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pancakerry · 10 months ago

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HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic.

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second.

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night.

It’s a cute shop.

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort.

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery.

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him.

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue.

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote.

“Oh, I’m just looking.”

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge.

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples.

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.”

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.”

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there.

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.”

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?”

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?”

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.”

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment.

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.”

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.”

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence.

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.”

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels.

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.”

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink.

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.”

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space.

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy.

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.”

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate.

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.”

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin.

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.”

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s.

Yeah.

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay.

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.”

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work.

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue.

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs.

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length.

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt.

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.”

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me.

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows.

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off.

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up.

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again.

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders.

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more.

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones.

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior.

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child.

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.”

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs.

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together.

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider.

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it.

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert.

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top.

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.”

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together.

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.”

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.”

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic.

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.”

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes.

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things.

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.”

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?”

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.”

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece.

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.”

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?”

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.”

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin.

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?”

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.”

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.”

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.”

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.”

This is The Turning Point.

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked.

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.”

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both.

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash.

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from.

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.”

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?”

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?”

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.”

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling.

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting.

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.”

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed.

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.”

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.”

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.”

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her.

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it.

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?”

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.”

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights.

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.”

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time.

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres.

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay.

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with.

Christ.

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands.

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face.

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.”

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again.

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.”

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features.

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.”

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.”

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation.

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.”

“Thank you. What now?”

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.”

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse.

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?”

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.”

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet.

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging.

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?”

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.”

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

766 notes · View notes

pancakerry · 11 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹♡ the orange peel trend with miguel

miguel would peel the orange. just cus’ you made the simplest of tasks a struggle

”acrylics don’t-“ you knawed at the bruised thing “fucking peel oranges migs!” you just resorted to stabbing it repeatably with your vampire-length pink nails, fake pouting when it stained them in the orange juice

n they were a new set too !

like the sassy asshole he just rubs his temples, huffing a deep breath before yanking it from your hands “Dios mío, Mi vida”

he just full on bites it. shaking his head as you hold in your laugh, trying to hide the tug on his lips.

your grumpy boyfriend peeling your nail-bruised orange. not even bothered as he just rips of the peels, you thought it was the sweetest thing ever, swooning as you admired your handsome man

n god, migs was so good with his mouth-

“stop getting those long ass things too, ya’ gonna scratch someone”

you bit your lip cheekily as if he could read your thoughts, handing you your peeled (but stabbed) orange with an amused chuckle you were convinced he could

no, but he knew what your batting eyelashes meant

“like I do to your back migs-“

“eat your orange, amor” you knew he turned away just to hide the annoyed smile on his lips.

“my back can handle it.”

2K notes · View notes

pancakerry · 11 months ago

Text

The Favor

Hello everyone and welcome to the first part of The Favor!! I really hope you enjoy and give us feedback so we can know what you think :')

Check out our Patreon for exclusives and early access

WC-5.5k

warnings- this fic is pretty kink based/heavy so if you're not into that sorta stuff it probably isn't for you :) For this part, there is mention of kink, slight angst, cute meetings, objectification, discussion of limits, toxic relationship

----------

“You want me to what?”

Harry blinked hard as he looked at his friend across the pub table, drink nearly slipping from his hand at the favor had been asked. Something he, quite frankly, never expected in his life to be asked.

“Listen, I know you’re into all of that kinky shit. You go to the sex club, you’re knowledgeable about the whole scene. Y/N has been interested in exploring and I’m… I’m not sure if it’s for me.” He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t want to hold her back. She should be given a chance to see or experience that stuff before we settle down and I don’t want to have her resent me. Would you at least consider it? As a favor?” The look of desperation on Danny’s face made Harry nearly laugh in disbelief.

“You’re- you’re really serious?” Setting down the glass, wiping his hand of the condensation that had settled on it he adjusted in his seat as he realized he wasn’t fucking around. “You want me… to take your girlfriend to the club with me… and what. Fuck her? Show her around and let someone else do it? Does she even know?”

Harry had met Y/N a handful of times. She was a sweet little thing, kind of quiet but giggly. Real cute, he thought, but she had always been a taken woman so he didn’t regard her as more than a pretty girl his friend had been lucky enough to secure. He’d never guess that she was interested in kink but they always did end up surprising you. It was the people you least expected.

“No- I don’t want just anyone touching her. I’m asking you because I trust you to make sure she’s comfortable. You’re not some deprived creep lingering around the club to get your rocks off.” Danny scoffed, making Harry a little irritated. “She does know. I told her I’d ask you. She’s embarrassed but she really wants to. I feel like a prick for asking, but you’re the only friend I know that’s good with this stuff. It isn’t my cup of tea and to be honest? I don’t think it’s hers either. She just needs to experience it to see what we’ve got going on is better.”

He looked blankly at his friend, feeling his perception of him change a bit. That was a weird way to think- and wasn’t at all what the club was. It was a bit of a judgmental take on voyeurs, if he was being honest, and Harry didn’t like to kink shame unless it was illegal or caused real, non consensual harm. He’d always been a more open minded individual and with a healthy family of sex positive people, he’d never been ashamed of his likes. He had explored and been interested in it early on and was secure in himself, even though he didn’t tell everyone and their mother that he was a member of a club dedicated to the acts most people deemed only as a fantasy.

“Well… as honored as I am that you’d trust me with that, I’d have to talk to Y/N myself and see what she’s into and if the club even has it.” It probably did but he was skeptical now of Y/N’s involvement in this decision to ask him. “ I’m not some sort of escort, mate. Can’t just rent me out to take your girl for a spin, no matter how cute she is.”

And she was cute. There was no denying that. It just rubbed him the wrong way the motion was even there. Did he just see him as some sort of sexual deviant? That he was just sticking himself into any willing hole? That wasn’t the truth. As sexually liberated as he was, Harry was extremely picky with his partners. He’d gone through a lot when he was younger but as he grew he found he preferred his sexual relationships to have a basis of familiarity. As good as blowies in a pub restroom could be, it was even better when he was genuinely attracted to the person.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make it seem like that, but I really think Y/N needs to experience this to get it out of her system. She started bringing it up a few weeks ago. Wants me to like, choke her. Weird shit. Spit on her, call her names- or she wants to do it to me. Try it. And I’m not into it. I know you said that people do the whole letting people watch thing. Even that is fine, if you’ll go with her and take her as a guest. I’m just not interested and she knows it.” Danny sighed. “I want her to be happy, and in order for us to move on she needs to see what else is out there. I’m solid in us, I’m not going to be jealous if you play with her a bit.”

Again, Harry felt the kernels of discomfort. He didn’t at all like the way he was referring to her as an object to play with, or at least making it seem that way. For a lot of people, kink wasn’t a phase. It was a part of them and their lives. It wasn’t ’weird shit’ to him and the things described so far seemed completely normal, even on the tamer end of it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to explore, or wanting to keep it vanilla. It was all about finding out what you liked. Sex wasn’t something to be ashamed about, nor something to shame your partner over. You could not be into something and say that clearly, but it looked more like to him that they weren’t compatible.

It wasn’t his place to say that, though.

“Well I’ll consider it if she wants to. I want to meet with her privately to discuss it before I even entertain the thought of making plans to go.” As weird as it felt, Harry wasn’t in a relationship, didn’t have any sexual partners and he felt for her. He understood how it was to feel a bit judged by a partner and he wanted to ensure she knew the stuff she was into was normal. If Danny spoke to her as condescendingly about her likes as it had come across to him, there was no doubt in his mind that she was embarrassed as hell and feeling that shame a lot of people did. Who knows how long it took her the nerve to suggest it, too?

“Great!” Danny grinned, pleased at the prospect. “I’ll shoot her your number and you two can get to talking. I’ll have her keep me filled in on your plans but I trust you with her. She’ll be in good hands.”

——

Y/N: hi. Is this Harry?

H: Yea it is. May I ask who this is?

Y/N: it’s y/n, I’m so sorry for a bit of a late text. I know it’s been a few days.

Y/N: I was a little afraid to text you, if I’m honest.

H: it’s totally alright. No need to be afraid.

H: Danny let me know you had some questions or maybe wanted to talk about some things with me?

Y/N: as mortifying as it is, yes I do.

Y/N: he said you wanted to talk in person about it and I wanted to set something up. Let me buy you coffee or something?

Y/N: oh, can we even talk about this stuff in public? I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to do this and I feel a bit flustered :/

H: it’s alright. :) yeah, we can. We just find a place where there’s a nice corner away, or somewhere like a park. Won’t need to scream.

Y/N: okay. Again,I’m sorry if this is awkward for you and we don’t have to do anything, I just want to see.

H: There’s nothing wrong with it, love. No worries from me. It’s a natural thing to be curious about.

H: Do you want to meet later tonight? Grab a coffee at that little place that’s on Golden street? 7ish?

Y/N: Perfect! See you at 7. 😀

—--------

Harry didn’t really know what he was getting himself into.

Arriving at the coffee shop a bit before 7, he scoped out the most private area- and thankfully because of the time, there weren’t many people in there anyways. He’d much rather have this conversation at his place but he wasn’t dumb. It wasn’t a safe thing to agree to right off the bat and he didn’t want to pressure her in the slightest. To be honest, he was a bit surprised that Danny had been telling the truth. She seemed to actually want to know and get some advice.

He had put on a white tee shirt with the navy logo for some honey on it along with his flared yellow trousers, sunnies tucked into the neckline of his shirt. Casual, he hoped not to be intimidating, considering he knew Danny said Y/N could be a little shy. He hoped for the life of him she would find him to be easy to talk to. This wasn’t on his bingo card for this year so he had to wonder how Y/N was actually feeling. Surely a little embarrassed, and he hated that for her.

Danny had always been a bit judgemental but Harry hadn’t really seen much of it firsthand like he did when he was asking him to help out his girlfriend. Personally, Harry had always been pretty liberated sexually and he didn’t see it as a bad thing. Bodies were beautiful, intimacy was beautiful, and he’d spent a good amount of time experimenting and learning what his personal taste was- but it was evergrowing. He found variety spiced things up for him, though as he aged he found the appeal of having one solid partner. It was tiring to have to go through the basics every time, but there was no way he was going to skimp on it. The ethics of kink were important to him and he never wanted to be someone’s bad experience. The idea of having one long term partner had been something weighing heavier on his mind, though, especially because he felt lonely. In the club it was fun, playing around and observing but he liked the idea of taking someone there to bring home. He wanted the cuddles and the playful energy and someone to lean on. He’d only been in a few relationships but they’d left things to be desired. Sexual chemistry was nice, but having it outside of the bedroom was more and more important to him by the day.

Maturing, maybe. Ha.

After Y/N and his time teaching her, he was pretty sure it would be time to start seriously searching for a partner. The loneliness wasn’t fun, his mother badgered him a bit to see when he’d bring home a lover, and his bed felt chronically empty. Harry liked the idea of being someone’s favorite person, and he wanted to finally experience it for real. Call him a romantic, he’d agree. It was a comforting idea.

Hopefully Y/N would find what she wanted to know out of this. He had his doubts about her being right for Danny, especially after how he had written off her wants as something like a phase. If it were Harry? He’d rather choke than let his lover go to someone else for sexual advice. The fact that he could made him question his friend. Of course, he was flattered he could be trusted with her but it felt a bit cheap. Pawning off his girlfriend to someone else to show them the pleasures and fantasies they’d been dreaming about? This was not a good idea- but part of him felt for Y/N. She was a sweet little thing that needed to see what was out there.

It wasn’t like he found her unattractive either. It was the opposite. Seeing her walk into the coffee shop, his heart beat a little harder as he motioned her towards the back. Her face was shy as she lit up with a little smile, pulling her thickly knit green cardigan over her like a barrier. He could see the nerves on her face and it pulled at his heartstrings, giving her a little wave as he stood up to greet her.

“Hi.” He smiled, going in for a hug. Harry was a touchy person and he liked to show his affection, and it seemed like Y/N liked that. She was stiff for a moment before melting into him, her greeting muffled by his chest before he pulled back to give her a look over. Subtle, yes, but he did it anyways. She wore a tight pair of jeans, a yellow tanktop with a lacy detail over her chest, and he was slightly distracted for a moment at how well it highlighted her assets. Y/N was a beautiful woman, but now that he had a go ahead to actually look her over he wasn’t too upset at the idea of touching her. Her eyes were bright and her lashes long, a delicate hue to her cheeks to show she had been a little cold outside before coming in. Her hair was braided down and slung over her shoulder, a small leather crossbody bag slid over her arm.

“Hi.” She chirped, looking up at him. “I want to apologize if Danny threw all of this at you, I just…” Y/N avoided his gaze for a moment. “I feel so awkward and wanted to make sure you know I’m not expecting anything from you if you are just interested in giving advice or showing me around… I feel so out of my element and-” She was word vomiting. The girl had tried so hard to work herself up with the courage necessary but getting to see him in person again, up close and with no barriers of alcohol or anything… it made her even more flustered. Harry had always been attractive, but since when did he grow facial hair? It looked like he was letting it grow. His hair was soft and a little puffy from the humidity of the rain, pushed back against his forehead. He looked so cozy and stylish at the same time and a kernel of envy settled in her stomach- along with that dreaded desire.

Y/N had been faithful to Danny. She’d never strayed, never thought about it. All she wanted to do was explore with him. Finally being in a committed relationship, she felt like maybe it would be safe to bring up those urges- but she’d been proved wrong at his reaction. To be honest, it still stung. How he had given her a slight look of disgust once he realized she wasn’t kidding- she really wanted him to spit in her mouth. Or the next time when she’d asked him to smack her, or the other time when she asked if they could try it with her on top. He’d asked her if she had a bad childhood, suggested therapy, panicked when she cried at his tone. Finally, he told her he didn’t like that sort of stuff which, it was fine. Y/N was disappointed but she’d never force anything on him like that- but he’d come up with a scheme. A plan. Telling her he had a friend who could help her experience those things, see it isn’t as hot as it seemed in her books, help her get over it. As if it was some sort of toy she wanted to play with.

Y/N was okay with not having it but she had to wonder why he was okay with essentially sharing her. She’d never want him to sleep with another woman- at least, not if it wasn’t a fully discussed threesome- so she was a bit at a loss when he suggested it. In all honesty, she felt a bit of ick now from how easily he suggested she go fuck his friend and then come back to her with those ‘ideas squashed’, but…. She wasn’t going to say no to this.

There was no one else to help her. She’d always been curious, never felt safe enough with someone to experiment or had the balls to go to a club or party herself, and if this was her window into looking at and learning about this stuff? She was going to take it. Even if it meant making a fool out of herself in front of a really pretty man.

“Hey- It’s okay.” His hands held her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Everyone is a bit nervous to talk about this stuff at first. And m’sure it’s weird to talk about it with me, but I just gotta remind you that there’s no judgment coming from me. I’ve tried just about any and everything you can imagine.” The man’s voice was soothing, making her relax slightly in his grip. Harry had always been a good guy, even if Danny didn’t love the fact he was as promiscuous as it was said.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” She peeped, giving him a sheepish look. “I’m just nervous. I’m gonna go get a tea, I’ll be right back. Is that okay?” Seeking out his approval, she smiled again when he nodded and sat himself back down in the comfy corner. It was a nice little shop, quiet except for a few people working on laptops and a group of people in the middle playing some sort of card game. No one would be able to hear them from their back corner booth. She grabbed a peppermint tea and blueberry muffin, making her way over to the man who sat with his own cup of coffee in hand.

God, he was good looking. Sitting with his legs spread and his arm over his side of the booth, he gave her a once over before motioning for her to sit down. She listened.

“Sorry.” She apologized after knocking his foot with her own. “I guess I’m going to apologize in advance for how uneducated I am. I’ve done online research but nothing in person and… I ramble when I’m nervous.” It was one of her quirks, that was for sure. Harry made her very nervous, not just because he was pretty but because…. He had this energy about him. Slightly intimidating all while being a person she wanted to seek comfort from. It was an odd mix and one she wasn’t quite positive what route to take. Y/N was a people pleaser, and she really wanted him to like her.

“S’like I said, it’s alright.” He chuckled over the rim of his cup. “I’d tell you not to be nervous but I’m a little bit too. I’ve never had one of my mates approach me for something like this but I’ll admit m’glad I can help. It can be a bit dodgy when you’re into this sort of stuff and looking for mentors, or people to trust. It’s the first thing I wanted to let you know- there’s nothing wrong with being picky. Sure, it’s liberating to live out those things and those fantasies but you want to be safe about it.” His eyes traced over her features again. She was a pretty little thing, rambling and nervous and for some reason it did something to him. “Which brings me to my next question- how are you feeling about all of this? Any fears?”

There were many fears, which made her laugh a bit under her breath. “Well, I’m a bit scared in general, but I think the main one is…” It felt a bit silly to say. “That you’ll think I’m weird, or laugh at me. Or be disgusted by the things I like.” Her teeth snagged her lower lip, worrying it. “Like, it’s nothing inherently wrong or illegal! I promise. But… I’m sure you can imagine, Danny wasn’t very receptive and I was waiting to find someone who I was comfortable with to bring that stuff up.” It was humiliating, really. Her eyes looked down at her muffin, fingers fiddling with the wrapper. His reaction had really upset her, more than she had ever expected. It still made her stomach hurt, thinking about his face.

Harry could see on her features that she was thinking about it, and it made him upset. No one deserved to be mocked or talked down to for something like this. It was okay to say no, always, but to shame your partner to the point where they felt scared people would laugh again wasn’t. “I can absolutely promise you I’m not going to laugh at you unless you tell a joke. I don’t particularly like his tone when he talks about this stuff either, if I’m honest. I can only imagine how it hurt your feelings. I went through something similar with one of my relationships in the beginning.” He hoped that divulging that information would make her feel less alone. “Completely freaked out on me when I suggested something. I wasn’t too out of the ordinary in my mind, but he reacted so poorly that it made me less comfortable talking about other things.” Which was probably going to happen to them. It sucked, but it wasn’t something you forgot easily.

“Yeah, He just… He made me feel like a freak or something.” Y/N said quietly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I didn’t think it was too far out. I suggested something and he looked at me like I’d lost my mind. A simple no would have been okay but… It was humiliating.”

Harry’s heart hurt for her. He’d been there before a few times and he knew just how much it stung, but seeing it on her face was something else. She had a sweetness to her and seeing her in discomfort didn’t sit well with him. At least not like this. Perhaps seeing her being pushed to her limits in other ways would be a welcomed replacement for this sort of uncomfortable feeling. “I can imagine.” He took her hand away from the muffin to hold it, showing his support. Hers was small and soft, like she took great care in lotioning them, and her nails were painted a chipped bubblegum pink. Cute. “But I can promise you m’not going to do that. If you want, I’ll tell you my own hard limits and you can tell me what you think yours are.” It seemed simple enough.

“Y-yeah, that would be nice.” Y/N felt a little shy around this topic despite her babbling mouth. Having him start would help her out.

“Okay. So, I’m open to most things. Trying things once, you know? Some things I’ve never tried and probably won’t, but I like to keep an open mind. Some of my favorite things have come about by just trying things out.” His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, trying to get her to relax. “For me? My limits are anything illegal, you know that sort of stuff. No bathroom stuff, at least I’ve never felt the urge. M’not a fan of caning, or electric shock near my groin. Don’t love double penetration, but I’m open to doing it with others. No medical stuff, ball torture is a no go for me too. I tend to be more dominant but I’d say I’m a switch. 70/30 split for that. And I don’t go bare, not with scene partners” He hummed, watching as her face paled slightly at some of the things he’d mentioned. “By your reaction I don’t think I have to worry too much about those things, then.”

Y/N shook her head, feeling a little lightheaded at what he’d said. Medical stuff? She didn’t even know that was a thing. Her limits felt sillier now, but at least she knew they’d be somewhat compatible. “I… I’ll be honest now and say I didn’t even know half of that stuff was done, but I’d say,... same.” She laughed nervously, hoping her hand wasn’t getting too sweaty in his own. “I was going to say like.. No finishing in my eyes or anything that’s going to leave a big mark. I’m a little scared of knife play but it isn’t a hard limit… just something soft.” It made her feel a little more novice than she’d originally anticipated. Her online research had only scratched the surface.

“Well you know about hard and soft limits. That’s great.” It was encouraged with another squeeze of the hand. “I know it can seem really overwhelming at first but there's time to learn.” He hoped. He wasn’t sure what Danny was expecting by asking Harry to take Y/N under his wing, but he wasn’t about to throw her into the deep end without at least preparing her first. It wasn’t a one and done sort of thing. “May I ask what it is that you asked him to do that inspired this?” It was what he really wanted to know.

Y/N felt herself heat up as she tried to avoid his gaze again, blowing out a deep breath. It wasn’t extreme based off of what his limits said but it was still hard to admit. Leaning closer, she spoke softly as she admitted it. “I asked if he could spit. Y’know… Like in my mouth.” She cringed, hating how it sounded at the moment. “And if he could slap me a little bit. And uh- if I could go on top and take control a little bit.” This was mortifiying, really, but Harry didn’t react too much. He merely hummed, squeezing her hand again to show support. “I would have been fine if he just said no! I’d never make anyone do something they don’t like but he made me feel… dirty for wanting it.” Her hushed whisper made him frown, hearing the slight tremble in her words.

“I will tell you now, nothing you asked for is necessarily extreme. I can understand it not being his thing, but he didn’t need to make you feel bad for it.” It made him feel awful for her. He remembered a time he suggested one of his partners take control and she had made him feel guilty for even asking. To be honest, despite knowing everyone had their preferences, he had to wonder how he’d been lucky enough to be put into this position. A place where he could help her feel more normal, instead of getting it ‘out of her system’ like her boyfriend intended. He couldn’t lie and say his opinion of him didn’t change because it did. Y/N was far too sweet to be treated like a toy, or made to feel dirty. At least not when she didn’t want to feel that want. “I love all of that stuff. When you get into the moment, there can be nothing hotter. The slapping, it needs trust. I get why you’d ask. It’s a trial and error sort of thing, and you really need to be aware of your own strength.” It was probably a blessing in disguise that he didn’t want to. Real bruises on her face had no place there. A sting, a mark that fades? Sure. But nothing that could potentially cause lasting damage. “Submitting to someone else does too, but it says something that you attempted. I’m personally proud of you for putting it out there.”

Y/N felt flustered from her admission, but it was a welcomed relief that the man across from her had admitted to being into that stuff too. It made her feel a bit more normal, thank god.

“Yeah. It failed but… I’ve been curious for a while and wanted to see. I never felt comfortable enough with someone. I didn’t get to even ask half of what I wanted.. I felt bad.” She frowned. “I felt selfish for asking. Ridiculous. And honestly, a bit like something was wrong with me. I know that's bullshit because I’m not going around judging people who are into whatever they are into but I was just….” her voice dropped again, admitting something else she didn’t mean to. “I was bored, Harry. I love making love but at some point it just feels repetitive. The same position, having to get myself off. I know that books are not an accurate representation of sex, but it’s never felt as good as people describe. Both my friends and what I read. I didn’t want to make him feel bad but there’s no flexibility and part of me is scared to do this because what if I like it?” She stressed. What was she supposed to do if she got a taste and couldn’t let go?

“Then you like it.” Harry was a bit shocked at her admission but at the same time, it would make sense. She was putting herself on the line to try and make the best out of a boring situation. Missionary could be hot, yes, but it depended on the person. The kissing. The words being exchanged. It was dependent on the people, and he had to wonder if perhaps Danny was just a bad lover. “There will be nothing to be ashamed of. To be frank with you, Y/N, I’m not going to go back to Danny and report on what we talk about, what we do. He’s going to know what you want him to know. Maybe that makes me a shit friend, but I relate to you. I’ve been in your situation before and I know how much it sucks.” His eyes regarded her softly, stretching his fingers out to slip under the sweater cuff, hitting hot skin with his fingertips as he rubbed. It was easier to feel connected if he touched her.

“I told him that I wasn’t sure what I’d do. He said I could do whatever I wanted as long as I came back and felt more ‘normal’.” A bitter laugh left her, turning her eyes back to Harry. “I’m open to anything, really. I want to learn. I want to feel, I want to go to that club and see things…” Her body shuffled a little as she clenched her thighs together. “What’s it like?”

“It’s nice. There are viewing rooms, for people who are into being watched,or if you’re into watching. The like. You can rent out specific rooms and do scenes. There’s dancers, a no phone policy. You can be free to do what you’d like.” He smirked slightly at her squirming. Just this was working her up? This could be fun. “People come collared, leashed. In masks, faces fully out. It depends on the person. There’s a color system, you’ll get a ribbon tied around your wrist to show if you’re willing to be chatted up, if you’re there solely to watch, if you’re there with a partner. It’s not as complex as you may think, but I’m happy to teach you all about it.”

“People just… they just have sex? Right there?” She blinked at him a few times. She wasn’t sure what exactly she expected from a sex related club. Orgies? Stripping? It all was so new to her. She’d never actually known anything factual about them.

“Most of the time, no. Sometimes, if there's a Dom and Sub pairing, they'll do public punishments. But there are rooms for certain things. The main room is mainly for mingling.” Harry was open about his sexuality and experiences but his friends didn’t normally ask too much about the club. It was hard to explain at times, something she needed to truly see with her own eyes and feel the energy to understand it. “I’m not trying to rush you there until you’re ready. I think there’s a lot we can talk about before we go there. But that’s stuff I don’t particularly want to talk about here.” He’d get a stiffy, and he really didn’t want to walk out of here with one. He was fighting off a half hard on and it would be for nothing if he told her about what he liked exactly. “Do you want to get out of here? Go to my place?” He questioned, finishing the rest of his coffee that had gone cold. “You can send my address to your friends and Danny knows where I live, but I understand if you aren’t ready for that. Just want to talk.”

“No, no. I think that would be a good idea.” She felt a lot more comfortable with him now. Harry was not a serial killer. At least if he was, he passed a vibe check. “Why don’t you text me your address and I’ll meet you there?”

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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Back Muscles

Summary: Morning with Miguel, you get touchy seeing his bare back. I couldn't sleep and I think about him and his back 25/8 Miguel x Fem!Reader, Fluff, Not proofread, Word Count: 866

Miguel woke up with a groan, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and the familiar sounds of morning birds signaling the arrival of another day. He blinked away the sleep as he took in everything. His hand was around your waist as he spooned you from behind, his nose buried in the nape of your neck. He sleepily kissed the skin exposed and pulled you closer to him, his arm flexing as he did so. He waited for a few moments more, just feeling your flesh underneath his hand as his thumb caressed your stomach. You were still fast asleep, comfortable in the warmth Miguel’s body provided.

Realizing he needed to wake up, he reluctantly slipped his arm off your waist and pulled away from you to sit up in bed. He yawned widely, smacking and licking his dried lips while putting on his slippers. He stretched his arms up, easing out his sore muscles from the night before. After that, he stretched them side to side and then cracked his knuckles and neck.

You had felt the warmth leave you even with the covers and blankets over your body. It just wasn’t the same if it wasn’t Miguel around you. You turned your head to face Miguel’s side of the bed, squinting as you did from the new bright light in the room. You saw Miguel's broad back, each move he made to stretch was a ripple of muscles flexing and shifting. He rolled his shoulders back and your eyes were glued to the way he moved, trailing down to the slim waist you admired heavily. He didn’t seem to notice you woke up even when you shuffled in bed to sit up and move closer to him.

Your hand reached out to him, slipping your arms around his waist and curling your body against his back. You nuzzled your cheek between his shoulder blades and felt Miguel slightly jump at the new touch. He relaxed and leaned back, covering your hands with one of his larger hand.

“Morning, nena.” He murmured, turning slightly to pull you closer in a side hug with his arm around your shoulder. You accommodate to the new position, burying yourself in his bare chest. You hummed your response, still too tired to use your voice in the early morning. Miguel shifted some more, placing his legs back in bed and bringing you closer to him, practically dragging you in his lap. Your hands were still wrapped around his waist but this time, they moved up his spine. Your nails gently raked against his skin, feeling the soft muscle and smoothness of his tanned skin. You sigh in content as you feel up his back, gently scratching it which Miguel appreciated immensely. You nuzzled into his neck and Miguel had accepted it. His arm around your shoulder had fallen to your hip, his thumb rubbing up and down, while his other arm had gone up to your head and cupping your cheek. He lifted your head slightly and pressed a tender kiss in between your eyebrows. You finally opened your eyes and looked at him, the two of you having the same sleepy but adoring look.

You smiled softly and adjusted yourself in his arms to be a bit more comfortable. Your hands moved from his waist to his shoulders and down his back. “Morning…” You mumbled. Your nails went back to scratching his back, feeling the dips and curves. Miguel had felt you feeling him up and chuckled down at you.

“Having fun there, nena?” He asked you. Both of his hands had now gone to your hips.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You replied innocently, earning a boyish grin from Miguel. “Just feels nice. Looks nice. I like it.”

Miguel nodded, huffing a small chuckle and his gaze never leaving your face even as you began to fall asleep again. “I can tell, mama,” He didn’t mind. He never minded when it came to you. “Did I wake you?” He asked, resting his chin on top of your head as you leaned your head on his chest.

“Yeah but it’s fine. I just… You know I can’t sleep without you.” You felt your eyelids become heavy. It was earlier than when you usually wake up.

“I know, I know. I’m here now so you can go back to sleep.” Miguel knew this wasn’t the best idea. If he stayed in bed any longer, he’d be late for work. But with the way you immediately snuggled closer to him, curling against his chest, his heart swelled. He thought maybe a few minutes wouldn't hurt. One of his hands rubbed up and down your back, humming a soft tune meant for your ears only. You listened to the lullaby of his heartbeat and steady breathing along with the rumble of his singing. In no time you fell back asleep, resting against Miguel as if he were your own personal mattress. For the next few minutes, Miguel admired your sleeping features, his finger tracing the shape of your jawline. He made sure you were in a deep sleep before setting you back in bed under the covers so he could start the day.

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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alright bio prof!miguel won!

if you wanna be tagged in the fic, comment “ ♡ “ !

imma post the fic around 1pm PST so you have until then to ask to be tagged.

i forgot to ask in the original post smh.

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!! 18+

urghw Miguel's probably the type of guy to rearrange your insides and then suffocate you by falling asleep on top of you. Like imagine he’s just pumped you full of his seed from multiple rounds and the next thing you know is that you’ve got a 300 pound man sprawled out right on your ribs. who needs a blanket when you’ve got this dude? I bet he runs warm n everything too. Maybe he won’t even pull out and just pass out with his fat cock still buried inside you, isn’t he so dreamy? Then you can wake up in morning to feel ur boyfriend lazily fucking you in slow deep thrusts, probably spooning you on ur side

I have to go to work rn but I'm gonna add on later 😵‍💫

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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“You are very intense about things” yes and I will continue to be so going into the next year!!! I’ll fall in love w strangers and write them love letters I will never send!!!! I’ll cry for hours listening to music I loved when I was 16!!!!! I’ll mourn lost friendships and things that never came to be!!!! I’ll pick up 8987 new hobbies 92727 new languages and 68194 books!!! I will not allow hurt over severed connections to stop me from loving & living to my fullest capacity!!!!!!!

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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Imagine that boyfriend that is always the hornier one in the relationship. Imagine him always wanting to kiss, to touch, to fuck. You are changing after getting home from running some errands and he sees your tits? Please, let him feel them, kiss them, bury his face between them 🥺🙏 You are going to shower? Please, let him join you, he can help you wash your back... and maybe you can let him jerk off while you make your body all wet and soapy in front of him 😇 You are going to sleep in his bed? Please, please, please. He knows you are tired, baby, but you won't have to do anything, just lay down and look pretty, he will do all the work 🥰

Just imagine that 🥵

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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nothing will ever amaze me the way fanfiction authors do. like, you wrote silly little stories about my favorite little guys? and i can read them?? for free??? that’s fucking wild.

you poured your heart and soul and very being into your writing and then put it out there for anyone to read? insane.

you spend a truly incredible amount of time writing novel-length, high quality stories, again, FOR FREE, that anyone can read, again, FOR FREE??

shoutout to every single fic author in existence, you guys are fucking incredible and i love all of you so much

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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Hi lovely! Your cake tasting fic was literally immaculate. I was just thinking about how r and miguel met, and how cute it would be to see a blurb where he gets all flustered when he sees her for the first time? You are amazing! Xoxo

sending u lots and lots of kisses MWAH MWAH thank u baby😚😚😚 anyHOWWWW i’m so glad someone asked for this! I’ve been waiting for it TEEHEE! now i did mention a little bit on the cake testing fic how they first met, sooo i might just have to expand from there yuhyuh!

this turned out a bit onger than i expected lol but I hope you'd enjoy it regardless!

miguel masterlist

—

miguel meeting his wife for the first time

“the laboratory is 80% damaged, miguel. we need to get it fixed or else we can no longer continue our work.”

miguel sighs deeply, pinching his eyebrows with his index finger and thumb. the ungodly amount of research papers stacked neatly in the corner of his working desk, along with bunch of scrunched papers on top.

“jessica, no ahora”

she rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, arms crossed over her chest. his eyes glued on the monitor, framed glasses perched on the bridge of his thick nose bone

“you need a break.”

“I don’t” he disagrees. if anything, he needs to put on more hours of work. “i can’t leave before everything is done. we’ll get it fixed next week.”

“that’s what you said last week, miguel” jessica points out, eyes scanning around the room. “look at this mess! the HQ haven’t got fixed in months! if you want this building to be safely secured and leave no casualties in the future, you have to do what i say.”

again, miguel disagrees. shaking his head without looking up. “and i said, no.”

but jessica refuses to be told like that, shrugging her shoulders like it’s nothing. “well too bad, because i already found someone who’s willing to work on it and you’re meeting them”

that seems to catch his attention, his pen dropping off between his finger as his head whips towards jessica’s direction.

“you—what?!”

“i’m not going to be responsible for many injured people in the future. not when we have too much enemies coming to bite our asses so i suggest you get down from there and come here”

miguel has a temper. a very short one, and it’s not easy to control it when he’s surrounded by people who’s trying to tell him what to do. it’s supposed to be the other way around.

but miguel has no energy to fight back, so instead of telling her to fuck off, he just nods his head.

“alright fine” an upset mutter falls from his lips before he makes his way down the stairs. hands on his hips. “where is he?”

jessica scoffs, “why do you always assume everyone is a he?” she chuckles lightly at miguel’s quirk eyebrow. “you can come in now, ms. y/l/n”

the sound of his office door clicks after that, and miguel seems to be less than impressed because he has no energy in him to talk to people other than himself,

yet, his jaw drops instantly soon as he sees the person who walks through it,

a woman—a very gorgeous one—who looks like to be in her mid twenties makes an entrance as her heels click against the marble floor, carrying what seems to be a tablet and folders. she’s dressed in a grey long tight fitting dress that falls down to her ankles with a cropped beige colored cardigan completing the whole look as an outer, leaving only the left shoulder exposed. a smile appears on her face as she fixes the frame of her black reading glasses.

miguel has never seen a more beautiful woman than the one he’s staring at right now,

“ms. y/l/n, this is miguel o’hara. the head of Alchemax and leader of Spider Society.” jessica smirks at the way miguel is gaping right now, as he makes no intention in hiding it away.

guess, her 70% of her plan is slowly working.

“ugh! come on, jessica you’ve known me long enough to stop saying my last name” she giggles, “mr. o’hara. my name is y/n. it is very nice to meet you. jessica had told me many things about you. i am so impressed with everything you had done”

‘fuck, even her voice is pretty’ he thinks

he regains his composure, clearing his throat before taking off his glasses. “thank you, y/n. you and jessica are close?”

with a nod, she responds, “we go way back. haven’t been off each other’s arms for a long time. hard to keep me away from this woman”

so jessica had been hiding her away from him? that’s rude.

“oh hush. always with the sweet talk” jessica waves her off with a smile. “miguel, y/n has plans on remodeling the hq for us. i’ve told her about what needs to be done and so forth. she has already inspected the lab, cafetería, training rooms. this smart woman right here came with conclusions in just five minutes.”

a blush creeping into y/n’s cheeks, shyly tucking a loose hair behind her ear which makes miguel’s heart warms at the sight,

“i’ve seen her work and i wouldn’t just bring anyone when it comes to our matter. she’s the perfect person for this. now since i have so many things to catch up on, i hope it’s okay for me to leave you two and have her explain it all—“

“yes” miguel replies a bit too quickly, causing the two women to raise their eyebrows. this makes him slightly bit embarrassed at how eager he might have come off. “i mean-yeah, of course. it’s not like i was doing anything. have a bit of a time off.”

“i though you said—“

“that’s enough jessica. thank you” he nods at her, shooting her a tight smile. “i would love to hear it.”

a giddiness blooms in his chest when y/n gives him a toothy grin. and it may become his favorite thing to look at,

“alright then. i’ll see you later. bye, sweetheart” jessica waves at her friend before walking out of miguel’s office and shutting the door behind her,

now it’s just them,

y/n’s gaze averts back to his tall figure. she had heard stories about miguel o’hara. jessica loves to spill teas about her partner and had showed pictures of him when y/n was curious on how he look like. he is indeed handsome.

but now, looking at him in person? fuck, even the greek gods are no match to him

beautiful bronze skinned, broad shoulders, high cheekbones with sharp jawlines. she glances a bit at his toned chest then down to his torso for a bit. abs rock hard enough to be seen through the working shirt he’s wearing. this man built like he contains zero body fat.

however, his mesmerizing red eyes are what got her hooked.

“it’s very nice of you to make the time for this, mr. o’hara. i know you are a very busy man and i hate to be the one who’s preventing you from your work.”

miguel’s head shakes, giving her a small genuine smile. “no apologies necessary. and please, call me miguel”

“okay then, miguel” she nods, returning his smile. “may i begin showing you what i’ve been working on?”

miguel’s arm extends towards a large wooden table, allowing her to walk first. “by all means” he folds his arms behind his back, following her from behind.

he’s very much struggling not to look at her ass while she moves,

“okay, so” she lays her things flat on the table, getting to work quickly. “i’ve planned a pre-design for your laboratory, given that the lab is one that needs extra precautions and highly detailed instructions, i’ve figured i should get that one done first. and here” she unlocks her tablet before tapping one app, showing the minimum design. “there are important keys that needs to be highlighted. i need exact measurements of how many people will be coming in and out of your lab, objects you’re thinking of storing, etc. because it will determine the amount of space i’ll be working on”

miguel doesn’t know jack shit about what she’s talking about but fuck, it sounds incredibly sexy to his ears,

“jessica had explained to me before that there will be less than fifteen people working in there. i would advise to create a fingerprint for entry. and it will require more space, more equipment and materials for me and my team to be able to carry on with our tasks. but i need you to not worry, miguel. i’ve done the trials and errors to limit the damage that might occur with the calculations.” she pushes her tablet for him to see clearly, colorful scribbles of geometry with shapes and patterns,

not only that, but she has a few mockups too. giving him a small vision on how the area would look like once it’s done.

miguel’s eyebrows raise, moving a bit closer to where she stands. “christ. this is amazing. you did that in…?”

“a week” she finishes with a smile, nails tapping against the table. watching how his eyes amazed at her small simple work “some would take more than that but, i take my work seriously, i don’t like postponing.”

his eyes move upwards to look at her, impressed by the details and efforts she had done with it. one thing about miguel, is that he is very much attracted to people who are putting their careers above anything,

and she has ticked that box,

“indeed” he lets out a breathe, nodding. “does that mean you don’t have a lot of free time?”

she thinks for a while. “not much definitely. but it’s not like i’m missing out on anything. what do people do nowadays? partying and gossiping? i rather not.”

he chuckles in amusement, “understandable. i thought that you might be into those kind of stuff.”

“and what gave you the assumption?”

he raises his shoulders. “you look young. young people like to have fun.”

“and how old do you think i am?” she asks with arms crossed,

he pinches his eyebrows. “28?”

she hums with a small laugh. “i’m 26”

miguel’a eyes widen slightly, “makes me older than you, then”

“how old are you?”

“32”

“really?” she asks in disbelief. “i thought older.”

“yeah?”

“yeah. around 40ish maybe.”

“that’s quite offensive, love” he fakes a gasp, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches her scramble through more papers,

her heart skips a beat at the nickname, though she doesn’t think much of it. “it’s a compliment. the older the better, i’d say”

miguel smiles at that, walking around the table so now he stands across from her. “what did you and jessica talk about?”

“hm?”

“about me” he confirms. “you said that the two of you had talking about me.”

“oh, well” she begins, standing up straight to look into his eyes and miguel swears his knees almost give up. “she told me how much she admires you. your intelligence, bravery. your work ethic. told me all about the good things you had done for the people—“

“i don’t know about that”

“which” she cuts him off. “i am so, undeniably impressed by. keeping the universe intact while trying not to lose your fucking mind is hard, i could tell. I don’t know how you do it. makes me admire you too”

he stares at her as if he’s searching for a trace of doubt or a lie on her face. when he finds none, his heart softens. never in his life had someone come up to him and say how he’s doing a great job. let alone being impressed.

“thank you— i needed that actually” he laughs a bit. “wish people could say the same.”

“in my opinion, i don’t think you need to know about what other people think or say. you’re a grown man, correct?” she taps the eraser of her pencil on one of her sketchbook, eyeing any misguided lines she needs to work on. “if they don’t appreciate that, might as well kick their asses into a new universe”

a genuine chuckle escapes him, nodding in agreement. “i keep that in mind” he clears his throat, thinking about whether or not to make a small talk,

she notices the long pause between them before speaking up, “please, i hate awkward silence. you can talk to me, if you want to, miguel” her head shoots up at him with a playful tone,

“is architectural the only thing you’re doing?” he finds himself curious at her line of work,

“apart from this, i do a little bit of interior design. not too far off from architectural but not exactly the same either. i love anything that goes from there. putting ideas in my head before making it into a reality. also, it’s warming to see how i can help my clients dream come true” she responds simply, a small smile engraves on her pretty features.

“i also am studying in biochemistry at the moment. having a bit fun with molecular study.”

that perks his interest. “biochemistry?” he asks in a surprise tone. “i’m no expert in architectural but i don’t think it has anything to do with that.”

“it doesn’t” she confirms, picking a ruler before sketching out more details on the design. “i do it for fun.”

“for fun?” again, his question comes out in surprise, “why’s that?”

“i just think that learning shouldn’t be limited to one, you know? i like knowing about things. doing more things. the more knowledge, the more you have room to grow. plus, learning about molecules is interesting. might take it seriously on that one”

‘holy fuck, she’s perfect’

“that’s a— wow—“ he huffs out a heavy breath, can’t exactly tell if he’s impressed or intimidated. earning a soft giggle from her.

so, she’s gorgeous, brilliant and ambitious.

“how about you? jessica mentioned about you specializing in genetics. is that some sort of science thingy? because it sounds pretty fucking cool”

miguel scratches the back of his head. “something like that. i more focused on DNA’s, genetics pairings, human genome. all sorts of that. pretty boring if you ask me”

“doesn’t sound boring” she scoffs. “if anything, i find it very attractive when men are willing to learn about science. and i’m not just talking about the glasses, but the brains as well. you ticked every single quota, miguel”

she points at the working glasses he has on, causing his eyes to bug out at her boldness. y/n watches how he shyly takes it off, flustered at the compliment. she smirks as if she keeps trying to keep score on how many times she’s succeeded,

“okay, so” she continues, palms resting on the table before shifting the tablet. “let’s talk about your office. is there something you’re willing to change? because, not to be rude but your infrastructure is quite—shit. keep this up in two months then the apocalypse might have come early”

miguel bites back a laugh at her choice of words, scanning over his office walls, ceilings and monitors. “what do you suggest?”

she pauses, biting the end of her pencil before her eyes begin to do a 360 walkthrough. the sight is almost too perfect for miguel.

“we could do something about elevating the ceilings. make it a bit higher. and i see you have lesser—safety features? which could be quite concerning. we need to install biosafety cabinets, more detection systems and fire protection. I know you’re no ordinary man and could probably handle all the damage that might happen in the future but, it is my responsibility to ensure my client’s safety.”

miguel feels like a lovesick fool right now. and an asshole. he hadn't been listening a lot to what she had to say, merely focused on the way her pink glossed lips moving and how her fingers would occasionally fiddle against one another,

he imagines how her mouth would feel like, molding against his. there is no doubt in his mind that he would immediately be entranced with it.

"miguel? you listening?"

her sweet voice pulls him out of his train of thought, eyes blinking rapidly before meeting y/n's confused gaze,

"oh--y-yeah! yeah uhm.. that sounds great, would love that” his nervous chuckles makes her smile. “you’re really quick with it, aren’t you?”

“just doing my job, mr.o’hara” her tone is professional and prideful. “i’ll work quickly on the building designs, exploring more concepts for it and run a few test drives. however this might steal a bit of your time, from your job. weekly meetings are needed during this process. i’ll bring the mockups, sketches, models and everything. your inputs and feedbacks are required since this is your building after all. would that work?”

spending more time with her? oh, absolutely. he’d make it work,

he gives her a nod. “of course. i’ll clear my schedule off for it, just let me know when”

“excellent!” she exclaims with a bright smile, clapping her hands. “i will do my best to get it done as quickly as possible for you, miguel. i made a promise to jessica and i intend to keep that promise. it’s a long process but i need your full trust on me, okay? do you trust me?”

“yes” he answers without hesitation. “i trust you.”

“great! okay, that is all i have for you today. do you have any questions?”

miguel doesn’t like the idea of it ending here. not seeing her again until next week? that doesn’t feel right.

“you have a boyfriend?”

y/n halts at his question, looking at him with a confused yet amused expression. lip quirking in curiosity. “getting personal, aren’t we?”

“fuck, sorry, hermosa. you don’t have to answer that”

her heart skips a beat at the nickname. he just called her beautiful?

she eyes at how his gaze cast down the floor, head shaking. probably mentally kicking himself at the bold question he had thrown at her,

but she finds it adorable,

tilting her head to the side, she responds. “no. i don’t have a boyfriend. they are not quite up the standards i’m looking for.”

“yeah?” miguel takes a step forward, eyebrow raising. “and what are they?”

“my standards”

he finds it attractive at how she doesn’t like settling for less. she knows her worth without coming off too cocky nor bitchy about it,

“am i not allowed to know?”

“you can fuck around and find out” she smirks, pushing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. “i like to see them try.”

“you like seeing men on their knees begging for your time?”

she nods. “i live for it.”

he feels his cock growing hard at that,

“are you free, this friday?”

she bites down on her lower lip, watching how his biceps almost ripping his shirt off when he crossed his arms,

“i’m a busy woman, miguel”

“so am i” he responds quickly. ��say dinner or a drink, anything. an hour or two tops, how about it?”

the way he’s looking at her should be illegal. he has this glint in his eyes. primal, confident. and it’s extremely charming in her own opinion,

she hates how it makes her heat rises,

with a hum, she slowly gather up her things, stacking the compiling files on the tablet. tucking them against her left breast.

“pick me up at 7. don’t be late. and i’m choosing where we should go. it was nice meeting you, mr. o’hara. i will see you then” with that she gives him a smile and a subtle wink before turning around to exit out of his office. leaving miguel completely speechless but enamored.

“fuck. i’m in love” he exhales a dreamy sigh

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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high sex with miguel would be 100% it

he has you on top of him, hard cock stuffed inside of your velvety walls as your shared backwood tucked in between his teeth, jaded eyes looking up to you with both love and lust.

“that’s it mami, aw fuck” the whine he lets out is something you take pride in, knowing you’re doing a wonderful job. his grip is forceful. fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “f-feels so good, fuck fuck fuck. tightest pussy I’ve ever had”

with a breathless giggle and a lazy smile, you continue to roll yourself back and forth in a slow pace. watching how his jaw hangs open slightly, eyes fixated at the way you move but constantly flicker up to stare at your beautiful jaded eyes,

“you’re slurring baby” you softly moan, palms resting on his broad chest, fingertips tracing along the lines of his fresh scar, “am i riding you that good?”

he nods, mouth watering at the sight of your tits bouncing ever so lightly. “uh-huh, y-yeah—mierda! how the fuck is your pussy still this tight”

a smirk spreads across your face, switching to move your hips in circular motion, earning a low grunt from miguel. his head rolls back in pleasure before his hand coming up to give your ass a loud smack making you jump slightly, a chuckle rumbles off his chest when he sees your reaction,

“mhmm, i love your cock, papi” he loves it when you whine, especially when you continue to fill his ears with angelic moans and have your eyes shut. “fill me up so good—i might just cum right now“

miguel continues to knead your ass while the other move to pinch the white blunt with his thumb and point finger, taking a drag out of it deeply before putting it on the bedside table,

his both hands then move towards the back of your neck, pulling you down harshly so your naked breasts press against his chest before smashing his mouth onto yours. he licks the bottom of your lip to pry it open, exhaling the puff into your warm mouth as you accept it,

“you’re taking me so well, mi vida—always such a good girl to me.” he then lower his hands, wrapping them around your waist before snapping his hips onto you, causing you to moan loudly into his mouth,

watching how your eyes screwed shut and face contorts into a far more euphoric expression is making him eager. especially with how wet your cunt sounds right now, he continues to pick up the pace. brutally fucking you with his cock as he makes no plans in giving you a break,

he decides from now on, fucking you while you’re high is going to be the top priority,

“but it’s my turn”

i’m not a slut, so i wouldn’t know how high sex works

(i am 1000% a slut, i love being fucked while high)

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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i feel like Miguel's favorite sound to hear from you is when he does something to your body that you've never experienced before (e. g. the very first time he fucks you in doggy) and your moans get more high-pitched and frantic 🥹 he can hear the "?!" in your whimpers and squeals and he finds it so adorable 🥰

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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if this isn’t me rn😭

This is so serious, but I love this man.

No, I'm not in love with him.

I love him. And there's no words to describe it.

I used to deny it, because like... Fucking damn, no I'm not. I liked him a lot, yeah, but I didn't like... LOVE him. It was never supposed to be this deep. I wasn't even in love with him.

Now I'm like- Yeah, no, I love him. I love him I love him I love him and I want to let the whole world know.

And I guess that whole world is him.

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pancakerry · 1 year ago

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So Despicable

Type - A One-Shot (yet again!)

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 2.1k

Warnings - Uses of degrading slurs such as slut and whore. Do not read if that's not your cup of tea!

A/n - Legit posting this an hour late and I'm sorry! I just finished proofreading and am right away posting this. Not exactly my best, but it's good! Hoping you'll think the same hahah <3

Kinks - Sir Kink, Degradation Kink, Choking and Begging (if you squint)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

As she turned the lock of her house, Y/n felt like her knees would simply give out if it took one more second to get the door to open. On the final twist of the key, she pushed the door open and immediately swung her purse on top of the shoe rack.

Bending to undo her heels, she left them thrown there and walked further inside the house. She was confused when she didn't find Harry downstairs but nevertheless poured herself a glass of water.

If he weren't down here, then he must be up in their bedroom or his office. Dreadfully, she climbed up the stairs, her shoulders droopy and her back aching after the long day. "Harry?" She called out, hoping that he would hear her and come out. Alas, he didn't.

She looked around in all the rooms before going inside the bedroom, dropping her body onto the mattress right away. After lying in silence for no more than a few seconds, she got up and fished her phone out of her purse – pressing on Harry's contact before putting the phone on speaker and stripping her clothes.

"'ello?" He answered, his voice serious in a way that made her doubt if he didn't know it was her on the other end of the call.

"Where are you, H?" She questioned him right away, picking the phone back up when the only clothings on her body were her under garments. "Searched the whole house, didn't find you."

It was silent for a moment, and Y/n felt that something was off. "I'm in the gym, didn't hear you come in," he said in that same tone and it was starting to make her skin crawl.

"Oh, I didn't check the gym. When are you going to be done?" She asked, fidgeting with her fingers as her mind raced a million miles per second to come up with all the things that she could've done or said wrong.

Yet, she came up empty. Harry wasn't the one to go to gym after noon, it happened rarely – mostly if he had been out and about during the morning time. So, it was clear that he was avoiding her.

"Dunno, should be done in half an hour," he said and she could tell he was doing push ups or something else by the sound of his strained voice and heavy breathing.

"Okay, I'm going in the shower," Y/n told him before he agreed and cut the call.

Taken aback, she shut out the situation before jumping into the shower and letting the warm water wash away all the stress off her muscles. After rinsing her hair rid of the shampoo, she came out of the shower, water still dripping from the ends of her hair.

When she turned around, her hand immediately went to her chest on a sharp intake of breath. "Fucking hell, Harry," she exhaled deeply, heat creeping up the back of her neck once she realised how ridiculous it was of her to get scared by the sight of him seated on their bed.

She just hadn't expected him to be there, that's all. "I'm sure there's still water left, I didn't shower for too long," she told him while walking towards their closet.

"Drop the towel and come here," Harry said, his voice deep and low. She couldn't help but ask him to repeat himself, caught off guard. "I won't repeat again, Y/n. Drop the towel, and come here," he said again, this time weighing down on each word as he spoke.

His arms were crossed across his chest, the veins more prominent because of his recent workout session. One of his legs dangled off the bed while the other one was folded. Nothing but a white undervest covered his upper half, a short pair of shorts clinging to his thighs.

Hesitant but because of her trust in him, Y/n dropped her towel and walked to him. Uncertainty and anticipation caused her hands to start fidgeting again. Slowly but surely, she reached right where he was sitting on the bed, her hands seemingly frozen on her sides as she stood upright, unable to move any further.

"Lay across my lap," Harry said, unfolding his leg and laying it straight on the bed to make the spot comfortable for her.

Y/n did so, all of the silence and holding-back of Harry was causing her brain to spiral. But one thing she knew was that whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be very holy.

She felt Harry's cold hand grab her ass before he started massaging it. That's when she knew she had surely done something wrong, because he was punishing her.

His palm met her ass cheek with a sharp blow, causing her to jerk forward. "Count for me," he told her, kneading her other cheek before hitting it with the same blow.

"2," Y/n counted, her voice shaking with thrill.

Harry watched her bum jiggle at the impact, the skin already begining to grow red. He stopped kneading the skin by the fifth blow when he couldn't hear pain in her voice. Now, he was just spanking – one side before the other. He was going at a fast pace, his hits unrelentlessly hard as he finally began hearing despair in her voice.

He kept going, not giving the skin much time before slapping it again.

"P-please, Harry–" Y/n stuttered, stopping when he gave a especially hard hit on her ass.

"What do you say? Have you forgotten your manners?" Harry said, his voice sterner than ever and Y/n was beginning to feel like he was being unnecessarily mean to her.

"Sir – It's Sir." She blabbered, answering him as if he would give her a reward. Yet, she was met with another hard spank. "W-what-ever have I done wrong, Sir?" She asked desperately, still lost on the cause for this side of him boiling up to the surface.

"A pathetic mess already? Can see your cunt glistening," he mocked her, swiping one of his fingers through her folds. "What have you not done wrong today? Cut my calls, answered back in short answers as if I were wasting your time, didn't even tell me if you were going to be back for the night or not," he answered her, massaging her bum.

"Didn't even apologize to me," he said, his eyes fallen into angry slits as he slapped her ass harshly.

He pushed her off of his lap and watched her roll over, unable to balance herself and get up. "Can't do anything right, can you?" Harry said as he pulled her up by her shoulders and sat her on her bottom.

She moved around, her bum hurting too much for her to sit on it. "Hurts," she whimpered, the corners of her eyes moist and wet hair sticking to the skin on her back, neck and forehead.

"Of course it does. Wouldn't have done it if it pleased you."

Both of them knew it pleased her. And if they didn't, then her juicy cunt would have surely given her away. She sat on her calves in front of him, her hands in her lap as she looked anywhere but in his eyes.

"Still, you aren't apologizing." Harry pointed out, causing her to flush. But before she could say anything, Harry pushed at her chest so she would fall on her back on the soft mattress.

Her legs immediately fell open in order for her to get comfortable, and just as she took notice, Harry's hand had already met her pussy in a harsh slap.

"Instead, you're pathetically dripping out of your hole," Harry sneered, slapping her puffy pussy again. A wet noise came from the impact and when he brought his hand back up, the string of her arousal connected them.

"So despicable you are."

Y/n jerked each time Harry hit her cunt, her thighs aching to close and protect her core yet she knew better than to do that. She counted each hit and once she counted the tenth slap, Harry dragged a finger across her dripping hole and covered her clit with her own arousal.

"I've been punishing you over here, and you've done nothing but drip out of that needy hole and blabber out the shit I've asked you to." Harry said as if he were disgusted. "Can't think of anything else with that dumb little brain of yours, can you?" He tsk'd at her, shaking his head.

He pinched her clit, laughing hoarsely when she instinctively closed her thighs shut. "Hook your hands under your knees," Harry instructed her and once she had done that, he was glad to have full access to her pussy.

He pinched her clit again, this time not releasing the hissing hold. With his other hand, he filled her hole with two of his fingers right away – sliding them in and out with great ease due to her wetness.

"Such a poor little thing you are, getting off on being a pretty whore – on me being mean to you," Harry crooned.

When she started to moan, he took her panties that she had taken off of herself before going into the shower, and stuffed them into her mouth. Pathetically enough, she hadn't stopped moaning even with the cloth in her mouth. The noise came out muffled, which Harry seemed to enjoy.

He then created an unrelenting pace, his back crouching in order to give all his strength in fucking her. He was still pinching her swollen clit, a grin plastered on his mouth as he heard the wet noises her pussy was making.

Her clit had grown red in colour due to his harsh pinch that didn't seem to know how to release its hold. "Fuck – fuck , sir. Sir I'm coming, I'm coming I'm so close –" Y/n stuttered as her body shook violently, her face scrunched up in pain and pure ecstasy.

Her body burned and her pussy pulsed as Harry continued fucking her with his fingers mercilessly. "What do you say?" Harry cooed at her, impossibly increasing his pace. "What do you say, my darling slut?"

Her eyes glazed over at the slur, tears springing in her eyes as she felt the knot begin to lower in her tummy.

"Can I please– please cum, Sir?" She said with great strain in a voice, like she was holding back.

"Why are you holding back? Not going to comply with your sir, hm?" Harry asked her his voice shaking due to his violent movement. "Guess I'll just deny you the permission, then."

Harry got off on dominating her. After all, she dominated all of the people around her, especially the ones in her office. She always had a hunger to control people, so the fact that he got to control what she would do or not do, dominate and manhandle her, and be mean to her like she was to most of her employees who deserved to be fired, he felt absolutely euphoric.

"Can I please cum," she cried out, her body shaking vigorously. "May I – may I please cum, Sir?" She cried again, repeating her request until it turned into beg for him to let her cum.

"Please, Sir!" She yelled, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hold back. "Please – please, let me come Sir," she kept on begging.

"Ah okay okay, don't need to be so annoying about it," Harry rolled his eyes, watching in amazement as she became a shouting mess.

He felt as her walls clenched around his fingers, and pinched her clit a bit harder. He heard her let out a final cry before she finally gushed all over his hand.

He maintained his pace as her cum spurted around due to his force. She arched off of the bed and pushed into his hand while heaving gibberish. "Fuck – fuck," she stammered, when he stopped and put his mouth on her – lapping at her as if he hadn't quenched his thirst all day.

"P-please, sir – sensitive," she whimpered, now trying to pull away from his mouth but unable to do so because of the position he had put her in. Her legs ached, but his palms laid flat on the back of her thighs as he sucked at her clit.

Harry finally detached his mouth from her and rose up, wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand. He put the hand that was covered in her juices in front of her mouth, and ordered her to suck.

When she licked his hand clean, he wrapped it around her neck in a choking manner and weighed on it when he leaned down to get closer to her.

"See? You can be good, too." He grinned, pecking her cheek as she turned her face away from him to hide her rosy cheeks.

"God, I love you no matter what you be – my pathetic slut or my pleasing little darling," he chuckled, nipping at her jaw.

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