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saltburnedme · 11 months ago

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My requests are open! Message/comment to be added to the tag list!

Paring: Oliver Quick x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3520

Summary: After your last night with Oliver you question if things were even real, did you want them to be? Or are things better left unsaid.

Warnings: SMUT (ONLY READ IF YOU ARE 18+) unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), dub con, drowning (kind of, their in a bath it’s more of like a forced breath play thing no one actually dies), sex in a bath, generally fucked up smut overall again

Read part 1 here (this can be read as a one shot too)

You didn’t wake up until nearing noon, up to this point you didn’t realise that had even been an option. Moments after you realised that something must have woken you up in the first place, there was a light knock on the door from one of the maids, a welcome change to the usual bursting in and blinding you with light pouring in from the freshly opened curtain you thought for a few seconds before she did exactly that.

‘Good morning miss, did you sleep well?’ She questions, her voice cheerful as she opens the curtains letting the sunlight flood into the room. Your eyes still adjusting to the dawn, the memories of last night rushing back into your mind. Your ripped night dress and falling asleep naked must have looked suspicious enough but to add to this you were certain your hair must have been a mess. It was only upon looking down towards yourself to cover up that you found yourself wearing a different night dress, one you can’t remember ever having seen before, your hair felt as if it was tied back and your torn nightwear was nowhere to be found.

‘I slept fabulously, thank you for asking’ you reply, feeling like your speech was slurred from drowsiness.

‘Breakfast is ready downstairs’ she replied before exiting the room, the second the door closed you rushed out of bed and almost sprinted towards the mirror. Was any of it real? You were now dressed where you remember sleeping naked, your hair was tied back and brushed where you remember it being down. Your mirror was against the wall like usual and as much as you may try the damn thing wouldn’t budge an inch. The only thing remaining from the night before was the faint swell between your legs and a suspiciously red mark left around your neck, if it hadn’t been for this you would be questioning if the night previous had been real at all or if you’d finally become so delusional from tiredness that you’d hallucinated the entire thing.

You traveled through your day in a haze, you’d like to say that you hadn’t made an extra effort to seek out Oliver but you had once again wandered into every room, down every hall and through every garden, apparently after everything that had happened he was now conveniently a difficult man to find. Was he ever really there? All of those words he said and everything he did was it actually real? He did seem out of character, the Oliver you knew, albeit very vaguely, would never have come into your room, stripped you naked and fucked you like that. You weren’t even convinced he’d ever actually had sex before last night let alone was as depraved as you’d found him to be. Last night he asked you to come to him at 10pm sharp, to meet him in the bathroom that he and Felix shared, but should you go? If you doubted it was even real in the first place wouldn’t just turning up in their bath seem at the very least a little bit unhinged? You weren’t sure what to make or do with any of it, but if one thing was for certain you were going to find out.

The day hurried by and promptly turned to night, surely you’d see Oliver at dinner you thought to yourself, your little hunt that consumed your day proving fruitless. As always you dressed for dinner, this time opting for a white bias cut silk dress which clung to every curve. It somewhat resembled your torn (and now missing) night dress, the main differences being in the wider straps and being longer in length as the hem delicately brushed the floor.

You tried your best to keep your literal and metaphorical cool through the warm air of the summer night, strolling with ease through the door of the large dining room. Your eyes scanned the room for mere seconds before you found him, sitting silently in his usual seat cross from yours, eating and avoiding eye contact at all costs. Taking your seat the usual chit chat continued around you with food placed elegantly in front of you, your eyes beaming forward burning a hole into the forehead of the man across from you in the hopes that your gaze would force his hand in some way. You’d searched for him all day, where could he have been? He looked almost angry. Summoning up your last ounce of bravery you decided, the only way to fight the bull is to grab him by the horns.

‘So Oliver, how did you sleep?’ You asked loudly across the table, loud enough for the rest of the dinner guests to hear, placing a pause over all the other conversations happening in your vicinity. Out of the corner of your eye you could just about make out the puzzled faces of the rest of the table, everyone now wondering how often they’d actually heard you address each other previously to this.

‘Fine, thank you Y/N’ he replied bluntly, his gaze finally meeting yours. You’d hoped opening up some kind of conversation with him would confirm your beliefs in some way, but instead he just looked angry. Maybe that was conformation enough in itself?

‘I thought I heard something from your side of the house’ you muttered out as the conversations around you slowly begin again. His blue eyes becoming black with anger almost daring you to say more as he sat unspoken.

‘Oh did you now?’ He questions. Definitely daring, you thought to yourself. You felt almost as if you were staring out a wild animal waiting to see just how long it would take for you to blink and for him to attack.

‘Yes, I thought I heard someone walking around near my room coming from your direction’ you continue, one hand playing nervously with the soft fabric of your dress underneath the table as the other shuffles food around your plate with your fork.

‘It’s an old house, all sorts of noises’ he replies, his head tilted slightly to the side as if to work out where you were going with this line of questioning. ‘Why, was there something you needed during the night?’ He ponders. Was he still daring you or was he just as confused about this whole situation as you were? Maybe you really had imagined the whole thing. He wouldn’t be asking you that if he had something to hide surely, you knew Felix had a temper with a hairpin trigger and absolutely no one wanted to provoke that. Or maybe that was exactly the point.

‘Oh no, it’s nothing really. Don’t worry, it just woke me up is all’ you reply, trying your best to sweep this entire conversation under the rug as much as humanly possible. You wanted to shrink away and become one with your chair, hiding in plain sight almost as if to disappear completely into a puddle of your own embarrassment. With a shrug Oliver went back to eating and ignoring you again, occasionally joining in with the others conversations as you pushed your food around your plate, taking anxious mouthfuls until the plate was almost entirely emptied.

‘Please may I be excused? I’m awfully tired’ you asked, your question pointed towards Elsbeth at the head of the table.

‘Of course my darling, sleep well’ she says as you hurry off, granting the room a brief Goodnight and a polite smile before making your way down the corridor.

Despite all of this, at 10pm you found yourself pacing your room, if any of it had been real you were well aware that you were late by now, your pacing only increasing as the clock ticks to 10:01pm, 10:02pm and before you knew it 10:05pm.

‘Fuck it’ you whispered to yourself, heading out of your room and down the corridor in the direction of Oliver’s room. Taking off your shoes to be as quiet as possible, your dress swung at your ankles as you almost stormed your way towards the bathroom, your feet padding cautiously but quickly against the wooden floor.

Finally arriving after what felt like hours of walking you found the bath freshly drawn yet the room suspiciously empty. At least this partially confirmed that you hadn’t manufactured this entire situation in your haze of exhaustion. The lights dimmed to their lowest setting you can barely see into the corners of the room, you make your way over to the mirror to take in your reflection standing in front of the sink. Resting your hands against it you check the room again, still no one to be found or so you thought. Letting out a frustrated sigh you concluded that if someone was watching you, as you hoped they were, you’d give them a show.

Sliding the first silk strap down your shoulder you glide your hand across your chest, down to your shoulder and off of your arm. You follow the same with your other arm, still holding the dress to your body as you take one last look around the room before dropping your dress to the floor the white fabric pooling at your feet, a stark contrast to the darkness of the rest of the room. Your movements continued as you slipped your bra off, once released massaging your own shoulder softly to relieve yourself from the stress of the day. Your hands slipping lower you step out of your white, matching silk panties, the collection of fabrics joining your dress on the floor.

You turn away from the mirror, facing towards the bath, slowly stepping in and submerging your body in the water, the shine of the golden tub reflecting off of your skin. Dipping your hair in the water you look around the room full of hopefulness again, still, finding nothing. He had to be here, you were sure of it and if he wouldn’t come to you of his own free will, you’d make him just like he made you. Your hand begins to travel south, lowering between your legs rubbing soft circles into your clit. You feel the tension release from your body almost immediately as your pace increases, letting out a stream of breathy moans, the sound reverberating off of the tiles. Your eyes fall closed and your face begins to contort with pleasure as you feel your climax rapidly build, your mind replaying the previous night tempting your pleasure to reach its peak.

Just as quickly as your orgasm built, it was ripped away from you harshly. Your eyes still clenched shut in ecstasy you feel your wet hair being grasped firmly, pulling you under in the water. You try to hold your breath as you’re pushed under but the shock of it almost causes you to breathe the water in. Being held there for a couple of seconds your pulled up just as aggressively.

‘You think your such a clever girl, calling me out like that’ he growls, climbing on top of you still dressed in a white shirt and boxers. His body caging you in underneath him he puts his other hand around your face, squishing your jaw so that your mouth falls open, spitting into your mouth before pushing your head under water once more. You wish that you could have kept the taste of him on your tongue for a few seconds more, a thought that crossed your mind very briefly until you were filled with the panic of being drowned once again before being pulled to the surface once more.

‘Tell me why I shouldn’t just drown you now little one? You know that’s been my plan all along, fucking you and feeling you completely submissive underneath me, nothing you can do to stop me’ he growls, grinding his hard cock into the flesh of your thigh. ‘But you had to be a disobedient little whore, just like the rest of your fucking Catton family’ he continues, you open your mouth to reply but just as you breathe in to speak he plunges you under again, this time pulling your up faster, allowing you to cough up water and look up to him in fear. ‘There’s my good girl’ he sneers, this is exactly how he wanted you completely obedient and pliable underneath him. He wanted the power over you, to make you fear him and love him all at once, something that he was very much achieving. Almost as quickly as he had turned on you, his touch became soft almost loving and his words followed suit.

‘You looked so pretty in that dress, almost like an angel. You wear that for me sweetheart?’ He asks, releasing your hair to press one hand against the roll top of the bath near your head while still holding your cheeks softly in his other hand. You were almost wordless, the contrast in his actions totally throwing you off in a way you would have never expected. You thought you’d seen the darkest parts of him last night, but this was like you’d found another cavern in his soul filled with nothing but hatred for you and everyone around you.

‘Y-yes’ you stutter out, still catching your breath from being held under water, your eyes locked on his as he leans in closer, his face almost touching yours.

‘Yes, what?’ He asks, your eyes scanning his face rapidly to give him the answer he craves, the answer you wish with all your heart and mind to give him.

‘Yes.. sir’ you reply, your words coming out shakily, your body trembling in the gradually cooling water.

‘Such a good girl for me’ he says letting go of your face, his hand sliding down your curves, pulling your legs around his hips your heat pressing into his fully hardened length. He got off on drowning you, that was the first thing that sprung to mind when you felt him between your legs, he wanted your submission and my god did he have it. ‘Fuck’ he groans to himself as he grinds into you, it was almost as if he saw you as an object, just there for his ego.. and other things. Pulling his shirt over his head he discards the wet fabric to the floor beside the bath, pushing his boxers down and gliding the thick head of his cock through your folds.

‘Do you want me to fuck you angel? You’ve been such a good girl, you deserve a reward’ he asks as softly as he could in the given situation. You knew he didn’t really care what you said, if you refused he’d still take what he wanted from you but he knew you’d never turn him down not when he was the only person granting you the lustful excitement that you so craved.

‘Please sir, please fuck me’ you ask looking into his eyes in desperation.

‘Ah, that’s not quite good enough little one. Show me how much you want me’ he demands, pulling you up towards him, leaning back on his heels as he kneels in front of you, his hips lifted to your face height. Tentatively you licked down his shaft, your gaze held by his as you take more of him in your mouth. For the first time, he was letting you take control, his hands gripping the sides of the bath firmly, his knuckles whitening as his fists tighten. You knew not to break eye contact from your last time with him, he liked you to look at him, he loved the power it gave him over you as he moaned unashamed above you. Wouldn’t Felix hear? Wouldn’t you be in trouble? You thought. You’d suspected earlier today that this may be exactly what Oliver was betting on but right in this moment you didn’t care, you’d do anything to please him.

Your hands join your mouth wrapped around Oliver’s length, pumping him as his cheeks flush and one of his hands entangle in your hair gripping it and pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. ‘Fuck angel’ he almost whispers, as you feel him throbbing under your grip, he was close and you knew it. Your fists quickened their pace and you sucked his tip a little bit stronger until his eyes left yours, his head falling back against his shoulders as his eyes close and his face contorts in pleasure, pushing his tip right to the back of your throat causing you to choke as he empties himself into your windpipe, fucking your face as he rides out his orgasm. Just as his climax subsides he pulls his still hard length out of your mouth.

‘Open’ he demands, no other words. You thought he wanted to see that you’d swallowed but you hadn’t, his spend trickling out around the corners of your mouth. ‘Jesus, look at you’ his tone mixed between an insult and genuine concern. Just as you tried to swallow his load again, you were stopped feeling his mouth on yours, his tongue exploring your mouth immediately making your kiss a mixture of both of your saliva and his cum emptying your mouth of it as he pushes you back against the bath, wrapping your legs around his hips once more. The image of you like this seeming to have triggered something in him again, he immediately lines his cock up with your entrance and thrusts up into you making you let out a light scream in a mixture pleasure and pain as he splits you open.

His pace was fast, way faster than you expected as the remaining water in the bath splashes over the edges as he fucks you landing on the floor beside the tub. His eyes baring into yours once again he holds you up above the water line, the blood rushing throughout your body almost deafeningly as all of your senses heighten zoning in on Oliver. Your ruined orgasm returning almost as quickly as it left you feel yourself begin to clamp down on him, you know he can feel it, his hips grinding into yours forcing your orgasm from you almost violently.

‘Cum for me’ he asks, his tone almost begging at this point. ‘Let me hear it’ He demands, another contrast with last night, this time he wants to hear you. ‘Let them all hear it, let them know who you belong to, who fucks you like this’ his words faltering as you clamp down on him, riding out your orgasm loudly just ask he asked, the sound bouncing off the walls you were certain that they must have been able to hear you in the next village over let alone just in the house.

‘Fuck, you really are an angel, look at you’ he says, guiding your gaze to the mirrors over the sink to the side of you as you come down from your orgasm, still continuing at his blistering pace. Watching him fuck you was almost other worldly, the way the dim light reflected off of his almost translucent white skin. You could see his length thrust in and out of you as your eyes met his in the mirror. Pulling you out of your post orgasm haze he doubles down on his pace, one hand on the bath above you the other on your hip as his nails dig into your soft skin. Without warning he emptied himself inside you, pressing his lips to yours as he came within you his moans almost as loud as yours had just been.

Regaining your breaths he pulls out of you, sliding behind you in the bath washing your body clean with the remaining water as your back is pushed against his chest. You wanted to say something, to ask him what all of this meant or if it really meant anything to him at all. You knew you had feelings for him, feelings that grew stronger every time something like this happened between you. You had a need, a desperate want to make him happy, to impress him and to make him need you the way you needed him.

‘Did you enjoy your little lie in?’ He asks, some what out of context with the rest of what had just happened.

‘Uh.. yes’ you replied ‘I wasn’t aware the staff would let anyone sleep in after 8am’ you continued with a giggle.

‘That’s because they don’t. I told them to leave you be a little longer after your somewhat strenuous night’ he replies pressing kisses into your neck as he continues to clean you.

‘And they listened to you?’ You asked, partially amazed that the house staff would ever listen to the wishes of anyone other than the core members of the family.

‘They will’ He says, his voice sterner as his actions continue, pulling you in for one last kiss while running his fingers through your hair. ‘Oh they will my angel’ his words ring in your ear as you begin to fall asleep on his chest ignoring the rest of his sentence, you were his angel.

Tag list - @lillypink @ilovesaltburn @simplymakkari @hahahafucku @rorysgirl @jubileexoxo @grandpaintersuit @anniemay67 @idontevenknow1359 @frayafriggafrey

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domjaehyun · 6 months ago

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the boy is mine (l.dh) TEASER 💖

coming relatively soon :) teaser WC: 1.1k

“Haechan.”

“Mhm?”

“Can you walk faster, please? I’m not trying to lose a whole person in the Met.” you complain, stopping in your tracks and turning around to let Haechan catch up to you. The section you’re passing through is packed, the room filled with the din of various animated conversations all overlapping one another.

“Sorry, I’m just taking in all the art in front of me,” he replies, and your expression softens as you remember that this is, in fact, a museum exhibit you’re standing in and not merely a hallway to where you want to go.

“Yeah, the paintings are beautiful,” you agree, and he looks over at you with a confused look.

“Oh—yeah, the paintings are cool, too.” he answers unconvincingly, and you stare at him expressionlessly.

“What were you looking at if not the paintings?” you ask, confused, and he looks you up and down pointedly as if to answer your question. “You’re ridiculous,” you groan, turning to walk away.

“Oh, come on, you can’t blame me! You in that outfit is a goddamn masterpiece.” he defends himself, and you just sigh loudly as you keep walking.

“Keep up!” you quip, and he catches up to you, leaning down slightly so his lips are by your ear.

“Don’t even get me started on this cute little skirt you’ve got on,” he murmurs suggestively, and an involuntary shudder travels down your spine from the ticklish sensation of his breath on the hair on the back of your neck. “Kinda driving me crazy,” he half-mumbles, half-chuckles.

“It can’t be that hard to drive you crazy,” you point out. “You already live on the corner of Bonkers Boulevard and Delulu Drive.”

“Wow, and you call me a menace?” he snorts in amusement, reaching over to pinch your side in retaliation and laughing when you dance away with a giggle. “Come back, I thought we had to stick together,” he complains.

You roll your eyes but stop just ahead of him, hands placed on your hips as you wait for him to catch up.

“That’s better,” he finally says when he’s beside you once more. “You know, maybe we should hold hands.” he suggests, smiling wider and nodding vigorously in an attempt to convince you when you look over at him with a “no” already on the tip of your tongue.

“And why would we do that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side in a patronizing act of confusion.

“It’s crowded. What if someone walks between us and you turn to enter an exhibit but I don’t see where you went?” He frowns petulantly, and you scoff dismissively.

“You can hold my purse,” you offer, holding it out to him.

“How is that gonna help me stay close to you?” he asks with a frown, and you shoot him a look.

“It’ll help me stay close to you,” you clarify. “All my stuff is in there, so I’m not going anywhere that bag’s not going.”

“Hm. I’d rather hold your hand but I guess this will do.” he sighs dramatically, and you snicker.

“Keep wishing.” you reply casually.

“Oh, I will. Got any loose eyelashes I can wish on and blow away?”

“No.”

“Lucky pennies?”

“I don’t have change. Does the universe take Apple Pay?” you reply in a bored tone, and he snorts loudly in amusement.

“Man, gorgeous and funny,” he sighs contentedly, and it’s your turn to exhale in amusement. “Fine. I’ll wait until 11:11 to make the wish.”

“You know that because you told me what you’re gonna wish for, it’s not gonna come true now, right?” you remind him with a teasing smile, and his eyes widen comically.

“I’ll wish for something different.” he relents, and you can’t help but frown slightly at the crestfallen look on his face. You look around to see if anyone you know is nearby and, seeing no one, let out a defeated yet amused sigh before reaching out and linking your fingers with his. “I knew you liked me,” he remarks with an air of smug satisfaction, and you scowl at him before ripping your fingers from his.

“...And you’re done.”

“Nope, too late,” he replies with a wide grin as he links his fingers with yours again, either oblivious to the fight you’re putting up or simply unfazed. “We’re locked in now.” he teases, and you raise your brows in a silent challenge.

“Oh, yeah? Should I call you something cutesy like—oh,” you say, stopping mid-sentence and turning to look at him with a slowly growing mischievous smile. “What was that name Winter called you on the way here?”

“Oh, please don’t.”

“Was it Snookums?” you think aloud, and he groans, tossing his head back dramatically.

“Please?”

“Cuddlebug?”

“No—”

“Oh!” you exclaim, snapping your fingers and pointing at him. “Pookie Bear.” you say triumphantly, and the grimace on his face is beyond rewarding.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Haechan says hurriedly. “In fact, I’d rather you not—”

“But I love calling you Pookie Bear, Pookie Bear.” you coo affectionately, putting extra emphasis on the embarrassing pet name to leave it dripping with saccharine sweetness.

“You know what’s kind of crazy?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Besides you? No.”

“Ha, ha.” he drawls. “What’s crazy is that it’s kinda hot the way you say it.” he points out, and you whine loudly in protest.

“I can’t have anything, man! I get to torment you back for less than two minutes, and your freaky little self likes it?” you gripe under your breath as you pull him towards the large sign indicating the doorway to the beginning of the Greek sculptures exhibit. “We’re here!” you announce happily.

“Anything I should know before we enter this section?” he asks curiously, and you think for a moment before nodding.

“Most, if not all, of these statues have micropenises.” you warn him, and roll your eyes instantly at the immediate amusement on his face. “Keep the dick jokes to a minimum.”

“You got it, princess.” he agrees, nodding cooperatively, and you whirl around to look at him.

“Princess?!”

“You call me Pookie Bear, I call you princess.” he says with a nonchalant shrug, and you narrow your eyes at him in a silent staredown. “It’ll grow on you,” he says confidently as he starts walking into the exhibit.

And as you’re tugged along after him, protesting all the while that “it most certainly will not,” you can’t help but feel like it already has—that is, if the sensation you’re feeling of a lone butterfly fluttering around your stomach has anything to do with it.

#.txt #haechan smut #it will be…. smut. not in teaser though #nct smut

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joelscruff · 1 year ago

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART 8.5 (JOEL'S POV)

previous chapters | so after the last chapter there were SO many people who really wanted to understand joel's actions, and i thought instead of him simply explaining to reader what happened, why don't i just write a chapter entirely from his point of view instead? hopefully this answers some questions, enjoy! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: you're not the only one who has a busy weekend ahead of them. one text changes the trajectory of joel's relationship with you - for better or worse. (this is essentially chapter seven and eight from joel's pov) rating: 18+ explicit warnings for this chapter: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, discussions of child abandonment, mental health & cheating, alcohol, allusions to past sexual encounters between joel and his ex, brief flashbacks to smut from previous chapters word count: 13k ao3

He thinks about you so much more often than he should.

Your soft skin, your smile, your eyes, your hair, your little giggles, your shy and breathless whimpers.... your body, pliant and sweet beneath his touch, open and willing and waiting.

You're so perfect. You're so young.

He's never been with someone so much younger than him before. He's not sure you realize that. But that day on his doorstep when you'd wandered down the sidewalk looking like a bit of a lost puppy, that little frown line prominent between your eyebrows that he's come to adore, something clicked. You brought out a side of him he'd long since buried; he knew he had to have you. He just knew. Could feel it in the pit of his stomach when those gorgeous eyes had come to rest on him. Wide and innocent and sad. Something he saw there that made him pause.

He'd have had you that day if you'd let him, a fact that he's still grappling with. Long gone are the days where he'd meet a woman and take her home within a twenty four hour span - long gone are the days where he's so much as been interested in a woman he didn't know well enough, someone safe and secure and familiar. But he hoped you'd be back, almost knew you would, could see it in the way you shivered under his gaze, the way your eyes lingered on his face, on his fingers. He hadn't felt like being charming in a long time; he'd genuinely surprised himself with the flirtatious comments, the sly smiles, double meanings. But he couldn't help himself.

He'd wanted you so bad. The moment you'd disappeared down the street he'd gotten in the shower and fucked his fist for only a few minutes before coming all over the tiled wall at the very thought of you. He didn't even know your name but had already memorized the curves of your body, the shape of your lips, the smell of your skin when he'd gotten close enough. He'd practically limped back to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed in a heap, staring up at the ceiling with nothing but shock and confusion. Where the fuck had that come from?

He's such a dirty old man.

Old being the operative word. He turns fifty seven in a few months and the thought makes him feel physically ill. It's not that he necessarily hates the thought of getting older, of being one step closer to knocking on death's door, but more-so the fact that he's almost fifty seven and has almost nothing to show for it. His life is a mess, has been a mess for as long as he can remember.

But now... you.

You... full of life and eagerness and kindness. A soft and gentle angel in his bed, on his couch, in his kitchen. So shy and quiet, telling him what you think about, what you worry about. Letting him whisper the filthiest things in your ear while you whimper and moan, letting him touch you the way you deserve to be touched, the way you've never been touched before.

You bring something out in him he can't explain. He'd invited you inside that first day looking for a quick fuck and he admits it was a moment of weakness, the whole thing. He knows Sarah and Mish would kill him for even considering treating you that way, like an object, something to be conquered. The past version of himself who briefly felt that way about you makes him angry now.

Because now he really wants you. Not just a fuck - he wants you. He thinks about you all the fucking time and it scares the shit out of him. What started as something dirty and frivolous quickly turned into something tender and sweet the moment you told him you were a virgin, and he doesn't know how to handle it. You're so fucking lovely but so fucking sad and unsure, full of apprehension, regrets, insecurities, things he sees in himself. You remind him so much of himself at that age and he just wants to take care of you, be the person for you that he didn't have.

But you're so fucking young.

He tries to push the feelings down. He's purposely distant to you, especially during the week. You send him sweet little messages, tell him about your day, ask him about his. He stares at them for so long without answering them, and when he does answer his replies are short and vague. Because how can he say what he really wants to say? I think about you so much, angel. I want you to be mine. I don't want you to chase after any college boys or have any college boys chasin' after you. I wanna be your first and I wanna be your only.

How can he put you in that position? You're having fun, you're learning things, but there's absolutely no way you see any sort of future with him. The fact that he can already see one with you is the biggest red flag in itself - what the fuck is wrong with him?

But you're just so fucking sweet. So lovely. So gorgeous. He wants you in his bed and he wants you to stay there. He knows he'll be the first person to ever fuck you and that thought is enough to keep him going, yet he can't help but want more. But it's so selfish - you're young and bright-eyed and pretty and perfect, the promise of an incredible future ahead of you. And he's just... him.

He's old. He's grumpy. He's washed up. Became a father in high school. Got married. Got divorced. Has had more failed relationships than successful ones. Has been working the same job since he was twenty years old, a job he fucking hates. Loathes it with his entire being. Still doing the same work for the majority of his life with almost no breaks, no stops. He knows he should retire, should have done it years ago, but he's afraid.

He's always been fucking terrified of change. Earlier this year he'd moved into a new neighborhood. He'd gotten sick of the house he'd once shared with Mish, then Mish and Sarah, then just Sarah - the one she'd lived in sporadically 'til she was twenty six and finally felt financially stable enough to go out on her own. He'd stayed there about ten more years out of convenience, had another failed relationship with a woman who deserved far better than what he could give her, then finally pulled the plug and got something new for himself a few hours away, hoping it'd change his perspective. He'd picked a place with privacy, good acoustics, thought maybe he'd play his guitar more - focus on his music and slowly phase himself out of the contracting business.

But months later, he's still working it. The thought of being unemployed after working this hard his entire life, just ending up sad and alone in this new house, still not even properly furnished or decorated, makes him want to throw up. What the fuck would he do with all that free time? He's always wondered exactly how he'd spend it, how life could be enjoyable without the structure of his livelihood, but then he shakes it off and just keeps going because he knows the alternative has to be worse. But now... you.

You - who if you truly knew what a fucking failure he is, the boring bag of bones he pretends he's not when he's with you - would leave his bed and never come back.

You - who if you found out about his ex wife, his daughter, both of whom live adventurous and exciting lives while he's done nothing but stay still in the comforts of familiarity - would probably find him beyond pathetic.

You - who can do so much better.

He just knows that it can't last.

He gets the text from Sarah on Wednesday morning:

Hey Dad!! Me and Mom are doing our annual road trip, thought we'd stop down there for a bit and have a look at your new house!!

He tries not to notice the excitement of seeing his daughter being slightly dulled by the promise of being accompanied by her mother. In a way it makes him sad, because he loves Mish, has loved her since he was seventeen years old. He cares deeply about her and has always wanted nothing but the best for her, has always enjoyed her visits in the past - for more than one reason. But now...

No. He has to shake the thought away before he freaks himself out.

Kiddo!!!! That's exciting, when were you thinkin?

We'll be there by Friday afternoon!! Sorry for the short notice but we weren't sure if it'd be possible til today. We're actually trying to stick to a schedule this time believe it or not.

That's ok, you know it doesn't matter to me. Wanna see you any time. Miss you a lot.

Aw Dad I miss you too, I can't wait to see you!!! We'll text when we're getting close. Gonna check into a motel that night and we'll be leaving again the next morning, gotta stay on track.

He almost offers his guest room. Almost. But then thinks better of it.

Sounds good kiddo, see you then :)

Mish texts him later that afternoon. He'd been expecting it, knew she would want to double check that the visit was alright, but her name popping up in his notifications sends a jab of anxiety to the pit of his stomach. It's one thing for Sarah to visit on her own, but both of them together always adds a... different layer to the situation. A layer that needs addressing. A layer that he'd usually have more than a little excitement for, some anticipation - but not this time.

Sarah's got me roadtrippin again

She loves to make you suffer.

Don't I know it

He can't help but chuckle to himself, but his smile fades quickly as soon as the next message comes in:

Gonna be stopping by on Friday. You good for our usual?

He stalls.

Thought you were still with Elvis.

ALVIN. And no that's over

Sorry about that.

Like hell you are

He purposely doesn't answer her question, and she doesn't send anything else. The anxiety doesn't go away though - it spreads throughout his body until he's an absolute mess, shaky hands and ringing ears at the job site as he tries to stay focused, but ultimately fails to. His crew flits here and there around him without much direction and they end up going overtime, leading to an angry call from the boss, a call that leaves his hands clenched into fists by the time he gets to the bar with the crew. Fuck. This. Job.

He drinks too much, tries to calm himself, keep his thoughts steady. He pretends he doesn't know why he's feeling like this, pushes down all the reasons he wishes Sarah was traveling by herself this time. But deep down, he knows.

He gets a ride home with one of his buddies, limbs aching in a way that they haven't for a while. He always has days like this, days where the physical labor catches up to his aging body and reminds him that he really shouldn't be doing this job anymore, but somehow it's worse this time; the mental load from Mish's texts are giving him a discomfort he can't really describe.

He remembers only as he crosses the threshold that he promised he'd call you. Shit.

He does, but he can't remember much of what he said the next morning, only that he vented a bit. He hopes with every bone in his body that he didn't mention Mish, that his complaints focused solely on work.

Your texts that afternoon from the church bathroom prove this to be the case, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you agree to come see him that night. He knows he'll feel calm in your company, that the anxiety will ebb away in your presence.

He tries not to think about the implications of that.

God, he's fucked.

You had a horrible day.

You show up on his doorstep with tears shining in your eyes and that soft little line furrowed deep between your brows, the line he adores, wants to smooth with his thumb. He pulls you in close and breathes you in and finds that the anxiety, the worry, the uncertainty, all of it disappears in your embrace. You tell him you don't want to do anything, just want to be with him.

You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that to him.

He lays you in his bed and holds you for a while, listens as you tell him about what happened, confide in him. You tell him more about your upbringing and your family, your school years and friends, the pressure and scrutiny you've felt suffocated by your whole life. And god if you're not describing him. You have no idea how fucking similar the two of you are, how much he wants to wrap you up and protect you from the world and from all the people who threaten to dull the light in your eyes. Don't become like me, he wants to whisper, you deserve so much better.

He could listen to you talk for hours. That soft voice lulls him into a state of nirvana he's never experienced, body practically going numb with how in tune it is with your words, like he's become some kind of plant absorbing all your emotions, thoughts, feelings, as you bare yourself to him. You're so lovely. Please never stop talking.

It all culminates in the removal of your crucifix. He barely even thinks about it, just knows exactly what he has to do to calm you, to make you feel better, to steal back some of those worries from you and lock them away for a little bit where they can't hurt you. It's the least he can do. He wants to do it.

It's a gesture he doesn't fully realize the importance of, the magnitude - not yet, anyway.

He backtracks while you shower. It's just sex. This is not going any further than you showing her how it's done, preparing her for the real world, for the future men who actually stand a chance with her. The thought makes him dig his nails deep into his duvet as he settles under the sheets and takes a deep breath. She's not yours. She doesn't want you the way she thinks she does. She doesn't know the real you.

He can't help but picture you in his shower, standing naked under the hot water, in the exact spot he's gotten himself off to your very image. His dick twitches in his pajama pants and he has to adjust himself, cursing softly at his dirty thoughts and reminding himself that nothing is happening tonight, that you don't want to. He's not even disappointed, doesn't care that the sexting from earlier isn't coming to fruition tonight; just laying with you is enough for him. And he hates himself because he knows exactly what that means.

His phone vibrates while he's waiting and he picks it up from the nightstand - a text from Sarah:

Gettin closer! We should be there tomorrow, probably late afternoon. Do you work Fridays?

Yep, he wants to say, Monday to Friday, every week of my entire life since before you were born, but of course he doesn't. Would never.

I do but I'll be back around 5:30 or so. I'll give you a call when I'm home.

Sounds good!!!

Also:

An image comes in and he taps it, squinting his eyes to figure out exactly what he's looking at. He can make out Sarah and Mish sitting atop some statue of a bull they must have encountered outside a gas station. Sarah's arm is thrown back as she poses with her signature killer smile, while Mish grips the bullhorns and sticks her tongue out, braids peeking out from under a cowboy hat. There's something about it that's familiar, something he can't quite place as his eyes strain without the aid of his glasses - the ones he never wears. He pushes his phone away from his eyes, brings it back and hopes to bring the image into focus a little bit.

Oh. It's his hat.

And fuck, if he doesn't know how that makes him feel.

"You need glasses," he hears you say softly, and he looks up from the image of his daughter and ex wife to see you standing at the edge of the bed, clad in nothing but a towel.

He locks his phone and hopes you weren't standing there too long.

He doesn't know how to tell you that he won't be able to see you tonight.

He spends the morning in complete and utter bliss, waking up to your bashful request to give him a blowjob. You're so fucking sweet, even when asking for something so filthy. Your mouth is soft and warm around his cock and he feels like he's died and gone to heaven, wants desperately to spill inside and watch you swallow but knows it's not the right time, not yet.

He wonders what your face would look like covered in his come.

Dirty. Old. Man.

You burn his breakfast and furiously apologize, cursing under your breath as you soak the freshly burnt pan under the faucet and frown at your failure. But he doesn't view it as a failure; for him it's just another thing to add to the mental list of reasons he thinks you're adorable.

You ride his thigh. He makes you come, the most beautiful little sounds escaping your lips as you ride it out. He loves how that little worry line between your brows always returns when he's making you feel good, like he really is taking some of that worry away and replacing it with pleasure. He only wants to see that line when he's making you come. He never wants to see you sad again like you'd been last night, just wants to hold you in his arms and protect you from the world.

But then it's time to go and he still hasn't told you about tonight. He does not want to lie to you. He refuses to. But what else can he say? Just that he'll be out late? What if you ask him why? And god, it's not like he's gonna do anything. He's not gonna entertain Mish's offer, not this time. He shouldn't. He won't.

You save him the trouble. Your friend from college is visiting, a girl named Tasha - she's taking you out for the first time ever. He supposes that makes things much easier; no explaining or giving excuses, no revealing things he's not ready to reveal. He dodged a bullet.

Right?

So why does he still feel like such a prick?

He gets home from work and calls Sarah, just like he said he would. He only has a short window of time to do a bit of sprucing - fluff the couch pillows a bit, do a quick wipe down of the bathroom - before the doorbell is ringing and he's jogging to the door with excitement coursing through his veins. The anxiety has dulled at the mere promise of seeing his daughter on the other side of that door.

"DAD!" she squeals excitedly as he thrusts it open, and he's immediately enveloped in the warmth of Sarah's embrace, sweet and familiar.

"Kiddo," he breathes into her hair, feeling tears prick in his eyes like they always do, "Missed ya."

"Missed you too," she says into his shoulder, muffled and quiet, "So much, Dad, you have no idea."

They have their moment together, eyes closed as they sway on the spot and smile tearfully - it's been almost a year since her last visit. It didn't used to feel as palpable, those long periods of time between seeing each other, but as he's gotten older he finds that he misses her a lot; his little pal, not so little anymore. Thirty eight now, a full blown woman with a loving husband and a freshly solid career as an author, the life he always wanted for her.

"How're things?" he asks softly, "You doin' okay? Need any money?"

She laughs, "Things are good. I'm good, I promise."

"How's Jude, he good?"

"He's great, and the book's been doin' really well."

"I'm so happy to hear that, kiddo, really. Happy for both of you."

"Thanks, Dad," she murmurs, sniffling a little bit, "Couldn't have done it without you, hope you know that."

And then she's pulling away, wiping the tears from her eyes and waving to the purple convertible behind her, gesturing for Mish to get out of the car.

Here we go.

She steps out and god, she's gorgeous. Age has done nothing but enhance her beauty. She's never not been the most stunning woman in a room, soft skin a glowing deep umber, supple long legs and playful smile and those dark brown - almost black - eyes that practically sparkle when she looks at him. Like the way she's looking at him now... fuck.

"Hey," she says with a sly grin, shutting the car door behind her and making her way up the front steps.

"Hey," he echoes back, "How was the drive?"

"Long," she groans, reaching him and going in for a hug. It's nowhere near as long or as intimate as Sarah's, but the feeling of her body against his feels just as familiar and comforting. It's so easy to fall back into their rhythm. Too easy. "You been good?" she asks as they part.

He nods quickly, "Yeah, you?"

"Can't complain," she replies with a smile.

"Oh please," Sarah scoffs beside her, "All you've done is complain," she looks to Joel with a grimace, "Alvin's out of the picture."

"Sarah," Mish admonishes quickly, brows narrowing.

"Yeah, I heard somethin' about that," he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "Uh - that's too bad, Mish. He was, um... he was a good guy."

"No, he wasn't," she sighs, rolling her eyes and giving Sarah another look, "But that's a conversation for another time, right?"

Sarah puts her hands up in defense, "Sorry, sorry, my bad. We've been in the car too fuckin' long," she peeks past him with a curious expression on her face, "Can we come in? I wanna see your new house."

He shows them around, though there's not much to see, something which Mish points out almost immediately.

"Where's the character?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she assesses the living room, "Like where's your stuff, Joel?"

"There's not even pictures of us anywhere," Sarah adds with a frown, scanning one of the bookshelves, "It's like we don't even exist."

He grimaces, hands on his hips, "I know, I'm sorry. I still have a few boxes up in the guest room but," he sighs, "You know me, I hate gettin' emotional over shit from the past. And half those boxes got your old school stuff, and-"

"Your Dad's a sentimental guy," Mish interjects with a soft smile, giving him those eyes again, "It's okay, we'll unpack 'em for you."

He scoffs, "We ain't got time for that, Mish."

"I always have time to be sentimental," her smile grows wider and she throws him a wink - his heart stutters.

"Well I always have time for a movie marathon," Sarah suddenly says, turning from the shelves with an array of DVDs in her hands, "Whaddaya say, Dad? Curtis and Viper? After the bar?"

He cocks an eyebrow, "The bar?"

"Oh? Didn't you hear? We're takin' you out, cowboy," Mish says with a smirk, "Or - I guess you're takin' us out. Whatever, either way we're goin' for dinner and drinks like the well adjusted wholesome family we are."

"And then we're gonna eat too much junk food and pass out on the couch like the good old days," Sarah adds, tossing the DVDs onto the coffee table, "Miller family fun."

"And do I get any say in this?"

They both turn to him at the same time with almost the same expression on their faces, and he knows he's already lost.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

They have dinner at their favorite chain, practically inhale their burgers and fries as Sarah and Mish catch Joel up on the trip so far, where they've been, what they've seen. He's grateful that the conversation is still on them by the time they get the check and start heading to the bar; he really doesn't want to answer any questions about himself tonight unless he has to.

The bar is louder than usual, much more packed than he's ever seen it. He grumbles this to Sarah and Mish but they just roll their eyes and order their drinks, cozying up together on their barstools and laughing hysterically over things that certainly aren't that funny. They're exhausted from their road trip and he can tell, tries to urge them to head back to the house after about fifteen minutes of being at the bar, but they resist.

"I like this place better than your old joint," Mish calls to him over the chatter, "Smells better too."

"Am I supposed to say thank you?" he calls back with a grin, and she just rolls her eyes and orders him another whiskey.

They don't stay too long, just enough for the girls to get their fill and toss back a few beers, continuing to tell Joel about their trip. Sarah scrolls through the pictures on her phone and shows him the tourist traps, the stops they've made here and there, the food they've eaten. Mish chimes in every so often to add her own anecdotes, bouncing off Sarah's stories naturally like she always has.

He loves how easy it feels to be with them, how comfortable, how safe. He's missed them so much. He wishes things could just stay like this for the rest of the night, simple and light, but every so often he catches Mish looking at him from under her lashes, those dark eyes searching his for something in particular, and he remembers there's still something they haven't addressed.

"Oh my god, Mom," Sarah suddenly says with wide eyes, pointing toward the front of the bar, "Do you see that girl's hat?"

"Where?"

"Those girls over there, look at that purple cowboy hat. Fuuuck, we should be wearing ours!"

Joel rolls his eyes, not bothering to look in the direction Sarah's pointing to and instead focusing on his whiskey, trying to think of ways he can get them out of this bar. Curtis & Viper is suddenly calling his name.

"They're still in the car if you wanna grab 'em," Mish says with a laugh, tossing Sarah the keys, "If you can walk straight."

"Oh please, I've had one beer. We're not all lightweights in this family, ya know," she presses a kiss to her mother's cheek before sliding past to head back to the front of the bar.

"Well, now that we have a moment alone..." she leans forward a bit on her elbow, hand cupping her chin as she tilts her head, "You didn't answer my question the other day, cowboy."

Here it is, the conversation he's been dreading, the one thing he's been putting off talking about the most. And why has he been dreading it? Why has he been filled with so much discomfort and anxiety at the thought of telling Mish that even though he's technically single, he can't be with her this time? It's not like she'd be angry with him, like she'd misunderstand or throw a fit over it. So why can't he just say it?

He knows why. It's because he doesn't want to tell Mish about you. It's because the second he says no, she'll see right through him; she'll know. She'll know immediately that there's somebody else, and she'll clock his feelings - the feelings he's been forcing himself to bury - and then he'll have to confront them, what they really mean.

And as usual, he's terrified.

He plays dumb, "What question?"

She inches the stool forward with a smirk, eyeing him pointedly as he feels her bare leg touch his jeans, slowly drifting up and down along his calf. Fuck. She tilts her head, eyes falling to his lips and then going back up to meet his gaze.

"Playin' coy, are we?" she asks softly, "Need me to say it out loud, huh?"

He feels goosebumps rise all over his arms at the sound of her voice like that, low and sultry; it's the voice she reserves just for these private moments together, fully aware of the effect she has over him.

"You gonna fuck me, cowboy?" she continues, eyes falling to his lips again, "Huh? You been missin' me in your bed?"

Fuck.

He doesn't say anything, just watches as her face moves a little closer to his, the hint of his favorite sly smile puling at the corner of her mouth. She assesses him quietly, gaze raking over his features.

"You're shy tonight, aren't you?" she says, fluttering her lashes, "You need me to take care of you, baby boy? You need your mommy?"

Only Mish could get away with saying something like that to him. He can't help but let a grin cross his own face as he shakes his head at the words, feeling his cheeks flush. He's still unsure what to say, what to think, how to feel. Under any other circumstance they would already be fucking in a bathroom stall at this point, and in a few seconds she's gonna realize that and wonder why the fuck he won't give in.

She kisses him then. Softly.

And it's right. It's so fucking right in all the ways it's always been. Her mouth is warm, lips plump and wet and sweet against his, capturing his bottom lip between hers in that seductive fashion she's oh so good at. Without any thought, as if on instinct, his hand comes up to cup her face, holding her there for a moment as he breathes her in. He realizes how easy it would be to just fall back into this rhythm, this old habit they've been indulging themselves in for years. It just feels so right.

But it's also so fucking wrong.

It's wrong. It's so wrong. This is not the mouth he wants to be kissing. For years, he's always found comfort and safety in Mish's kiss, never once felt like what they were doing was incorrect or some kind of mistake. But now it's like every fiber of his being is telling him to stop. To pull away. To end this as soon as possible.

So he does.

He takes a deep breath as they separate, pulls back from her on his stool a bit and takes another sip of whiskey. No, this can't happen. It's not going to happen. But he's gonna have to tell her that, otherwise she'll take the next step and he's not sure he'll be able to reign it in after that. The thought of her naked body underneath him in his bed is admittedly a tantalizing offer, the thought of being inside her again after so many years apart...

But she won't be the first naked woman in that bed. In that house. Someone else has already staked their claim, regardless of whether what he shares with you is real or not. And that thought is what pulls him out of it.

"Sarah's right," he says with a smile, "You are a lightweight."

She cocks her brow, "You think I'm drunk?"

He chuckles and takes another sip, "I think you're only here for one night and we should be spendin' that one night with our daughter."

She doesn't say anything for a second, just watches him thoughtfully until he finally meets her gaze again.

"Joel Miller, are you gettin' laid?"

He almost chokes on his whiskey, unable to stop himself from snorting as he shakes his head and peers at her with that fond look he's always given her, the one that lets her know that despite everything, he fucking adores her. She leans a bit closer, tilting her head a bit more with intrigue.

"Seriously, you seein' anyone?" she seems genuinely interested, eyes alight with curiosity, "You got someone new?"

Before he can say anything - before he even really knows what to say - Sarah has reappeared at the bar, hats in hand. He looks down at them and raises an eyebrow as Mish grabs hers, or rather his, the ratty old brown one he used to wear sometimes in the eighties. She grins and winks as if to say yeah, I stole it, so what?

"Okay well, purple cowboy hat girl is currently holding her friend's hair while she throws up on the sidewalk," Sarah sighs, placing her own atop her head.

Joel and Mish groan simultaneously, "Been there," they both say at the same time, catching each other's eye before Joel turns his attention back to his drink, almost gone now. She doesn't ask him anything else, but he knows this conversation is far from over.

Sarah drops them off at his place, promising to be back in a bit with the much anticipated junk food - no point in them all going together. Joel almost tells her not to go, his heart in his throat as he and Mish climb out of the car. He can't believe how desperate he suddenly is to not be alone with her. But he can't bring himself to say anything.

Coward.

She walks into the house first, almost like she's leading him into the lion's den. There's no escaping her questions now, no more running away from the inevitable. He has to tell her before it's too late. The front door closes behind them and they stand frozen for a moment, not speaking, not even really looking at each other. He could cut the tension with a knife.

"So how 'bout showin' me those boxes?" she finally asks, turning to give him a smile.

They make their way up the stairs to the guest room, Joel's anxiety reaching new levels when they pass by his bedroom. He not so subtly grabs the knob and pulls the door closed, tries to pretend he doesn't notice Mish eyeing him as he does it.

The guest room is still pretty bare bones, only a bed and dresser occupying the space, along with about half a dozen cardboard boxes. He's been meaning to do it up for when Sarah comes to stay, do some decorating, but he's never been good at that kind of stuff - Mish and Sarah were always the creative ones.

They crouch on the floor together and Joel watches as Mish pops open the first box, digging her hand inside and immediately coming out with a framed photo of Sarah's kindergarten graduation.

"Aw, look," she murmurs, thumbing the glass lightly and turning it toward him, "Little bean."

"She was so excited you came," he says with a smile, "It was all she talked about for months."

Mish smiles back sadly, eyeing the photograph one more time before placing it on the floor. She reaches in again and comes out with another framed photo, this one of an even younger Sarah being pushed on a swing by Joel. She's probably almost two, chubby legs poking out through the holes of the swing as she giggles in wonder, Joel standing behind, squinting against the sun.

"I've always loved this one," she says quietly, showing it to him, "Always wanted a copy to keep."

"We can make that happen," he takes it from her and looks down at it himself, feeling a mixture of emotions flutter in his heart at his much younger self - freshly twenty - pushing his little girl. He'd been on his own for a while at that point; he can see the tiredness in his expression, the loneliness.

"Still mad I missed all that," she murmurs, sitting back on her heels and sighing deeply, "Hate myself so much sometimes."

He's not sure what to say, just puts the picture back down and reaches in for another one - Sarah's high school graduation this time. It's a backyard photo, one taken at the barbecue they'd had with about thirty people all crammed into one frame. There are smiles all around, beer bottles raised, and Sarah in the center wearing that beautiful purple dress she'd spent almost a year working on. Mish and Joel stand on either side of her, frozen in a moment of laughter.

What the camera didn't catch was that behind that purple dress, they were holding hands.

"What a party that was, huh?" Mish glances up at him from under her lashes, those dark eyes sparkling with nostalgia, "You remember?"

He smiles softly, "I remember."

The arrangement started in '03.

They hadn't seen each other in about three years when she showed up on his doorstep in the summer of '96. She'd been in and out of their lives before then, usually called every other week to check in and talk to Sarah but rarely ever showed her face. Sarah barely knew her but had a love for her that burned so deep that Joel couldn't say half the things he wanted to. Couldn't tell his daughter that her mother was unpredictable and unreliable, that she'd disappeared for almost two years after Sarah had been born, hadn't checked in once, had only begun to show up again in 1988 when Sarah was almost three. And then one day the calls just stopped coming and he had no other choice but to tell her the truth. She was only eight.

Mish showing up again out of the blue when Sarah was eleven was not something they could have ever predicted. He was angry. She was sorry. She'd been to a facility, had been seeing a psychiatrist and a therapist for a solid chunk of time and was on medication. Sarah slapped her across the face and sprinted barefoot down the street until her toes were bloody and she couldn't run anymore. Joel found her and cradled her in his arms like he'd done when she was a baby, promised he'd make Mish go away if that's what Sarah wanted.

It was not what she wanted. She wanted a mom. She wanted her mom. She wanted them to be together.

After that, all they could do was try and heal.

And Mish tried. She did. She was ready. Joel was willing to listen. Sarah forgave, slowly. By Christmas of '97 they were living together again. They'd put their wedding rings back on.

But it couldn't last.

"Maybe this just isn't meant to work," she'd whispered to him tearfully on their back patio on a rainy day in March of '98, head in her hands, "I'm better in some ways but worse in others. I'm not meant for this kinda life, Joel. I just can't stay still anymore."

"Maybe we aren't meant to work," he'd told her firmly, "But Sarah needs you, Michelle. You can't just keep coming back into her life and then disappearing. If you do, you're never gonna see her again."

"I know," she'd whispered, quiet and scared, "I know, Joel. And I won't, I'll never do that to her ever again. But I just..." she'd hung her head, tears streaming down her face, "I just don't know what to do."

He'd suddenly felt a flash of deja vu, a reminder of a moment similar to this one twelve years earlier, when he'd held her just like this while she'd cried in his arms, hopelessness raking through both their trembling forms in the downpour.

"They'll kill me, Joel. They're gonna kill me. How am I supposed to be a mom? This can't be real. This isn't happening. What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know, Mish. But I'm with you, okay? I'm not goin' anywhere. You got me. I don't care what they think, what they wanna do. It's just you and me, you hear me?"

"You and me, Joel. Just you and me."

She left Joel and the life they'd cultivated in the year since she came back, but she didn't leave Sarah, not this time. She kept up with regular visits, called often, tried her best to be a mother in the only ways she knew how. Eventually Joel stopped worrying she'd disappear again, and she didn't. Sarah and Mish's relationship wasn't an easy one, especially during those first few years of being reconnected, but eventually they were mother and daughter again. The way it always should have been. They'd go on adventures together, road trips and concerts and trips to amusement parks, everything they could to make up for lost time.

As for she and Joel, they became friends. For the first time in a long time they talked again, really talked. They got to know each other from scratch without the pressures of trying to be people they weren't; she'd come to stay every so often and she'd be more than welcome in their home, a reassuring presence to Sarah and a comforting one for him. There were times he almost kissed her again, almost embraced her the way they used to embrace, but then he'd remind himself that they didn't work. Couldn't work. He'd push the feelings down and love her from a distance, the only way he could.

She came to stay for Sarah's graduation in '03. They had a big party, invited everyone they knew, got very drunk. The inevitable finally happened, something they'd been skirting around for the past few years every time they saw each other, the attraction and tension building and building the longer they went without admitting that they still wanted one another. They'd been through the ringer together and came out the other side and still looked at each other like they had in high school. It was only a matter of time.

They fucked all night and into the morning.

"Oh my god," he'd groaned into her ear, naked bodies splayed against each other in bed, entwined together for the first time in almost seven years, "I missed that. Jesus fuck, I missed that."

It was only meant to be that one time, a celebration of some sort that happened unexpectedly but never again. That was the case until she came back in '06, still single, still beautiful, and he couldn't help himself. They both couldn't help themselves.

The arrangement was simple: whenever they reunited with each other and they were both single, both wanted it, they'd have sex.

It worked. And it was good, so fucking good. Every time. They were wild with it, felt younger than they'd ever been whenever they were tangled up in Joel's bed, on the couch, in the shower. They tried new things together and had more fun than they'd ever had when they were actually in a relationship. Each time it was like they were playing pretend; pretending for a short while that their everyday problems didn't exist, nothing else existed but them. Just them - just this moment.

The last time he saw Mish was four years ago. He'd been fresh out of his last relationship, the only relationship that had really meant something to him since his marriage. Tess was lovely, beautiful and funny and exactly the person he'd needed after those tumultuous years with Mish; someone calm and collected, stable and secure. They were just friends first, for a while, but eventually developed a sexual relationship that was only ever meant to be casual. After about a year she'd confessed her feelings and he'd thought, what the hell, I might as well try. Unfortunately, his what the hell attitude had been a steady feature of their entire relationship, and he'd never been able to fully be what she'd needed.

It was his fault it ended, but that hadn't stopped him from feeling heartbroken over it. And when Sarah and Mish had visited she'd dressed his wounds in the only way she really knew how - sex. The sex was always good with Mish, regardless of the situation. It was always what they needed. But it could only ever be sex because their personalities were never meant to blend; she was flighty and wild and needed space - he was steady and serious and enjoyed the comforts of home. And those early years were something he'd never get back, something he still blamed her for, and she knew it. It could never work, as much as they may have tried early on.

She'd been on the cusp of a new relationship, this guy Alvin who she'd met in Philadelphia, but nothing was set in stone yet and she wanted Joel to feel good.

"Nothing else matters right now," she'd whispered in the darkness of their old bedroom, the one he'd shared with her countless times over the past twenty years, "It's just you and me, Joel. It's always been you and me."

"You and me, Mish," he'd repeated, hands firm against her bare back as she slowly began to ride him, "Just us, just you and me."

He's still staring at the picture of their younger selves when her hand slowly comes down to touch one of his. He swallows tightly, feels her eyes on him, senses her moving closer.

"Mish," he whispers; an acknowledgement? A warning?

He feels a finger on his chin, tilting his head up to meet her gaze, and then she's kissing him again. It's different than it was at the bar, much less soft, less reserved. She moans into his mouth as the picture falls to the floor, pushes him down so he's laying flat and then throws a leg over his thighs. She situates herself in his lap in the span of about five seconds and he barely has any time to register what's even happening.

But when he does... he's not happy.

"Stop," he mumbles against her mouth, bringing his hands down to grab her hips and carefully pull her off of him. Her brows furrow in confusion as he slides her away and sits back up, kneels and then stands with a groan. His fucking knees.

"Why?" she asks, peering up at him from the floor.

"'Cause... 'cause nothin'," he lies, shaking his head and sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, wincing as his bones crack from being on the floor in such an odd position, "Nothin', I'm just tired."

She follows him up from the floor and onto the bed, seats herself beside him and leans in to mouth gently against his neck, hot and wet, "That's okay, baby. I can do all the work."

"I said no, Mish," he repeats, standing up again and walking away from the bed, "I don't want to."

"Why?" she repeats, adamant now.

He splutters, kicking his feet and not meeting her gaze, "Sarah'll be back soon, there's no time."

"Time has never been an issue before, you know that more than anybody."

"I just don't want you right now, alright?" it comes out much louder and angrier than he'd intended, "Jesus Christ, Mish."

That stops her short, the room plunging into silence as she stares at him from her place on the edge of the bed. Her lips begin to tremble, hands coming to wring together in her lap uncomfortably. She shakes her head slowly, tears welling in her wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, voice shaky, "I'm sorry, Joel."

God dammit. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

With a sigh he walks back over to the bed, sitting down beside her again - but not as close this time. She continues to stare forward, still tugging at her hands as tears slowly start to make their way down her cheeks. He feels a familiar pang of pity in his heart, the urge to comfort her like he always has, hold her close and kiss her softly. But he doesn't do that; instead, he places a hand on hers to halt her movements, squeezes them gently.

"You wanna know why it didn't work out with Alvin, Joel?" she asks quietly.

"Why?"

She takes a shaky breath, "He had a wife. A fuckin' wife and three kids. Young kids, still in school, still livin' at home."

"Jesus," he mutters.

"And you wanna know how I found out? Because one night he was sayin' her name when he was fuckin' me; Sharon. Fuckin' Sharon. Repeatin' it over and over without even realizing. And then he had the audacity to act like he didn't know what the hell I was talkin' about." The tears are flowing steadily now, staining her cheeks and dripping down onto their locked hands, "I did some diggin', found out his real name, found his whole other life. I've been a fuckin' mistress for four years and had no clue."

"Michelle..." he breathes.

"Don't call me that," she snaps, turning her face away from him and trying to reign the tears back in but failing miserably, voice coming out in sobs now, "You know how long it's been since someone wanted me, Joel? Actually wanted me? I get that I'm a shitty person. I know I fucked up a lot in my life. I mean, maybe I don't deserve love, 'cause why the hell can't I fuckin' find it? Why does nobody want me?"

"Stop," he says firmly, squeezing her hands tighter, "Don't say shit like that, don't think that way."

"But it's true," she cries, pulling her hands away and bringing them up to her face, "I just needed to be wanted again, Joel. Just for a night, and now you don't even want me."

"That's- that's not true, Mish, come on."

"You literally just said the words two minutes ago," she's suddenly inconsolable, tears streaming down her face as she sobs beside him, "You don't want me, no one wants me."

His arms come up to wrap around her, pull her close to him as she cries harder. He doesn't know what the fuck to do, how to be what she needs without being what she needs. It's an impossible position to be in; how can he just walk out the door and leave her sitting there like this? Leave her so sad, so broken?

"Joel, I need this," she whispers, peering up at him through her wet lashes and leaning her head forward to rest against his shoulder, "Please. I need you."

God. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What the fuck is he supposed to do? How the fuck can he say no when she's looking at him like that, begging for him?

"Please," she repeats, turning her head and pressing a wet kiss to the skin of his collarbone, "Please, Joel, please," her kisses slowly move up to his neck, warm and safe and familiar. His eyes start to close, lips parting as she keeps going, "It's just us, it's you and me."

Just us, you and me.

"Stay here," he finally breathes, thumbing the skin of her hip reassuringly, "Just - just stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

He finds himself thirty seconds later just standing in his bedroom, unmoving, unsure, thoughts going a mile a minute. He breathes in and out slowly, tries to calm the anxiety threatening to burst through the seams of his very being. What the fuck am I doing? What the actual fuck am I doing right now?

He goes through the motions without really feeling or understanding them. Goes to the bathroom and relieves himself, splashes cold water on his face and stares at his reflection for too long. Heads back to his bedroom and just stands there again, heart pounding. She's waiting for him. Time is passing and he's just standing there.

"Joel?" he hears her call out, voice still thick with tears.

He does not want her to follow him in here. He does not want to have sex in this bed.

With shaky steps he walks over to his nightstand and tugs it open, sees the box of condoms. Stares at them. Stares at them so long that she calls out again.

"Joel? You comin'?"

He feels like he's underwater, ears ringing as his hand trembles on the handle of the drawer, itching to just slam it closed again. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

And then he sees it.

He'd completely forgotten it was there, has been doing his best this entire night to not think about you that he's already managed to forget what happened last night. But he remembers now. He reaches down, hand suddenly completely steady, and pulls the gold chain to entwine around his fingers. It's like he's touching you in a way, feeling you, sensing you - your tears, your sadness, your anger, your insecurities - all wrapped up in this one little cross.

He thumbs it carefully, eyes softening, anxiety ebbing away as the seconds pass. He pictures your lovely face this morning, all sleepy and pretty and perfect in the glow of the early sunrise, the way your hair framed your face, the way you bit your lip shyly when you told him what was on your mind.

He hears footsteps in the hall, knows she's coming, but he doesn't care. Just keeps standing there with his hand curled around your crucifix and warmth filling his chest.

He hears the door open, hears her step inside.

"I can't," he says softly, before she can speak.

Silence. Then -

"What's that?"

"It's..." he closes his fist around the crucifix and then shuts the drawer slowly, still looking down at it. When he finally brings his head up he sees Mish standing near the side of the bed, looking at him with confusion in her eyes.

He swallows tightly, "There's someone else, Mish."

He watches the realization dawn on her face, the confusion fading and acceptance flooding her features. She nods slowly, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears still trickling down her cheeks. "You coulda just said that," she breathes, closing her eyes, "Why didn't you just say?"

He doesn't reply, doesn't know what to say. Or rather, knows what to say but can't say it because then it'll make it real. And he's still so fucking scared for it to be real.

Mish slowly walks forward and sits on the edge of the bed, taking a few steadying breaths to calm herself. "Feel like a fuckin' idiot," she mumbles; she seems okay now, nowhere near as hysterical as she'd been before.

"You're not an idiot," he murmurs. God, he should have just fucking told her. He should have said something.

"So, who is she?" she asks quietly.

"She's..." he swallows again, taking a seat on the other side of the bed, facing the opposite direction, "She's a girl I met a little while ago." A few weeks ago, he mentally corrects. Almost a month. Barely any time at all.

She clocks that. "Girl? Or woman?"

"....Girl."

"How old?"

"Twenty one."

"Jesus," he's not sure what she's thinking when he can't see her face, not sure if she's angry or disgusted or just surprised, "I mean, wow. That's... that's young, Joel."

"I know."

"Never known you to go even ten years lower."

"I know."

Silence again. He's waiting for her to ask the question, the one he knows is coming, the one he's been dreading every since he got that text from Sarah on Wednesday. The one that will force him to admit what he's so desperately been trying to bury.

"So... is it just sex? Or is it..." she trails off for a few seconds, "Is it more?"

There it is.

"I don't know," he murmurs, putting his face in his hands and hunching over the side of the bed with a groan, "I don't know what it is but she's... she's in my head, ya know? She's everywhere, can't stop fuckin' thinkin' about her." The crucifix digs into his cheek, probably making an imprint in his skin, "She's so fuckin' young but, God, Mish, she's so fuckin' sweet. I wanna... I wanna take care of her, ya know? But-" he feels the tears flooding his eyes, tries to swallow his feelings as best he can, "I'm just.. I can't..."

"You're in over your head," she acknowledges softly, "You don't know what you're doin'."

"I don't."

"And that scares the fuck outta you, huh?"

"Pretty much."

They don't say anything else for a few moments, both absorbing the revelation in silence and neither really knowing what else to say about it. This night has gone in a direction that neither were prepared for and he's not sure they'll be able to fix it before Sarah gets back. Which reminds him...

"You'd think Sarah woulda been back by now."

Mish snorts, a welcome sound in the middle of so much tension. He turns around to look at her, finds her doing the exact same thing.

"I told her to give us forty five minutes to an hour, tops," she says with a half smile.

Of course she did.

Mish decides to get a cab back to the motel she and Sarah booked. He doesn't argue. He knows it's for the best, knows there will be another, better conversation some time in the future and that despite everything, they'll see each other again.

"She's lucky to have you," she tells him softly at the front door, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace. He can hear the sincerity in her words, knows she means it. "You'll take care of her, Joel. Like you take care of everyone."

He just closes his eyes, pulls her in closer and lets the tears fall.

Sarah gets back with the food, doesn't question where Mish is; she must have texted her and told her she wouldn't be here. There's no awkwardness or questions, just the same old familiarity and love as Sarah pops the first DVD into the ancient player they've had forever and settles in beside him on the couch. They only half-watch it, continuously getting distracted by each other's dumb commentary and random anecdotes about the past. This is what he wanted tonight to be. Just this.

He tries his best to be present with Sarah, but by the time they're halfway through the second film he can't stop thinking about you. He'd spent so much of today trying to push thoughts of you away and now your face is suddenly all he can see whenever he blinks, your soft giggles and whimpers echoing in his ears. He wonders what you're doing, if you're having a nice time with your friend, if you're being careful like he'd told you to be. You'd said this was your first time going out and he just hopes you're safe. Your crucifix sits reassuringly in the pocket of his jeans, almost like a part of you is still here with him.

He excuses himself to use the bathroom and sends you a quick text:

Hope you're having a good night, babygirl. You deserve to have some fun. I'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.❤️

He feels the urge to press a kiss to his phone and wonders when the hell he got so damn soft. He can practically hear Mish's voice telling him you've always been soft, dummy. She'd be right.

They both wake up the next morning still snuggled up on the couch, Sarah on one end and him on the other. He yawns and stretches, groans when he feels a searing pain in his lower back; fuck, he shouldn't have slept on the couch.

"Old man," Sarah mocks quietly with a glint in her eye, and he playfully slaps her leg.

He checks his phone when Sarah heads to the bathroom, hopes maybe you'll have replied to him when you got in last night, but there's nothing there. He frowns but lets logic soothe him, reminding himself that you were probably too tired when you got back and fell asleep right away. He sends you another text, just to be sure:

You get home ok? Let me know x

He'll see you soon for your lesson anyway.

After breakfast he walks Sarah out onto the front step, hand holding hers tightly, almost afraid to let go. She smiles up at him sadly and squeezes back, a silent promise.

"I'll visit again real soon, Dad," she says quietly, "Sooner than last time. I'll bring Jude too, y'all can watch football together."

He smiles with watery eyes, "I'm countin' on it, kiddo."

"You're not lonely, are you?" she suddenly asks, expression one of love and concern, "You got people here, right?"

Your face crosses his mind again, your lovely smile, that little line between your brows, "I'm not lonely," he reassures her softly, "Promise."

He means it.

They hug each other tenderly, basking in one last moment together before they inevitably have to pull away. She walks to her car and turns back with one final wave, tears glistening in her eyes. He waves back and then heads back inside the house quickly before she can see what a mess he is, hands coming up to cover his eyes on the other side of the door as he pulls himself together.

And then, just like that, he's alone again.

You don't show up to your lesson.

His first thought is that you're still asleep, probably hungover from last night and desperately in need of some rest. He doesn't blame you, has had more bad hangovers than he can even count. He checks in with you anyway, hoping he'll hear back soon when you wake up.

Another hour passes; he's already cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed up the popcorn lining the couch and living room floor, rearranged the DVDs, and suddenly the boxes upstairs in the guest room are calling his name. Anything to make the time pass, anything to distract himself from the fact that he still hasn't heard from you.

He texts you again after two hours, after he's finished unpacking two boxes. He just sends some question marks this time. It's around noon now and he keeps trying to convince himself that you're just sleeping, probably still passed out in bed with leftover alcohol buzzing through your veins. The thought makes him wish he was there with you, taking care of you, bringing you glasses of water and cuddling with you until you feel better.

It's mid afternoon when he starts to question whether or not you even got home. He knows you're not home home, that you'd gone to an Airbnb with your friend for the weekend, but he has no idea where it is and if you're even there. What if something happened on the night out? What if you got lost or got too fucked up to figure out how to get back? What if someone you didn't know took you back with them?

He feels sick to his stomach. This time he does the only rational thing he feels he can do - he calls you. He sits on the edge of his bed, toes tapping against the hardwood floor as he waits for you to pick up, but you don't. It goes to voicemail. He hangs up and tries again. Same thing.

He texts you again, but something tells him you won't be reading them any time soon.

He leaves the house to clear his head, anxiously tapping on the wheel as he drives around the neighborhood. He passes by your parents' house a few times, eyeing the property and trying his best to see past the ridiculous fence they have blocking off the place. He makes out a police car in the driveway and almost has a panic attack before he remembers that your father is a cop and that's just the vehicle he drives.

He calls and texts you a few more times as the evening comes around. He pours himself some whiskey and tries to calm himself down, breathes in and out, practices the exercises he's had to depend on throughout most of his life. He's always had an anxiety problem, has been on and off medication for it for years. He briefly considers popping an Ativan before realizing that he probably shouldn't mix it with alcohol.

The alcohol messes with his head a bit as darkness falls. He starts to wonder if maybe you did get back safe, just with someone else, someone new. Maybe you met someone, had a connection, took them home and let them be the one to fuck you for the first time. Maybe the reason you're not reaching out is because you're afraid of what he'll say, afraid he'll be angry.

While the thought makes him feel sick and sad, he's even sicker and sadder about not knowing where the fuck you are. He sends you a text to reiterate this, hoping you'll read it and understand:

Just a text is all I need honey. I promise. If you're not feeling this anymore that's okay. Just wanna know you got home safe last night.

He's already unpacked all the boxes, peppered photographs and music memorabilia all over his house as the day came to a close, and now he has nothing else to do but just sit and wait. So he waits. And waits. And waits.

You still don't reply.

He calls you over and over again, wondering what the fuck he's going to do. He can't in good conscious just let this go on, just stop contacting you and let you come back to him on your own. What if something bad really did happen? What if you're really fucked up somewhere? What if someone took advantage of you? He can't just sit idly by and wait.

He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, feels tears sting his eyes every time he comes up with a new concept as to where you are, what could have happened. All he wants is to have you here with him, warm and soft in his bed, close in all the ways he needs you.

I don't know what to do angel. Can't stop thinking about you. Wish you were here in my arms. Please be safe.

He's scaring himself the longer he thinks about where you could be, knows he has to take action. He decides that if he still hasn't heard from you by tomorrow morning, he'll tell somebody. Whether it be the police or your parents, it doesn't really matter - they're one and the same.

He sends you one last text before the whiskey puts him to sleep:

Please.

The doorbell wakes him up. At first he thinks maybe he's hearing things, especially when he tiredly unlocks his phone and sees that it's three in the morning, but then it rings again. And again. Over and over like someone is pressing the button repeatedly. He sits up in bed with a jolt and swings his legs over the side, heart racing as he practically sprints down the stairs.

He turns on the light, squinting with tired and bleary eyes through the frosted glass along the side of the door. He can make out something pink and his eyes widen. He grabs the handle and tugs the door open, only for his body to immediately collide with someone else's, a beautiful girl in a pink dress.

It's you. His beautiful girl. His angel. Standing there almost completely unable to hold yourself upright as you lean against him, arms coming up to wrap around his middle. He holds you close, momentarily frozen in shock.

"Are you okay?"

You're so out of it. He takes you to the couch and you can barely open your eyes, can barely get words out as you flop drunkenly against the cushions. He can't tell if you're drunk or high or both, trying his best to get your attention, desperately asking what you took, where you've been. It's terrifying to see you like this, so completely not yourself, loose and uninhibited in the worst way. You tell him you came here with Tasha and he waves her inside, hoping she can help shed some light on what the fuck happened to you.

Tasha is something else. She stands her ground, doesn't back down when he clearly tries to intimidate her, consistently tries to get past him and reach for you despite his attempts to block her. He's angry, so fucking angry that she could let this happen to you. How long have you been like this? How long has this "night out" been going on? Did it turn into a fucking bender?

"She knows what you've been doing, you asshole." The words mean nothing to him, he has no idea what the fuck she's even talking about. They're clearly both wasted - you more than her - and have somehow wound up at his house at three in the morning by some miraculous volition. He's not letting you leave with her, that's for sure.

Then you say the same thing to him and he's beyond confused, waiting to be let in on whatever sick fucking joke is being played on him right now. What do they think he's been doing? What do they think they know? What have their intoxicated brains convinced themselves of?

And then the other shoe drops.

"We saw you kiss someone else."

That feeling he'd had yesterday - that sensation of being underwater - returns in full force. He stares at you; not Tasha, you. Because as soon as she says it your eyes tear away from him to stare at the floor, lips trembling in sadness, hands shaking beneath Tasha's arms. He can see it in your expression, in your body language despite the alcohol - you're fucking heartbroken. You can't even look at him.

He tries to explain but the words aren't coming out right; he's sure he sounds absolutely pathetic as he just stands there in the middle of the living room, stumbling over his words like the absolute fool he is. You still don't look at him. You don't say anything, and it kills him.

That's when he realizes that Tasha is not the one in the wrong here. It's him. He's the one who deserves to be shouted at, intimidated, made to feel small. He's the one who fucked up. It's him.

And then - if the situation hadn't already been bad enough - Tasha informs him that you'd seen Sarah leaving this morning. His eyes go wide, heart racing like a steam engine in his chest as he shakes his head and wonders how the fuck this could be happening right now. The past few days he's been so unsure about letting you know the real him, didn't know if he'd ever be able to tell you - and now he has no choice. No choice but to drop a bomb on you in this sad and drunken state, otherwise leave you believing that he's been doing god knows what with god knows who.

"That was my daughter."

You register the words and finally look at him, and his heart swells three sizes in his chest when your gazes meet. Just for a moment you don't look as sad, don't look as broken. You peer into his eyes and he thinks for a moment that maybe you see him, really see him, for the first time. It's both terrifying and incredible and he doesn't know how he manages to get the words out, but he does.

He knows now what he has to do.

He has to tell you. He has to tell you everything.

Tasha apologizes and helps you back out to the cab. He watches her place you carefully inside, watches as you turn your head to look out the back window, still peering at him with that look on your face that he can't really explain. He stands and waits until you've disappeared down the street before going back inside, where he immediately collapses onto the couch, exhausted.

He reaches inside his pocket and tugs out your crucifix, brings it up to his neck with trembling hands and manages to latch it around his neck. He palms the cross, presses it into the bare skin at his collarbone.

She's safe, he thinks to himself, she's safe and that's all that matters.

In the morning, as soon as he wakes up, he sends you a text:

I'm so sorry. Words can't even describe how fucking ashamed and embarrassed I am. I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you. I understand if you don't want to see me anymore, but I want to tell you everything, if you'll let me. I hope you're feeling okay today, angel. Drink lots of water, stay with Tasha. Text me whenever you're ready.

He wants to cry, thinking about how much he hurt you. He wouldn't blame you for wanting this to just be over now, to move on and pretend like you never even met him that day on his front step. He feels so fucking ashamed of himself, angry for not telling Mish the truth from the beginning, horrified that you'd seen him in a moment of weakness like that, a moment of cowardice.

The crucifix stays on his neck throughout his shower and breakfast. He's never been one to wear jewelry, and god knows he's never been one to wear jewelry with religious imagery, but somehow it calms him to have it on, soothes him. His anxiety feels better despite the circumstances, and he's grateful.

His phone buzzes around eleven and the force at which he picks it up almost sends it flying across the room. His brow furrows when he sees a text from an unknown number:

hey it's tasha. sorry about last night. that was a shitshow. she's awake and feeling better, just wanted you to know.

She didn't have to do that and he knows it.

Thank you. I'm glad she has you. I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you, I was just really worried about her.

that's ok. i know you're a good guy. she knows it too.

Do you, though? Do you really still think of him as being someone you can trust, someone you can talk to? Someone you can give yourself to completely?

i'm gonna send you the address of the airbnb. i think you should come talk to her.

The address follows and he puts it into his maps app; it's not too far, he can make it there in about forty minutes.

Thank you so much Tasha

text when ur here, i'll let you in.

He sits in his truck for a lot longer than he needs to after pulling up to the house. He knows he has to tell you everything now, that you're going to want answers and that he'll give them to you. But he's made a discovery in the past twelve hours that has his head reeling:

He wants to tell you. He wants you to know all about him. Suddenly, he doesn't mind that he's old and washed up and pathetic. He wants you to know that, wants you to see the real him, who he really is. The unpretty, uncharming reality of his mediocre life. He isn't sure that you'll want it, that you'll want him, but what he's sure of is that he's tired of pretending.

What Mish had said on Friday night - "You know how long it's been since someone wanted me, Joel? Actually wanted me?" - it had resonated with him in a way he hadn't been expecting. He knows that feeling, has been feeling it for years without actually saying it aloud because admitting it was too painful, too scary.

He's been putting on a front for his entire life. First, to his parents, then to Mish, then Sarah, then the select few women who'd come in and out of his life, then Tess, and now you. And he's tired. He's so fucking tired of pretending to be someone else. For the first time in a long time, he actually wants to be him.

I'm here.

Tasha opens the door to let him inside. The house is pretty cozy, probably one of the more inexpensive ones you both could find. He notes the leftover snacks littering the table and couch, the empty wine glasses. He hopes you had fun here, at least for a little while. Before he fucking ruined it.

"She's asleep," Tasha says, closing the door behind him and ushering him inside, "I wanna talk to you for a sec, before you go in."

He nods and she gestures toward the couch for him to sit. He takes his place on the edge, knees together as he looks up at her and waits for her to speak.

"I'm her best friend," she says firmly, hands on her hips - she means business, "I've known her for three years now and I know her better than anyone."

He nods slowly.

"She's really coming into herself right now," Tasha continues, "She's making big discoveries, figuring out who she is and what she wants. You know that."

"I do."

"And... well, we both know that what she wants most is you."

He swallows then, feels his heart begin to pound, clenching his fists at his knees.

"This thing with your ex, is it over?"

"Yes," he says immediately, "She'll always be my daughter's mother, she'll always be my friend, but that part of our relationship is over."

"And you mean that?"

"I mean it."

She assesses him and slowly nods, then curls her finger and urges him to stand back up. He does, suddenly towering over her in the small living room.

"First door on the left," she tells him, then walks to the front door, "I'll give you some space."

She's gone before he has the chance to thank her.

He slowly makes his way down the hallway, step by step. He reaches the door, heart pounding in his chest as he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lets the promises he made to himself flood through his mind. His past, his present, and his future... the future he sees with you.

He touches his pocket, feels for your crucifix.

I can do this, he thinks to himself. For her, I can do this.

#joel miller x reader #fic: feelings on fire #*

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darkcircles4lyfe · 8 months ago

Text

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

#lin speaks #bnha meta #bnha manga #bnha 419 #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bakudeku #bkdk #dekubaku #dkbk

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bunji-enthusiast · 3 months ago

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“Come and Get That!”

Possible ooc Gallagher, fluffy sex (doesn’t really get into it though, I got lazy), short and sweet, dog euphemisms, sub-ish!Gallagher.

That’s it, I haven’t really written anything really smut related in so be niceeee. He’s just so… adorable Augh. Brain is stuck on him.

Being naked infront of other people wasn’t something of an activity he normally partook in and all, yet somehow, a little minx wormed his way into his mind.

You, it was fucking you.

Gallagher was an easy, approachable man of course. That was part of being a Bloodhound Security Officer, being head of the Bloodhound family. Yet, he could also be mean when he wanted to be.

However the truth remained, he was quite the soft-hearted man. Maybe that’s how he ended up here.

Here he was, naked as a bare dog. Well, save for the boxers atleast. Though it was somewhat evident too see, that his cock was straining to be free. Almost seeing a wet patch beginning to form, and how shameful it was.

The way your words were honeyed and saccharine, every single one oozing with affection for the man.

It felt tortuous, somehow… loving? He wasn’t sure, your touches were; so featherlight, gentle and warm. As if every single little movement you made was intentional, you were taking your sweet time in worshipping every inch of his skin.

Even the scarred patches of it, the wrong looking skin, the kind of skin that should be repulsive to even look at. And here you were, kissing it still.

He was breathless — for lack of a better word, Gallagher didn’t know what to think. He looked, unsure of where to put his hands, even if he was so experienced in such a steamy position of a situation.

He took even breaths, to better steady himself the moment you pressed a kiss to his cheek. To snap him out of his delirium, Gallagher’s eyes flitted over to yours, tired but content — even.

“You still there?” The question hung in the air for no more than a few meager seconds when he finally answered you, fore-head to fore-head, despite the sweat beading down both of them.

If there was really a god there up in the high vast ends of the stars, then, god—oh god. You were making him see the divine deity.

“Darlin’ your torturin’ me,” He drawled, voice raspy and baritone. And it wasn’t this unusually deep, not unlike every other time the two of you had screwed around with eachother. You couldn’t help but almost laugh, a grin tugging at your lips, something that didn’t leave his attention.

His back hits the back of the bed, up-ending almost bottoming out. Even though it wasn’t all that there yet, your touches alone felt as if they were searing along his skin. Something he didn’t deserve at all, not this dirty dog.

Immediately, you had followed him, straddling his hips. Taking your home right where he didn’t want you to be, yet the way his hips bucked up betrayed the thought.

“There’s a difference between the two,” You murmured, pointing your finger against his firm chest, then languidly trailing up to where his stubble sat perfectly. “You should know.”

“S’..” He huffs, eyes flitting to a close as his brows knit in short frustration. “Sweetheart.” He whines—a short heavy breath following right after, Gallagher’s large and scarred hands moving to your hips, and his cute little noise immediately shot friction right up where you sat on top of his clothed head. You grinned again, your hand now traced to the midsection of his torso. His eyes fluttered to an open when you tapped him in the middle of his abdomen, garnering his attention once more.

You smiled, oh so gently, hand now cradling the side of his face and the other hand holding up the brown messy tresses of hair out of the way and kissing his forehead.

His eyes seemed to be almost blown wide, lips thinned into a thoughtfulness. Gallagher watched your every move—once again.

The tired man’s gaze seemed to be almost, predatory in a way. But he seemed to be so out of it as well, vertically balancing between still being conscious or just seeing stars instantaneously. And he wasn’t sure which one he was closer toward.

Quite vexing indeed, watching as you move your hand against the trail of his skin. Bordering between his actual skin, and the fabric of his boxers.

As each minute passed, you could tell you needed to bring some attention to the much weeping cock that was straining against the fabric of its confines.

Gallagher was being very patient too, content with whatever you did with him.

“Darl’ you..” He whispered, chest heaving with heavy breaths, “Don’t hafta—“

His thighs flexed as he let out a hiss, feeling the way your hand palmed him. Watching as the back of his head hitting the pillow, you let out a soft sigh, “Don’t you reject yourself these things.” You say, a soft and possessive tone.

You leaned forward, hand holding his chin as you tilted his head; “You deserve this, you’re a good boy.”

Honest to god—the sound he let out was akin to that of a dog’s whining. Gallagher’s face was flushed with heat, absolute embarrassment, and it really didn’t help either with how cute he looks with such a disheveled appearance.

Strands of brown sun-kissed hair, and the moon kissed the under-skin of his eyes. The way his muscles writhed and rippled everytime you touched him anywhere in his body, and his scars too. The little roars of red thrumming from time to time had truly enticed you, and you had wondered what his condition with his scars where, however—you never decided to pry. You didn’t want to be invading his privacy, you weren’t privy to his life story anyway as he wasn’t to yours.

You leant back, returning your hand to its previous position. Watching his face for any sign of rejection, but seeing as how his brows were furrowed, the occasional heaving of his chest. He didn’t seem to dislike the idea at all.

So you went through with it, letting the poor weeping cock free. And it surprised you somewhat, a bit bigger than the average person. His head seemed to be angry, reaching for attention.

Your eyes flit to his face, and boy was it such an amazing sight to see. His face was flushed—even further with embarrassment, not at all had he expected the entire duration, to be paid so much attention to.

Normally, it’d be him flustering you, taking care of you in all the right ways. And he was fine with that.

But this?

Gods this was so, so odd. He felt fucking pathetic, hips bucking for your touch—trying to get some stimulatiom. Beads of sweat rolled down his body, and he was feeling everything right now.

You returned your gaze to where he needed you most right now, pushing your shorts to the side and even your underwear. Still, he had forced himself to watch every bit of your movement.

For a moment your hand hovers over his cock, deciding between jumping into it, or working himself off first.

However it had seemed the glint in your eyes, that you made the decision.

Gallagher let out a hiss, the back of his head hitting the pillow once more, large hands scrambling to hold the sheets tightly as you had wrapped your hand around the top somewhat toward the bottom.

Gallagher knew, oh he knew—

He was going to be in for the long one.

#gallagher hsr #gallagher honkai star rail #gallagher x reader #gallagher #hsr gallagher #hsr gallagher x reader #gallagher smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #or smth idk #this was a thought I had

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fulloffencekurooishotterthanyou · 10 months ago

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Grocery Shopping.

Ft. Suna Rintarō

Notes: NSFW minors dni, fingering, car sex, afab reader, fluff at beginning, swearing, pet names

“rin,” you groan, as the crooked wheel of the trolley jams into the back of your heel for the millionth time. “drive the goddamn trolley straight, please.”

there’s a laugh. husky and low, belonging to the man you call your own.

“but, love,” he whines, that familiar drawl in his nonchalant tone as he pushes the trolley a little so you’re walking side by side. “it’s not my fault it’s wonky. you should take that up with someone who works here,”

you can’t help but roll your eyes at his teasing tone and instead decide to aim your focus at the apples that are cheaper than usual. the shine of the skin “a-peeling” as suna comments behind you.

you usually shop together, late at night like this when he doesn’t have training. it’s probably the only time when you’re not drowned in work or your boyfriend is building up his thighs like a god at the gym.

“doll, what else was on the list?” your lover’s voice is serious, as he stares at the aisle numbers in concentration. “why am i thinking of butter? did we even need butter?” your laugh resounds in his ear, as you explain it was bread, not butter. “ohhh, bread. gotcha. be back in a second.” he shoots you an award winning smile, before pushing the trolley to the bread aisle, almost looking too elated to be here with you at the supermarket.

“what’s gotten into him?” you mumble to yourself as you pick up other items on the mental list you made. when ten minutes have passed, and no rintarō has appeared for a suspicious amount of time, you walk down briskly, scanning each aisle.

“rin?” you call, scanning through every area, like a lookout team.

“darling, over here!” an excited voice rings out and you stop in your tracks, walking down the dangerously alluring sweets aisle.

“what are you doing?” you ask with a laugh, seeing wide and excited eyes gracing your boyfriend’s features.

“they have chūpets in stock!” his hands can’t seem to move any faster, as he looks through the different flavours.

“i’ve never seen you more excited, truly,” you say teasingly, as he gives you a pointed look.

“i get excited about plenty of things, hun. i’ve got no idea what you’re saying,”

“yeah? and how much are you willing to bet chūpets are better than sex?” you dare ask, wondering what his reply will be. there’s a beat of silence.

“fuck. that’s a hard question.” he replies, his face grim with indecisiveness. you laugh, playfully hitting his arm.

“you actually have to think about it?” i ask, as he places three packets of chūpets into the trolley. the two of you head to the self check out, scanning your items.

“i mean, both are good. very good,”

“but this is sex i’m talking about. you really believe jelly fruit sticks compare?” your banter is comfortable and flirtatious, as rintarō pushes the trolley to your car. as he unloads the bags, he hums in thought.

“chūpets are gifts from the gods themselves, love. i can’t argue with fact,” his voice clearly pokes fun at you, as he shuts the boot door with a firm hand.

“i’d argue they’re not as satisfying as a good blow job,”

“what? ‘cause of the same sucking motion?” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“suna rintarō!” you cry out, giving him a look of pure unadulterated shock. “you did not just say that!”

he shrugs, but the grin on his face is practically devilish. “did i?” he puts the trolley away with a satisfied look plastered over his features. “why? are you going to prove me wrong, angel?” at this, his voice is lower now; richly suave and so thick with desire, you might as well be bathing in honey.

“you’re a tease. a fucking tease, you know that?”

“mmm, i did, actually.” a gentle hand grasps your hip, as he pulls you in, closing all distance between you.

“we’re in the middle of a car park, rintarō,” you remind him, your lips severely close to his. shit, you want to kiss him so badly.

“it’s almost midnight, doll. nobody’s around to see us,” his lips graze yours, but only for a second. “besides, we gotta test that bet of ours,”

another kiss breaks the surface fleetingly, before you’re dragged into the back seats of the car, the door shutting firmly behind you.

“rin, it’s not more than a fifteen minute drive hom-” you don’t get to finish your sentence as you’re pulled under your boyfriend, his lips crashing against yours.

it takes you a minute to regain your breathing, only to lose it again, his hands in your hair, yours around his neck as he craves for more.

“i want you, darling. right here, right now.”

and you’d be a complete fool to deny him that.

“then take me,” you whisper into his mouth before you’re kissing again, his tongue finding his way into your mouth as his touches grow rougher.

“fuck.” he groans, peppering your neck with kisses as his hands trail down to the buttons of your pants. “let me taste you,” he pleads, untying the string of his sweats. “can i have you, baby? please?”

“yes,” you breathe, watching as his pants and boxers are discarded carelessly, his hands coming back to cup your cheeks. “you can have me, rin,”

he groans, a guttural sound as he lifts your legs over his shoulders in one fluid motion, kissing your inner thighs. “big claim to make, angel. i’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,”

his mouth seems to second that statement, as you whimper from the touch of his lips near your entrance. his tongue comes next, a sword against your shield, digging his way through to you with a muffled moan. “you taste so good, doll. always taste so good for me, don’t you?”

“fuck, rin!” you cry out, as a pale, slim finger penetrates your folds. “oh god, oh fuck-” you choke out, babbling mindlessly as his fingers are practically sucked in and out of your hole.

“not even the real thing yet, baby. already so responsive,” he hums, thrusting another finger inside. your moans only compel him to insert another, his movements gradually getting faster and rougher.

“i want you, rin,” you plead. “just give it to me already. stop teasing me,”

“sweetheart, i haven’t done anything of the kind,” he smiles, pulling out his wet fingers, licking them as he watches you. “but since you’re so insistent sex is better than my beloved chūpets, i guess i’ll give you what you want,”

a ragged gasp of air comes out of you as the tip starts to slowly sink in.

“ahh- rin, shit, you’re so- fuck! you’re big,” you ramble, thoughts simply unable to pass through you. rintarō continues his pursuit, delving in deeper, as he thrusts against your walls in an effort to derail you from coherency.

when he bottoms out, your cries are strangled as crescent moons crease his t-shirt, your grip on him, unrelenting.

“fuck, hun, you’re tight,” he hisses, his base reaching your skin as he begins to move, hard and fast. rintarō’s hips rock into yours, the wild bucking sensation almost too much as you moan wantonly.

“t-the car is shaking-” you manage to choke out, but it’s like your boyfriend doesn’t hear you, his relentless pursuit of breaking down your walls his only mission.

his cock fills you up so deeply, you can barely move as your pleas for more only seem to invigorate him to pound you harder.

each thrust is like a message, one that tells you that there’s no place either of you would rather be, but with each other. rintarō’s cock remains hard and swollen inside of you, his desperate grunts filling the car.

“release for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his tone the personification of velvet. “show me how good i make you feel,” each touch sends you ablaze, your whimpers music to rintarō’s ears as his skin dances over yours.

“r-rin!” you all but scream, the pleasure blinding as his cock slams into your walls, a sign of love as you moan. “i’m gonna… fucking hell, i’m gonna cum,”

“that it’s, darling. cum all over this fat dick for me, yeah?” rintarō smiles as his hard member urges to release. but he waits. suna rintarō can be patient when he wants to.

“close, ‘m close!” you sob, hips held in place by suna’s firm grip. “rin- hnngh~ rintarō!”

there’s a low chuckle from your boyfriend as he hits your g-spot more consistently. “go on. let it all out for me, doll. you know i’m good for it,”

you swear loudly, your voice shaky as you announce your climax again. the coil in your stomach tightens, and then releases all at once. “i’m cumming!” you groan, thighs trembling as rintarō pants from the overexertion.

“fuck, that feels so good. your cum feels so warm on my cock.” he whispers, the words so vulgar it makes you moan a little more. “wait, wait. quiet down for me,” he requests, and you bite your lip to hold your silence.

“you hear that, hun?” suna asks, his cum-soaked cock rubbing against your walls. the motion produces a series of audibly lewd noises, the squelch making you tense up on him, all over again.

you can’t handle it anymore, writhing with pleasure as your lover pulls out, his cock covered with your fluids. “where should i cum, baby? tell me where i should, we wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” his tone is sly, like he wanted this all along. you can barely answer as his seed squirts all over your bare stomach, as he kisses you deeply. you press your lips back hungrily, tongues finding their way to meet each other’s as your shared moans echo in the backseats.

“better than sex?” you choke out now, your back limp against the car seat as you both pant heavily. there is a moment of quiet, aside from the jagged breathing before suna quips.

“yeah, maybe,” your boyfriends winks. “i’m playing with you, doll. sex is always better,”

“i fucking told you so,” you groan as he laughs, the sound resonating in your ear as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind it.

“let’s go home. i’m not finished with you yet.” suna says with a cheeky smile.

“i didn’t think you’d be,” you say sarcastically as he sits you up, cleaning the sticky mess with a tissue.

“what can i say, love? i’m a man with very specific needs,”

you can’t help but laugh. “is that right?”

“only the facts,” he replies, meeting his lips with yours for another kiss. “i love you, darling.”

“i love you too, rin.”

first full smut fic ‼️ i hope this isn’t just a bunch of tomfoolery 😵‍💫

banner credits: @cafekitsune <3

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq suna #suna rintaro fic #suna rintarou smut #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #suna #jitsu writes #i didn’t forget his birthday okay #disgustingly feral for this man

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thatscarletflycatcher · 3 months ago

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The problem with discussions about Henry Crawford is that there are two different questions being asked at the same time: 1) Can Fanny reform Henry? and 2) Can Henry reform?

Austen answers negatively to the first one, but I'd argue she's very ambivalent in her answer to the second.

Austen is not in the habit of "punishing" her villains; none of them are struck by accidents of fortune or anything the like, but we commonly perceive the downgrade between what they could have had and what they end up having. Edward Ferrars is an infinitely preferrable husband to Robert Ferrars, but Lucy Steele never seems to become aware of that fact. Isabella tries to get Captain Tilney over James Morland. Mr. Elliot is not crying by the corners over the fact that he lost Anne Elliot. Even Willoughby's regret is not about Marianne's actual goodness, but his personal convenience. Austen's "villains" as a rule are morally stupid people.

When Aristotle says that no one can be good who is stupid, he doesn't have in mind things like being good at Math or being well read or quick-witted; he's thinking of a certain intuition, clear-sightedness about what is good, what contributes to human flourishing, and this seems to be a strong component of what Austen calls sense. Sense is almost convertible (if not completely) with prudence, and prudence is a rather intuitive virtue, as it regulates the when, the how, the how much, etc of the other moral virtues. (and there goes my first thesis topic that I never did!).

In that way it is interesting that only 4 characters are said to possess sense in Mansfield Park: Edmund, Fanny, Henry, and Tom (and Tom doesn't even fully count, because his is expressed negatively: instead of having sense, he doesn't lack it). Here are the Henry instances:

"He did not want them to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to have made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself great latitude on such points." "Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious." "That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just measure attend his share of the offence is, we know, not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world the penalty is less equal than could be wished; but without presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providing for himself no small portion of vexation and regret: vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret to wretchedness, in having so requited hospitality, so injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as well as passionately loved."

(I'm not counting the one time Edmund calls him a man of sense, and the one time Sir Thomas does the same, for obvious contextual reasons).

It's not only interesting that he is the only rake to be called a man of sense by the narrator (Mrs. Smith calling Mr. Elliot a man of sense in Persuasion is clearly not meant to be taken straight), but that it is always specifically tied to moral perceptiveness; he was morally perceptive enough to know he shouldn't have played the way he did, and he chose to ignore it. He perceives Fanny's moral worth, and it is the core reason why he wants to marry her.* He also perceives William's moral worth as something both good and desirable:

"To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much. His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through such bodily hardships and given such proofs of mind. The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast; and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!"

Both here and at the end of the novel, Henry's moral perceptiveness leads to remorse for his own moral wrongdoings. Compare this to Willoughby's regret over Marianne:

"Willoughby could not hear of her marriage without a pang; and his punishment was soon afterwards complete in the voluntary forgiveness of Mrs. Smith, who, by stating his marriage with a woman of character, as the source of her clemency, gave him reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich. That his repentance of misconduct, which thus brought its own punishment, was sincere, need not be doubted;—nor that he long thought of Colonel Brandon with envy, and of Marianne with regret. But that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity."

This sense/moral perceptiveness of Henry Crawford, and his experiencing remorse for his own wrongdoings sets him apart from the other Austen rakes. He's also not a drinker or a gambler; he does take at least minimal care of Everingham ("Everingham could not do without him in the beginning of September. He went for a fortnight") and did some modifications to it as soon as he got it. The same way Darcy's character is revealed as we see Pemberley, so the inflexion point of Henry's redemption attempt is his trying to become a better master of his estate:

For her approbation, the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large and—he believed—industrious family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; of meaning to bias him against the deserving; and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed! Nothing could be more grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an approving look, when it was all frightened off by his adding a something too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham: a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet. She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, and ought not to think of her.

I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, which I design for somebody else. I must come to an understanding with him. I must make him know that I will not be tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the north: that I will be master of my own property. I was not explicit enough with him before. The mischief such a man does on an estate, both as to the credit of his employer and the welfare of the poor, is inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a footing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever fellow; I do not wish to displace him, provided he does not try to displace me; but it would be simple to be duped by a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant, instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise already. Would it not be worse than simple? Shall I go? Do you advise it?” “I advise! You know very well what is right.” “Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your judgment is my rule of right.” “Oh, no! do not say so. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.

This is even more hammered in by the narrator: "Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been deciding his own happy destiny."

All these elements seem to point towards his being redeemable; he almost managed it! If only he'd gone to Everingham instead of London, catastrophic failure would have been averted! And yet at the same time we are told this:

Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman’s affections, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done something. Her influence over him had already given him some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained, especially when that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the assistance of her conscience in subduing her first inclination, and brought them very often together. Would he have persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward, and a reward very voluntarily bestowed, within a reasonable period from Edmund’s marrying Mary.

Ruined by early independence and bad domestic example. Mansfield Park is in a way a rather pessimist novel: it is a novel about education, and once your education has "set", your character is fixed, and your fate determined. Much of Maria and Julia's disgrace was also directly caused by their upbringing in a household where all importance was given to superficial qualities, and very little effective affection was shared; one can compare the restrained calm of Mansfield as a reflection of Sir Thomas' own unwillingness to see reality and give himself some discomfort in making others comfortable, with the bustle of the Musgrove household, and connect the dots to what makes the relationship between sisters Maria and Julia so different from the one between Louisa and Henrietta in similar situations.

In the end, it's a bit of a Schröedinger's cat situation. Can Henry reform? Yes, says Austen, he has the qualities needed for moral improvement, but no, his upbringing ruined him, and his character is fixed.

While this idea is the strongest in MP, it is present one way or another in all Austen's novels. Characters reforming is usually more about one specific quality or moral tone not being fine tuned than proper metanoia. Darcy was taught to do right, and did right; what he needed was to add proper humility and kindness to his practice. There is an exception, though, the one thing Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen agree upon: a close brush with death is the best recipe for moral cure in the otherwise incurable.

Maybe the key is to wish Henry a good pneumonia, or a strong horsefall-induced concussion.

_____________

*On a side note, it's interesting that before he proposes, he considers how attached Fanny is to Mansfield, as undeserving as he thinks the Bertrams to be of her affection, and even draws a plan that contemplates giving her pleasure that way too: "I will not take her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood; perhaps Stanwix Lodge."

#Jane Austen #Mansfield Park #Henry Crawford

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lucrativesoul · 1 year ago

Text

The Assistant

summary: you have been promoted within the police headquarters, and your new position is the assistant of none other than Leon S. Kennedy. the ever alluring man has you weak in the knees.

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

word count: 9.9k

warnings: smut, boss x employee, very brief mention of smoking, very vague drug mention.

a/n: yay i'm posting it :3 using this photo cause i couldn't stop thinking of noir leon while writing this (brainrot) i didn't originally intend for this to be so long but here we are... this was different than what i'm used to writing but it was so much fun! already in the process of a second fic! enjoy yall

“So… I’m not fired?”

Standing in front of your boss’ desk, you were genuinely surprised by the words out of her mouth. For some reason, for the last few weeks, you had a hunch that you were about to get sacked. The office had been slowly getting emptied out, of boxes full of documents, of equipment, hell, even of people, and you were positive you were next.

She had just called out into her office, a mere twenty steps away from your desk where you worked, or used to work, now, in the dingy yellow room with foggy windows and no working AC. You took a deep breath, thinking this was it, getting ready to add this to the list of ‘Previous Employment’ on your resume, when all she had simply told you was that you were going upstairs.

She laughed curtly. “No, you aren’t. They need you upstairs. You’ll be better off up there.”

You slowly nodded your head, trying to keep most of the confusion off of your face. “So, sorry to ask, but, what about down here?”

You had been here for just shy of a year at this point, and they placed you in one of the ground floor offices of the five story buildings sorting out random court documents, for whatever reason, they were always needed for something incomprehensible. You didn’t question it, you just did it, because you got paid to. Yes, the fluorescents gave you occasional migraines and stepping into the fresh air at the end of the day made you feel reborn, but it was just busy work, and there were much worse jobs to do.

“They’re cleaning us out. We’re all still here, just… relocated.” You nodded, at least relieved to know that your old deskmates weren’t ruthlessly fired. She handed a manila folder over to you, and when you flipped it open, there was only one piece of paper inside. You’ve learned to not be surprised by confusing things such as this. “Mr. Anderson of the top floor has recently been relieved of his position.” Ouch, you thought. Poor soul. “His position had been freed and with no new applicants, they were looking inward. I appreciate your work here and your employment history shows some experience in the assistance department, so I suggested you as a candidate. They want you up there.”

Your stomach sank, and your best friend’s voice rang out through your head. “You can’t lie about past employment, idiot! They can check!” Well, you held back a sigh, they definitely didn’t check.

“Wow, I… Thank you. But, sorry. That I’m leaving.”

She merely shook her head. “Still here. This office will be gone soon enough. Between us, I’ve been praying for this day.” With that, she dismissed you, and after swiping the few personal items off your desk and into your bag, you headed home.

This single paper had stumped you all night. You sat at your table after eating (barely, you were too nervous about starting a basically new job the next day), and decided to review the content of it before retiring for the night. It was quite simple: it listed the job description, ‘Executive Assistant’, it listed the location, ‘5F, 505’, and your new boss’ name, ‘Leon S. Kennedy, Exec. Agent’.

You had honestly not heard this name before. You should know everyone who works there, considering the nature of the police headquarters, but you were often forgotten down in the basement, no one too important worked down there, besides your boss, or old boss now, who had connections to all other departments. Everyone got there before you and left after you. Could be at the same time, but you often tuned it out, needing the sweet release of your home. You wondered why she volunteered you up for this. Maybe she was sympathetic about the setting you had to work in for someone your age.

You went to bed after deciding there was no hidden detail in the few lines of script on the sheet. You would just have to wait and see.

Figuring the gray dress pants and white, long sleeve mock neck that you threw on this morning were good enough, you left the house early enough to prepare by buying a coffee. Being stuffed into the basement had its perks, eventually everyone had caught on to the idea that they just needed you guys down there to do what they didn’t want upstairs, and you and your coworkers had found the thin cracks in which you could push the dress code a little. No, leggings weren’t permitted, but they were on the days your slacks were dirty and when you put a dress shirt and sweater on over it. You were sure your boss noticed, but said nothing anyway. Clearly, it didn't put a dent in what she thought of you.

You had to at least try today though, as you had no idea what it would be like to work on the top floor. You had no idea what kind of a person Agent Kennedy was, and you weren’t going to chance anything on the first day. You had played it safe when you first started here and it paid off, so fingers crossed it could pay off again.

After a few deep breaths, you popped the door open and headed into the building. Usually, you could park in the back and take the lower level entrance, which was essentially the one and only way into the basement that wasn’t from the service elevator, but you went in through the front today. You ignored the tightening of your stomach and climbed the stairs.

“Can I help you?” A man stood from the front desk at your arrival. You started reaching for the ID card you carried on a lanyard, stuffed into your pocket.

“Yes, I work here.” He reached out for your ID, not believing your truth.

He raised an eyebrow. “The basement entrance is in the back of the building.” He handed it back and went to sit down.

“Yes, I know, I was moved. I’m going upstairs.” You handed him the manila folder before he could ignore you further. He raised an eyebrow again after looking at the small paper.

“Alright, Anderson’s replacement. Fifth floor, to the right.” He motioned to his left to the elevator, and only then did you let him sit back down.

You took the walk to the elevator as a chance to survey the room. You hadn’t been over here very often. You made a few trips up here a few months ago, but you didn’t look around much, only headed to the confidential files room to move information. The floor was a sleek black tile, shiny as ever, and the room was lit well due to the large windows at the front of the building. It didn't look like a headquarters building. You told yourself it wasn’t to calm your nerves.

Swallowing the last of the anxiety, you stepped out onto the fifth floor. It was simply a hallway, all black, but the windows at the end made the space seem larger, and not so dark. To the right, you remember the man telling you. Your footsteps were reverberating off of the walls, matched with the pounding of your blood flow in your ears.

The corridor opened up to a wider room, inhabited by a handful of other people. One of them spotted your arrival, and walked over.

“Good morning, I’m–”

“Yes, right over here. Glad to see you.” You were taken aback for a moment, They already know me? You thought, as you followed the young man to a large desk on the left side of the wall, facing inward to the foyer. You were sitting in front of floor to ceiling windows, across the room was the same setup with a few smaller desks, people scuttling back and forth on their own side. You turned back to thank the man, when your heart fluttered in relief.

“Thank you,-- Oh, my gosh, Brett, you work up here now?” Brett was an old deskmate that had left the small office three months ago. You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye, but the last day that you saw him you remember eating lunch on his desk with another coworker who sat in front of you two. You were saddened by his loss, but now absolutely relieved to have a familiar face.

“I know, right? They said you were coming. I’m glad you got out next. It’s better up here.” He let you put your stuff down and get settled, before telling you what your next moves should be. “He’s in a meeting right now, but he wanted to meet you once you got here. Don’t be nervous, but brace yourself. He’s serious. Mostly. I’ve seen him smile once, but he’s nice to the rest of us. Hopefully more to you.”

After a few more minutes of small talk, he left you on your own, and you passed the time getting used to the surroundings while waiting for your new boss to be out of his meeting. Early for a meeting, you thought, but then again, it didn’t take a whole team for one person to make a conference call.

There was a momentary beep sound that came from Brett’s desk, and he picked up the phone. He said one thing into it before hanging up. He turned to you. “He’s ready.”

The nerves came back, but at the comforting thought that there was at least one person you knew out here, you tried your best to look forward to just sitting back down at your desk.

You were about to knock, but figured otherwise since he had directly asked for your presence. You walked up to the large double doors, and pulled them open.

His back was to you when you closed the door behind you. Walking closer, you stopped a few paces away, observing him for a brief second. He had a white dress shirt on and a gray vest. He looked quite large from where you stood, and you were sure that he was at least 6 feet tall, probably taller. He was messing with some papers on his desk, and you took a quick breath before speaking.

“Good morning, sir.” You stood tall, shoulders back, hands clasped behind yourself. Don’t cross your arms in front of you, you recall trying to retrain your habits, you look insecure. He turned around.

You swallowed hard. Jesus Christ, there were no tips on that blog on what to do when your boss is straight out of People Magazine’s sexiest men alive. His ash blonde hair was pushed back off of his forehead, showcasing his sturdy bone structure, a deep, furrowed brow that lacked any wrinkles, and high cheekbones with a sharp jawline. Straight nose, strong chin, and shoulders the size of, well, you. Maintaining eye contact was a challenge.

You saw him give you a quick once over, all the way down and back up your body again, so brief like it never happened at all. You were itching to pull your arms back in front of yourself.

“Good morning.” He took one step closer to you, held out his hand, and you gingerly took it. His hand was rough, yet the handshake was gentle. “Agent Leon Kennedy.” He lowered his hand and put it in his pocket. His other hand was holding a file. “I hope once you are comfortable here we will work well together.”

You gave a tight smile, forcing your face to make it look natural. You were sure it didn’t. “I look forward to working with you.” Your voice was a lot breathier than intended.

The corner of his mouth twitched in a hidden smirk. Leon could definitely tell you were nervous. It was a big part of his job, after all. He handed the file over to you. “Just run these for a while. Find me when you finish them.” You took the folder. He stood there momentarily, watching you. “You can relax a little. I’m not going to kill you.” He stalked back over to his desk and sat down, attention still on you.

You mumbled while flipping through the file. Attempting to lighten the mood, “I would, but smoking is not allowed in the building.”

“That will kill you, you know.” His voice was light. He took the joke well.

You closed it and looked back up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Would you prefer if I drank myself stupid, then?” He said nothing, and just smiled at you. Yours grew wider. “I’ll see you soon with this, sir.” You turned and left.

The day passed with ease. It was no difficult task to focus, now that the nerves were buried and you knew what it was that you had to be doing. Lunch with the others came and went, and it took you a fair chunk of your day to run the files he handed over. It was similar to what they had you doing in the basement, but the addition of sunlight unobstructed by dirty windows made it seem like a fun job.

You had attempted humor with Leon within the first few minutes of meeting him. You probably shouldn’t have, but no one in your life could force you to give up making jokes in serious situations. That’s just how you operated. Leon didn’t seem to care. He actually smiled. Brett had told you he rarely does that, and you made him after only a minute. It honestly had your heart racing all day.

With only an hour left in the day, you packed up the papers Leon had given you along with some new printed ones. You knocked on the door this time, and opened it when he beckoned you in.

“Sorry it took me so long. Little more labor intensive than I’m used to.” He took the file you were handing over, and put it on his desk without looking inside. He was sitting turned toward the computer on his desk, and though he told you to come in, you hoped you weren’t interrupting anything.

“Thank you. No more of that librarian sorting you were all doing down there.” So, he knows. It was no secret you were sure, but you were still surprised that he knew you worked in the building at all. Leon turned his attention back to his desk for a moment, and you stood there, head tilted slightly to view what he was looking at. He turned back to you, and your head snapped up to make eye contact. “I have nothing else for you right now. Boring day for you to start. You can go home. Tomorrow, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have you review some portfolios and slides I have, so you can become familiar with the content. I have some meetings coming up later in the week, or next, there's a good chance you’ll be coming with me.” he swiveled himself around and grabbed a stack of papers sitting on top of a file cabinet, held together with a paperclip. “Just put this on your desk for now, for the morning.” It was something along the lines of criminal justice and related business strategies. This would be a doozy.

“Of course, sir. As you wish.” You took a step back to leave. “Thanks for the early day.” You sent a halfhearted smile his way. He didn’t reflect it, but his eyes were soft.

After a few seconds of holding your stare, he said, “Already better than Anderson. I like you.”

Your stomach tightened, and you had to force yourself to breathe normally. “I hope I can continue to please, then.” You felt his stare hot on your back as you left, but you remained composed. Once, and only once, the doors were shut, you shakily exhaled, and quickly packed up to leave.

The week went by with a pace you were never used to with your job. You found yourself excited to come to work, excited to see Leon. If you had known you worked in the same building this whole time, you would have been begging your old boss to get moved.

It was a rather tame week, and you weren't sure if it was because there was no work, or this is just what the workload was always like here. It was now Friday, you sat at your desk going through a database page for the assignment you had to review before the meeting Leon had said you were attending. It definitely made you nervous, this was past your parameters and you hadn’t had any sort of experience with something this serious. At least, that’s what you thought it would be. You needed to be prepared for that so you didn’t look incompetent for this job that you only just got.

Resting your chin on your hand with the other slowly scrolling through the page with the mouse, you cocked your head and looked up when Leon suddenly appeared in front of you. You shot a smile at him.

“Were you in a meeting?” He stood so tall from this angle with you sitting down, and your neck almost hurt looking up at him.

“Yeah, light work though.” He held onto a file with his left hand. The right was in his pocket. He turned briefly to look behind him at the others who worked in the small lobby. “So, about that meeting next week,” you nodded, shifting your posture now. “It’s Monday morning. I just need you to be there to help with any outside communications like other appointments since it might be a while. I sent this to you–” He motioned to your computer, which was the PDF you had been reading from his email. “In case something happened to mine for whatever reason. God forbid...” He mumbled, partially rolling his eyes. You chuckled. “Good for you to know it though.”

“I figured. This is also light work.” You cocked a smile, and he repeated the action. “As long as I’m not being expected to execute the whole presentation, I think I can serve well to take calls for you.”

A quiet laugh rumbled out from him. “That’s all I need you for. It’s not here,” He leaned onto your desk with one arm, and you had to desperately peel your eyes away from the way his veins flexed in his forearm. The image was already burned into your brain. “It’s in the branch a couple cities over, so… If you would like to meet me somewhere over here,” You tried to swallow at the implication, but your throat was suddenly so dry. “You know, to make it easier.”

You drew in a breath. “Of course,” You put your hands into your lap so he wouldn't see you nervously wringing your fingers together. “How did you know about my minor driving anxiety?” You playfully quirked an eyebrow at him.

He smiled. “Intuition. Or my job training.” He stood up straight now. You found yourself wishing he wouldn't leave. “You can leave at three with the rest of them today. I’ll see you on Monday.” You only released the breath you were holding when he was safely behind the confines of his office doors.

The weekend allowed a little relaxing, but mostly anxiety the close it came to Monday. You were finding it increasingly difficult to stop thinking about Leon. This whole week felt like a dream. Your body felt hot anytime you were alone in his office, or anytime he merely stopped at your desk to drop something off. You felt so small next to him, and almost struggled to form coherent thoughts when you had to speak to him. Your eyes thoroughly raked his body up and down when he was turned, his broad expanse of back and shoulders nearly turned your brain to slush. He always smelled like crisp cologne, something expensive, it had to be.

You found yourself thinking too often about the way he looked at you. It was a stare that wasn't something you were used to receiving on a daily basis. There was something else… His gaze was dark and luring. Like he knew what you were thinking. Like when you two made eye contact, he knew he was the object of your fantasy.

Which, yes, it had only been a week, but you had to admit, you had never seen anyone this attractive before. And here you were, working for him. It only made your skin heat up more at the knowledge that it was forbidden. It heightened the experience every time you had to see him. That was your boss, and he sure did have that power over you. The conversations you had with him bordered on strictly work, but you were dying to see another side of him. The smirk he gave you when you made him laugh had your stomach twisting in a way that lasted long after the interaction was over. Every time you said something that gave him that reaction, you needed to make it happen again. It felt like a new addiction that developed way too fast. You wondered if he could tell. You at least tried to be subtle about it.

A shiver raked through your body as you stood outside of your car early that Monday morning. It wasn’t that cold, but you didn't think the weather was the reason you were shivering. You had arrived at headquarters to meet with Leon, as he offered to take you over to another city's department for his meeting. The aforementioned shiver happened immediately after turning and seeing Leon in the same outfit as you saw when you first met him.

His button down shirt strained on his biceps when he moved, and the gray vest sat perfectly on his waist, making you realize exactly how his frame would look underneath his clothes. You had to push this aside as he motioned you to come over to his car.

It was a sleek black sedan, which made sense for who he was. You felt shielded from the world as you closed the door, the tint locking you in next to your boss, who was insanely close to you, and you feared could hear your frantic heartbeat.

He placed a few files on your lap and you let them sit there for the time being. “I was going to get you coffee, but I didn't know how you would take it.”

You held back a smile at the thought of Leon thinking of you this morning. “It’s okay, but thanks. I already had some.” You saw Leon nod out of your peripheral, and you could only look forward, knowing you might stare if you turned your head.

“But you take…” Leon prompted. He’s curious anyway? Is he expecting to do it in the future? You could have exploded.

After rattling off the basics of what you drink, he replied, “Sounds very sweet.” You laughed and nodded. “I don't know about all that. Maybe I’ll try it out.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be into sweet things.” You risked a look over, and when you did, he mirrored the action with a grin on his face.

“You’d be surprised.”

Thankfully, you were very relieved at the end of the day when the meeting went by with minimal interaction on your part. You were introduced to some of the other important players in the legal game that knew Leon, and sat off to the side with one of the files he handed you. Despite most of the information going over your head, you still paid attention, at least to make Leon look good and show that you were a competent assistant.

The sun was close to setting by the time you filed back out into the lot, trailing right behind Leon. Slipping into his passenger’s seat, he followed a second after, and you felt your body physically relax knowing the stressor of the week was now defeated.

“Not so bad, right?” He spoke without looking over, shifting gear and taking off.

“Are they always this long? Maybe I should plan ahead and bring multiple drinks with me.”

He chuckled. “Only sometimes. This one was important, that’s why. They usually aren’t outside the city either so… consider this an introduction to the team.”

You rolled your eyes and looked over. “Do you keep forgetting that I already worked here before this?” You heard the smile through your own voice, and saw one creep on his face as he kept his eyes on the road. Your heart felt light.

“No, absolutely not. The pace you work at is evident enough of that. It’s just a different type of job, I’m sure. I don’t really know what goes on down there.”

With the smile still on your face, you let your eyes linger on him for a moment more. His hair, which was pushed on top of his head, was starting to fall, and a strand fell onto his forehead. The past week, he had worn it down a couple of times, and you honestly didn't know which one you preferred.

You rolled your head over to the side, watching the passing cars go by. The radio was on, but at the lowest volume, merely for ambiance. Your hand brushed over the files on your lap, that you had taken back from Leon upon leaving so he could shake hands with whoever he needed to, and pried open one of them.

Before your eyes could even properly latch onto any words, Leon’s hand reached over and gently pushed the top of the file closed, and you looked over at him.

“That’s confidential, you know.” He looked over at you for a brief second, but you could see he wasn’t mad.

“Sorry. I was just sitting through that whole thing, though, in case you forgot.” You looked back down at your lap and noticed Leon’s hand was still on the file, the weight of it heavy on your thighs.

“No, I didn’t forget. I don’t know how much of it was digestible to you.” He barely lifted his hand off of the file folder, pulling it sideways, landing it on your thigh for a second. His hand was big enough to wrap around the side, and a split second later, he dragged it off, and your skin burned with the track it traced. Breathing became hard suddenly, and you had to turn your head to the window and focus on the outside world.

You arrived back at headquarters thirty minutes later, and the fresh air felt incredible on your flushed skin. It wasn’t even that warm in the car, but you couldn't stop thinking about the way Leon’s hand felt on your thigh. It was like he never lifted his hand at all, you could still feel the contact lingering, the way his fingers grazed your leg, the immediate warmth you felt, not only on your thigh, but in your stomach. You wished you could have taken your jacket off in the car.

Before you could get any words out, Leon said, “Come up to the office for a second. I left something up there.”

You said nothing, simply followed him up. The parking lot was nearly deserted, save for the few officers doing a detail whom you greeted when the both of you walked in. You fiddled with the edges of the files you were still holding, not trying to look in any of them in case Leon were to reprimand you for it again. You were almost tempted to, just to see his reaction. That thought made your knees weak.

You followed him out of the elevator into the office. As expected, the lobby was empty. Leon made his way over to his desk, pulling open a file cabinet, and started sifting around. You stood there, then walked over and dropped what you were holding onto his desk. You looked around the office, it was as wide as the lobby was, and large windows spanned the walls. It was simplistic. His desk was in the middle, file cabinets behind him, multiple monitors, a few chairs in front of his desk, some round black ottomans in front of a black leather couch to the left. There were more files open on top of one of the ottomans.

You stalked over to it, leaned down and picked one up. It looked like what he had given you the other day–

“You must be a glutton for punishment.” You jumped slightly when Leon spoke from directly behind you and grabbed the file from your hands. You spun around. “You shouldn’t be rifling through random documents, you know.”

You sighed, not wanting to make eye contact, but knowing not doing it would look bad. You kept your arms to your side despite wanting to cross them. His eyes were dark. You couldn't tell what type of reaction this was.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make a severe mental note of that.” He said nothing in return, simply looking down at you. The peaks of his bone structure highlighted by the distant street lamps and the glow of the moon outside the windows. It made the shadows look all that much darker. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine.

He hummed, a low, throaty sound. “My new assistant, just so nosy.” His voice was low, and you gulped, trying to blink through your emotions normally, but you knew it looked anything but.

“Dare I say it’s in my job description.” You mirrored his low tone, mentally relieved it wasn’t as weary as you expected it to sound. You tilted your head up to his, as a small gesture of challenge.

He nodded his head, as if to consider your words. “Dare you do.” He backed up, placed the file on his desk, then came right back to his spot in front of you. You didn’t know what to do, so you stayed still. It was most likely the better option anyway, who knows if your limbs could even move properly right now. You felt bare in this position, your cotton top feeling too warm where it overlapped with your jacket, and though your legs were on display under your skirt, they, too, were burning up. Your heart was hammering, but Leon kept talking. “What do you think about this job so far, hm? Does it live up to expectations?”

You had to take a steady breath before answering. “I think this surpasses any expectation I could have ever set.”

“Good answer.” You maintained eye contact with the man in front of you, surprising yourself with how well you were holding it. He seemed unfazed at all. He was probably reading you like a book right now. “You know, I love having new recruits start here. They’re so unaware of their surroundings. It almost makes a fun game for myself. They think they are so secretive, but after a while I can tell whatever it is they don't want anyone else to know.” You felt your breath catch in your throat. You had a feeling you knew where this was going. “I know Breanna across the lobby from you doesn’t like her desk mate despite buying her coffee three times a week.” Checks out, I can tell, too. “I know Brett does things to stay awake during his shifts that he shouldn’t be doing within a 50 foot radius of a cop.” Ouch. That’s also true, but he only told me during a hard come down. “And, I know how nervous you are to be around me, and you don’t know what to do with yourself whenever I’m in the room.”

You made no moves now. How did he know? Surely you weren’t that obvious with it. It had been one week, and yes Leon called you into his office quite a bit during those five days, but he had work to hand off to you every time. It’s not like he was doing it on purpose.

But now, standing under his hard gaze, nowhere to go, you weren’t so sure it was accidental.

Your jaw tightened. “How can you be so sure?” Now, you could hear the waviness in your voice. A smirk blossomed on his handsome face.

“I can see how you look at me. Usually these things take time to figure out, but you…” He took a step closer, and you took a half step back. It’s not like you didn’t want to be close to him, but now he was donning a persona that made you shrink into yourself. You knew you liked it by the heat spreading inside. “You, dear, are like looking through a window.”

“So… you tested it out earlier?” It felt like a pathetic question, but you needed an answer for why he put his hand on your thigh earlier. Compared to this current position, that seemed so tame.

He tilted his head slightly. “I’m pretty sure I was, but… I had to make sure I was gauging the situation correctly.” He looked you up and down, your hands had made their way to clasp behind your back, still fighting the habit to cross them across your chest. Your breathing felt erratic. “I would have left it there, but I couldn’t make too much of a scene. Not yet.”

You simply stared at each other. You could tell that he knew he had the upper hand, solely because he was correct. Everything he was saying was right. Damn that detective training, nothing was getting past him. The room was sweltering now, but maybe you were the only one that felt it.

One last burst of confidence had you muttering, “You do this to all your new assistants?”

In one swift action, he had a hand over your waist and pulled you close to him. Bodies touching, heat feeling like a fire between you, he lowered his face so it was centimeters away from yours. The glisten of his eyes were the only thing you could see, and if you weren’t running on pure adrenaline right now, you probably would have collapsed. You felt the vibrations from his chest when he spoke.

“Only the ones I intend to hang on to. And I can’t say I’ve had multiple of those.” You gulped, and when you didn't reply, he continued, “Did I gauge the situation correctly?”

“Yes,” You whispered, and his mouth was on yours.

His kiss was intense, and you felt now like your body might give out. Your hands found their way to make contact with him, one grasping the wrist that was holding your waist and the other to the side of Leon’s face, and you felt his other hand close in on your hips.

It was like nothing you had experienced before. The kiss was hot and messy, you let his tongue in easily, and you couldn't help the small sighs that escaped whenever he leaned in to deepen the exchange. You felt his nose press into your face, your foreheads pushed together and your bodies entirely too close you felt like one entity. The hand that was caressing his face snaked to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, and your knees finally buckled when he gave a low growl in response to you tugging his locks.

The kiss broke for a second as you lost balance, but he was not thrown off course. Hands still grasping your body, he found the couch that you were only a step in front of, and he lowered you on it, still connecting your lips together fiercely. Both of your hands now in his hair as your back hit the cushions, and you felt the dips next to you where he was kneeling over you. One of his hands let go of you and supported himself next to your head, but you craved the contact again.

He took your chin in his thumb and index finger and tilted your head slightly to the right, and broke the kiss, but his lips stayed on your burning skin as they traced down your jaw bone, biting into the flesh, and his tongue marked a path down your neck, and it was insanely hard to breathe.

One of your hands found solace on his thick shoulder while he was still making work of the soft skin on your neck. The hand of his that wasn't on your chin still traced its way from your hip up to your chest, and he squeezed one of your breasts in sync with a bite to the neck. Your head pressed harder into the couch underneath you.

“Leon, please…” You gasped out, unsure if you even said it out loud, surprised you even had the energy to speak. You felt him lift his lips off of your skin a second later and his fingers moved your chin again to make you face him.

“What is it, hm? What do you need?” He dipped down to kiss you again, and you wished he would have stayed there so you wouldn't need to verbally answer him.

“I… I don’t…” I don’t know, I need you. You barely had the breath to speak anymore, and though you knew Leon knew exactly what you were trying to say, he feigned confusion, and looked at you from under his furrowed brow. It was so obnoxious, it ignited the flame inside you even more.

“Come on, baby, I can’t hear you.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and your vision went blurry with lust. You ground your jaw and swallowed your pride.

“I need you.” You gasped out finally, your lungs deflating. Your hand was fisting the material over his shoulder, and you noticed through your haze that he wasn’t wearing the vest anymore. When did he take it off? Before you came up to the office? While you had your back turned? It didn’t matter, it was now one less thing you needed to rip off of him.

“Is that so?” He went back to biting at your neck, and at this rate you didn’t care what state he was going to leave it in. You whined at his lack of response to your plea, feeling frustration and desire bounding up inside of you, needing an outlet to release it.

“Leon, fuck, please…” You weakly tried to push him back but he wouldn’t budge. He reconnected your lips again, and that you greatly accepted, pulling him closer now so he would continue kissing you with fervor. The hand that was on your chin finally left, and he replaced it on your wrist, and suddenly, he was hauling you up.

He pulled back from the kiss just as quickly as he was pulling you to sit upright, and he swiftly maneuvered you so that when he fell backwards to sit on the couch, you were pulled right on top of him, straddling his thick thighs. You couldn’t even imagine how you looked right now, it was out of your mind for now as you looked down at the man under you, his hands on your waist. His shirt was wrinkled and slowly being pulled out from where it was tucked into his pants. His tie was being loosened and the top two buttons had come undone, exposing the smooth expanse of skin over his collarbones and chest. As you let your weight settle onto your legs, and his, you lowered directly onto his growing erection, and he squeezed his hands over your torso and scrunched his face. With a heavy breath, he pulled his head forward and stared at you.

“Did you think I was just going to give it to you?” His voice was gravelly, and it almost made you whimper. His hands dropped to your thighs, which were now incredibly exposed due to the position of your skirt hiking up, and Leon probably had a view of the black panties you had on. You didn’t care. Let him see. You needed him to take them off.

You shook your head. “You can’t be nice to me?” Your hands came up to his chest, it was firm and sturdy, and you were dying to see it bare. You fumbled with the buttons, and Leon had been at least gracious enough to loosen the tie and throw it over his head onto the floor.

Leon laughed. You felt it under your palms. “Darling,” You looked up to make eye contact with him at the mention of the pet name. “This is me being nice to you.”

You barely had time to register his words, and the way it made your stomach turn before he had a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you forward to another intense kiss. You could barely breathe, your limbs were all pins and needles and your skin was alight with a burning ember, fueled only by Leon, but you loved it.

In the midst of the kiss, wet and slick and tongue heavy, your hands were needlessly prying the buttons open at the top of Leon’s shirt. His hands were traveling under your clothes, palms gripping your thighs, and you found yourself grinding down into Leon’s lap subconsciously, but kept going when it resulted in him groaning into the kiss.

You pulled back suddenly at the victory of pulling the last few buttons open, and Leon immediately caught your stare, but you dropped it to look down at the open expanse of skin and muscle that he had been hiding. A strong chest gave way to flexing ab muscles as he writhed under you, probably trying to gain your attention or to show off, and sturdy hip muscles abducted into V lines that disappeared under the waistline of his pants. You couldn’t help it, you reached out to drag your hands along the smooth skin, every second of contact adding to the pooling happening between your legs, where you were also very conscious of the fact that Leon’s hands were dangerously close to.

“Do you want this to happen today, or do you want to keep staring?” Leon prodded at you jokingly, and when you looked up, a grin was plastered on his face, and his eyes were still dark. You felt the tightness arise again at just the sight of his expression paired with his upper body on display for you.

“You’re sounding more eager than me, now…” You breathily replied, overwhelmed with all of the emotions coursing you at once.

Leon breathed a brief laugh before raising an eyebrow with his response. “I can show you eager.”

At once, his hand reached up in between your legs and you felt one of his fingers dance across the hem of your panties, and your grip tightened where your hand landed on his bicep. He gave you no warning when you felt him pull it aside, drag his finger downwards and raked his knuckle through your wetness, earning a sharp gasp from you in return, and you nearly fell forward onto his chest as the feeling sent sparks soaring through you.

“Calling me eager…” The sound of his voice paired with the feeling of his fingers on you was far too much to handle. “Yet it feels like you must have been wet all night…” He dragged his finger back up to the top where he maneuvered his hand so the pad of his thumb pressed heavily on your clit, and you nearly screamed, but all sound was trapped in your throat as you lost function of your body.

He ripped his hand out of your underwear and it moved around to find the zipper in the back of your skirt. “Take that shirt off,” He ordered, and you obeyed as best you could through your stiff limbs.

You peeled it off from the bottom, feeling the fabric stick to your moist skin, and Leon’s eyes heavy on you as you finally got it over your head and on the floor. Your lingerie choice was nothing phenomenal, for the expected business meeting at least, but you could tell by his gaze that it really didn't make a difference in what he was thinking right now. Seconds after you dropped your hands back to your sides, he flipped you once again, back on the couch and him hovering over you, pulling the skirt that he had unzipped down your legs, and into the pile of your shirt and his tie somewhere behind you.

Your breathing was erratic as you watched him intently, his lust-filled eyes on your body and his hand running lengths up and down your torso, legs, back up to your chest, and neck, and landing on your bra strap that he pulled down, and wasted no time in attaching his mouth your hot skin. Your hand gripped his elbow as he bit the tender flesh of your breast, he sucked on it harshly once, twice, before lifting and wrapping his lips over your nipple, which had your back arching and a string of soft moans pouring out.

You felt an aching cramp in your core, the pleasure was insurmountable and you needed him to do something about it, but you knew he was buying time to rile you up as much as possible before doing so. You knew he was straining with his own pleasure and you were desperate to tear apart his belt and pants and take his girth into your hands, to feel it, to taste it, you wanted to choke on it, but you knew he wouldn’t let you do that. If not in the span of a few minutes, maybe not tonight at all. You were submitting your control, and you had to let him do what he wanted.

He finally let go of your nipple, and the air felt cold with the layer of saliva he left behind, and even though you were basically naked save for undergarments, you still felt too covered. You reached up to pull at Leon’s shirt, fully unbuttoned and untucked, and he leaned back on his knees to pry it off of himself. You could see his skin glistening with sweat as he moved, and so badly you wanted to reach out and touch him, run your hands over his skin, all of his muscles, pull him close so you could feel his chest on your own.

Your eyes fell to his pants, and the tent that was present had your mouth watering, you needed him to pull it out, and now.

Of course, Leon being ever so sharp, didn’t miss this. “We’ll get there. Don’t worry.” Without looking up, you could hear the cockiness in his voice, but you didn’t care anymore, you couldn't move your eyes from where they landed, trying to imagine his cock in its glory, how long and thick, how he would use it and how it would feel. You felt like you were melting.

Unmoving from where he was propped up in front of you, his hands traveled down the expanse of your legs, dragging his fingers underneath your thighs where it was sensitive, making you jump with the contact. His hands came around to the top of your knees, where he pushed your legs apart and lowered himself in between them. Even just the sight of him doing so had you whimpering, and when he pressed his thumb into your clothed clit, you bucked up, but he was quick to hold you down.

Keeping his thumb centered on your clit, he continued to apply pressure, using his middle and index finger to stroke up and down on the outside of your panties, which you were sure were soaked by now. Throwing your head back into the couch, one hand gripping onto the wrist that was holding Leon up and the other was clawing into the cushion, you were dying for him to do something.

He was getting too used to teasing you now. He had you right where he wanted, half naked on the couch in his office after hours, so close to practically coming untouched at this point, and while you wanted to fight him on this, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The mixture of the pleasure and mental ecstasy you were feeling had you forfeiting any sense of control now, and you just watched him, as he watched you.

All at once, you felt the cold air hit your core as your underwear was peeled away from you, but the sensation didn't last long as a hot, wet tongue was pressed into your heat, and you nearly screamed at the sudden contact.

His mouth was all you could focus on in that moment, you could feel every movement his tongue made, and your body reacted viscerally to it. Your hand flew out and grabbed onto Leon’s hair, which incited him to only keep going, and to be ruthless. His hands were digging into your thighs where he was spreading them apart, fighting against you wanting to close them in reaction to pleasure he was sending shooting through your body.

One long, painfully slow lick from top to bottom ended at your clit where he latched on, tongue pressing in and teeth gently making an appearance, and your grip in his hair became even stronger when he pushed two fingers into you, your vision going blurry, and there was no filter left to stop any thoughts from pouring out over your lips.

“Oh my god… Leon…” You were whining now, moaning in between deep breaths and gasps, feeling his fingers pump in and out all while his tongue was relentless on you.

His mouth disappeared but his thumb took its place, and you felt him kissing, licking, sucking his way up your torso, chest, neck, until he was seated next to your ears, groaning into them as you dug your nails into his skin.

“Oh my god, what, huh? You like the way I make you feel?” All you could do was gasp out a ‘yes’ in response to his question, he wasn’t giving you any liberty to be coherent. “You probably thought about this all day…” A bite below your ear followed the sentence. “That pussy was so wet… you probably wanted this since the first day…”

And you did. How could you not have thought about this at the sight of your insanely attractive boss? Wouldn’t it be so hot to be banging your model-status boss, having to hide it from your coworkers, going in his office to sneak touches while no one outside those doors knew? Yes, of course you thought about it. It had your heart racing, and now you would stop at nothing to make those fantasies real.

“You feel so good, I can’t wait to be inside you.” With one last soft bite to the jaw, he pulled his fingers out of you, and involuntarily you whimpered, but he shut you up by pressing a kiss into your lips, which you greatly accepted. His kiss was harsh yet soft at the same time, you felt a passion behind it while also letting his tongue sweep over yours, tasting yourself on him, sighing into it, feeling like you could kiss him forever.

His hands left you, now feeling bare, you gripped his shoulders hard as you heard him undoing his own belt. As much as you wanted to do it yourself and be right in front when you pulled his hard cock out of his pants, you didn’t have it in you to attempt to move yourself, and with Leon on top of you, he was sure to stop any feeble move you made to do so.

HIs lips left yours once more and reattached to the side of your throat, biting down harder than before, but it only made you moan, arch harder into him, and sent a flurry of hot tingles into your pussy, aching for more action from him.

Leon pushed himself off of you, his warm mouth off of you and leaned back, staring at you panting, and of course, his dick in his hands was impossible to ignore. Just seeing it was almost bliss, and now you were desperate for him to use it as you lay there, being scrutinized under your boss’ gaze, and while you felt so tiny, just the sight of how hard he was made you feel so powerful.

He took a deep breath in, taking in the sight of you, before lowering himself again, lining up with your gaze so you looked him directly in the eye. You felt his forehead press into yours, his hand lingered around your underwear again, pushing it aside, and after just another moment of silence, another deep kiss, his bare chest met yours and you felt the tip of his dick push into you, past the entrance, into the warmth.

You sighed so loud, followed by a moan, hands still gripping his shoulders, listening to him groan in tandem with you as he slowly bottomed out. His pelvis pushed against you, your legs coming up to wrap around him, and you felt his hands pull your bra down so he could cup your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple, adding to the pleasure.

“You feel so fucking good… Fuck…” He was groaning, he hadn’t even started moving yet, and you were dying for him to start. He sat still in you, lapping at the skin between your jaw and neck, positive he could feel the vibrations on his lips of your moans.

“Please, Leon, move… Please,” Your nails were surely digging red streaks into the skin of his back by now, but he barely even seemed to notice, rather, you thought he might have loved the feeling of it instead. You felt the pressure of him lying on top of you, paired with the pressure building in between your legs, your thighs beginning to shake, having to hold onto Leon tighter to steady them.

Finally, he slowly started to pull out, and you could barely breathe at the sensation it left behind. He kept his face buried in your neck, you could feel his ragged, heavy breathing and you could hear his groaning which was only making you wetter.

His hips snapped forward, no regard to what pace you had wanted to set, not like it mattered, you probably would have told him quick and rough anyway if he asked. You almost screamed out at the feeling of him slamming into you, you could only throw your head back onto the couch cushion and rake your hands over his skin, into his hair. Leon licked a long stripe up your neck to your jaw, gently biting on your bottom lip before kissing you again.

You kept kissing him hard in between his thrusts, with him pulling away for only a second at a time, both of you breathing hard, your hands traveling down to grip his biceps, and you could feel them flexing with his movement.

“Shit,” He said over you, you could feel his breath on your lips. “So fucking tight,” One of his hands went down to grab onto one of your legs that you had thrown over him. “So fucking good.” He practically growled as he continued the assault on you, his hips showing no mercy, and his hand sure to leave a bruise on your thigh from his grip.

Leon pushed himself up, still inside of you, leaving you lying down. His skin was slick with his sweat, and maybe yours as well from being pressed against you. His hair was falling down over his forehead, and god he looked so good right now, if you weren’t already in the act of getting the shit fucked out of you, you would want to fuck him all over again. His hands adjusted their position to rest on your hips, pulling you up so he can fuck you from his kneeling position.

This new angle was hitting every spot perfectly, allowing him to go deeper than he was from just above you. The intense stretch his cock was delivering paired with the way he was holding onto your hips with such ferocity, all of it together was too much, and you were becoming unwound.

“Leon… Leon, fuck…” You gasped out, barely able to finish your sentence, but Leon understood well enough. He slowed his pace only a beat, but it was enough to have you straining, desperate for him to go faster to allow you to finish. He kept up with the slower pace, watching you as you whined under him, begging him to go faster.

“Please, Leon…” You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, barely able to keep them open. Through them, you could see him looking at you, brows furrowed in exertion, mouth open, chest rising and falling with rapid breathing.

“Please what?” Leon growled. You whined again, knowing he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. “Say it.”

You couldn’t breathe, but you had to give him what he wanted so he could give you what you wanted. “Leon, please, I’m going to cum… please…”

He leaned in again, still holding your hips up, his pace even slower now, and you could feel the heat bundling up, bringing tears to your eyes at the lack of relief. His face was inches away from yours. “Please, what?”

You choked out a sob, mixed with a groan at the slightest movement he made inside of you. “Please let me cum Leon, please,” You had no voice at this point, the words coming out in a whisper, loud enough for him to hear, but he probably would have anyway.

“That’s right.” He backed up now, and resumed his previous position. “Good girls get what they want when they ask.” Your eyes closed in bliss when he picked up his pace, the weight of his words hanging heavy in your head, adding to the ecstasy he was giving you right now. He was slamming into you again, steadying himself on your hips while also pulling them forward to meet his thrusts. You had no breath left to spare on words anymore, and fruitless moans spilled from your lips focusing the energy on bringing your orgasm to close.

You tried to call out his name as best as you could, but all you heard were moans as the heat inside you came to a roaring burst, and you felt your legs tighten around Leon, his grip steadying you, your hands clawing at the cushion, at his wrists where they held onto you.

Your heartbeat was crazy at this point, and you couldn't even hold your eyes open as you rode out your orgasm, his hands smoothing over your skin, and you used the sensation to come back to reality. He had momentarily stilled his movements again, and you felt his lips on your neck, none of the roughness there now. You rolled your head over to the side to face him, and when you did he attached his lips to yours, a passionate kiss, his hands feeling like heaven on your body.

You pulled away and stared at him for a moment. His eyes were soft, but his face was still contorted in concentration.

“I hope you don’t think we’re done here, darling.” You breathed out a sigh, collecting yourself, a smile creeping onto your face.

You kissed him, and whispered into his lips, “Show me what you got left, then.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy smut #fanfiction #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4 fanfiction

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freedomfireflies · 1 year ago

Text

Lead Me*

Summary: An extra for Teach Me*

You're on your period and your best friend Harry is determined to help you feel better.

Your only condition?

He's not allowed to look.

Word Count: 5.1k

*Contains Mature and Explicit Content. Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞*

“Absolutely not.”

“Bee…come on—”

“No. Nope. Not happening.”

“And why not?”

“Because…it’s…just, no.”

“Leading experts say that sex can help with cramps.”

“…okay? And?”

“And…I think you should let me fuck your cramps away.”

Your expression falls, eyes narrowing into condescending slits. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he says calmly, nodding once to accentuate his point. “People do it all the time.”

“But not us.”

“Again, why not?”

“Because it’s…messy. It’s gross.”

“You have a blood kink; I don’t understand why this is different.”

“Oh, my god. This is so vastly different.”

“Well…not for me. I think it’s kind of hot.”

Instinctually, your nose scrunches as you lean back. “Ew, seriously?”

“Ew? What do you mean ew?” He nearly scoffs as he shoots you a confused but amused smile. “Bee…it’s you. It’s…you know, the circle of life or whatever. And it’s still the best pussy I’ve ever had.”

You allow yourself a moment to consider it before once again shaking your head. “No. Nope. That’s…you don’t need to see me like that. It’s…not pretty.”

The skin between his brows crinkles as he studies you, the left side of his mouth quirking up. “That’s silly.”

And maybe it is, but you can’t help the warming of your face. “Har, I’m serious. Periods are messy, and not at all sexy. Trust me, you wouldn’t like it.”

He takes a step forward and gingerly brushes his thumb across your cheekbone until he can cradle your jaw in his palm. “You know what is sexy?”

“Hm?”

“Making you feel good,” he murmurs as you just about melt. “I mean it. I trust you, Bee, always. But I need you to trust me when I tell you that this doesn’t change anything. Obviously, we won’t do it if you aren’t comfortable. But I think we’d both benefit.”

You contemplate his premise a second time.

“Besides…” he continues, smiling a bit wider, “…neither one of us has ever done it before, yeah? So, we’d get to try this for the first time—together. You’d teach me, and I’d teach you.”

And you adore the sound of that. Adore the idea of getting to learn something with him. Be his first the way he is yours.

You hover your palms over his chest and sigh. “Okay, yeah. I know. But…what if you don’t like it? What if you think it’s weird?”

He frowns. “I won’t, but even if I do, we can always stop.”

“What if it’s messy? Which it will be.”

“S’what showers are for.”

“Okay, but what if it’s too—”

He presses his free hand to your other cheek. “Bee?”

You slow to a stop. “Yeah?”

“What if it’s good?” he whispers, bringing you closer until you can feel the question ghost across your lips. “What if it’s so fucking good? What if it’s exactly what you needed? What if it’s everything?”

You swallow a huff and a whimper. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” The tip of his nose nuzzles against yours, taunting you with the thought of a kiss. “Don’t make you feel good? Don’t make it worth it? Don’t make really good points?”

You can’t help but pout playfully.

“I promise, Bee,” he continues, meeting your eye. “I only want to make you feel better. Make you feel everything. Be so gentle with you, I swear.”

You begin to tug on his shirt, desperately needing him closer. “I know, Har. I know, I just…I’m nervous.”

“I know,” he echoes, humming as he strokes his fingers across your skin. “But you never have to be nervous with me. It’s just sex, and it’s just us. I promise. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Says the man that started this whole arrangement because of sex,” you retort, and he grins.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because I already knew I liked you. The sex didn’t change that, it just confirmed it.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“I’m serious. Need me to prove it to you?”

You exhale a gentle laugh as you take hold of his wrists and nuzzle into his touch. “No. I just…I don’t know. If I agree…I’ll have conditions.”

“Of course. And what are they?”

You think. “Uh…shit, I don’t know. We give it maybe a ten-minute trial run, and if we hate it, we stop.”

You can tell he’s fighting a rather smug smile as he nods once. “Okay. Deal.”

“And we have to put down a lot of towels. Like…cover the whole bed. Just in case.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“We do it missionary. I think that’ll maybe be a bit…cleaner. Maybe.”

He smirks. “All right. Is that all?”

“You can’t look.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and lifts an eyebrow. “I can’t look?”

“Nope.”

“Bee…how am I supposed to fuck you if I can’t see what I’m doing?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“You’ll tell me?”

“Yeah. You know, tell you how to move and everything.”

He laughs again. “I think that’s overcomplicating things a bit.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be easy. It’s the same as me tying your hands.”

“That is not the same, and you know it.”

“Well…it’s my biggest condition. Either you don’t look, or we don’t do it.”

This time, he huffs. “This is silly.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

“But I still want to do it.”

“…seriously?”

“Seriously. I think you underestimate what I’d do for you.”

You pull your lip between your teeth and bite. “Har…we don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says again. “I mean it. Yeah, I’d like to be able to see it. But…for a first time, if this is what you need to feel comfortable…then we’ll do it this way. Might even be fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting his hands drop to your hips while his mouth moves to your neck. “Having you tell me what to touch…how to touch it.”

You feel your breath hitch as his tongue takes a taste of the skin on your throat.

“You wanna be my eyes, Bee?” he whispers, in that low, dangerous way that makes your stomach drop to your toes. “Wanna tell me how pretty you look taking my cock? Tell me how wet you are, how you drip for me? How swollen your little clit is? How hard your nipples are—”

“Harry,” you breathe, head dropping back as his teeth graze the vein below your jaw. “Shit, stop—”

“Stop what?” You feel the tips of his fingers brush beneath the hem of your shirt, dancing across your stomach until you squirm. “Stop touching you? Or stop agreeing with you?”

Your hands disappear into his curls, and you tug as though your life depends on it. “Stop…being so good.”

You feel him grin into your shoulder as he guides you toward the bed. “No.”

The backs of your legs hit the mattress and you both tumble down while Harry works to keep his lips on your body.

His large hand hikes your leg over his hip until he can settle comfortably above you, groaning into your chest as you gasp for air.

“Please…” you hear yourself pant, nails scratching down his shoulder blades, desperate to bring him closer.

“I know,” he says, already tugging on your shirt. “I know. Gonna make it better, Bee. Promise.”

He grinds down, allowing for you to feel how hard he is, how bad he really wants this—needs this.

And despite the multiple layers between you, it’s exhilarating and so sweet. Making you whimper his name as you attempt to thrust up against his cock for a second time.

He pulls your shirt over your head, revealing your lavender colored bra to his hungry gaze, and smiles when he sees it.

“I like this one,” he tells you, and you chuckle as your head drops back onto the bed.

“I know. That’s why I wore it.”

“Good,” he whispers, returning his trail of wet kisses down your throat. “Good.”

And it is so good. So easy and effortless that you’re almost swept away by the current that is him. Drowning in his ability and his intentions as he lures you into the deepest depths of desire.

“Wait,” you whine the second his palms smooth up your thighs. “Wait…we need…I gotta get the towels.”

He groans as though his entire world has just collapsed, face burying into your neck as if to trap you. “Bee—”

“You promised,” you remind him, attempting to wiggle free. “Okay, I just need to get everything set up and then we can go.”

But he keeps his body pressed to yours, caging you to the bed as he pulls your earlobe between his teeth. “Don’t wanna stop. Just wanna make you feel good—”

“I know,” you murmur, grabbing a handful of his hip so you can force him onto his back. “And you will. Just one second. Go ahead and strip.”

He makes another depraved noise but does allow you to climb from the bed and rush to the bathroom.

After grabbing a plethora of towels, you return to find him sprawled naked across the blankets, sporting nothing more than a smug smile.

And you laugh before motioning for him to stand while you lay the cloth down. Although he pouts through every second of it. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and cock incredibly hard.

But once you’ve finally finished, he sighs with relief, and strides toward you.

“Hold on,” you call, hand outstretching to stop his advance. “I gotta grab the blindfold.”

“Bee,” he nearly scoffs. “You weren’t serious about that.”

“Deadly,” you retort as you move for the nightstand to find the silk tie. “Unless you’d rather we just don’t do it at all.”

He takes a deep breath, almost as if to settle his nerves before smiling softly. “Of course I want to. And of course we’ll do it this way if that's what you need. I just…you can’t blame me for grieving the loss.”

Entertained with his efforts, you chuckle to yourself and retrieve the scarf before gesturing for him to sit.

He’s quick to obey, perching on the edge of the mattress as he watches you approach. His expression bleeds willing anticipation, hands gathering in his lap, and eyes widening.

You come to a stop in front of his legs, unable to resist smiling down at your sunshine boy as you gently brush your fingers through the dark hairs atop his head.

His lashes flutter, head rolling back to follow your touch while humming contently beneath a soft breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper, a desperate fist clenching around your heart.

He blinks himself back to clarity. “For what?”

“For just…being you.”

A rush of adoration overwhelms his expression, his meadow-green eyes softening as he reaches down to take hold of your wrist.

“Of course,” he says before guiding the blindfold in your hand toward his head. “Go. I trust you.”

I trust you.

Overwhelmed by a surge of confidence, you dip down, and kiss him. Teeth and tongues clash as you each greedily steal a taste, breathing him in as though your life depends on it.

And once he’s settled in your lungs, you lean back, and slip the tie over his eyes.

His muscles tense the moment his vision is taken from him, but the delicate sweep of your fingertips across his skin as you secure the knot seems to undo the stress.

“You okay?” you ask, making sure to keep your voice quiet so as to not startle him.

He nods, chest rising and falling as he inhales deeply. “Mhm. Miss you already, though.”

You grin. “Okay, I’m gonna get ready. Don’t move, all right?”

Another nod, this one silent.

With a strange feeling in your stomach (that you can’t blame on cramps), you step back and begin to slip your shorts off.

You’re thankful that today’s flow isn’t too heavy. Although you’d still rather die than let him see.

But he’s patient, smiling to himself as he hears you rustle around, your aggravated huffs making him chuckle.

Finally, you’ve rid yourself of all clothing, leaving your thighs to squeeze together in an attempt to keep everything…intact.

You’d removed the tampon while you were in the bathroom, and now that you’re ready, and this is actually happening…your pulse begins to race.

“Bee?” Harry murmurs, almost as if sensing the shift. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Your voice is light. Airy. A tad strained as you timidly approach him. “I’m…yeah. Just…trying to wrap my head around it.”

He hums, straightening up slightly as if to comfort you. “I know, it’s okay. I’m here. M’right here. Don’t have to be nervous. It’s just us.”

“Just us,” you repeat, attempting to emblazon such a promise across your heart. “Always.”

“Always.”

You make yourself known to him, ghosting your fingers up the length of his arm and along the slope of his shoulder. “Okay…I’m ready. Are you?”

“Mhm. Just tell me what to do.”

But you don’t tell him.

You lead him.

You take his hand in yours and bring him to his feet. His grip is strong, grasping onto your palm so tight, you won’t be surprised to feel the residual aches tomorrow.

You walk to the foot of the bed and begin guiding your bodies down, leading him in a crawl across the towels. You go slow, making sure that he knows to brace himself with his other hand and with his knees as he follows you.

You can see the quiver in his stomach when he hovers himself above where you lay, the corners of his mouth dancing up in a delicate but shy smile.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmur, lifting to nose under his jaw and leave a reassuring kiss. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” His head drops, almost as if chasing after your lips. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, one hand trailing down the rigid dips along his chest. “Your heart’s beating really fast, Har.”

“I know,” he says. “S’cause I’m excited.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Another nod. “Everything is you.”

Your stomach wrenches in the best possible way. “Really?”

“Really. Every one of my senses is just…you.”

You press your lips over his racing pulse. “Hope that’s a good thing.”

He grins. “It is. It’s everything.”

You kiss him. With each possible ounce of love you have to offer, and he groans against your tongue as he settles into the familiar mold of your mouth.

Muscle memory seems to serve him well as he makes his home between your thighs, palm already traveling down the curve of your hip.

And you know what he wants. What he aims to do, and as if out of reflex, you snatch onto his wrist and bring him to a stop.

“Wait,” you whisper, nose pressed to his cheek. “Sorry, I…I’m not—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, releasing his hold to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Lead me, Bee. Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you whimper, unable to deny the less-than-dull ache forming deep within your belly. Even nerves can’t tamp down such desire. “You, I just…I’m not sure—”

“We can go slow,” he tells you. “Until you’re ready.”

His assurance does absolutely nothing to ease the need in your heart and you whine to yourself before scratching your nails down his skin. “Don’t wanna go slow, I just…I just have to do it.”

But his head shakes. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Bee. We can stop right now. Do you need to call watermelon?”

“No.” You take hold of his face and squeeze. “No. No, I don’t want to stop. I wanna keep going. Wanna feel you. Need to feel you, Har.”

He lowers until he can press his forehead to yours and calm your jitters. “Okay. It’s okay. We can keep going. But only at your pace, all right?”

You wish you could see him. See his eyes. See the self-assuredness you know is there. The same self-assuredness that always manages to bring you back down after you’ve worked yourself up.

“Okay,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose.

He grips your hand. “Be my eyes. Only show me what you want me to see.”

It comes to you then. Hits you like a ton of bricks. Heavy and hard, the way it always does.

You love him. Love him more than anything in the world. As more than your partner…but as your best friend.

Encouraged by a new rush of adrenaline, you take your interlocked fingers and bring them to your chest, allowing him to feel the way your nipples have hardened.

He exhales a shaky breath upon contact, taking control the moment you let go to knead your tit in his large palm before dipping down to lick along it.

You gasp and arch up into his mouth, feeling more than settled now as he wraps his lips around you.

He takes a moment to tug it with his teeth, gentle but firm enough to feed your pain kink. And you nearly sigh with contentment as he swirls his tongue around the pebbled skin, clearly indulging in you.

“My pretty girl,” he groans, hand running up the side of your ribcage until it can take hold of your other breast. “Tell me how good you look in my mouth. Tell me how pretty you look between my fingers.”

“Shit—Har, please.”

“Feel good, darling?” His voice is a salacious purr, meant to entice you, meant to ruin you. “Want you to tell me. Tell me how pretty you look.”

Your fingers move for the hairs at the nape of his neck, brushing against the fabric around his head. “Feels so good—”

“Uh-uh,” he warns, lifting up and taking his mouth from you. Leaving your chest cold and untouched. “Tell me.”

You whimper again and attempt to scoot closer. “Pretty,” you repeat quietly. “Always look pretty in your hand. Always look better when you touch me.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and you feel yourself clench when you see the plump, pink fibers glisten beneath the light of your lamp.

“Good girl,” he whispers, allowing you to bring him close so you can kiss him, cursing when you nip at his mouth.

You take hold of his hand again and begin moving it down your body. Over the tender skin of your stomach and down toward your cunt.

He attempts to remain calm when he realizes where you’re leading him, but you can feel the pulsing in his wrist escalate the closer you get.

“Bee,” he murmurs as you brush the tips of his fingers along your inner thighs. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you answer through an anxious pant. “Can’t wait any longer.”

“Fuck,” he seethes against your cheek when his touch ghosts over your swollen clit. “Feel so fucking good, lovie. Wanna see you so bad—”

“Mm-mm,” you argue, grasping onto his curls. “Not this time.”

“Bee—”

“Touch me,” you quickly mewl, licking a strip along his jaw. “God, Harry, please. Please touch me. Need you…need—”

He pinches the sensitive nerves until you gasp and choke on the rest of your plea. But you don’t even mind because the rush of euphoria that shoots through your veins like heroin is everything. Almost more than you can handle, and you buck up into his hand.

“That easy, hm?” he teases before his fingers run down you, desperate to dive through the arousal and coat himself in it. “Knew you were all worked up. You’ve been needy for days, darling. Haven’t you? Just needing me to make it better?”

He’s right. You’re always needy for him but especially on your period. The one week you refuse to let him touch you.

You’re beginning to wonder why.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, mouth ghosting across your ear until a shiver dances down your spine. “Gonna let me fuck the pain away? Make you feel good again?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you, and begin rolling your body in time with his ministrations. Hoping to grind against his fingers until you find that sweet relief.

He smirks. “Anxious?”

“Little bit,” you retort, scratching down his back. “Shit…please. Please, baby—”

“I know,” he coos, taking his fingers from your pussy to squeeze your thigh. “Gonna have to do it for me, okay? Take my cock and use it.”

You whimper as you reach for him, more than ready to feel him in your hand as you guide him closer to you.

You try not to think about what comes next. Try not to think about what it is you’re about to do, or what his cock might look like covered in your blood.

He twitches the moment your palm smooths along his shaft, face burying deep within your shoulder to brace himself. “Sorry…fuck, feel like it’s been forever.”

“I know,” you agree, nuzzling your cheek against his temple.

“Feels so much better now,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. “Feels…different, too. When I can’t see.”

You know exactly what he means, and you clench from the idea of what he must be experiencing right now.

Your fingers weave through his hair, and you tug until you can bring his head back out. Then, after releasing his cock, you smooth your thumbs over the blindfold, and lift up to place a kiss over each eye.

“Har?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He grins so wide, you can see his two little bunny teeth. “I love you,” he repeats, nestling his face against your hand. “Now please let me fuck you.”

And who are you to argue?

You take hold of him once more while his hand smooths down your hip to help guide your legs further apart.

And after some shifting and shuffling, you pump him slowly, and line him up.

“Ready?” you whisper, a bit coarser than you had intended.

He nods, swollen lips parting in anticipation. “Yes. Always. Go, Bee. Let me feel you.”

The moment the head of his cock brushes through you, you both tense and stumble over some rather pornographic moans.

After all, it’s been quite a while since the last time (around two weeks…which for the two of you feels like a lifetime), and this merely proves why you should never wait so long again.

It’s full, and it’s good, and it’s comfortable. Much more comfortable than you anticipated, and you can’t help but glance down to watch as he disappears into you.

His hands fist the duvet beside your shoulders as sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth before suddenly driving in to the hilt, forcing your gasp. “Shit…sorry. Sorry, m’so fucking sorry. Couldn’t…couldn’t wait—”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, wiggling a bit to get adjusted. “It’s okay. Feels good.”

“Yeah?” For some reason, this makes the muscles in his stomach quiver as he rolls back. “God, lovie. So fucking tight today. Fucking hell…don’t know if I’m gonna last long.”

“It’s okay,” you repeat, fingers painting patterns down his spine. “Just go. Go, fuck me. Do whatever you want. Don’t care, just want you—”

He snaps forward once more, bottoming out as you cry out his name and arch from the bed.

“Shh,” he murmurs, lips burying into your hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Talk to me, Bee. Be my eyes, come on. Tell me how good you look taking my cock. Tell me how fucking sweet your pretty little pussy treats me.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent whine as you wrap your arms around his neck and hike your leg around his hip. “So good, Har. Look so good inside me—”

“Shit.” His teeth graze your shoulder as he thrusts in again, doing his best to be gentle the way he promised, but losing the battle quickly. “Yeah? Like watching the way I stretch you?”

“Harry—”

“Oh, darling, you’re so wet. Fucking soaking me, aren’t you?”

You feel as though you are, but truth be told, you don’t want to look down and find out.

However, your silence breeds suspicion, and Harry’s hand blindly searches for your jaw until he can give it a quick squeeze.

“Bee,” he warns, in a low growl that makes your pulse skip. “Don’t do that. Don’t go quiet, don’t overthink.”

You whine a bit as your writhe beneath him, attempting to pull your face from his fingers. “Can’t help it—”

“Listen to me,” he hisses, pulling harder until you have no other choice but to go lax in his touch. “You feel so fucking good. All right? You have no fucking idea how good you feel right now. M’losing my goddamn mind. Don’t ever wanna stop fucking you—”

You can’t help but clench down until he’s lost the rest of his sentence, his hand dropping to your throat.

“Fucking devil,” he mumbles, working to create a faster rhythm as the room fills with steady whines, whimpers, and anxious gasps. Until the sound of him slipping in and out of your tight hole is echoing between the walls. Until everything is just him.

Soon, you don’t care about your period. About the possibility of a rather bloody mess or the idea that Harry will see you differently.

Soon, the only thing that matters is release. Is finding that end as the pleasure builds and builds like a tower of Jenga blocks in your stomach. Until it’s so tall, so heavy, so potent…you have no other choice but to let go.

His arm loops under your back, right near your hips while he tugs you up, needing a better angle as he continues to ruin you. And your body is pliable in his hands, nothing but jelly, meant to be tossed around like a toy.

“Give it to me,” he grunts, but there’s a certain plea beneath the virile command. Like he’s begging you to come on his cock, and your eyes roll back. “Fucking give it to me, Bee. Right now. Right fucking now—”

And you were already halfway there but then he reaches down your body, fingertips brushing against your clit, and you’re gone.

Toes curling, back arching, mind numbing. Your entire reality whittles down to him. And his cock, and his hands, and his come. The way it fills you not long after, painting your insides like a mural before leaking between your bodies.

And it’s sticky, and the room is hot, and your bodies are covered in sweat.

But it’s perfect.

Eventually, he reaches back for the knot behind his head, needing to see you. But you’re quick to stop him, guiding his arm back down until you can bury him against your chest and whisper, “Not yet. Just stay. Like this. Please.”

You can tell he wants to fight you. He loves seeing his come drip from your pussy, loves pushing it back in, loves licking it up.

But today, that’s out of the question, and when he realizes this, he sighs and allows his face to nuzzle into your neck.

You know he’ll need to regain his vision soon, but you don’t mind existing in this moment just a little while longer. You’d exist in every moment with him if you could, but you’ll settle for right here, right now.

“Bee?” he whispers, the sound of his loving nickname cutting through the quiet air.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

You smile so hard, the muscles in your cheek begin to ache. Your arms snake a bit tighter around his large body, squeezing him against your heart. “You’re silly.”

He grins.

A few minutes later, you make him a deal. You’ll lead him to the bathroom so you can both take a shower, and once you’re sure the evidence has been washed away, you’ll let him look.

He argues that this is a step beyond ridiculous and you argue that you’ll never fuck him again if he opens his eyes before you’re ready.

He gets quiet after that.

You both stumble a bit as you lead the blind man from the bed to the shower. You do your best not to survey the damage, but you catch a glimpse in your attempt at cleaning everything up. It’s not as bad as you anticipated. Your period has always seemed to mellow out whenever you’re lying horizontally.

Honestly, you’re not really sure what logistics are involved with that premise, but today, you’re just grateful they are.

You keep your palm over his closed eyes as you both step under the stream of water. His eyelashes tickle your skin whenever he attempts to blink, and you giggle from the soft feel.

After a minute or two of letting the soap do its thing, you drop your arm, and return his sight.

Those sage green irises find you as he works to adjust to the world around him. He squints for the better part of a minute before he’s smiling and taking in your wary expression.

“What’s wrong?” he hums, stepping closer to sneak his wet hands around your hips. “See? It was fine.”

“I know.” Your voice is small, eyes trained on the tattoo painted across his chest. “I do feel kind of stupid for making us do all of that.”

“What?” He leans back, brow raised. “Bee…I know I was talking shit, but you know I didn’t mind.”

“I know, I just…people have period sex all the time. It’s not a big deal, you’re right—”

His head begins to shake zealously as he backs you up against the tile, forcing your attention on him. “No, no, no. Don’t do that. That’s what you needed to do, and I pushed you to do it in the first place. I told you, I will do whatever you want. Anything. Anytime.”

“I know, but—”

“No. Enough. I don’t wanna hear it.” He presses his forehead to yours for a second time this evening, and you feel your stomach clench. “Trust me. That was one of the hottest fucking things I’ve ever done. Not being able to see you almost killed me but everything else…god, I’ve never felt so overwhelmed by you.”

And for some reason, this vulnerable yet earnest confession creates a lump in your throat as you blink up at him.

“All I could hear, all I could touch, all I could taste…was just you,” he whispers, squeezing the skin on your waist to emphasize his point. “I would do that a hundred more times if that’s what you wanted.”

You whimper, blindsided by the sudden rush of emotions working their way to your waterline.

His strong hand moves for your cheek, cupping it sweetly as he presses a kiss beside your eye. “You can take my sight any day, Bee. As long as you promise to give it back. And let me see you again.”

You smile as a tear begins to slip down your skin, collecting in his palm before he wipes it away. “You know what you are?”

He presses his lips to your face one last time before leaning back. “What?”

Your eyes meet, and you grin.

“Silly.”

Yes I am perpetuating the idea that he could find it blindfolded 😗 BECAUSE HE COULD FIND IT BLINDFOLDED!!! Teach Me Harry could anyway and I will not be taking any questions or comments, thank you!!! (No I'm kidding but...he could)

Next Part:

~ Use Me*

Previous Part:

~ Watch Me*

- Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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