year fresh, having contemplated in holiday fashion how we can be better agents in the world.

Shana tovah u’metukah and ketivah tovah to all (7), and may the work we do in the coming year be for good!

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(1) Disclaimer: everybody’s fandom experiences are different, and this is just what I’ve picked up on in my short time watching and enjoying this show with others.

(2) See, for example, the introduction and first chapter of Boyarin’s book Unheroic Conduct: The Rise of Heterosexuality and the Invention of the Jewish Man (I especially recommend at least this portion if you are interested in queer theory and Judaic studies). There he explores the development of Jewish masculinity in direct opposition to Christian masculine standards.

(3) I might even go so far as to place Hardison well within the Jewish masculine ideal of Edelkayt, gentle and studious nobility (although I would hesitate to call him timid, another trait associated with Edelkayt). Boyarin explains that this scholarly, non-athletic model of man did not carry negative associations in the historical Jewish mindset, but was rather the height of attractiveness (Boyarin, 2, 51).

(4) Jews of color make up 20% of American Jews, according to statistics from Be’chol Lashon, and this number is projected to increase as American demographics continue to change: https://globaljews.org/about/mission/.

(5) Tzedakah is commonly known as righteous charity. According to traditional authority Maimonides, it should be given anonymously and without embarrassment to the person in need, generous, and designed to help the recipient become self-sufficient.

(6) Rabbi Tarfon, Pirkei Avot, 2:16

(7) “A good and sweet year” and “a good inscription [in the Book of Life]”

#leverage #miko speaks #jewish stuff #jumblr #leverage redemption #spoilers #lr spoilers #leverage redemption spoilers #written for a non leverage audience because i want my rabbi to read it alskdjflaksdjf #elul

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ganymedesclock · 3 years

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These are questions I've had for some while and it's hard to find someone who'll answer with grace. This mostly relates to disabilities (mental or physical) in fiction.

1) What makes a portrayal of a disability that's harming the character in question ableist?

2) Is there a way to write a disabled villain in a way that isn't ableist?

In the circles I've been in, the common conceptions are you can't use a character's disability as a plot point or showcase it being a hindrance in some manner. heaven forbid you make your villain disabled in some capacity, that's a freaking death sentence to a creative's image. I understand historically villains were the only characters given disabilities, but (and this is my personal experience) I've not seen as many disabled villains nowadays, heck, I see more disabled heroes in media nowadays.

Sorry if this comes off as abrasive, I'd really like to be informed for future media consumption and my own creative endeavors.

Okay so the first thing I'm going to say is that while it IS a good idea to talk to disabled people and get their feedback, disabled people are not a monolith and they aren't going to all have the same take on how this goes.

My personal take is biased in favor that I'm a neurodivergent person (ADHD and autism) who has no real experience with physical disabilities, so I won't speak for physically disabled people- heck, I won't even speak for every neurotype. Like I say, people aren't a monolith.

For myself and my own writing of disabled characters, here's a couple of concepts I stick by:

Research is your friend

Think about broad conventions of ableism

Be mindful of cast composition

1. Research is your friend

Yeah this is the thing everybody says, so here's the main bases I try to cover:

What's the story on this character's disability?

Less in terms of 'tragic angst' and more, what kind of condition this is- because a congenital amputee (that is to say, someone who was born without a limb) will have a different relationship to said limb absence than someone who lost their limb years ago to someone who lost their limb yesterday. How did people in their life respond to it, and how did they respond to it? These responses are not "natural" and will not be the same to every person with every worldview. This can also be a great environment to do worldbuilding in! Think about the movie (and the tv series) How To Train Your Dragon. The vikings in that setting don't have access to modern medicine, and they're, well, literally fighting dragons and other vikings. The instance of disability is high, and the medical terminology to talk about said disabilities is fairly lackluster- but in a context where you need every man you possibly can to avoid the winter, the mindset is going to be not necessarily very correct, but egalitarian. You live in a village of twenty people and know a guy who took a nasty blow to the head and hasn't quite been the same ever since? "Traumatic Brain Injury" is probably not going to be on your lips, but you're also probably going to just make whatever peace you need to and figure out how to accommodate Old Byron for his occasional inability to find the right word, stammers and trembles. In this example, there are several relevant pieces of information- what the character's disability is (aphasia), how they got it (brain injury), and the culture and climate around it (every man has to work, and we can't make more men or throw them away very easily, so, how can we make sure this person can work even if we don't know what's wrong with them)

And that dovetails into:

What's the real history, and modern understandings, of this?

This is where "knowing the story" helps a lot. To keep positing our hypothetical viking with a brain injury, I can look into brain injuries, what affects their extent and prognosis, and maybe even beliefs about this from the time period and setting I'm thinking of (because people have had brains, and brain injuries, the entire time!) Sure, if the setting is fantastical, I have wiggle room, but looking at inspirations might give me a guide post.

Having a name for your disorder also lets you look for posts made by specific people who live with the condition talking about their lives. This is super, super important for conditions stereotyped as really scary, like schizophrenia or narcissistic personality disorder. Even if you already know "schizophrenic people are real and normal" it's still a good thing to wake yourself up and connect with others.

2. Think about broad conventions of ableism

It CAN seem very daunting or intimidating to stay ahead of every single possible condition that could affect someone's body and mind and the specific stereotypes to avoid- there's a lot under the vast umbrella of human experience and we're learning more all the time! A good hallmark is, ableism has a few broad tendencies, and when you see those tendencies rear their head, in your own thinking or in accounts you read by others, it's good to put your skeptical glasses on and look closer. Here's a few that I tend to watch out for:

Failing the “heartwarming dog” test

This was a piece of sage wisdom that passed my eyeballs, became accepted as sage wisdom, and my brain magnificently failed to recall where I saw it. Basically, if you could replace your disabled character with a lovable pet who might need a procedure to save them, and it wouldn’t change the plot, that’s something to look into.

Disability activists speak often about infantilization, and this is a big thing of what they mean- a lot of casual ableism considers disabled people as basically belonging to, or being a burden onto, the able-bodied and neurotypical. This doesn’t necessarily even need to have an able neurotypical in the picture- a personal experience I had that was extremely hurtful was at a point in high school, I decided to do some research on autism for a school project. As an autistic teenager looking up resources online, I was very upset to realize that every single resource I accessed at the time presumed it was talking to a neurotypical parent about their helpless autistic child. I was looking for resources to myself, yet made to feel like I was the subject in a conversation.

Likewise, many wheelchair users have relayed the experience of, when they, in their chair, are in an environment accompanied by someone else who isn’t using a chair, strangers would speak to the standing person exclusively, avoiding addressing the chair user.

It’s important to always remind yourself that at no point do disabled people stop being people. Yes, even people who have facial deformities; yes, even people who need help using the bathroom; yes, even people who drool; yes, even people whose conditions impact their ability to communicate, yes, even people with cognitive disabilities. They are people, they deserve dignity, and they are not “a child trapped in a 27-year-old body”- a disabled adult is still an adult. All of the “trying to learn the right rules” in the world won’t save you if you keep an underlying fear of non-normative bodies and minds.

This also has a modest overlap between disability and sexuality in particular. I am an autistic grayromantic ace. Absolutely none of my choices or inclinations about sex are because I’m too naive or innocent or childlike to comprehend the notion- disabled people have as diverse a relationship with sexuality as any other. That underlying fear- as mentioned before- can prevent many people from imagining that, say, a wheelchair user might enjoy sex and have experience with it. Make sure all of your disabled characters have full internal worlds.

Poor sickly little Tiffany and the Red Right Hand

A big part of fictional ableism is that it separates the disabled into two categories. Anybody who’s used TVTropes would recognize the latter term I used here. But to keep it brief:

Poor, sickly little Tiffany is cute. Vulnerable. How her disability affects her life is that it constantly creates a pall of suffering that she lives beneath. After all, having a non-normative mind or body must be an endless cavalcade of suffering and tragedy, right? People who are disabled clearly spend their every waking moment affected by, and upset, that they aren’t normal!

The answer is... No, actually. Cut the sad violin; even people who have chronic pain who are literally experiencing pain a lot more than the rest of us are still fully capable of living complex lives and being happy. If nothing else, it would be literally boring to feel nothing but awful, and people with major depression or other problems still, also, have complicated experiences. And yes, some of it’s not great. You don’t have to present every disability as disingenuously a joy to have. But make a point that they own these things. It is a very different feeling to have a concerned father looking through the window at his angel-faced daughter rocking sadly in her wheelchair while she stares longingly out the window, compared to a character waking up at midnight because they have to go do something and frustratedly hauling their body out of their bed into their chair to get going.

Poor Sickly Little Tiffany (PSLT, if you will) virtually always are young, and they virtually always are bound to the problems listed under ‘failing the heartwarming dog’ test. Yes, disabled kids exist, but the point I’m making here is that in the duality of the most widely accepted disabled characters, PSLT embodies the nadir of the Victim, who is so pure, so saintly, so gracious, that it can only be a cruel quirk of fate that she’s suffering. After all, it’s not as if disabled people have the same dignity that any neurotypical and able-bodied person has, where they can be an asshole and still expect other people to not seriously attack their quality of life- it’s a “service” for the neurotypical and able-bodied to “humor” them.

(this is a bad way to think. Either human lives matter or they don’t. There is no “wretched half-experience” here- if you wouldn’t bodily grab and yank around a person standing on their own feet, you have no business grabbing another person’s wheelchair)

On the opposite end- and relevant to your question- is the Red Right Hand. The Red Right Hand does not have PSLT’s innocence or “purity”- is the opposite extreme. The Red Right Hand is virtually always visually deformed, and framed as threatening for their visual deformity. To pick on a movie I like a fair amount, think about how in Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the title character is described- “Strong. Fast. Had a metal arm.” That’s a subtle example, but, think about how that metal arm is menacing. Sure, it’s a high tech weapon in a superhero genre- but who has the metal arm? The Winter Soldier, who is, while a tormented figure that ultimately becomes more heroic- scary. Aggressive. Out for blood.

The man who walks at midnight with a Red Right Hand is a signal to us that his character is foul because of the twisting of his body. A good person, we are led to believe, would not be so- or a good person would be ashamed of their deformity and work to hide it. The Red Right Hand is not merely “an evil disabled person”- they are a disabled person whose disability is depicted as symptomatic of their evil, twisted nature, and when you pair this trope with PSLT, it sends a message: “stay in your place, disabled people. Be sad, be consumable, and let us push you around and decide what to do with you. If you get uppity, if you have ideas, if you stand up to us, then the thing that made you a helpless little victim will suddenly make you a horrible monster, and justify us handling you with inhumanity.”

As someone who is a BIG fan of eldritch horror and many forms of unsettling “wrongness” it is extremely important to watch out for the Red Right Hand. Be careful how you talk about Villainous Disability- there is no connection between disability and morality. People will be good, bad, or simply just people entirely separate from their status of ability or disability. It’s just as ableist to depict every disabled person as an innocent good soul as it is to exclusively deal in grim and ghastly monsters.

Don’t justify disabilities and don’t destroy them.

Superpowers are cool. Characters can and IMO should have superpowers, as long as you’re writing a genre when they’re there.

BUT.

It’s important to remember that there is no justification for disabilities, because they don’t need one. Disability is simply a feature characters have. You do not need to go “they’re blind, BUT they can see the future”

This is admittedly shaky, and people can argue either way; the Blind Seer is a very pronounced mythological figure and an interesting philosophical point about what truly matters in the world. There’s a reason it exists as a conceit. But if every blind character is blind in a way that completely negates that disability or makes it meaningless- this sucks. People have been blind since the dawn of time. And people will always accommodate their disabilities in different ways. Even if the technology exists to fix some forms of blindness, there are people who will have “fixable” blindness and refuse to treat it. There will be individuals born blind who have no meaningful desire to modify this. And there are some people whose condition will be inoperable even if it “shouldn’t” be.

You don’t need to make your disabled characters excessively cool, or give them a means by which the audience can totally forget they’re disabled. Again, this is a place where strong worldbuilding is your buddy- a handwave of “x technology fixed all disabilities”, in my opinion, will never come off good. If, instead, however, you throw out a careless detail that the cool girl the main character is chatting up in a cyberpunk bar has an obvious spinal modification, and feature other characters with prosthetics and without- I will like your work a lot, actually. Even if you’re handing out a fictional “cure”- show the seams. Make it have drawbacks and pros and cons. A great example of this is in the series Full Metal Alchemist- the main character has two prosthetic limbs, and not only do these limbs come with problems, some mundane (he has phantom limb pains, and has to deal with outgrowing his prostheses or damaging them in combat) some more fantastical (these artificial limbs are connected to his nerves to function fluidly- which means that they get surgically installed with no anesthesia and hurt like fuck plugging in- and they require master engineering to stay in shape). We explicitly see a scene of the experts responsible for said limbs talking to a man who uses an ordinary prosthetic leg, despite the advantages of an automail limb, because these drawbacks are daunting to him and he is happier with a simple prosthetic leg.

Even in mundane accommodations you didn’t make up- no two wheelchair users use their chair the exact same way, and there’s a huge diversity of chairs. Someone might be legally blind but still navigate confidently on their own; they might use a guide dog, or they might use a cane. They might even change their needs from situation to situation!

Disability accommodations are part of life

This ties in heavily to the previous point, but seriously! Don’t just look up one model of cane and superimpose it with no modifications onto your character- think about what their lifestyle is, and what kind of person they are!

Also medication is not the devil. Yes, medical abuse is real and tragic and the medication is not magic fairy dust that solves all problems either. But also, it’s straight ableism to act like anybody needing pills for any reason is a scary edgy plot twist.

(and addiction is a disease. Please be careful, and moreover be compassionate, if you’re writing a character who’s an addict)

3. Be mindful of cast composition

This, to me, is a big tip about disability writing and it’s also super easy to implement!

Just make sure your cast has a lot of meaningful disabled characters in it!

Have you done all the work you can to try and dodge the Red Right Hand but you’re still worried your disabled villain is a bad look? They sure won’t look like a commentary on disability if three other people in the cast are disabled and don’t have the same outlook or role! Worried that you’re PSLT-ing your main character’s disabled child? Maybe the disability is hereditary and they got it from the main character!

The more disabled characters you have, the more it will challenge you to think about what their individual relationship is with the world and the less you’ll rely on hackneyed tropes. At least, ideally.

Ultimately, there’s no perfect silver bullet of diversity writing that will prevent a work from EVER being ableist, but I hope this helped, at least!

#disability #writing ruminations #readmore

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cdstories-uwu · 2 years

Text

Dungeons and drag!

Ever since I was young I had such an affinity for dungeons and dragons. I began playing when I was around 10 and followed it through the years up until 5e.

Naturally the more you play dnd, the more creative you get with your builds. At the beginning of 2020, I would make my first female character to play. I had played in many games when men played as women and vice versa, but I always would shy away at the thought.

Her name was Tiffany, and she was a young human wizard. I made her around my age and made her more on the heavy side. When it came to to play her at the table, I was hesitant and shy, something other people were surprised to see. I found it very hard to role play as a girl as it was something so different to me. Was I supposed to act natural, what really was the difference between a man and a woman?

As I looked online to see if any struggled with the same issue I did, I came upon a message board discussing method acting. Method acting seeks to encourage sincere and expressive performances through identifying with, understanding, and experiencing a character's inner motivation and emotions. I wondered to myself “could sharing the same experiences with Tiffany make me better at role playing her?”

I began to think to myself, “what experiences could I share with her?” Since she was from a fantasy world and could cast magic, it seemed like nothing at first. But then I realized, maybe I could try to look a bit more like her. I decided to let my hair grow out as I continued to play her. It didn’t seem to help that much, so I went on to incorporate more and more of her look into my appearance.

One day in October, I emailed that looking like her more is a good start, but I would have to do more. It was then a wild thought crossed my mind, “what if I dressed like her”

I bought a wizards outfit that was rather gender neutral. It was blue and yellow just like hers, but it needed more to be complete. My mind had a very embarrassing thought as I looked myself in her outfit. What type of underwear does she wear? I had never really thought about it before, but if I wanted to be accurate I would have to right?

I thought about it for a while, not being sure as to what she would wear. I thought maybe I should just go out and look at some and pick whatever feels right?

I went to the mall a couple of towns over. I knew where I’d have to start my search, but was pretty embarrassed. I paced around and in front of the Victoria’s Secret there for a while. Trying to work up the courage to go in.

When I finally did go in, I kept my head down and moved quickly, I was very embarrassed and wanted to be in there as little as possible. I ran up to the drawers and picked out the first yellow pair I could see form the top and went straight to the check out counter.

As I strafed through the store, a woman cut me off and asked if I needed any help, I didn’t really look at her and just “no thanks”. She got my attention again to point out that you save money by buying five pairs, rather than just one. I didn’t want to seem suspicious so I turned around and thanked her. She told me they all had to come from the same counter tho; and she walked me back over.

It was dreadfully embarrassing to walk back, and on top of that, she wouldn’t quit asking questions. Asking if I knew what size she was And what she liked. I just pretend that I had a gf and that she would be the same size as me; but that backfired as the lady told me that the sizes on the top are only mediums and wouldn’t fit.

Now I had to put them back, bend down and dig through a drawer of panties. Of course me being in an embarrassed panic, I was going through the wrong size drawer when the lady stopped me again. She offered to help me pick some out and I panicked and said yes. She grabbed five in different colors, and luckily she grabbed a yellow and blue that would match the outfit. I quickly purchased them and left.

I got home and immediately went to try them on, I figured I’d start with the yellow pair. As I pulled them out of the bag, I was immediately blushing and embarrassed. I hadn’t even noticed, the drawer the lady was pulling them out of was full of panties that had writing in them. The only yellow panties I own have in big bold capital letters on them saying “ PINK GIRLS HAVE MORE FUN”

Plan b, the blue panties were even worse. My face got bright right as I looked at the back of the blue panties “YOUR BOYFRIEND LIKES ME BETTER” I sat there completely embarrassed. I couldn’t wear these even if they fit. They’re just too embarrassing and the other pairs weren’t any better.

I decided that since no one was gonna see it, I could try them on under the outfit anyway. I flipped a coin because I truly couldn’t decide between the yellow and the blue. I decided heads would be yellow and blue would be tails. As I lived my hand to check the coin, I had a bit of a shock. The outcome was heads, so it means I was going to wear the yellow, but as I saw the result I felt disappointed inside. I had a wave of panic rush over me, parented it I didn’t know what it meant. But deep down I knew in the moment and could only admit it later. Something about the blue panties excited me.

I had to be honest with myself and ask the hardest question I’ve ever been asked. Why was I disappointed about the coin flip. Well really the coin had nothing to do with it, why was I disappointed I didn’t get to wear the blue panties. Why did I want to wear them?

It wasn’t about the color, as both matched. It wasn’t about the style as they were both hipster panties. I sat and thought about all of the differences between the two pairs. I had to accept the fact that the only real difference between the two was the writing on the butt.

Now I was in a real state of panic. What did this mean? This wasn’t about dnd anymore, bow I was questioning myself. The yellow panties with “PINK GIRLS HAVE MORE FUN” seemed less fun to me than the blue ones that said “YOUR BOYFRIEND LIKES ME BETTER”

Why did I like the blues one writing more? Was it because it implied I was gay? When I said that to myself, I felt my cock stiffen harder than it ever had before. In a wave of blind hormones I reject the coin toss and put on the blue panties.

As I slid them on my cock throbbed against the fabric making a huge bulge. I turned around in the mirror and read the text in my head, “YOUR BOYFRIEND LIKES ME BETTER”. Almost immediately I stuck my hand in the front of the panties and touched my hard cock. It felt so amazing like it never had before.

What do you think? Should I make a part two? Let me know in the comments!

#gay encouragement #cd #cross dressing #feminization kink #forced sissy #boy to girl

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bisexual-horror-fan · 3 years

Note

Can we get some Tiffany x female reader nsfw please?

Oh FUCK yeah you can Anon! We need more WLW content on this blog for fucking REAL and Tiffany is such a queen. Thank you so much for the opportunity to do this. I had a lotta fun with it! I have been in a soft mood all weekend so here is some softer Tiff smut, because she deserves it, some softness and love and care, so I am here to provide it! Hope everyone enjoys it but esp you Anon! Lots of love and thanks again for the ask, let’s get into it!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.8K. Tiffany Ray Valentine X Fem! Reader. Warnings: Established Relationship. Domesticness. Soft. Fluff. Nipple Play. Praise. Cuddling. Terms Of Endearment. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnlingus. Squirting. Teasing. Cute Shit. Tiff Deserves This.

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Deserved.

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It was a Saturday, had nowhere to be and nothing to do, positively perfect for what you had in mind.

You'd been wanting to do this for a while, she always treated you so well, of course you wanted to do the same for her. You wanted to give her just everything, she deserved it, deserved more than that even, but how do you go about even BEGINNING to give someone more than everything? You weren’t sure but fuck if you weren’t going to try. For as long as she was wanting and willing to have you.

You were on your side, still in bed with her, she was asleep and you were not, had actually woken up before her for once. The urge to linger in bed even longer and just take in the sight of her sleeping so peacefully was so tempting, you thought better of it, you had plans in mind, things to do.

Carefully you slipped from bed, leaving the warm sheets and your sleeping girlfriend behind, you grabbed your silk robe, the one she gifted you that matched hers, sliding it on and trying the belt around your waist. You crept outta the room, closed the door behind you as quietly as you could, soon finding yourself in the kitchen. You didn’t want to wake her, wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed, something she had done for you multiple times.

Bringing in a tray stacked with coffee or tea, toast covered in butter and jam, waffles or pancakes, or just whatever she knew you loved. She was so sweet and prided herself on her cooking ability. You’d sit up in bed all sleepy, telling her she didn’t have to do this but thanked her all the same, and she’d set the tray in your lap, curled up next to you, looking almost ethereal in the early sunlight. She is then pressing the softest kiss to your temple and telling you in that true she didn’t HAVE to but she wanted to because you were hers, she cared for you and loved you.

Hence why you wanted to so desperately return the favor.

You took your time, flitting around the kitchen, cooking and preparing, feeling light as air and humming so sweetly. It all flew by so quick and half an hour later you were sneaking back into the bedroom, tray in your hands.

She was still asleep, perfect, having rolled onto her back, she looked ripped from a painting, blonde hair against her pillow and creamy skin on display, strewn on the soft sheets, looking like an angel. You almost didn’t want to disturb her but the need to touch her was far greater. You come forward, set the tray down on the nightstand and you sat down gingerly, your hand reached out, fingers running through her golden hair, she starts to stir under your touch, she lets out a small hum, her eyes open and the second she sees you she smiles, “Mmm morning sweet thing.”

You smiled softly at that well worn term of endearment she used. Pushing some more of her hair back you returned that greeting, “Mornin’ Tiff.” She rolled over onto her side, arms wrapping around your waist, face nuzzling into your thigh, “Surprised to see you up before me.”

A light laugh from you, hand on her shoulder, “I know, usually I just can’t bring myself to get up when I’m in bed with you. Too comfortable.” She was looking up at you, cheek resting on your leg, “What’s different this morning then? Am I not as comfortable?” She teased.

“No you are as soft as ever darling.” You took this as your que. “But as for what is different-” You turned at the waist and picked up the tray, holding it for her to see, “-this.”

She perked up, untangling from you she sat up and looked at the spread you had made just for her, she cooed out, “Oh honey.”

She leaned over, a kiss to your cheek and she said, “Thank you so much.” Manicured hands picked up the tray and you were excited to watch her dig in, but she did something that surprised you. She set the tray on her nightstand. She turned back to you and her hands cupped your face, thumbs stroking over your cheeks, leaning in and she kissed you.

You would think after being with her for so long, that being kissed by her practically a thousand times would have prepared you, that the emotion it invoked would soften, be less intense, have less of an edge, but you’d be wrong.

It still felt incredible, nearly overwhelming, your hands found her waist and you kissed her back, so sweetly. She deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, she was so soft, so warm and her hands moved, fingers dragged down, raking her nails over your neck, sliding down, she unties your robe, sliding it open.

Her fingers curl in the black silk, pushing your robe off, you shrug out of it, letting it pool around you, she starts to touch you more, fingers over the now exposed skin of your sides. She sucked lightly on your bottom lip, teeth nipping lightly and then you pulled back, “Wa-wait, what about breakfast?”

She let out a soft laugh, starting to push you onto your back, you fell back with a small ‘oof’ it made you both chuckle and she spread your legs, her hands under your knees, taking your legs and putting them over her hips. She was beginning to lean over you, smirking down at you, “I wanna eat something else first.” She was so close, she kissed your neck and it made you tense slightly, “You don’t mind, do you?”

You shake your head, as if you would ever oppose what she was suggesting. If you ever did, someone should take you out back and shoot you because clearly you had gone insane.

“Good.” She couldn’t hide the smile in her tone, she kisses and bit the side of your throat, it made your hips stir and she ground onto you slowly, made you breath out, “God-T, fuck that’s-”

She hummed, “That’s?” You bit your bottom lip, a nod as she ground again, “-that’s good.”

You moaned and she had to agree. This was good, it always was but it wasn’t good enough, it wasn’t right, you wanted to be pleasing her. This morning was about her but this was good, soft and slow, lazy morning sex, lavishing attention over one and other.

You chose to just start touching her back, your hands smoothing over her, slowly stripping her out of the little she wore to bed. She did the same to you, both totally stripped bare, wandering hands and mouths, fingers working on overheated flesh, you rubbing her clit as your mouth captured one of her nipples, sucking as you circled that very sensitive part of her, had her tensing, moaning, her own pace below your waist faltering. Teeth scraped lightly over her and sucked deeply, tongue rolling over her nipple, your other hand teasing her opposite one between two of your fingers.

She was moaning your name, you loved to hear that, wanted to hear it over and over, it made something pull inside your chest, filled some part of you that you had no idea was empty until her. You rolled her so she was on her back instead, a kiss between her breasts, her eyes dropping to you, watching as you moved, dragging your lips downwards, lower and lower still, kisses and licks over her skin, soon resting between her now spread legs, tongue tongue dragged over her core and it made her arch up into you. “Fuck baby, yes-”

More.

You needed so much more. Needed to feed yourself on her, you licked again and again, hands cradled her hips and you ate her out so slowly. Looking up at her, watching her squirm and writhe from the minstriations of your mouth, taking in how she gasped when you sucked and breathed your name when your tongue delved between those delicious lips. As it dragged on, two fingers inside of her, curling as you lapped at her clit, your other hand on her hip, she couldn’t stop, chanting your name, you could feel her tightening, getting closer, you were desperate for her to cum. “Do-don’t stop-”

As if you would ever.

Lips closed around her and sucked, fingers pressed just right inside and her fingers in your hair tugged, arching up closer, rocking into your mouth and she came with a breathless moan of your name. You reveled in the feeling of her clit pulsating against your tongue, the gush of her that spilled forth, you moaned against her cunt, the way her walls clenched your fingers made you clench around nothing, you didn’t stop, dragging out every bit of sensation that you could from her peak. When she tugged on your hair again, “Mmm that’s good hun.”

You slowed to a stop and pulled up, your mouth covered in her mess, you brought your hand up and sucked on your fingers, cleaning them off while you stared up at her, she tasted incredible. You pulled your hand away and swallowed her back, she smirked down at you, breathing was evening out and she said, “What a way to start the day, huh?”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, still smelt like her, hopefully it would for hours, “Mmm.” She started to reach out, obviously wanting to return the favor as soon as possible and your hands covered hers, pushing them away gently, “Breakfast first. I want you to enjoy it before it gets cold.”

She rolled her eyes but allowed it. “Alright, alright-”

So you sat up in bed with her, tray over your lap, feeding her the eggs and toast and fresh fruit that you made just for her. She complimented you and kissed you again, the taste of honey and peaches on her lips from the yogurt, praised you for everything, how skillful you were with your hands, how wonderfully you treated her, just for you being you.

She finally drank from the mug you had brought and she let out a pleasured moan, “When did you learn how to make this?” You smiled and gave a small shrug, “What? Your favorite lavender tea latte? Oh it’s not a big deal.”

Liar. You had spent too many afternoons when she was out of the house trying to get it just right but she didn’t need to know that. No, all she needed to know was one simple thing. You kissed her cheek and told her just that very thing, even though she already knew it you said, “I love you.”

She set the mug down and one of her arms was placed over your shoulder, leaning her head against yours, “Love you too sweet thing.”

#BHF asks #BHF writing #Tiffany X Reader #I had so much fun with this #Made it VERY soft #Love how this turned out #Oh to get to treat Tiffany like this #A Dream

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badgirlcovenrep · 3 years

Text

The Goddess' Blessing (of a daughter)

Chapter Two

Here it is... hope you enjoy

After Tiffany is in warm pajamas and her hair is nicely brushed, they head to the living room to meet Edwin, who is sat at the couch watching some kind of civilian sport that features a stick. Scylla never took interest in televised sports - that was not really part of witch culture - but she thinks it's sweet, how enralled he is when they come out. She remembers Raelle telling her once that she used to watch games with her dad.

Scylla can almost see her sitting there beside him, in her civilian clothes, snacking on nachos and discussing what was happening on screen. It made her heart tug painfully. Once again she considered if coming here was a good idea at all. Seemed like everywhere she looked, she could just see Raelle, and even if she'd seen the other girl just a day before, here, inside her childhood home, it did nothing to how much Scylla missed her - and how she wished Raelle could be here, with them. Warm and peaceful and free.

"Hey, dinner's still in the oven." Edwin informs, once he sees the pair of witches have joined him, but still, he rises from the couch and crosses the living room towards the kitchen "I got some boxes of Rae's toys when she was a kid down from the attic earlier, and I thought you'd like to take a look, Tiffany."

The small witch was still unsure about her new surroundings, and Scylla gently directs her to join the man in the kitchen, where he had settled two sizeable cardboard boxes over the tiled floor, filled to the brim with random toys that went from surprisingly well kept barbie dolls to matchbox hotwheels and loose pieces of lego.

"Wow, Mr. Collar, you didn't have to." Scylla assures, as Tiffany puts her doubts aside for a minute to peek curiously into the box.

"Of course I did, it's not like these were going to use all the way up in the attic."

"Well, you're very kind. What do we say, Tiffany?" Scylla coaxes the younger girl, as she's started sorting curiously through the barbies. The necro is happy to see she seemed to be feeling safer.

"Thank you, Mr. Collar." Tiffany smiles up at him.

"You, little one, can call me Edwin if you like, and same goes for you, Scylla." He declares, and Scylla can't help the affection that settles inside her chest.

Jonas was right. She really *was* going soft. But the witch is not so sure she minds it that much anymore.

"Alright... Edwin." She nods.

"Good." The man smiles, leaning down to take the box Tiffany hadn't yet looked through, "let's take these to the living room so you can play near the fireplace. It's getting cold."

****

Edwin sits back down on the couch a while later, and Scylla helps Tiffany sort through Raelle's surprisingly big collection of beanie babies. The young witch is fascinated with them, and she's lining them up in a circle with plastic cuttlery for each, getting them ready for a tea party as Scylla watches sleepily from the couch, when suddenly the phone rings.

Edwin gets up to answer. They can hear from the living room when he picks up, but aside from that, the conversation is nothing but muffled sounds. Scylla could listen in if she wanted, farspeech is not that hard, and she can surely manage to hone in on a conversation that is happening just at the end of the hall.

But Edwin is kind to them, and she's trying to be a better person, even if she can't push away the curiosity - the thought - that maybe it's Raelle. And how much she wishes to hear her voice.

She knows it isn't right though, so Scylla decides not to peek. They deserve their privacy- not without some internal protesting, she turns her attention back to where Tiffany still played with her new (to her) toys.

"Oh, no! You spilled your tea, mister giraffe!" She exclaims, knocking the yellow giraffe plushie against it's pink teacup until it topples over the carpet, "I can't give you more tea right now, sir, the other babies haven't gotten any, you'll have to sit down and wait. Yes, I'll make you more tea in just a minute." Tiffany grabs the equally pink teapot and turns to the stuffed hippopotamus, tskng annoyedly with a roll of her eyes "some clients are so impatient, mrs. hippo."

Scylla smiles fondly, settling down into the soft cushions of the couch and resigning herself to watching the game absentmindedly. Just then, Edwin peeks his head from the hallway.

"It's Raelle." He says, and Scylla's heart jumps at hearing her name, "she wants to talk to you."

The necro would've been embarrassed at how fast she gets up, but her mind is one tracked at this point, and she can barely hold herself back from running down the hall to where the phone sat by the back door.

Edwin had settled it speaker up on top of the phone box as to not hang up, and when Scylla finally comes face to face with the device, she can't help but stop - just for a minute - in hesitation. What they had lived a year ago was so fiery and fast paced. Scylla felt as if it enveloped her whole before she could even see the surface. Like canon-balling into the deep ocean when you can't swim.

Now, whatever they had- it felt tentative and unsure. Like walking across tight rope blind-folded. It was new, and she didn't deal very well with change.

Even then, as the witch picked up the phone with a shaking hand and settled it into her ear, beside her shaking nerves - it became quite obvious to her. Anyway Raelle wanted to be in her life, Scylla would never be able to deny it.

"Hey." She says, finally, and from the other side, a soft sigh comes.

"Hi." Raelle sounds tired, and Scylla wants to ask why, but the fixer continues before she has the chance, "I'm glad you both made it safe. Dad seems excited that you're there."

"Yeah. Your dad's been very nice." Scylla chuckles, resting the palm of her hand against the wall to suppress the heady, dizzying feeling in her lungs. Like she's just now taken a breath for the first time since hearing her voice in the clearing.

"He even brought down some toys from the attic. I hope you don't mind" The necro chooses to say, looking for anything that could distract her from the feeling and help keep herself upright "you didn't tell me you had like, a hundred beanie babies."

"Oh, Goddess." Raelle moans in mock embarrassment, but Scylla can hear the smile in her voice, and she can't help but smile too, "I- hm- I forgot they were in there. I asked him to bring them down for her once you guys got there."

"They're cute." Scylla replies simply, "Tiffany loves them. Thank you."

"Well- she can have them. They don't really have use in the attic." Raelle says, and they stop for a second of amused silence before the blonde speaks again, "what's her favorite?"

"I don't know. Honestly all I know is that the giraffe is a really bad customer." Scylla replies, chuckling lightly at the previous interaction she'd watched.

"Oh, yeah, he has always been an asshole." Raelle laughs, and Scylla joins her, for a second they sit there in little fits of giggles. It's refreshing and so very light. The necro thinks maybe she shouldn't have been worried after all.

Whatever they had before, it was absolutely incredible - it took Scylla's breath away to even think about it - but this? This was all of that wrapped in warm, soft silk. This was different, and honest, and it filled her with butterflies that threatened to flutter out of her throat with each tug along the rope that tied them together so very tight. She wished, more than anything, that Raelle was there, in the dark hallway of her childhood home with her.

"Thank you." Scylla hears herself say before she can truly think about it, as she leans down to rest her forehead lightly against the cold wall to settle her aching heart, "for believing me. For helping me."

Raelle clears her throat on the other line and sighs before she speaks again. For a second Scylla thinks she might have burst the glass bubble that extended around them, but then-

"I never got the chance with my mom but I- I get to have that with you. I guess I can't help but want to try." Raelle decides. She sounds so soft, Scylla's heart strings tug once again, and she's left at a loss for words. Somewhere in the kitchen, the oven timer rings, but Scylla is barely aware of it.

"I guess I also did save your life. Twice now." She speaks out, after a few minutes of silence. On the other line, Raelle chuckles, and Scylla can't help the pride that settles over her for having caused that.

"Yeah. Guess you did."

"Scylla! Dinner!" Tiffany calls out from the kitchen, and it startles Scylla a little out of the stupor that settled over her body as he lifts her head towards the rest of the house.

"I should let you guys eat." Raelle decides, sighing as if she doesn't want to hang up just as much as Scylla hoped they could be physically together. For a second, she lets herself believe that to be the case.

" I- thank you, for calling."

"Yeah... thank you for- hm- being there when I did."

Scylla's heart tugs against her ribcage once again, and she can hear Raelle's soft breathing on the other side. The witch feels as if she could stay there all night, given the opportunity, but Tiffany is annoying Edwin with a thousand questions about the game he'd been watching (she finally finds out it's hockey) and Scylla figures she should go save their host from being questioned to death. Besides, she is quite hungry.

"Good night, Raelle." She says, finally. "Try to sleep, okay? You sound like you could pass out any moment."

"I will." The fixer assures, simply "G'night, Scyl."

****

The next morning, Edwin very graciously lends her his truck and offers to watch Tiffany while she goes to meet with the Dodgers. He doesn't ask many questions, but Scylla still offers quite a bit of information. She understands how frustrating it must be to be left in the dark, and for once she doesn't feel the need to be as secretive as she'd been before.

The place they send her to is out of the city, away from the bright lights and military patrols. She takes back roads that almost seem to lead to nowhere a couple of times, before they cut into the horizon to reveal more sprawling landscape. Protective magic, she realizes, and the only real reason she hadn't been led away by confusion was probably because she was expected.

Scylla remembers staying at the farms before, when she was very young.

It'd be a good place to grow up, she thinks. A place where Tiffany could be away from all those things that so very desperately wanted to trap her for her voice.

She remembers harvesting berries when she lived here, squeezing them into her mother's basket as she smiled fondly back. It was a good memory. All the ones here were.

Before her, the fields come into view, a variety of different fruits and vegetables, tended by people of all ages, in simple but well kept clothes. Beyond them, the pastures, where fat brown cows chewed lazily at the grass, and even beyond that an orchid of fragrant trees that Scylla knew bore a multitude of fruits, all spring and summer, from juicy plums to red, big apples.

She passes it all to reach the gates, wooden and simple, but still flanked by two imposing towers from where respective guards peered down, one on each tower.

"State your business." The one on the right demands, once Scylla has rolled down her windows to the frigid winter air outside.

"I'm here to see Velma." She says, pulling down her sunglasses.

They give her only a nod in response, and the gates open so that Scylla can drive down the winding road up to the main house. It's an old, opulent mansion, built somewhere along the Victorian era. Over the years, the community had surrounded it by other buildings and houses alike, some looking newer and others, older and dustier, but all sturdy and charming, with flower boxes and wood panelling over the windows.

People and children walk to and from them, carrying various objects and chatting along their companions calmly. It feels peaceful here, and Scylla can't help but observe their languid movement as she parks the truck by some other trailers. It's definitely different from what she remembers, bigger and yet eerily emptier.

Scylla shakes her head to clear away the thoughts, sure there are a million explanations as to why there wouldn't be many people out here when it's still 7A.M. and so cold her fingertips threaten to freeze under her gloves. She gets out of the car, adjusting her coat and nodding slightly to a pair of older witches walking by before starting her way up the familiar path to the main house.

Velma Bjelke had come from Sweden along with her parents years before she was born. They had fled the great European witch war in the late 80's. All three had never been in favor of conscription, but given the way things were going in the old continent, Scylla guessed it was worth the shot to move all the way here. She wonders if they ever regretted it. But it was never something she thought to ask before they died.

When she was younger, Velma used to be around all the time. She was her mom's best friend, with whom she shared the knack for necromancy. Velma taught Scylla her very first seeds, and she acted like a second mom to her throughout the years they were together.

Eventually Velma had settled herself at the farms, where they all lived for a few years, and when Scylla left along with her parents, Velma chose to stay behind. She never quite knew why they left, and it was another thing she'd probably never get the chance to ask.

It should be around ten years since they last saw each other, and Scylla couldn't say she didn't feel apprehensive as she went up the stairs. But as soon as her feet were planted on the porch, the big oak doors swung open and there stood Velma, looking older than Scylla remembered her but still just as recognizable as she'd always been with her curly red hair, big glasses and flowy dress.

"Sweet girl." She sighed out, "I have missed you so much"

"Hi, aunt Velma." Scylla smiles, just as the older witch takes a step forward and pulls the youngest witch into a long, tight hug, "I missed you too."

I gave Scylla another mother figure and this one ain't dying

This fic is mostly gonna be fluff but it's also gonna have some plot around the Camarilla and the Dodgers that's gonna be put in C3, which is coming tomorrow or the day after

Hope you enjoyed, and feedback is always appreciated 🥰

#motherland fort salem #scylla ramshorn #raelle collar #raelle x scylla #motherland: fort salem #raylla #taylor hickson

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mummybear · 3 years

Text

Borrowed Time - Chapter One - The New Guy

Words: 3173

Warnings: Swearing... think that’s it for this chapter :)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Mark (OC), Tiffany (OC), Mentions of Sam Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: So this is the first series I’ve written in a while or at least the first one I’ve posted! So I hope you guys like it! The next chapters will be out every Friday, until it’s finished :) The series will probably only be around 6 chapters long, but I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know If you want to be tagged in this series or in any of my other taglists :D

Beta: @negans-lucille-tblr Thanks babe ❤😘

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/mummybear

Series Masterlist

You let out a shaky breath as you take your seat at the back of the class, hoping that he will just leave you alone today. One of the new guys at school had developed a thing for you, ever since you’d ignored him on his first day, it was like he was determined to get you to talk to him. Lately though he’s been getting under your skin, and you’re so close to giving in. Sure the guy was hot, in fact, he may have been the hottest guy you’d ever seen, but he was also one of the biggest players in the school. The exception being in the last two weeks, where he had barely spoken to another girl who wasn’t you. Safe to say that had started the rumour mill. Then you hear the murmuring starting in the room, and that unmistakable feeling prickles across your skin.

You fight the urge to look up, but it’s like your eyes are drawn to him, like some kind of magnet is connecting the two of you. You finally give in and look up to find him already watching you, gorgeous green eyes locked on yours. Trying to look away is pointless, you know that by now. You do you best to calm your nerves enough so that you’re finally able to drop your eyes to your desk, and start pulling out the things you need for the upcoming lesson.

That doesn’t stop your entire body tensing when the chair beside you scrapes along the floor loudly as it’s pulled out. It’s almost like you can feel the eyes of everyone in the hall turn on you. You can’t control the way that your body responds to the sound of his deep voice.

“Mind if I sit here, Y/N?” he asks quietly. You try and ignore the gasps that practically echo around the large room, as you force yourself to look up at him again.

Swallowing around the lump in your throat you nod.

“Um, yeah, sure. If you want to,” you answer shakily. You hate how your voice sounds, but if he’s noticed then he doesn’t let on. He gives you one of those panty dropping smiles as he takes the seat next to you, and you could swear your entire face flames bright red.

You inwardly roll your eyes when you see Tiffany Chase heading over to your table. You never understood how she had come to be the most popular girl on the campus, but clearly dating every guy in existence was a good trait to have these days. That was yet another reason you were glad about not being “popular”, whatever the hell that even meant.

She leans on your desk, until her tits are practically in Dean’s face, but to his credit, and your surprise he doesn’t look. Instead he sits back in his chair, eyes immediately fixed on hers, not wandering her body, or the cleavage she's so blatantly offering him. She makes a point not to even spare you a glance, which is completely fine since you have no interest in what she’s giving away.

“I thought you were gonna show me your car, baby? Why don’t you ditch the charity case and come and have some fun with a real woman?” she purrs seductively, curling her fingers around Dean’s loose tie.

You wish you were anywhere but here, but you know there’s no other seats in class now, so your only other option is to pray for the ground to swallow you whole. You’re a little taken aback though when Dean’s large hand wraps around her tiny wrist and pulls her hand away, still remaining surprisingly gentle, especially with the look of thunder that’s overtaken his features.

“Sorry, Tilly. Change of plans, I told you last week, and a few times this week… if memory serves. Besides, there’s only room for one woman in my life.” As he says this you feel his hand resting on your knee, and you turn to look at him to tell him to move. But you stop yourself when you see the pleading look on his face.

Tiffany scoffs in disbelief, and has a look on her face like he just slapped her.

“It’s Tiffany,” she corrects him sharply, before she turns her gaze on you. And you have to fight every instinct not to push your body back into your chair, instead you sit straighter, trying to keep your face neutral.

“Can you like… move or something. Dean and I really need to talk, I think you’re making him uncomfortable,” she huffs, as if your mere presence disgusts her.

“Sorry, Tiff. I think you're the one who’s making my boyfriend uncomfortable, actually. He’s just being too polite, could you please just leave us alone now? I believe he’s asked you enough.”

It takes everything you have not to throw up the contents of your stomach, where the fuck did that come from?! You inwardly scold yourself, trying to hold your nerve. But to your surprise, Dean takes your hand and gives it a squeeze, and throws his other arm over your shoulder.

His lips press to your ear, and you can’t hold back the shiver.

“Thank you, I owe you,” he whispers, and you can already feel the blush creeping up your neck, the entire class is staring at the three of you like you’re aliens. But Dean’s currently more than enough of a distraction.

Her shrill laugh echoes around the room, followed by most of her bitch club behind her.

“Oh sweetie, no. Don’t be silly now. There is no way on this planet that you could be his girlfriend, you’d be extremely lucky to get a pity fuck with a normal guy, but Dean? No way. Now move, before I move you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you refuse to look away from her. However, before you can even utter a word, Dean’s voice drops to a low growl.

“I don’t give a shit about your name, or you. You don’t get to talk to her like that, and you lay a finger on her, I promise you’ll regret it. So, whatever your name is, unless you want me to tell Mark that you’re trying to fuck me... and just about every other guy you set your eyes on, I suggest you go back to your own seat. But first, I think you owe my girlfriend a fucking apology.” You watch the colour all but drain from her face.

You lick your lips nervously as you turn to look at him, seeing the fire burning in his eyes, but his eyes don’t move from Tiffany’s face.

“Dean, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” you whisper sounding a little desperate even to your own ears. You rest your hand on his tensed bicep, trying to ignore the way you're clamping your thighs together, because this might just be the sexiest thing you’ve ever been a part of. Even if you had only started this ruse to get him out of an awkward situation. Nobody had ever defended you like this before, especially not this publicly.

“Oh, it does matter, baby girl. Isn’t that right?” Dean asks, mock sweetness in his voice and his arm tightens around your shoulders.

“F-Fine. I’m sorry, Y/N,” she responds the best she can with the amount her voice is shaking, before hurrying back to her friends.

The teacher walks in the classroom, forcing everyone's attention to the front, and you try to ignore the sense of loss you feel when his arm leaves your shoulders. But that feeling is quickly replaced when he takes your hand and links your fingers with his, and rests them on the table top between you.

“Dean, we should talk,” you whisper, when the teacher turns back to the board.

“Later, sweetheart, wouldn’t want you getting in trouble,” he smirks, pressing a lingering kiss to your already flaming red cheek.

Unfortunately, you don’t get time to talk to Dean, and you don’t see him after your last lesson either. You try to ignore the snickering and staring as you start to walk through the parking lot to make your way home, though it affects you more than you’d care to admit. When you don’t see any sign of him, you continue to walk lost in thought, knowing that it will take you at least half an hour but it’s worth it, because you can’t stay here.

You’ve been walking for about ten minutes when you hear a car roll to a stop behind you, the soft purr of the engine calming slightly as the window is wound down. You can’t help but smile as you turn around, and sure enough, there he is. Sitting in the driver's seat with a cocky smirk on his face. He leans over to the passenger side and pushes the door open, “you gonna get in, sweetheart? We can talk while I drive you home.”

You walk closer and fold your arms over your chest, raising your eyebrows at him through the now open car door.

“And what makes you so sure I wanna get in your car?” you ask through your own smirk.

“Come on now, is that any way to speak to your boyfriend? Just get that sexy ass in the car so that we can talk.” There’s a teasing note to his voice, and your smile widens despite yourself.

“Fine. I’ll get in… but only because we do need to talk,” you tell him, trying not to laugh as you climb in the front seat and close the door behind you.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess,” he laughs, tossing his sunglasses in the backseat. You give him your address, and he quickly works out the new route, before starting to drive again. He clears his throat and shifts awkwardly where he sits, before glancing between you and the road.

“I owe you, for what you did today in class. You didn’t need to save my ass, but you did it anyway. I really appreciate that.”

You blush shyly as you look at him, “I was going to apologise honestly. I don’t know what came over me, I guess I just wanted to help out… somehow, I know people can be a lot for anyone, no matter who you are,” you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your clammy hands over your skirt.

Dean shakes his head, and a smile crosses his plump lips.

“Sweetheart, don’t apologise, you did me a massive favour and I really can’t thank you enough,” he sighs regretfully, as he pulls into your driveway.

You thank him for the ride, but before you move to climb out of the car he grabs hold of your wrist gently, and you turn back to him questioningly.

“Is everything okay, Dean?” you ask nervously, wondering what he might say. You’re not sure whether to lean in or turn away when he turns in his seat to face you.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you with a smile, “can I have your number?” You’re a little surprised at how shy he sounds, but you smile as you take his phone.

“I just think it might be a little odd trying to play along with this, especially if we can’t even get ahold of each other.”

“You make a good point there, Winchester. But for the record, I would’ve given it to you anyway,” you smile fondly, phoning yourself from his phone, so that you have each other’s numbers, before handing it back.

“So… How long do you wanna play boyfriend and girlfriend?” you wonder aloud, noticing the way that he blushes and scratches at the back of his neck, before focusing back on you again.

Dean clears his throat and shifts closer to you.

“About that…” he trails off, and you feel a blanket of nervous confusion settle between the two of you.

“What about it?” you question nervously.

“Would you be okay if we stayed together, at least until I have to leave town, I know it’s a lot to ask, but…” before he can continue you cut him off, resting a hand on his thigh.

His eyes snap to yours, and you quickly pull your hand away and clear your throat.

“You don’t need to explain, Dean. Besides, it was my dumb ass that got us into this mess. It’s really the least I can do,” you smile genuinely, and an obvious moment passes between the two of you, a moment which is completely unexplainable. But there’s a knock on the window closest to you that pulls the two of you out of it.

You jump back harshly, your back practically slamming into Dean’s shoulder when someone leans against his car, and his head is already half way through the window.

“Damn, I almost didn’t believe it when Tiff told me you were seein’ some frigid bitch, Dean. You hit that yet?”

Dean growls, and you can feel him stiffen beside you as he wraps a protective arm around your waist, like he can shield you from Mark’s words. It’s actually really sweet of him.

“Maybe you should tell your girlfriend to mind her own fucking business, and you should do the same, Mark. Before I put you on your skinny little ass.”

Mark lets out a deep boom of a laugh, and leans further into the car, his eyes sweeping over your body, clearly not taking Dean’s words seriously. It makes you feel nothing like Dean makes you feel when he looks at you, this guy makes your skin crawl and your stomach lurch.

“Shit, that’s gotta be one sweet pussy if she’s got you so whipped already.”

Before Dean can speak, you sit up a little straighter, and glare at Mark. Feeling Dean stiffen behind you gives you the confidence you need to get these words out.

“Why don’t you tell your whore of a girlfriend to stop trying to fuck my man, it’s really kind of pathetic. He’s not interested,” you huff out, hardly able to stand looking at him, so you turn to face Dean who’s smirking right at you, and way closer than you’d first imagined.

Mark starts to grumble something behind the two of you, but neither of you are really listening, and you can’t stop staring at Dean as he cups your cheek in his big hand.

“What she said,” Dean agrees easily, his husky voice sending shivers up your spine. You let his thumb brush your bottom lip, “you’re even sexier than usual when you’re jealous,” he smirks confidently, leaning in a little closer.

You swallow thickly, your fingers just barely manage to wrap around his wrist.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, watching as his eyes flick down to your lips, and he licks his own. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, but for the life of you you can’t currently think of any.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate, before you can blink his lips are pressing against yours. The kiss is firm and his lips are so soft that you quickly lose yourself in the kiss, and you feel like your entire body is being drawn in by him.

He pulls back all too soon. His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, and his hand moves from your jaw, to cup the back of your neck. His hands feel huge, as he tugs lightly at your hair and you gasp against his parted lips.

“I s-should probably get going,” you whisper shakily, letting your fingers trace over the skin of his chest, where his shirt buttons are undone.

Neither of you even attempt to move, and before you think about it too much your lips are brushing against his again. He pulls you against him tightly and deepens the kiss, making you all but melt against him, and his hands remain firm against you as he effortlessly takes control of the kiss. You feel yourself edging closer, heart pounding in your ears and your head foggy, it takes everything you have to pull away from him, but you just about manage it. Looking up into his lidded eyes as you both pant hard, you swallow thickly and look over your shoulder, relieved to find that Mark has gone.

Dean cups your cheek when you turn back to him, his face the perfect picture of lust.

“You should go in, sweetheart. Or I might change my mind about letting you go… but I’ll text you tonight, okay?” he rasps, pecking your lips.

You can feel yourself blushing as you nervously bite your lip.

“What makes you think I want you to let me go?” you giggle as he leans in closer again, he’s so warm and smells incredible.

“Oh trust me, if this had anything to do with what I want to do, you’d already be screaming my name,” Dean all but growls.

“Dean.” His name is a whisper on your lips, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears again.

Dean lets out a deep groan and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

“Shit, you don’t make it easy on a guy, sweetheart,” he smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You live here by yourself?” he asks suddenly, nodding over to your house, clearly trying to change the subject.

You shake yourself from your heady daze, trying your best to concentrate on what he’s saying. Clearing your throat you give him a small nod, unable to stop the smile from crossing your lips.

“At the minute, yeah. It’s usually me and my best friend, but she’s away visiting family this week. It’s good though, much closer to campus than my parents’ house,” you explain happily, remembering the way that she had told you to take advantage of the free house, but then you notice a strange look crossing his face.

“Sounds nice. I’ve never really had anywhere like this, my family didn’t really stay anywhere too long, not since my mom died. My dad has to travel a lot for work, and I’m learning the ropes, so I can take over one day.”

Your heart aches for him, and you have no idea how it’s even possible to feel this close to someone you’ve only known for a little over a month.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much time to just be you. If you ever need to get away, I have no intention of moving any time soon, you’re welcome to stay here,” you tell him softly, resting a gentle hand on his arm, until he finally looks at you again.

“Thanks, sweetheart. That means more than you know, and I promise I’ll text you later. We can talk more then, okay?”

You lean in close and press your lips against his, the kiss lingers a little, before you finally pull away and whisper against his lips, “I’ll be holding you to that, Dean.”

Bold wont tag guys sorry!

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#dean winchester #dean winchester supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester series #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #series #au #SUPERNATURAL AU #SPN #supernatural fanfiction

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