#*insert squeaky sliding door sound*

[nepptunii]

au where instead of a normal door, the distortions use like a sliding glass door and it's like squeaky and will get stuck sometimes

and also you can see through it and i imagine michael deviously taps his fingers together before opening the door and he doesn't know you can see him through the glass (image below is what i'm talking about)

[harley-sunday]

A Good Man Goes to War [Prologue]

Summary: Starts right after Civil War. Steve Rogers is done being Captain America and quite happy living a quiet life in a safe house somewhere in Canada. Until Thanos goes after the Infinity Stones. What happens when a good man goes to war? 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC (f) Could be read as reader insert.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 2K

Entry for @browngirlmagic​‘s writing challenge. My prompt was “Demons run when a good man goes to war.”

AN: Uh, so yeah. I thought this would be a simple oneshot, but then the backstory happened and before I knew I was over 12k words in and so had to divide into multiple parts. Oh well. It happens. Also, I have never actually finished a story before publishing it online, so you can expect regular updates :) Third, I used to big a very big Doctor Who fan and so I always wanted to do something with this prompt and so here we are! This is, I think, unlike anything I have written before, mostly because it’s not from a reader’s POV. I like it, and I hope you do too. Please let me know what you think ♥

I don’t do taglists, but if you follow Harley Sunday x Steve Rogers you should see any update I post.

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

He’s not quite sure how he ended up here.

Well, he thinks then, that’s not completely true. He was there when the call was made, overhearing Fury as he asked the person on the other end of the line for a favor. There was some gentle persuasion needed and he thinks he heard Nick say something about a promise made a long time ago, but by then the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director had already walked into an empty conference room nearby and only clipped whispers of the conversation made their way to where he was waiting for a decision to be made. 

The call ended soon after and the only thing he was told was that a car would come to pick him up the next morning at 5 AM and not to be late. He just nodded, which, he is sure, surprised not only him, but also Fury, because he was never really the type to agree to something that easily. He remembers being so, so tired, not just because of the events that got him here, but because of everything leading up to that and he thinks that must have had something to do with his compliance at the time. 

Nick took him to an apartment somewhere downtown for the night, telling him to leave the key in the mailbox the next morning and to stay inside, reminding him there were people who’d rather see him locked up somewhere. The apartment was more a studio, a single bed hidden behind a room divider in the far corner, a small kitchen to his left and a dining table with two chairs to his right. 

He wasn’t really hungry but could do with some sleep and so he laid down on the bed, a piece of paper on the wall next to him catching his eye, the handwriting on it rushed as though it was a warning and he was sure the first part of it was missing from the way the paper was torn. 

..when a good man goes to war

He read the sentence over and over again, until he felt his eyes getting heavy, and then he drifted off, a restless slumber that only left him feeling more exhausted by the time his alarm went off.

The car took him to JFK Airport where he boarded a commercial flight to Toronto, and he wondered why he couldn’t have just taken the Quinjet until he realized this was, of course, the safer option. No need to compromise the location of the safe house by showing up in a stealth aircraft just because it would be easier. His disguise that day was a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap and a pair of glasses and even though there was a little boy eyeing him curiously all throughout the flight, he still doesn’t think the kid recognized him.  

A smaller plane waited for him at Pearson International Airport, flying him to Thunder Bay in just under two hours. By then it was past noon and the lack of sleep from the night before started to catch up with him as he wondered how much longer he would have to travel to reach his final destination. There was someone waiting for him at the gate, leading him straight down the stairs and onto the tarmac, where he had to grab his duffel bag from a baggage trolley before following the man to one of the hangars on the far end of the airfield. By then it was raining, the gentle breeze from earlier turning into stronger gusts of wind, and he could see the dark promise of a storm starting to form somewhere on the northern horizon. 

Somehow he knew the aircraft in the hangar was a Piper Turbo Arrow, with a range of almost seven hundred nautical miles, and so he tried, rather unsuccessfully, to calculate where that could possibly have him end up, but he was too tired to come up with a coherent answer. The man from earlier, who turned out to be the pilot, took his bag from him then and placed it in the hold, informing him that they had a ten-minute takeoff window or else they would have to wait for the storm to pass, and asked him if he was good to go. 

They were in the sky minutes later and with the storm front slightly more to his right, he figured they were flying northwest even though that still didn’t really tell him where they were headed. He must have dozed off at some point, because it felt like only minutes later when the pilot informed him he was preparing for landing even though they had been in the air for almost two hours. As soon as they left cruising altitude they hit a bout of turbulence, the small aircraft shaking violently and the pilot joking that the storm had finally caught up with them. But they made it to the ground safely, the heavy rain hammering down on them once they excited the plane. 

He thanked the pilot, grabbed his bag, made sure the phone, of which he had given the number to Tony and Tony only, was still in the pocket of his jacket, and walked over to the main building which, by the looks of it served as both the arrival and departure hall. It was empty except for what he assumed to be a janitor mopping the floors. He sat down on one of the chairs, wondering if there was another flight he would have to take and if it maybe was delayed because of the bad weather. Leaning back in his seat he stretched out his legs in front of him, closing his eyes just for a second.

There was some commotion then, as the double doors opened and a young woman stepped inside, the rain boots she was wearing making a squeaky sound on the tiled floor. She was wearing a long, yellow raincoat, and he thought she brightened up the place instantly. She pulled her hood off and apologized to the janitor for wetting the floor before she made her way over to where he was seated, rambling on about a tree on the road that made her late. She told him she was sorry, that she should have called, but that she didn’t have his number and so that she just tried to get here as soon as possible. He felt some of his weariness disappear from the way she seemed to radiate energy and so he got up instantly and took her outstretched hand, introducing himself as Steve Rogers.

She replied she already knew that, then laughed, almost like she was a little embarrassed, and told him her name with a smile, her hand warm in his. He grabbed his bag and followed her back outside, where an idling SUV, similar to the one Nick Fury used to drive, was waiting for them. He wondered if it was decked out the same way Fury’s was and if so, if she knew how to operate it. He threw his bag in the trunk and sat down on the passenger’s seat, a smile passing over his face when he saw the interior was nothing like Fury’s car, what with an air freshener popped into one of the vents and a tiny stuffed monkey hanging from the rear view mirror. 

She put the car into drive and smiled up at him, and somehow he remembers a drop of rain sliding down her face when she told him it would take just under an hour for them to get home. He nodded and leaned back in his seat, enjoying the warmth inside the car and the music she had playing over the radio. A couple of minutes into the drive he caught sight of himself in the window, surprised to see the beginnings of a beard already starting to form. And even though up until now he had always been clean shaven, he decided right then and there he would keep it until, well, things were at least slightly back to normal. 

Once they turned off the main road she let him know they were almost there, then, after a few minutes, pointing out the fallen tree that had made her late earlier. She muttered something about having to go back tomorrow to with a chainsaw to clear the road and he wondered just how isolated her place was. As it turned out, very. 

Her log cabin was located at the very end of the road, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the last house he saw was miles away, just on the outskirts of town, and they had passed it almost thirty minutes ago. It was the perfect location for a safe house and when he told her so she agreed, even though she did admit it could get a bit lonely in the winter, when the roads would be covered in snow and it could take the snowplow weeks to reach her cabin. She was quick to assure him she liked it that way though, and that she always made sure to stock up well before winter arrived. She promised to show him the greenhouse she used to grow her own vegetables later, but that now what they needed was a some coffee and something to eat. 

His stomach growled in response and so he got out of the car, admiring the two story building in front of him. It seemed fairly old, but structurally sound, and he wondered how long it had been hers. It was almost surrounded by tall green pine trees, but behind it he could see a shallow embankment that led to a lake. She motioned for him to follow her inside, out of the rain, the overhanging roof on the back porch already offering some relief. She opened the door and stepped inside, kicking off her rain boots before she lined them up on a shoe rack. Her raincoat followed suit, as she explained that the floor here had heating and so all their wet garments should be dry in no time. She didn’t wait for him, instead made her way to the coffee machine on the counter and switched it on before she walked into the living room, where she muttered something about adding some more wood to the fire. 

He took it all in from where he stood, the kitchen to his left, stairs leading up to the second story right in front of him and the living room behind that. He could hear her somewhere in there, the crackling of the fire getting louder as she fed it more wood. He followed her example and untied his shoes before he put them next to hers, his jacket on one of the hooks of the coat rack, the warmth of the floor heating very pleasant. 

She told him to sit down, make himself comfortable while she would make him something to eat and he watched her from the couch that was in the far corner of the room, next to the fireplace on one side and some double doors that led to the front porch on the other. The room’s decor simple yet cosy, with candles on every available surface and rows and rows of books in the bookcase across from him. She handed him a cup of coffee then and told him to be careful because it was hot. Another trip to the kitchen brought him a plate with two sandwiches, made with what seemed like homemade bread, and a slice of something sweet for her. 

The coffee warmed him up even more and the first bite of the sandwich made him realize just how hungry he was. She let him eat in silence, focused on her coffee and he appreciated the gesture more than he could ever explain.

And so, even though he’s still not quite sure how he ended up here, in this cabin somewhere in Canada, he sure is glad he did.

[virgo-mark]

Forbidden Fruit | Mark Tuan Smut

Requested: no | Word Count: 1.3k | Warnings: if you are highly sensitive to smuts that involve some religion, you probably might not want to read this | Genre: smut

Author’s Note: I haven’t been updating or writing for this blog in a while and I think I might make some changes to get me back into the groove of writing again. This was also supposed to be posted yesterday, but my bf tricked me into watching “Spiderman: Into the Spider-verse” lol

Summary: Mark Tuan, the youth pastor for the children of your local church, ensures you have some fun in his office.

Hooking up with Mark was risky. Not that he was dangerous, but he is a youth pastor for the local church in your area. You had seen him around and talked to him a few times, but you would have never thought you would be bent over his desk with your mini skirt hiked up to his liking, 30 minutes before he needed to collect the young kids after the sermon.

When he invited you to listen to one of his orations, you swore his intense stare carved a target onto your back because soon enough, you were his. It started off with a simple graze of the arm, then escalated to casual lap sitting, and eventually, the shy and chaste pecks on the cheek turned into full-blown make-out sessions. He was usually calm and collected, but this time, he gave in to the temptation.

“Should we be doing this?” You wondered as his lips were glued to yours. With his fingers tangled into your hair, Mark attempts to pull you in closer to him than you already are.

“No,” he lets out. “But I can’t help it.”

A smile creeps onto your face, disrupting your kiss. One hand glued to your waist while the other swipes the pile of papers and stationary off his desk and onto the floor. Pressing your back against the edge of the desk, the cold metal along with the air conditioning vent sends chills down your spine. You wanted this. You wanted him. And you got it.

Mark helps you onto the table top, before roughly ripping your button-up blouse and exposing your white undergarment under the fabric. The sound of buttons falling onto the tiled floor causes you to gasp, only to be shocked once more when you feel his plumped lips attack your neck, causing your whole body to shudder in response. Mark’s hand spreads your thighs open, cupping your sex in his palm. The thin fabric is the only thing separating you from feeling his slightly calloused palm on your soaking core. A moan escapes your lips and you feel Mark smirk against the crook of your neck.

In one swift move, Mark pushes your skirt up against your thighs and pulls the back of your knees, giving him more access to push your underwear aside to expose your recently groomed core. Without hesitation, his tongue lightly grazes your slit and he positions your legs over his shoulders, burying his face between your thighs.

“M-Mark!” You stutter, pushing his head back only to have him pin your hands against your abdomen. His tongue flattens against your clit, giving you long strokes before harshly flicking the tip of his tongue, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Pulling him up to your lips, you find yourself grinding against his hardening bulge through his black slacks.

“You’re very needy.” His voice drops an octave and the roughness in his statement causes you to gulp loudly as you mentally prepare for what’s in store for you. His hand snakes up to the sides of your neck and he commands you to pull his cock out from his pants. You do as he says, patiently waiting for his orders. Your eyes glued to his every move and you watch him pull his desk drawer open to pull out a condom.

“You keep condoms in your desk?” Cocking your head slightly to the left, you innocently look up at him while gently tugging on your bottom lip.

Mark playfully chuckles as he opens the foil wrapper and slides the rubber onto his erect cock. “Sometimes it’s better to be prepared than to be completely fucked.” His eyes quickly scan yours before placing a delicate kiss on your lips. “Excuse my language,” he smiles, causing you to do the same. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Taking a hold of his cock, you align it with your entrance and inserting just the tip. Gripping onto Mark’s wrist as his hands rest on each side of your neck, you bite back your moan as he slowly stretches your walls. Pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, you let out a whimper when you feel his throbbing cock penetrate deeply into you, each time harsher and rougher than the last.

“Look at how wet you are for me, princess. You’re so wet, my cock just slides right in.” Mark purrs, his hands pulling you as close to him as possible. Lewd noises fill the room every time he moves his hips into you, your juices glistening around the condom he has on. So caught up in the trance Mark has you in, you were sure the sound of skin clapping against each other could be heard down the hall. “Do you think you can take me from behind?” Mark’s voice matched his sinful thoughts that ran through his mind. Pushing your hair behind your ear, he takes in the fucked-out look you have plastered across your face: your hair is a mess, your cheeks flushed from the heat, and your mouth gaping open from the pleasure he’s giving you. You couldn’t even form a sentence to answer his question, so you simply nod.

Roughly placing you in his favorite position, your breasts press against the top of his desk while you feel his hands push your skirt higher than it already is. Without any warning, he slides his shaft into you, hitting a spot he couldn’t reach before. Finding anything to grip, you settle for the edges of the table. His hips moved with a hint of urgency, causing the table to make a squeaky sound while it gently hits itself against the wall. A hazy feeling overcomes you right before you feel a tightening in the pit of your stomach, then shockwaves that cause your toes to curl and your thighs to tremble. You weren’t even able to let out a warning before you release all over Mark. Your whole body weakens and you allowed Mark to use you in any way he pleased to get himself off. It wasn’t long until his hips falter and you were certain the pads of his fingers that dug into your waist would leave marks that would be prominent the next day. A deep and throaty groan leave Mark’s lips and his body weight shifts onto you while his thick cum gushes to the tip of the condom.

You feel Mark’s soft lips press against your exposed shoulder before slowly pulling himself off you. Disposing of the latex, you adjust your clothing until you realize you weren’t able to leave his office with the state your blouse is in.

“Um, Mark?” You turn to him to find him adjusting his black dress pants. “My top is sort of ruined.”

“Oh, shit. Um, I’m sorry about that.” Mark looks around, trying to find something to help you. When he does, he helps you strip from your ripped long sleeved blouse and into one of the oversized sweatshirts he kept as a backup.

“Christ is always watching?” You reiterate, looking down at the sweater you have on with red letter written across your chest. “Are you serious?”

“It was for a fundraiser,” Mark giggles as he makes an attempt to adjust your hair to your liking. “It’s the only thing I have. I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Next time?” Arching a brow while holding back a smile, you gaze up at Mark.

“Mm, just maybe not here.” Mark cups your cheeks to give you a gentle kiss, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Hey Mark, are you okay?” An unfamiliar voice calls out. “The sermon is almost over.”

“I’ll be right out!” Mark replies before turning his attention back to you. “I usually take a girl out to dinner before doing this kind of stuff. So, I just thought that I could make you something tonight.”

You smile up at Mark and give him a small peck on the tip of his nose. “That sounds perfect.”

[guitypleasure052016]

One Of Those Days

Prompt: You’ve had a day from hell and the only thing, well the only person that can bring you any comfort is your old man, Happy Lowman.

Warnings: NSFW, Cursing, Sexual Content

Side Note: Almost all of my stories are reader insert so if you see (Y/N), that means Your Name .

You groan as your body collapses, your back hitting the couch as you sink into the cushions. As you kick off your shoes, you lift your arms off the couch and cover your eyes with your hands. The anger and frustration builds up inside of you and you quickly grab a pillow and scream long and hard. After realizing that has had no impact on your ever worsening mood, you throw the pillow across the room and then roll over onto your stomach. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you could sink into the couch and this monstrosity of a day would cease to exist.

A little while later, you could hear the familiar sounds of a motorcycle pulling into the driveway. Moments later the door swings open and your old man, Happy Lowman, trudges into the house after a long day at Teller Morrow. Immediately he can tell that something is off when he is met with total silence.This was unusual, because normally when he returned home at the end of the day, he was greeted by the sound of your voice singing along to whatever happened to be playing on the radio.

“(Y/N)....(Y/N)...., where are you”, he calls out, but is met with the same eerie silence.

He instinctively reaches for his gun as he carefully steps around the corner and into the living room. The sight before him nearly stops his heart as the living room is in a disarray and you are lying face down on the couch, not moving a muscle.

“Fucking shit (Y/N)”, he cries out before running across the room to you. He pulls your body up off of the couch and into his arms, quickly flipping you over so he can see your face. Relief courses through his veins when he is met with the healthy and conscious face of his old lady. While you look rather annoyed, you otherwise seem to be alright and Happy breathes a sigh of relief.

His peace doesn’t last long as you swat his chest and shout, “Hap, what the fuck? You scared the shit out of me!”

“Seriously, (Y/N)? I scared you? I come home to find the house dead silent, there’s shit thrown about the living room, and you’re lying face down on the couch. How was I supposed to react?”, Happy exclaimed, slightly loosening his grip on you but making no move to let you go completely.

“I guess you’re right, I’m sorry. I just had the day from hell and kind of landed here when I got home”, you explained. Sighing as the thought of your horrific day began to overwhelm you, you attempted to wiggle out of his arms to lie back down on the couch. Happy obliged, letting you go but he was still concerned as you weren’t acting like yourself.

“You want to talk about it?”, he offered, not really knowing what else to say.

“Not in the slightest. Just let me wallow in my misery”, your muffled voice called back to him. He didn’t respond but you did feel the couch shift as Happy got up and walked into the other room. A moment later he returned, and you heard a clink as he placed something down on the coffee table.

“Grabbed you a beer for when you want it”, he told you, “Now sit up for a second”. You rolled your eyes and turned to the side, shooting him a death glare as you were in no mood to move.

“Oh c’mon, now you’re just being stubborn.”, he groaned. You heard another clink on the table before the two strong arms of your old man lifted you from the couch. He didn’t lift you too high, just enough that he was able to slide under you and sit down.  After he was seated, he laid you back down with your head resting in his lap.

After giving you a moment to get settled, Happy draped his right arm across your body that was laid out next to him. He used his free hand to reach forward and grab the remote, turning on the television. After finding a program that would keep his attention, he put the remote down and then reached forward to grab his beer.

Half an hour later, you had begun to calm down ever so slightly. You appreciated that your old man knew you well enough to not push it when you said you didn’t want to talk but he also knew that you wouldn’t want to be left alone. Simply laying down with your head resting in his lap was working wonders on your mood and you decided that you were ready to have some of the beer he had grabbed you earlier. You sat yourself up and smiled at Happy before turning around to grab your drink. In your haste to grab the frothy beverage, you accidentally knocked a pile of papers to the floor.

“What are those?”, Happy inquired with a confused look on his face. When you didn’t answer, he decided to find out for himself and picked the papers up off of the floor. The content of the papers surprised him, as is appeared that you had gotten a ticket.

“You got a ticket? Why didn’t you tell me (Y/N)?”, he asked, genuinely confused as to why you were keeping this from him. There was a moment of silence before you erupted. 

“Cause I’m fucking pissed about it!”, you exclaimed as you jump up from the couch, anger coursing through your veins. The earlier sadness you felt about your day from hell now turned to red hot rage instead. Not wanting to be the person your rage was directed at, Happy remained on the couch, sitting silently as all that had been built up during the day came spilling out.

“It was bullshit Hap, absolute fucking bullshit”, you shouted as you began pacing about the room, “The cop was a little bitch about it saying I was speeding when I was only going 7 miles over the speed limit. Then he starts on asking if I’m aware that my taillight was out. Uhm, of course not mother fucker. If I knew it was out I would have gotten it fixed for fucks sake.”

You didn’t give Happy a chance to respond as the words continued pouring out, “Now I have a $145 fine to pay. But that bullshit was just on the way home. When I got to work this morning, I found out we were three people short, meaning I had to cover way more than I usually do. Then my supervisor decided that she wanted to take an extra long lunch leaving me practically by myself. By the time I got out of work, I was running late to pick up my prescriptions which is why I was speeding in the first place. Then because of that dickhead cop I wasn’t able to pick them up and now I’ll have to leave even earlier in the morning because some mother fucker decided”...

“Whoa, whoa, whoa (Y/N), you need to calm down”, Happy interrupted standing up from the couch and walking towards you.

“How the fuck am I supposed to calm down after all of this Hap?”, you questioned, annoyance seeping into your voice as you turned to walk away from him and into the kitchen. You were stopped by a firm grip around your wrist. Quickly, you spun around so you were now face to face, well more like face to chest, with your old man. You shot him a death glare, almost daring him to test you with the mood you were in.

He held his free hand up in the air, as if in the surrender position before offering, “C’mon babe, you need to relax. I’ll help you”. His offer to help you relax caught your attention and caused you to pause for a moment. Taking advantage of the moment of silence, Happy pulled you back towards the other end of the house.

You followed him as he guided you into the bathroom. He took a moment to turn around and turn the water on as hot as it would go without burning your skin. After starting the shower, he turned around and told you to lift your arms up, a direction you quickly followed. He slowly peeled off your top and placed it in the hamper followed by your bra, pants, and underwear. He nodded his head, directing you to step into the shower. You complied and stepped into the warm stream of water. As your body adjusted to the feeling of the hot water hitting your skin, Happy stripped down and then stepped in behind you.

After stepping inside the shower, Happy grabbed your shampoo and squeezed a dab onto his palm. He rubbed his hands together to lather it up and then rubbed it into your hair. Afterwards he rinsed your hair, fingers digging into your scalp as he massaged the shampoo out. He repeated the process with your conditioner and you reveled in the incredible feeling of his strong rough hands, being gentle and caring only for you.

After finishing with your hair, he grabbed your loofa from the hook. He normally made fun of the bright purple girly monstrosity but now was not the time. He poured some of your favorite shower gel on the loofa. It was his favorite too, a light raspberry scent that lingered even after you had left the room. The scent stirred something inside him, but he tried to push down his own feelings of desire in order to take care of his old lady.

After squeezing the sweet smelling liquid onto the loofa, he started rubbing it along your skin, both cleaning and soothing your body at the same time. He started at your shoulders and worked his way down. As he brushed over your chest you suppressed a moan, instead trying to focus on how relaxed your body was feeling under his touch.

Eventually the top half of your body was squeaky clean so he began to move his hand farther south. Your state of mind changed from relaxed to hyper focused as he moved the material up and down between your thighs. You moaned and pressed yourself against him.

“Happy, please”, you whined as you continued pressing yourself against him.

“Yes?”, Happy responded, a smirk spread across his face as you melted under his touch. Rather than respond with your words, you grabbed onto his hand holding the loofa. You ripped the purple puff from his hand and threw it to the floor, then moving his now empty hand to the apex of your thighs.

He began moving his fingers through your folds, eliciting a gasp from you as you threw your arm behind you wrapping it around his neck. Happy used his free hand to lift your leg so it was propped up on the edge of the tub, giving him a better angle before dipping his finger inside of you. The sudden intrusion caused you to jump but you quickly adjusted and he pushed a second finger inside of you.

“Is this what you wanted little girl?”, he growled into your ear.

The fingers of his left hand continued to pump in and out of you while the fingers of his right hand roamed your naked body. His roaming fingers paused when he reached your chest, taking your nipple between his thumb and fore finger. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, an action that he knew drove you wild. As you squirmed under his touch, Happy moved his hand so that it was now cupping your breast, kneading the soft mound under his rough fingers.

He could feel you tightening around his fingers as they pumped in and out of you faster and faster. Wanting you to find your release, he moved his thumb so it putting pressure on your clit, causing your hips to buck and knock back into him.

“Happy…”, you panted, “I’m going to...I need to”.

Happy growled in response and moved his hand from your breast to your throat. He let his fingers creep up under your chin and quickly jerked your head to the side, placing rough kisses along your jaw.

“Then do it, let go”, he commanded, increasing the speed of his fingers, urging you to cum at his touch. His dominating voice and the over stimulation between your thighs pushed you over the edge and you came loud and hard around his fingers. When you came down from your high, you leaned your body back against his and smiled when you felt how hard he had grown beneath you.

“I can tell that you enjoyed that almost as much as I did killer”, you teased, spinning around and standing on your tip toes to place a kiss on his lips. Your left hand rested on his chest while your right hand trailed down his abdomen. Before your hand reached it’s destination, you were interrupted by Happy wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Nah, ah, ah. That’s not what I want little girl”, he told you, voice thick with desire.

“What do you want then killer?”, you asked, raising your eyebrows as you saw the animalistic side of your Old Man take over.  Rather than tell you, he showed you what he wanted, quickly pushing you up against the shower wall. He dropped your hand from his own and lifted your right leg, wrapping it around his torso and holding it there. His other hand lined himself up to your entrance before quickly thrusting into you.

You gasped at the sudden intrusion but quickly adjusted and nodded for him to continue. He kept one hand firmly holding onto your leg wrapped around his waist and placed his other hand underneath your jaw. You tilted your neck to the side, giving him better access. He nipped and sucked at the skin starting at the curve of your neck and making his way up along your jaw. When he got to your lips he placed a rough bruising kiss there before taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Fuck Hap!”, you squeaked out, ecstasy coursing through every ounce of your body as he thrust into you over and over again. He groaned and began to pick up the pace. Wanting to feel himself plunge even deeper into you, he grabbed your leg that was still standing and wrapped it around his torso as well. The change in position surprised you but you quickly grew to love it, wrapping your legs even tighter around him.

Encouraged by the way that your body responded to him, Happy picked up the pace again, thrusting harder and harder spurred on by the moans and gasps that his actions elicited from you. You felt so good, so tight, so perfect wrapped around him that he could feel himself beginning to lose control.

As he began focusing on both his own release and getting you to your second one, Happy had all but forgotten about the purple loofa you had discarded on the floor of the bathtub earlier. While attempting to re position himself his foot made contact with the neon fluff and he completely lost his balance. Since you were both soaking wet, there was no way for him to catch his balance and the two of you came tumbling out of the shower onto the floor, taking the shower curtain along with you.

After the initial shock of the fall wore off, you began laughing. You couldn’t stop laughing actually. The whole situation was too damn funny. When you rolled over and saw the shocked expression on your old man’s face, you smiled and leaned in to kiss him before giggling again.

“I take it you’re feeling better?”, he mused while beginning to get up off the floor. After he was standing he reached his hand out to you, offering to help you up off of the bathroom floor. You popped up off of the floor, practically bouncing in his arms.

“I’m feeling much better”, you replied before looking him up and down with a mischievous glint in your eye, “So much better that I think I’m ready for another round”. Not giving him a chance to respond, you winked and quickly scurried out of his arms, making your way to the bedroom. Happy shook his head and smiled, reaching behind him to turn off the water before following you into the other room for a couple more rounds.

Hours later you awoke with a grin on your face from the evening’s activities. You were surprised however to find the bed next to you empty. When you looked at the clock you saw that it was only 2 am, far too early for Hap to be off doing anything with the club. You decided to go look for your old man and grabbed a robe to wrap around your naked body.

You searched the house, unable to find him. That is until you saw the light shining under the door that led to your garage. Confused as to what Happy could be doing out there so late, you slowly opened the door and peered inside. He quickly turned around when he heard the door open but visibly relaxed when he saw it was you and went back to working on his project. He was sitting on a stool positioned behind your car.

“Hap”, you called out as you walked over towards him, “What are you doing out here so late”? As you came up on his side, Happy reached up and pulled you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he showed you what he had been working on.

“I fixed your tail light”, he explained, “Didn’t want you to have any more trouble with ass hole cops”.

“Thank you”, you responded with a smile, “For fixing my car and for taking care of me”.

“Just taking care of my old lady”, he replied with a shrug, “Now if that cop gives you any more trouble, call me and I’ll take care of it”. His protective side was taking over and you loved it. You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips before standing up and taking a step back from him.

“Hey, where you going”, he complained reaching out to pull you back towards him. Rather than let him pull you back down, you grabbed onto his hands and pulled him up with you. Granted he was much bigger than you so he “let” you pull him up.

“What are you up to (Y/N)?”, he questioned as you pulled him back towards the house.

“Well”, you began while slowly untying your robe, “I was thinking since you’ve been taking such good care of me tonight, it’s about time I take care of you”.

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[setepenre-set]

Safe If We Stand Close Together: Safety Instructions Not Included (chapter 4)

The Roxanne and Megamind are friends as children AU.

K+ rating

AO3 | FFN | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

(Follows Safe If We Stand Close Together and Happy Returns.)

There aren’t any guidelines for being best friends with an alien, no map key, no index, no safety instructions.

Roxanne tries, so very hard, to get it right in spite of this.

Dr. Kelley’s eyebrows rise steadily higher, and the Warden’s frown deepens, as Syx, Roxanne, and Minion explain.

When they’ve finished, Dr. Kelly and the Warden exchange a look.

“John,” Dr. Kelley says sharply. “You know this is a bad idea.”

“Going to have to do it sooner or later,” the Warden says, expression unchanged.

“We barely got away with it the first time!”

“Can’t let it go forever, Len,” the Warden says.

“It’s an unnecessary risk!”

“Seems like a bigger risk,” the Warden says, “to let it go.”

“John—”

“Len.”

The two of them look at each other for a moment without speaking, and then Dr. Kelley growls under his breath.

“Out!” he says, shooing Syx, Roxanne, and Minion from his office. “You kids wait in the hall.”

“But—” Syx starts to say, but Dr. Kelley closes the door.

Syx sits on the floor, his back against the wall and Minion’s ball in his lap. Roxanne presses her ear against the door, but, although she can hear both the Warden and Dr. Kelley’s voices, she can’t make out what they’re actually saying. Thwarted, she sinks down beside Syx.

“Do you think the Warden can talk him into it?” she asks.

“He talked Dr. Kelley into letting Sir go to school,” Minion says hopefully.

“He—he talked him into letting us spend the night at your dad’s house,” Syx says, chewing his lip.

Behind the door, the low sound of voices continues.

In the end, the Warden only halfway manages to talk Dr. Kelley into it. He agrees to file Minion’s sentience and citizenship paperwork, but he absolutely refuses to agree to Minion enrolling in school until after the paperwork has gone through. If the school denies him enrollment, he says, it might weaken their chances of getting Minion’s declared sentient.

Roxanne exchanges a frustrated look with Syx and Minion, but that, it seems, is the best they’re going to get.

Dr. Kelley drives Roxanne home.

He doesn’t drive nearly fast enough for Roxanne’s taste; her mother will be getting home soon and Roxanne really wants to be there before she does.

“So,” Dr. Kelley says, while they’re stopped at a light, “I take it this was your idea, then.”

Roxanne looks at him sidelong, trying to figure out if he’s angry or not. He doesn’t look angry—just sort of sardonically amused.

But, well, sometimes adults do look like that when they’re angry.

“Minion decided,” she says. Her voice sounds more defensive than she wants it to. “I didn’t make him.”

Dr. Kelley snorts.

“Tell me,” he says, “whose idea was it to set off a paint bomb in that first so-called school of yours?”

Roxanne frowns.

“—it was Syx’s,” she says.

(That was weeks ago; if Syx was going to get into trouble for it, surely it would have already happened?)

“You surprise me,” Dr. Kelley says dryly. “Oh—but no. Your ideas run more towards refusing to participate in gym class as a protest.”

Roxanne doesn’t know how to answer this, so she doesn’t say anything, just stares out the windshield. Dr. Kelley gives another snort of laughter. She looks over at him.

The light changes.

“This friendship is going to be eventful,” Dr. Kelley mutters.

“Haven’t you finished your homework yet?” Roxanne’s mother asks after she gets home.

Roxanne, who only let herself into the apartment five minutes before her mother arrived, pauses, her pencil hovering over the pages of her workbook.

“—not quite,” she says.

(it’s not lying. not really. it’s just—it’s just easier this way.)

School the next day is a bit of an ordeal.

Syx is twitchy and on-edge; Roxanne can tell he’s trying to suppress it, but he’s practically vibrating with nervous energy. Miss Anderson tells him that he’s disturbing the other students with his pencil-tapping, then tells him the same thing when he drums his fingers on the top of his desk, and then again when he bounces his leg so hard his chair makes a squeaky noise.

What makes it even worse is that all he has to do is fidget; as always, he finishes his work way before everyone else. Miss Anderson has a small bookshelf in the corner of the classroom; she lets him get a book to read at his desk, but of course Syx finishes that pretty quickly, too.

“May-I-get-another-book-please,” Syx asks, words running together the way they do sometimes when he’s agitated.

“Don’t you like that one?” Miss Anderson asks.

“It was enjoyable, but I’ve finished it now,” he says, and Roxanne sees the way he’s gripping the edge of his desk to keep his fingers from drumming.

Miss Anderson raises her eyebrows, but she lets him get another book.

He finishes that one, too, and has to ask to get another one. Miss Anderson’s eyebrows climb even higher this time before she gives him permission. Roxanne has completed her work by now, too, and she picks out a book as well. They’re not allowed to talk, but while they’re both at the bookshelves, Roxanne wraps her fingers around Syx’s wrist for a moment and he takes a shuddery kind of breath and leans his shoulder against hers.

Finally, mercifully, the bell rings for lunch. Miss Anderson, though, asks Syx to stay behind again, and this time when Roxanne lingers as well, she tells Roxanne that she should ‘go ahead and go down to lunch’, and she walks to the door to make sure Roxanne actually goes down the hall.

“What did she say?” Roxanne asks in an undertone, as Syx slides into the seat next to her at the lunch table.

“She didn’t believe I’d really finished the books,” Syx says in a low voice, “she said that I might be skipping things because I wanted to impress people.”

Roxanne makes a noise of outrage. Syx shrugs.

“So I started reciting the books to her,” he says.

Roxanne gives a gasp of half-fearful laughter.

“Did she get mad?” she asks.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” Syx says. “I hate this already.”

Roxanne squeezes his hand comfortingly.

“What are you two telling secrets about?”

Roxanne looks over, surprised. Monica, Nicole, Caitlyn, and—Roxanne doesn’t know what the fourth girl is called; she wasn’t in their class when Roxanne went here before—are all looking at her and Syx.

“You keep whispering,” Monica says.

“Secrets secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone,” Caitlyn says, sing-song and sanctimonious.

“—but if you share them with everyone, then they’re not actually secrets,” Syx says, looking at Caitlyn like she’s crazy.

“We weren’t telling secrets,” Roxanne says quickly, seeing the way that Caitlyn’s already looking offended.

“I hate shool,” Syx says, “it’s not a secret.”

“You mean ‘school’,” the fourth girl says, deftly inserting a straw into her chocolate milk.

“Please do not do that,” Syx says.

The girl blinks at him.

“What?”

“Please don’t correct his pronunciation,” Roxanne says. “It’s upsetting and sometimes he says things wrong on purpose.”

“English is a ridiculous and inconsistent language,” Syx mutters.

Roxanne nudges his sandwich towards him and he glares at it but picks it up and takes a bite.

The girl whose name Roxanne doesn’t know blinks at him for a moment.

“—oh,” she says. “Okay.”

Roxanne gives her a grateful look and the girl half-smiles back, shrugs, and takes a sip of her chocolate milk.

“That’s stupid,” Nicole says.

Roxanne turns a glare on her.

“Saying things wrong on purpose is stupid,” Monica adds.

Roxanne glares at her as well, shifting slightly, so that more of her body is shielding Syx from them.

“When did you guys get so mean?” she says. “You didn’t use to be so mean.”

“We’re not mean,” Monica says, looking down her nose at Roxanne. “You just think you’re better than us because you got picked to go to that fancy rich-kids school. You’re back here now, though; guess you weren’t so smart after all.”

Roxanne opens her mouth to say that’s not why I’m better than you, which—would be an extremely rude thing to say, so it’s probably best that Syx replies before she gets a chance to say it.

“Actually,” he says brightly, “our guardians removed us from that shool because we built a paint bomb in response to being bullied. And Roxanne is quite brilliant.”

There’s a pause, wherein they all gape at Roxanne and Syx.

“Whoa,” the fourth girl says.

“You built a bomb?” Caitlyn asks, looking both scandalized and terrified. “And they let you come to this school?”

“Just a paint bomb,” Roxanne says. “No one got hurt.”

“I don’t believe you,” Nicole says.

“—yeah,” Monica says, “there’s no way you know how to build a bomb. You’re just making it up.”

Syx frowns.

“It was a very simple bomb,” he says. “You’ve—seen those science fair project things, the volcanoes? Vinegar and baking soda, and then the volcano bubbles over, yes? What would happen if it didn’t have a hole to bubble out of?”

“Ohh,” the fourth girl says.

“Boom!” Syx says, gesturing with his sandwich. Strawberry jelly drips down his wrist. “Like that. But with paint in it, too.”

“…seriously?” Monica says, looking at Roxanne, her eyes round.

“Yeah,” she says, thinking it best to avoid mentioning the fire extinguisher addition to the explosion.

She has a feeling it’s probably prudent to try and downplay the whole bomb thing as far as possible.

The table was silent for a long moment, then Monica cleared her throat.

“I’ve got M&M’s,” she says. “You guys want some?”

She offers the bag to Roxanne first, which is as close, Roxanne knows, to a real apology as can be expected from Monica.

The six of them manage to snag the swing set before anyone else can get it first when they go out to recess. There are only four swings, but the six of them switch back and forth, taking turns pushing each other. When Syx and Roxanne are on the ground together, they make it an informal competition; whoever can get both of the people they’re pushing to the top first wins.

The physical activity is a good distraction for Syx, Roxanne thinks; he looks more calm than he has all day.

There’s math after they get in for recess; a review sheet on addition and subtraction before they move on to multiplication tomorrow. Syx finishes first, Roxanne second, but almost everyone else finishes fairly quickly, too.

The kid who sits in front of Roxanne, though, Gary, is struggling badly.

It’s horrible to have to watch.

Gary always did have trouble, even last year, when they were just doing addition. Subtraction seems to have made things exponentially worse.

When Miss Anderson is called out to the hall by another teacher to talk, Roxanne can bear it no longer.

“Stop trying to count down,” she bursts out.

Gary turns around to look at her, frowning. Roxanne makes a frustrated sound and gets out of her seat to stand next to his desk.

(there’s a murmur of shock from the other kids in the classroom; she ignores it.)

Gary looks up at her, his expression bewildered.

“You keep trying to count down,” she says impatiently. “But you keep getting lost when you’re counting backwards. Stop counting down. Count up.”

“—but it’s subtraction,” Gary says, looking even more confused.

“Here,” Syx says. Roxanne looks up to see him standing beside her, on the other side of Gary’s desk. “Look. This problem. Thirteen minus seven. You’re starting with the number thirteen, right? And then counting down until you reach seven?”

Gary nods.

“And you’re losing your place while counting down,” Syx says.

Gary flushes dully but nods.

“But you don’t have to count down from the higher number to the lower number,” Syx says. He taps the problem with his finger. “You can count up from the lower number to the higher number instead.”

“…but it’s subtraction,” Gary says again uncertainly.

“Subtraction is just the opposite of addition!” Roxanne says. “You can turn it into addition if you want to and then it’s easier!”

“Here, I’ll show you,” Syx says. He taps the problem again. “We start at seven. Eight,” he holds up a single finger, “nine,” he holds up another, “ten,” he holds up a third finger, “eleven,” he holds up a fourth finger, “twelve,” he holds up his thumb, “thirteen,” he holds up his other thumb. “And now you just count the fingers!” He waggles the fingers he’s holding up at Gary. “Six!”

Gary’s mouth shapes itself into an O of astonishment. He scrawls a six at the bottom of the problem.

“You try one now,” Roxanne says.

Another gasp goes through the room; Roxanne wonders briefly what they find so shocking now, but ignores them again.

“—nine minus five?” Gary says. “So you start at five.” He looks at Syx, who nods encouragingly. “Six,” Gary says, holding up a finger, “Seven. Eight. Nine.” He looks at the fingers he’s used to count. “Four?”

“Exactly!” Syx says.

“But what about, like, this?” Gary asks, pointing at another problem. “A hundred minus three.”

“Those you will have to count up for,” Roxanne says.

“It’ll still be easier if you use your fingers, though,” Syx says. “Start at a hundred. Ninety-nine,” he says, holding up a finger, “ninety-eight,” he holds up another finger, “ninety-seven,” he holds up a third finger.

“Three,” Gary says, and writes it down.

“Syx; Roxanne,” Miss Anderson’s voice takes the three of them by surprise; they all jump and look over at the doorway, where she’s standing now. “I need everyone to stay in their own seats while I’m out of the room.”

Roxanne flushes but goes to sit down again; Syx does as well.

She’s expecting it when Miss Anderson asks the two of them to stay a few minutes after school.

“Gary didn’t ask us to help him,” Roxanne says, as soon as the other students are gone. “And we didn’t give him the answers. He shouldn’t get into trouble, too.”

Miss Anderson, who had been opening her mouth to speak, closes it again, looking at faintly puzzled.

“…I see,” she says.

She looks between Syx and Roxanne, a slight frown appearing between her eyebrows.

“You know you’re not supposed to get out of your seats while I’m out of the room,” she says.

Neither Syx and Roxanne answer, but they both nod.

“Why didn’t you wait until I’d come back?” Miss Anderson says. “Why didn’t you just ask permission?”

Roxanne stares at her, and then looks over at Syx. He looks back at her, his expression as shocked and confused as she’s feeling.

“Because you’re a teacher,” Syx says, speaking for both of them. “You would have said no.”

Miss Anderson blinks, and then her frown deepens.

“Where was it the two of you went to school before this?” she asks.

“‘Lil Gifted,” Roxanne and Syx say at the same time, in identical tones of loathing.

“—ah,” Miss Anderson says, “‘Lil Gifted.”

Roxanne looks at her, surprised at her tone. There’s a lot of disapproval and dislike in it. Possibly she knows Miss Simmons personally.

Miss Anderson shakes her head and gives the two of them a small smile.

“Not all classrooms are the same,” she says. “And not all teachers are the same. I don’t mind you helping out your classmates if they’re having trouble, as long as you’re not disruptive about it. No helping during tests, of course, and no simply sharing answers—but I think the two of you understand about that, don’t you? And no being out of your seats while I’m gone unless I’ve given you permission. All right?”

She smiles at them again.

“She was nice,” Syx says later, in tones of shock, the two of them sitting on the bus. “Are—are teachers usually that nice?”

“I don’t think so,” Roxanne says cautiously. “I mean, none of my other teachers were that nice. But none of them were as mean as Miss Simmons, either, so.”

Syx makes a thoughtful kind of noise, and then the two of them lapse into silence.

The next day, when Syx and Roxanne finish their reading assignment early, Miss Anderson gives them a hall pass and lets them go to the actual library to pick out books. Which keeps Syx occupied for a longer period of time, so there’s less of the fidgeting, and they have longer, more difficult books in the library, which also helps keep him occupied longer.

“—can I sit with you guys?”

Roxanne looks up, blinking. Gary is standing next to their lunch table, holding a tray and shifting nervously from one foot to the other. Nicole and Caitlyn giggle and Gary goes red, but doesn’t leave.

“Yes,” Syx says, after exchanging a quick look with Roxanne.

Gary drops down onto the seat across from Syx.

“Thanks,” he says. “Did you guys get in a lot of trouble yesterday?”

“Oddly enough,” Syx says, “no.”

“Miss Anderson says we’re allowed to help each other,” Roxanne says. “We’re just not supposed to get up while she’s out of the room.”

Gary looks between them, wide-eyed.

“Wow,” he says. “So. Uh. Either of you guys…know anything about multiplication?”

“We haven’t even started multiplication,” Monica says. “Miss Anderson hasn’t even explained it; why are you worried already?”

“Yes,” Roxanne says, “we both know multiplication.”

Gary lets out a long relieved breath.

“Oh, good,” he says. He takes a bite of hamburger. “I mean,” he says, words slightly muffled by hamburger, “I’ve just got a bad feeling about it,” he swallows “You guys really get it?”

“Yes,” Roxanne says. “It’s not that bad. You can turn it into addition, too.”

Gary blinks at her, looking confused.

“That’s what times means,” Syx says. “One number tells you how many times you add the other number to zero.”

“Wait, really?” Gary says. “That’s all it��but—how do you know which one’s which?”

“Which one’s which what?” Roxanne asks.

“You know,” Gary says, “which number is the one you’re supposed to add to zero and which number is telling you how many times you’re supposed to add the other number to zero?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Roxanne says. “You can do a problem either way and you’ll still get the same answer.”

Gary frowns, clearly confused.

“Three times two is the same is two times three,” Syx says. “Three times two means add three to zero two times,” he holds up three fingers on one hand, then three fingers on the other hand. “It’s six.” He wriggles his upraised fingers at Gary, then drops his hands. “And two times three means add two to zero three times,” he holds up two fingers on one hand, then two more, holds up two fingers on his other hand, and wriggles his upraised fingers at Gary again. “It’s still six.”

Gary’s jaw drops and Syx shrugs, a sharp twitch of his shoulders.

“Whoa,” Gary says.

Sys shrugs again, another of those jerky, twitchy movements, and drops his gaze to the tabletop.

“You guys are really smart.”

Roxanne makes a noise of vague agreement—Gary’s right; Syx is really smart—but to be honest, she’s not really paying that much attention to Gary.

Syx is glaring at the tabletop, gritting his teeth, fingers drumming. When she touches his wrist lightly, he stops, and looks at her. She glances down at his lunch, and he follows her gaze, then sighs, picks up his spoon, and takes a bite of jello.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a quiet voice.

Syx gives her a strained smile and waves his spoon in a sharp, dismissive motion.

“Well,” he says, “things—could be a lot worse.”

He means it as a reassurance, Roxanne can tell, but she frowns in discontent and frustration as she turns back to her own lunch.

Of course things could be worse; of course they could, but they could be so much better, too, and—

It just isn’t fair.

...to be continued.

Happy day six of my Nine Days of Megamind! 

Thank you all so much for continuing to like, reblog, and review! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter!