#and spends his days doing sex crimes i guess

[saederkrupps]

this oc is kalatran and he is my worst creation. hes the final boss of problematic characters

[mythicalmaven]

19 Lando fluff and smut please

Secret Desires - Lando Norris

Loved writing this! <3 If you guys want a part 2 where the whole ordeal continues (including Lando’s awkward encouter with Max) let me know!😂❤️

Masterlist ↳pairing: Lando Norris x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 4,6K ↳Summary: In which the reader is Max Verstappen's twin is Lando's friend & he accidentally confesses some things to her while he's drunk. The day after when he apologizes, it leads to something more. ↳content warnings: friends to lovers, reader is Max Verstappen's twin, lando is drunk and accidentally confesses something to the reader, suggestive content, flirting, dirty talk, sexting, sending nudes, phone sex, masturbation (both f! & m!), praise kink, fluff, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), confessing feelings ↳prompts used: 19 - "Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you.. with my hand down my pants"

You sighed deeply, sinking back into the comfort of the guest bed in your older sister's house, the covers wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The room felt different compared to your Monaco apartment, but it was cozy, filled with the nostalgia of growing up with your family as you saw the pictures hanging on the wall. Pictures of your parents, of you and your twin brother Max, of you and Victoria & so on.

You traded your own bed for the guest bedroom at Victoria's house back home in the Netherlands for the week, to spend some time with your sister again to catch up. After a long night of chatting with Vic, you finally decided to call it a day, though sleep was far from your mind.

Just as you were about to close your eyes to at least give sleeping a try, your phone lit up on the nightstand, a soft buzz drawing your attention. You reached over lazily, expecting a random notification, but your heart skipped a beat when you saw the name flashing on the screen: Lando

Your best friend, your partner in crime, and the guy you’d been secretly in love with for longer than you’d care to admit. The guy who made your heart race with a single smile and had you questioning your sanity every time you felt his touch linger just a little too long. Even though you refused to admit it to anyone with a passion. Stating that the way you felt about Lando was nothing more than two flirtatious friends. You knew you were lying to yourself and your facade was starting to crumble. And now he was texting you, at this hour?

Unlocking your phone, you were met with not one, but several messages from him. You squinted at the screen, reading the texts slowly as they loaded, your eyes widening more with each one.

Lando: Y/n… Lando: Fuhk.. why are you sooooo hotttt? 🥵 Lando: Do yhu have any idea howw many tiems I thout about you… with my hnd down my pantss Lando: *1 image attached* You felt your face heat up instantly, a wave of flustered shock washing over you. He send a photo that you had posted on your story on Instagram today, a photo of you in a cute bikini set at the pool at Vic's house.

What the hell? Lando was… Was he really saying what you thought he was saying? Your mind spun, trying to process the drunk, typo-riddled texts. You knew he must have had a few too many drinks tonight; he mentioned going out to a party with the grid earlier. But this?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as you tried to think of a response. A thousand emotions crashed through you at once—embarrassment, confusion, a thrill of excitement. You could barely breathe.

You: Lan, you're drunk as fuck. Go to sleep 😂

you typed back quickly, hitting send before you could second-guess yourself. You barely had time to process your own message before another one from Lando popped up.

Lando: Drunk on love 🤭

Your heart did a somersault in your chest, and you felt your cheeks burning even hotter. What was he doing? Your pulse thudded loudly in your ears as you stared at the screen, fingers frozen above the keyboard, unsure of what to say. Before you could collect your thoughts, your phone buzzed again, but this time, it was a call.

Max’s name flashed on the screen.

You answered, bringing the phone to your ear. “Max, what the hell—”

“Sorry dat ik zo laat bel,” (sorry for calling at this time) Max's voice was low and slightly slurred with a laugh. “Maar ik zag dat je online was, dus dacht, jij bent nog wakker. Wilde je alleen even een seintje geven dat de kans vrij aannemelijk is dat je vannacht nog dronken appjes krijgt van Lando.” (But I saw that you were online, so I figured you were still awake. Just wanted to give you a heads up that it's very likely that you'll receive some drunk texts from Lando tonight)

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh of your own. Of course, your twin brother knew exactly what was happening. “De kerel is echt gewoon laveloos en hield zijn mond maar niet dicht over je. De hele rit terug naar zijn apartment bleef hij maar zeuren over hoe hij je moest appen over iets geheimzinnigs. Dacht ik waarschuw je even.” (The guy is absolutely hammered and he wouldn't shut up about you. Kept yapping about how he had to text you about something secretive. Thought it would be nice to warn you)

“Te laat, is al gebeurd” (too late, he already did) you replied with a chuckle, glancing back at Lando's messages. “Had al zo’n vermoeden dat hij dronken was haha.” (I already figured he was drunk)

“Dacht ik al,” (I thought so) Max chuckled. “Hou het een beetje netjes, ja? Ik wil hier niet meer van weten dan ik al doe.” (Please keep it decent, yeah? I don't want to know any more about this than I already do)

You could almost hear the grin in his voice. “Maar ik moest hem echt thuisbrengen, de jongen was niet meer te houden.” (But I just had to bring him home, couldn't keep him at bay anymore)

“Dank je, Max,” (Thanks, Max) you said softly, biting your lip. “Je bent een goede broer.” (You're a good brother)

“Altijd,” (Always) Max replied. “Ik moet wel weer ophangen nu, voordat ik Kelly en P wakker maak. Succes met je dronken vriendje.” (Gotta hang now tho, before I wake up Kelly and P. Good luck with your boyfriend)

“Max, hoe vaak moet ik nog zeggen dat Lando en ik gewoon vrienden zijn” (Max, how often do I have to tell you that Lando and I are just friends) you said, rolling your eyes.

"Als jij jezelf niet zo voor de gek hield, waren jullie al lang samen" (If you didn't keep lying to yourself, you two would have dated a long time already) and with a last chuckle, he hung up.

You flopped back onto your bed, your mind racing, Lando’s texts still staring at you from the screen. Your fingers shook as you picked up your phone again, reading his words over and over, your stomach flipping with nerves and something else, something hotter, more dangerous.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake it off. Lando was just drunk, you told yourself. He didn’t mean it. It didn’t mean anything… Right? But the way your heart fluttered at the thought of him thinking about you like that, the way your skin prickled with excitement at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way…

You forced yourself to put the phone down, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the wild thoughts racing through your mind. It was late, and you needed to sleep. But as you drifted off, your dreams were anything but peaceful. Lando's words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself imagining all the things he might have done while thinking about you, the way he might have said your name, the way his hands might have—

You woke up, flustered and breathless, your body tingling in a way that was all too familiar. The morning sun was peeking through the curtains, but all you could think about was Lando, and the way his words made you feel things you’d tried so hard to ignore.

Around the same time, somewhere in Monaco, Lando jolts awake.

"Fuck" the single word comes out as a hiss, his head pounding from the hangover. His phone screen glares back at him, a series of messages and a notification from Max catching his blurry gaze. He squints, his heart starting to race as fragmented memories of the night before come flooding back.

He fumbles to unlock his phone, praying he didn’t do what he thinks he did. But the evidence is right there, the bold lettering of your name above the most mortifying message he could ever have sent, full of typos, but easily desiphered as 'Do you have any idea how many times I thought about you… with my hand down my pants?'

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his messy curls, anxiety flooding his system. What the fuck had he done? His fingers move of their own accord, tapping out a frantic apology.

Lando: Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry.

You: Good morning to you too. How is your headache? 😉

He cringes at the situation, a mix of playful and mocking. His mind races, grasping at straws to somehow make this situation less embarrassing.

Lando: I don’t even remember sending that. I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, pretty sure I wasn't thinking at all. I didn’t mean it.

A lie. He did mean it. But he’s not ready to admit that just yet.

You: Oh, you definitely weren’t thinking, lol. But hey, maybe you should apologize to Max too, since you apparently spilled some beans about me to him. 😆

Lando’s eyes widen, horror painting his features. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. He types back, heart racing.

Lando: What did I say? Please tell me I didn’t—

You: Relax, nothing too scandalous. Just enough for Max to find it disgusting.

Despite himself, a small laugh escapes his lips. He can picture Max’s reaction, the exaggerated gagging, the inevitable jokes he’ll have to endure.

Lando: I’m so sorry. Are you mad at me? I don’t want you to think I’m some idiot who can’t control himself.

You: Nah, I’m not mad. You were drunk, it’s not like you meant it anyway, right?

He swallows hard, your words hitting too close to home. A dry response forms on his screen.

Lando: Yeah, sure.

But deep down, he knows it’s not true. He’d thought about you like that more times than he cared to admit, a dangerous longing simmering beneath the surface of your friendship.

You: Hey, at least now I know I looked hot in yesterday’s bikini post.

Heat floods his cheeks. You’re playing it off, but there’s a hint of something in your words, a subtle curiosity. He swallows, fingers hovering over the keyboard before he types back, heart pounding.

Lando: Stating the obvious.

He can’t help the grin tugging at his lips as he imagines your reaction. It’s risky, but you don’t seem upset, and he’s willing to test the waters.

You: Oh? So you think I’m hot?

Lando: Didn’t know that was up for debate.

He’s toeing the line, the thrill of it sending a spark through him.

Lando: U really not mad? I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.

You: Mad? Nah. Flattered, maybe.

He blinks at your response, surprise mingling with a rush of arousal. Flattered? His mind reels, thoughts scrambling as he tries to figure out what to say next.

You: I have to admit tho, when I first got that message, I thought you’d sent something different than my own instagram post…🤭

His breath catches, heart skipping a beat. The implication is clear, and he feels himself growing hard at the mere thought of you expecting a more explicit photo from him. He shifts uncomfortably, typing out a teasing response.

Lando: So, you’re saying you opened it anyway, even though you thought I sent you a spicy picture? 😉

You: Shut up.

He laughs, imagining the flustered look on your face. It’s too easy to picture, and he leans back against his pillows, biting his lip.

Lando: Where are you?

You: In bed. Why?

Lando's breath got caught in his throat. A dangerous idea takes root in his mind, one that’s equally thrilling and terrifying. He knows he should stop, should draw the line before it goes too far. But something in your responses, the playful edge, the hint of curiosity, makes him want to push further.

Lando: Just curious. 😉

His mind races, and before he can second-guess himself, he snaps a quick photo. It’s not much,—just him lying back on his bed, shirt unbuttoned halfway, his abs on display and his hair a mess. He was still wearing the same outfit as yesterday, apparently not changed out of it. But there’s something undeniably suggestive in the way he looks at the camera, the flush on his cheeks, a knowing smile on his lips as he sends it with a caption.

Lando: I can send you one for real if you want to see one.

His heart hammers in his chest as he waits for your response, the seconds dragging by agonizingly slowly. Then your reply comes in, teasing and playful.

You: Kinda daring coming from the guy who was apologizing 10 minutes ago for accidentally sending his best friend a text about thinking about her with his hand down his pants😉

Your words send a thrill through him, the boldness of it, the way you’re not backing down. He can’t resist pushing a little further, fingers trembling with anticipation.

Lando: You didn’t seem too disgusted by it.

The moment stretches out, his breath catching as he waits for your reply. The tightness in his dress pants becoming significantly worde.

When it comes, it’s more than he expected. 

You: I wasn’t. Actually, it was kinda hot.🫣

His eyes widen, arousal spiking as he reads your words again and again, disbelieving. Is this really happening? 

Lando: Yeah?

You: Yeah.

He swallows hard, a wicked idea forming in his mind. He glances down at the growing bulge in his pants, his arousal straining against the fabric. His hand moves almost on its own, snapping a quick picture of his hand palming himself through his dress pants, the outline of his erection unmistakable.

Lando: What about this? Still hot?

Your response is almost immediate.

You: Fuck, yes.

The words send a shiver down his spine, desire flaring as he imagines your reaction, the way you must be looking at your phone. He wants more, needs more.

Lando: Your turn.

There’s a pause, then a photo comes through. His breath hitches at the sight of you, flushed and flustered, the soft curve of your cleavage visible just above the red lace of your bra. It wasn't too naughty, but enough to send Lando reeling. 

He groans, his hand moving down to rub himself through his pants, a low moan escaping him as he imagines what’s beneath that thin fabric.

Lando: Fuck, babe, you’re killing me.

You: Good.

The playfulness in your response only fuels his desire, and he knows he should stop, should take a breath before this spirals out of control. But he doesn’t want to. Instead, he hits record on his camera, aiming it down at his crotch as he begins to palm himself through the fabric.

The video is short, just a few seconds of him rubbing himself, a low groan slipping from his lips. He ends it with a whispered “fuck,” his hand slipping beneath the waistband of his pants to give himself a teasing stroke before the video cuts off.

He sends it without thinking, heart racing as he imagines you watching it, the way your breath might hitch, the way you might bite your lip.

You: You’re really enjoying that, huh?

His breath hitched at your words, every sensation heightened as he slowly works himself up and down inside his dress pants, unable to contain the soft groans leaving his lips.

Lando: I do. Feels amazing... I wish you were here with me.

His hand is shaking now as he types out his next message, his arousal growing with every word.

Lando: Show me more.

There’s a beat of silence, and then another picture comes through. This one is more daring, more revealing. You’re under the blankets, one leg exposed, the other hidden beneath the covers. The waistband of your red panties is just visible above the edge of your blanket, your hand resting suggestively on your lower stomach, fingers reaching just into your panties.

Lando: Fuck, babe, that's so hot

Lando's breath catches as he stares at the photo you sent, his mind racing with all the things he wants to say, all the things he wants to do. He decided to take the leap and press the button to send you a facetime request. You accept it almost immediately, his heart pounding as your face fills the screen. You look flustered, lips slightly parted, and he swallows hard.

“Hi,” you say, your voice breathless, almost shy.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that?” Lando murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he admired your flushed face.

You blush, your eyes darting away from the screen for a moment before you look back at him. “I think you’re the one who’s supposed to be embarrassed right now, not me.”

He grins, the playful tone of your voice sending another jolt of arousal through him. “Oh, trust me, I’m plenty embarrassed. But I’m also…” He hesitates, his gaze dropping down for a moment before he meets your eyes again, his voice dropping to a lower, huskier tone. “... really turned on.”

Your breath catches, and he watches as you shift on the bed, the movement causing the camera to reveal a little bit more of your cleavage and the red lace bra you were wearing. His eyes are drawn to the exposed skin, mesmerized by your body.

“What are you wearing?” The question slips out before he can stop it, his eyes dark with desire.

You glance down at yourself, then back at him, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Not much.”

He groans, his hand tightening around his phone. As he speaks, his other hand drifts back down, brushing over the ever-growing bulge in his pants again. “Can I see?” The words are thick with anticipation, his voice trembling slightly as he palms himself, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure through him. He bites his lip, letting out a quiet moan that he can’t quite suppress.

You hesitate, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you consider his request. Then, slowly, you change your camera angle and pull the blanket down just a little, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the red lace of your panties, the soft curve of your thigh. Lando feels a jolt of arousal shooting through him, and he has to bite back a groan. It’s just enough to tease, to make him want more. 

“Fuck, Y/N…” His voice is rough, strained, as he shifts on the bed, the fabric of his pants suddenly feeling too tight, too restrictive. His hand presses harder against his length, his breath hitching as the friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

You giggle, your eyes sparkling with a mix of nervousness and excitement. “You like what you see?”

“Like?” He shakes his head, his eyes glued to the screen. “I fucking love it.”

Your cheeks flush a deeper red, and you lean back a little, giving him an even better view of your body. His mouth goes dry as he takes in the sight of you, the way the red lace clings to your skin, the hint of cleavage peeking out from beneath your bra. He can see the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the anticipation, the arousal clear in your eyes.

“Your turn,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to send his heart racing.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still holding his phone, he shifts back on the bed, his other hand moving to the waistband of his pants. His fingers fumble with the button, his hands shaking slightly as he pops it open, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your breath hitches as he unzips his pants, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers. He pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking up to yours, seeking permission. When you nod, he slides his hand into his boxers, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale as he wraps his fingers around his length.

“Fuck…” The word slips out as he strokes himself slowly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he forces them open again, needing to see your reaction. His voice trembles, laced with a mix of desire and restraint, each moan escaping his lips growing louder as he quickens his pace.

Your eyes are wide, your lips slightly parted as you watch him, your hand moving down towards your panties on their own accord, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric “Fuck, that's hot, Lando…”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his boxers now pushed low enough to reveal his cock, hand moving faster, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him. “Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Please.”

You bite your lip, waiting just a moment before you slip your hand beneath the waistband of your panties, a soft gasp escaping you as your fingers make contact. The sight of you, the way your body arches slightly, the soft, breathless sounds you make, is almost too much for him.

“Fuck, babe, you’re so fucking hot…” His voice is barely more than a growl as he watches you, his own hand moving faster, the pleasure building inside him, threatening to spill over.

“What would you do to me if I was right there?” you ask, your voice a breathless whisper.

His eyes darken, his grip tightening around himself. “I’d start by kissing you, slowly… working my way down your body.” His voice is rough, each word laced with longing. “I’d touch you everywhere, make you feel so good. Then I’d…” his words getting cut off by his own moan.

“Tell me,” you encourage, your own voice trembling with need.

“I’d bury my face between your legs, make you scream my name,” he groans, his strokes becoming more erratic as he imagines it, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “F-Fuck, I want you so bad.”

You moan at his words, your fingers moving faster as you picture it, your body aching for his touch. “Lando, I…”

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me what you’d do to me.”

“I’d touch you,” you breathe, your voice trembling as your fingers move in sync with his. “I’d wrap my fingers around you, just like you’re doing now… make you feel so good, Lan”

He whimpers at your words, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he imagines it, the sensation of your touch almost too real. “Fuck, Y/N, I need you…”

“Imagine it’s my hand, Lan” you whisper, your voice laced with seduction. “Imagine I’m right there with you…”

His moans grow louder, his hips bucking into his hand as he follows your words, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. “I’m so close…”

“Me too,” you whisper, your breath hitching as you feel the pleasure building, your body trembling with anticipation.

“God, you’re amazing,” he pants, his voice filled with praise as he watches you, every movement driving him closer to the edge. “You’re so perfect… I want you so bad…”

Your voice is a breathless moan as you reach the brink, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure consumes you "F-Fuck, Lan, I'm coming"

“Fuck, baby, I’m right there with you…” His voice is ragged, his body tensing as he teeters on the edge, every muscle tightening in anticipation. You watch, breathless, as his hand moves faster, more desperately, his grip tightening around his length.

Then, with a strangled moan, he tips over the edge. His hips jerk, and his head falls back against the pillows as he cums, thick ropes of it spilling out and covering his abdomen. You can see the way his abs contract with each pulse, his hand still working himself through every last wave of pleasure, milking himself until he’s spent. His eyes remain locked on yours, his breathing heavy, a mixture of satisfaction and lingering desire in his gaze as you both ride the waves of your shared climax.

For a few moments, the only sound is your ragged breathing, both of you staring at each other through the screen, the intensity of what just happened hanging heavy in the air.

“Fuck…” He laughs breathlessly, his head falling back against the pillows as he runs a hand through his hair. “That was…”

“Amazing,” you finish for him, your own laughter bubbling up, your cheeks still flushed, your body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. “Holy shit, Lando…”

“Yeah.” He grins, his heart still racing as he looks at you, the reality of what you just did slowly sinking in. “Are you… okay?”

You nod, your smile softening as you look at him. “Yeah, I’m okay. More than okay.”

His heart swells at your words, relief flooding through him. He’s about to say something else when you shift on the bed, the blanket slipping down a little further, giving him a glimpse of your bare shoulder.

“Lando,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his through the screen, a mischievous glint in your gaze. “If that was just a taste, I can’t wait to see what happens when we’re see each other again.”

The promise in your words sends a shiver down his spine, his mind racing at the thought of having you, really having you, right in front of him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you have no idea what you’re doing to me…” His voice is a low whisper, his eyes still dark with desire.

“Maybe I have an idea,” you tease, your smile widening as you settle back against the pillows, your gaze never leaving his. “When I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe you should pick me up from the airport... and then we can do this again, but then in real life”

His heart skips a beat at your words, excitement and anticipation flooding through him. “You mean that?”

You nod, your smile softening, your eyes filled with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. “Yeah, I mean that. I want you, Lando. All of you.”

His breath catches, the sincerity in your voice, the way you’re looking at him, making his heart race. He knows, in that moment, that this isn’t just about sex, about fulfilling a desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for years. It’s about more, so much more.

“Y/N… there’s something else I need to tell you,” he says, his voice steady but laced with emotion.

Your gaze softens, sensing the seriousness in his tone. “What is it, Lando?”

He hesitates for just a moment, gathering his thoughts before he continues. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. It’s not just about my text last night or about what we just did. I've been feeling like this for a while. It’s everything. Every time we’ve laughed together, every time you’ve supported me, every time I’ve seen you smile... I’ve been falling for you more and more.”

You feel your heart swell at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. Finally ready to admit it out loud. “Lando... I’ve felt the same way. I’ve just been too scared to admit it.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I’ve wanted to say something for so long, but I was afraid I’d ruin what we have.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you say softly. “If anything, you’ve made it better.”

A wide smile spreads across his face, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ve never been so thankful for getting drunk.”

You laugh, the sound light and filled with joy. “Me neither, Lando. Me neither.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, both of you just taking in the reality of what’s been confessed.

“So… when I fly back to Monaco in a few days, maybe we could start something real?” you suggest, your voice hopeful.

“I’d like that,” he replies, his heart swelling with happiness. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s a plan,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips.

"God, I wish I could kiss you now" he whispered, a small hint of disappointment in his voice.

And with that, you both know that this is just the beginning of something truly special, something that’s been waiting to happen for far too long.

Sequel

Masterlist

[iamhereforfunnzies]

Fun idea what about a gyaru! Reader, Like she tried to get attention for being high maintenance but no amount of spending will ever dent the fortune of the wayne

Girlie you spend over 1,500 dollars with my melody inspired nails , make up cost more than an entire state of Gotham High , always shopping in taobao or out thrifting. I can also imagine this reader active in social media (Tiktok , Instagram , youtube , and etc.,). Like those bimbo tiktokers who are actually smart? Yeah that is so you.

Bruce! He noticed you because he saw you making a youtube tutorial on how you do your makeup. He always thought he never influenced you since he barely talk with you , he felt proud about it having a normal child in his mind. He didn't ruined your mental health with this batman stuff. He genuinely did care , he thought having atleast one normal child who didn't have to risk their life to crime was a gift enough of him. When he heard you talk though... The way you speaked sounded too much like him. Not as batman but as Brucie Wayne.

The persona which he fabricated so no one can guess he is Batman, he knows you don't know anything about his Vigilante life so he had a epiphany. He never actually truly showed his real personality with you did he? He appeared to always been a playboy , party animal , sex addict , and himbo to the media. The way you talk is a mirror on his persona , it terrifies him it's ridiculous.

Eversince he started trying to "clean" you , he can't have you imitate his persona that will stump your development. He started always joining you to your nail sessions , makeup spree , and shopping clothes. He legit forces you to waterdown your style by cutting your allowance and monitoring you. He even learned makeup, specifically clean girl makeup or douyin cause he finds it adorable. He loves buying you elegant dresses from Dior , Vera wang , and Channel. He genuinely loves matching with you. His Brucie Wayne persona tames down just to set a example for you.

Damian! When he first saw you , he actually liked how colorful you are. He never once talked to you just because he assumed you were dumb and the family never converse about you. He didn't want to waste his breathe but that didn't mean he didn't find you stunning.

He loved painting , drawing , and using your color combinations of your outfits as an inspiration. You always thought he was glaring at you but the truth he is admirring your makeup , wig , and charms around your bag. He loved doddling you around his sketchbook. He started an insta account just to see fits he never got to see up close. The day he saw one of your reels about you talking about finance , politics , or any topic he was dumbstruck.

He started talking to you, it was awkward at first. The first thing he said was why you dressed like that. It didn't to sound insulting he just curious but you gave him a loopy smile saying why not. A moment to himself after that conversation he wanted to be closer to you. His sibling who so colorful and fun. He hated when Bruce started to "clean" you. He wanted to rip that man to shreds when he saw less of your vibrant long nails , and colorful wigs.

[winterzsurprise]

Thirty Minutes || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: After convincing Miguel to take a break from working, he generously granted you thirty minutes with him and you know how you'd spend it.

Words: 1.7k

Tags: NOT BETA READ, smut, rough sex, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasm, squirting, big dick Miguel, standing sex, deep penetration, fang play, office sex (i guess?)

This is so rushed but he just do things to me. He breathes and I start giggling and twirling my hair. I am so feral for him I'm sorry (not sorry). I swear I'll bring more flavor next time :''DD

forgor to note that the glasses part is heavily inspired by that one scene from a kdrama named "Business Proposal".

hermosa - beautiful || cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || mi amor - my love

Being the leader of the inter-dimensional spider hub, it's expected for Miguel to be drowning with tasks and reports to analyze at any time of day. You accepted that fact when you started dating him on the down low.

You didn't care that he's busy since your time is also taken by fighting crimes and eventual missions. Plus, at the end of the day, the make up sex is godly.

But you find it hard to tolerate it when days and nights blurs without him leaving his office unless he needs to eat and use the bathroom.

Apparently, Jessica has held a few interventions for him with Peter B. and it failed every time. Miguel threw them out and threatened to shut Layla down if she didn't block their access to his office.

Passing by you in the lobby after another mission, Peter B. asked you with a stern look while Mayday babbled, mirroring the seriousness of her dad.

"Please do anything to get him to leave his office. I beg of you."

So after dinner where there's less activities and presence in the hub, you head straight to his office with barely a plan in mind. Clearly confident you'd make the man rest, even for fifteen minutes.

The hatch parts open and you are met by the image of him reading out a report in formal clothing and square glasses, sitting at the edge of the platform. He briefly looked up from the report before returning back to his task.

"Let me guess, Peter sent you here?"

"I heard they've already hosted a couple of interventions and rallies."

Miguel huffed, pitching the bridge of his nose. "Such a waste of time, they could have been in their home world watching over their cities."

"Come on, you know that they're just concerned about you."

"And you're here because you're also concerned?"

You laughed, webbing onto the ceiling and pulling yourself up to land beside him. “Are you really going to act this way, Miguel?”

Miguel didn’t respond, focusing on reading on the report about the paper Doc Ock variant found in Earth 2199 written by the Victorian Spider-Man. You settled on sitting next to him in silence after retracting your suit back.

His subtle glances on your skin tight shorts didn't go unnoticed but you ignored it in favor of 

You took the time to observe the man whose bulky body is covered in a simple  dress shirt with three buttons down and black pants that complemented the thickness of his thighs. The square glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose only added more flavor to his attire.

He's criminally dashing.

After being away for days to catch an anomaly and crime fighting in your own world, you couldn't ignore the simmering desire bubbling in your abdomen.

How could you not be when your darling looks like a five star Michelin meal in front of you?

Your attention seemed to bother Miguel, who let out a defeated sigh. “Alright, what do you want?”

“I just want to spend time with you, is that so bad?”

Miguel deadpanned at you, seemingly disturbed by the thought before putting the reports down and turning to face you fully with his arms crossed. His eyes scanned your form up and down, letting his head fall back before groaning.

“Alright, I’ll bite. You got thirty minutes.”

You grinned. "That's all I need."

He raised an eyebrow at that but before he could question it, you captured his lips with yours. As if the kiss was a droplet on the water, the ripples caused by the taste of his lips awakened the lust simmering in the pit of your stomach.

His hands found your hips and pulled you close until you rediscovered your rightful seat on his thighs. Rough and calloused touch sneaked past your top and crawled up to the swell of your breast.

Miguel pulled away, removing his glasses—quite erotically—before diving back to lose himself in your lips.

"Is this what you plan on using your thirty minutes for?"

"You know it'll last longer than thirty."

"I doubt that."

His words sent jolts of pleasure down your spine, igniting your nerve endings alight.

"Are you really going to fuck me in your office, boss?"

"Don't 'boss' me, hermosa and you know I'd spread you open no matter the location."

His hands unclasped the front of your bras and spared no time in covering your flesh with his. The rough texture of his palm rubbing against your firm nipples got you moaning, hips twisting in his thighs desperate for stimulation.

Pulling away, Miguel's lips fell to your throat, his tongue roamed the skin above your heartbeat that rose when his razor sharp teeth grazed your flesh, threatening to pierce. With the soft suckles on your neck and the rough massage on your mounds, you were a moaning mess, tugging helplessly on his hair and grinding pathetically on him.

"You're so desperate for me, mi amor. Did you miss me that much?"

"Shut up and just touch me, please."

He groaned, deep. "You sound so adorable when you beg, baby."

He quickly made work of your shirt, tossing it along with your bra before moving to tugging your shorts off. Your hands busies itself with his dress pants, desperate to feel the heat of his skin against your own and to feel the curve of his girth once more.

It didn't take long before you're both naked and bare to anyone who dares enter his chambers. A shrill excitement electrifies your skin at the thought of being caught, the riskiness of being discovered and seen being devoured by the man you love oddly arouses you further.

Though you're sure with how possessive he is, Miguel has already shut the gates to anyone till he's done with you.

But it was an interesting thought to have while his three of his fingers savagely thrusts in and out of your hole, the other hand grounding your hips made it impossible to escape the onslaught of pleasure after pleasure striking your nerves down, you screamed, clawing at his broad back as he fingered you open.

Miguel grunts. "Scream louder for me, mi vida. I want to hear how good I make you feel."

His thumb found your clit and started drawing figures of eight on them, the knot in your abdomen twists tighter as you climb towards your orgasm. There's a wet squelch building up to bounce in the chamber and you flush red yet Miguel took it as a compliment, increasing his speed and curling three fingers upwards more.

Your legs shook violently from where they stood beside his wide thighs before the knot unfurled and you came with a shout, trembling pathetically in his hold. The sudden onslaught of serene euphoria makes you light-headed and you rest your forehead on his shoulder.

He pulled away, choosing to be merciful and let your shaking figure settle down before continuing.

"You didn't squirt? What a shame."

"F-fuck you."

"Don't lie, cariño." There's a grin in his voice as he pulls you flush to him. "I know you like it when I leave you writhing pathetically."

Not sparing any second, he stands up and you wrap your arms around his neck, already sensing his plan as he reaches down to line the tip of dick with your sopping heat. The sensation of his girth so near your entrance re-igniting the suffocating arousal and desire in your body.

"And god, do I miss seeing you cock-drunk and shaking."

Plunging in deep, your mouth falls and you scream. The hilt of his girth grazing your uterus along with the burn of the stretch sparking every nerve endings alight. The familiar feeling of his cock reminding your hole who it belongs to made you feel dizzy, it was too much but it feels so good.

His thrusts are unforgiving, rattling your soul every time his hips collide with yours, leaving you breathless and moaning unintelligible words. His fangs digs into the crook of your neck as he pants and groans into your skin.

The sensation of your pebbled nipples rubbing against his chest sends electric shocks down your spine, adding onto your quick climb to your high.

You could barely make out the Spanish words he's whispering like a prayer, mind fogged with nothing but the pure nirvana he was handing to you. 

"Fuck, you feel so good for me. Always so sweet and tight for me, yeah?"

"Yes yes yes…!"

One of his hands grabbed hold of your jaw, forcing you to meet his dark red eyes. "You're not leaving this fucking room until I'm done with you, understand?"

You nod vigorously, wanting nothing but to please him enough to reward you with another orgasm. His lips found your neck once more, nibbling on your skin and teasingly dragging his fangs in his conquest to mark you, which shook you from your stupor, pushing his head away.

"No-not too much. It'll show."

Miguel's eyebrow raised, unfazed. "And?"

"T-they'll find out."

He scoffed. "I don't fucking care. Let them know who fuck you well and bare."

Angling his hips, he grazes a spot and you cry before the next plunge hits it, your legs began to shake around him with every thrust. Tears blurred your vision as pleasure invaded your very being, it didn't take long before you burst in his arms, your arousal painting his clenched stomach.

"That's it. Give it to me."

Ramping his speed, you howled. Pain started to mix with euphoria but you couldn't stop, it's not enough to satiate your famished soul. 

"F-fuck…! I-I don't think I can a-anymore."

You squealed at the sharp stinging pain left by his hand on your clit. "You will and I'll make sure of it."

Palming your bead more gently than his savage thrusts, he tightened the coil in your stomach tighter and tighter until it exploded and splattered once more unto his glistening abs, legs writhing helplessly in the air.

With the unbearable tightness of your velvet walls around his dick, Miguel soon followed. Hot liquid arousal painting your insides white with every pulse of his dick. You groaned at the familiar feeling of fullness before wincing at the pain of overstimulation.

Slapping his back, you whined. "I'm so fucking sore and you'll make me walk out by myself. How fucking cruel of you."

Miguel grumbled, catching his breath as he sat you both down on the floor.

"Who said you're leaving, cariño?"

[munsonsreputation]

Hii Kayy, congratulations on the 300 followers, again!!! It's amazing 😍😍

I was wondering if I can request the prompt “Don’t you dare give me those sex eyes right now! This is a serious situation, here!” with Eddie?? Thanks my friend. hope you have a wonderful day 😘

FRANCY THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH!!!!

i tried my best with this request and i hope i did it justice!!! i've been seeing those fan edits of eddie with glasses so i thought i would do something based off of that! let me know what you think and thank you again for this request and your endless support!!!!! 💫💘💋

Eddie rummaged through the bathroom medicine cabinet, sputtering obscenities when he couldn’t quite find what he was looking for, “Wayne!” 

His uncle shouted out a response, groaning when Eddie didn’t answer back, causing him to get up and see what was all the ruckus about, “What’s the matter?” 

Wayne leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, staring on at the mess cluttering the bathroom counter until choking on a laugh when his nephew turned to him. 

The black-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of Eddie’s nose. Those glasses that he hadn’t seen his nephew wear in a while since he transitioned to wearing contacts on a daily basis. 

Eddie shook his head, watching as Wayne failed to stifle his laughed any longer, clutching a hand over his mouth and trying to apologize over his snickers, “Sorry…you just—Sorry! Sorry!” 

“This is not funny! I don’t have any more lenses and she’ll be here soon—I can’t go on a date like this.” Eddie complained as if wearing glasses were a crime to humanity. 

By now, Wayne had settled down, taking a breath to calm his laughter before nodding at Eddie understandingly. He knew of you, and that you and Eddie had started a relationship together. He also knew Eddie really liked you…spending all his free time talking off his own ears about how kind and special you were—so if this was such a big deal for Eddie because of you, Wayne guessed he could make him feel a bit better by fixing the situation. 

“I’ll head to Walgreens and pick up your new pack…forgot about it last week.” Wayne apologized. Holding his hands up, Eddie tsked his tongue in disbelief before nodding his head. 

“Fine, fine…thanks—just try to be quick. Please.” He pushed out of the bathroom and headed down the hallway to his before looking back at Wayne with a pleading face. 

Wayne did a better job this time around at stifling his laugh and nodded, even going to check at the time on his watch, “Ill try to be quick…in the meantime, clean up your room, don’t let that girl see your room in such a mess.” 

With that, Wayne headed to the coffee table, picking up his keys, and snorted as Eddie yelled out, “Yes, dad!” 

He headed straight to his bedroom, bending down to pick up the stray clothes littering the floors and immediately tossed them into his closet. Shutting the door to conceal, and he would just have to deal with it later. Eddie attempted to make his bed to the best of his ability, straightening up his comforter, fluffing up the pillows…not like any magic would happen between those sheets, but he just wanted to be sure. 

His desk was tidied, the papers in a neat stack and his pens wound together with a rubber band. All his records were back on the makeshift shelf and he even put on his favorite album to calm his nerves from seeing the clock tick and still no contacts in his eyes. 

“Eddie? It’s me!” Your voice came cheerfully from the entrance of his trailer where you waited patiently, knocking on the front door. 

Shit. He didn’t expect you here so soon. Your date wasn’t until 2, but he did suggest that you could swing by a little earlier to beat traffic and hang out for a while. But he just didn’t expect him to look like such a doofus. 

After a few moments of silence, you called out for him again, “Eddie? Are you in there? Your van is in the front.” 

He shut his eyes tightly, rubbing the sides of his head, and shouting out a reply, “Y-yeah! Umm sorry! I couldn’t hear you through my music.” 

Eddie scrambled, looking around his room for any hope until you called out again, “S’ok! Can I come in?”

He froze. Two options laid in front of him. He could let you in and face the look of horror on your face when you find out he’s been deceiving you for the glasses thing. Or he could let you in and try to avoid his eyes until Wayne got home. 

Without the glasses, he’d be blind, so it had to be the latter.

“Yeah! The door should be unlocked…my room is right down the hall!” 

He pulled out his desk chair, hunching over and pulling his unruly curls to hide his face, as he could hear your glee when you let yourself in and headed to his room. 

“Hey rockstar.” You approached, stepping into his bedroom with your hands held nervously behind your back. 

This was the first time you’d been to Eddie’s place and his room was literally his sanctuary as he described it. Many posters and elements that made him him. Your Eddie that you adored. 

“H-hey! Sorry, I’m just finishing up this campaign thing before we leave.” He spoke, grabbing a piece of paper from the stack and a pencil, still never looking your way. 

You nodded quietly, walking closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder as you bent down for a kiss. Expecting it, you waited for him to turn towards you to plant his lips on yours, but he never did. Just continuing to scribble on the piece of paper in front of him. 

“Ummm, Eddie?” You furrowed your brows, tone filled with confusion as he only hummed and never turned your way. 

You straightened up, your hand dropping from his shoulder, “D-did I do something wrong? Why won’t you look at me?” 

A strained laugh came from him, followed by a “pshhh” only making you even more uneasy. As if he was trying to hide something from you. 

“Everything is cool, babe…just focused on this and I don’t want to lose my groove.” He reasoned. 

Looking closer at the paper, you saw it was the lunch menu, and he was drawing stupid shapes on it. 

He was lying. 

“This is the damn lunch menu!” You shrieked, swiping it off the desk only making him groan, forehead coming down to lay on his desk. 

You placed the menu down, take a step back from him, “Do you not want to see me anymore?” 

“What! No! No!” Eddie protested, head still up against the wood of the table where he rocked his forehead back and forth. 

“Then why won’t you look at me? You didn’t even greet me with a kiss like you usually do!”

You waited there, contemplating on leaving and almost doing so, until Eddie finally lifted his head from the desk, turning towards you with his eyes closed, then opening them. 

“Y-You wear—“ 

“Yes, I wear glasses alright…look this is embarrassing and yeah I was planning on telling you sooner or later, but I just don’t want you to think I look like a doofus or a loser because I really like you and—oh, umm, babe?” 

He was rambling, talking on and on about how ridiculous he looked, but the only thought flowing in your head was how ridiculously hot he looked. You found yourself in his lap, hands on both of his cheeks as he shut his lips tight and watched you carefully. 

“You’ve been hiding this away from me?” You murmured, eyes suddenly glazed with lust and your pupils blown wider than usual. 

He gulped, his own hands coming up to squeeze your waist, “W-well, yeah, but not on purpose…Wayne went to go pick up my new contact lenses so I can stop wearing these stupid—“ 

You pressed a finger to his lips, shutting him up, “Shhh, don’t call these stupid.” Your fingers trailed up to trace the rim of his glasses. 

“These are the sexiest things. Ever.” Your voice dripped with honey and his own eyes widened at the sudden confession, something he wasn’t expecting. 

“These turn you on?!” He asked comically, and you laughed, throwing your head back and nodding your head. 

“Of course they do! Why would you think it didn’t?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, ridiculously and his face twisted, “I don’t know maybe because I look like a goddamn nerd—“ 

“A hot nerd.” You gushed, biting your lip as he furrowed his brow and laughed, a little more easily and freely than before. 

“Oh, come on! Don’t you dare give me those sex eyes right now. This is a serious situation, here!” 

Your hands trailed to wrap around his neck, putting your forehead against his, “How long until your uncle gets back?” 

He knew where this was going. The dark glimmer and the softness in your higher pitched voice. It always got him going. 

“Umm..” He pulled one of his arms away from your waist and looked at the watch, groaning as you made the first move to plant kisses on his neck and throat, “A-about fifteen minutes…twenty if we’re lucky.” 

You smiled against his skin, kissing his adam’s apple before retracting, “Do you think we could have some fun? These glasses are really doing it for me.” 

He nodded frantically, connecting your lips with a sigh and standing up from his desk and walking towards the bed with ease. 

“Don’t ever take these things off.” You said breathlessly, once he placed you down on the end of the mattress with a soft thump. 

Eddie nodded, pushing his glasses back up that had slid down the bridge of his nose. A smile, almost a coy one, expressed on his face, while he backed up, shutting and locking his door. 

“Didn’t know my four eyes would get you going like this.” 

You giggled, never minding his joke and urging him towards you with a flick of your finger. 

“C’mon! Show me what you got, baby.” 

[karatekels]

Mediation - Chapter 4 - TIGmas Day #9

I was initially worried about this chapter being too short, but we ended up with over 7500 words, so... crisis averted, I guess!

I blame the very fluffy smut. Speaking of which...

TW: graphic sex, oral sex (female receiving), questionable dubious consent (she's rather emotionally vulnerable but I believe she consents)

Enjoy, everyone!

Previous Parts: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

---

Mediation

Chapter 4: Causation

---

Reader's POV:

You emerge from the warehouse just as the sun is starting to set, the flashing red and blue lights of the cop cars that surround the building casting shadows of the action unfolding.

No one had sustained serious injuries in the operation – officers or suspects. The worst that you had was some bruising across your body and a small cut on your right temple, the bleeding long since stopped. The bust had been even more successful than you and Cash could have hoped for: a dozen thieves, a half-dozen of the supposed brains behind the operation, hard drives and shipping containers full of evidence… this one would go down in the history books.

You catch a flash of movement underneath the underpass next to the warehouse, still on high alert from all the adrenaline. Heading towards it cautiously, you recognize Cash’s silhouette in the shadows. Looking over your shoulder and seeing that everyone is still busy, you dart into the darkness.

“Cash! What the hell are you doing here?!” you hiss, shoving him further out of view. “You know you aren’t supposed to be this close to a crime scene; what if they think you’re in on it?”

“Oh come on. I’m far enough away. Besides, I’m sure the department’s rising star would vouch for my innocence,” he replies casually, unbothered as usual with the potential consequences of his actions. “Looks like everything went off without a hitch?” he asks, looking over the top of your head to observe other officers carting out perps in cuffs.

“It went perfectly,” you breathe, feeling like you’re nearly floating as you ride the high of the operation’s success. “I don’t even think Terry’s stubbornness will be able to hold out in the face of all this. This is huge, Cash.”

“I know. If this works, I…” he trails off, a slightly pained look flashing across his features before he looks down at you with a smile. “I really don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for this.”

“Well, I do,” you inform him with mock arrogance. “You can get the hell off the premises and stop risking your parole!”

“Alright, fine – on one condition,” he amends, looking down at you with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

“I don’t think you’re fully grasping the concept of showing gratitude; it’s not typically a negotiation.”

“We should do something to celebrate tonight,” he says, ignoring your sarcasm. “Why don’t you come for dinner at my place when your shift is over.”

You mull the idea over. It’s not that you don’t want to accept his invitation; on the contrary, you think you want to more than is wise for your current situation. The two of you haven’t spent time together without the goal of working towards Cash earning Terry’s forgiveness. This would be the two of you, in his home, without the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. You don’t want to betray Terry, but then, who was he to decide who you could and couldn’t spend time with? He could have input as your partner and best friend, sure, but you were a damn adult.

“I’ll order a dozen spring rolls and let you eat them all.”

Well, that settles it.

“You drive a hard bargain, Cash Ewing, but you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He scrawls his address in your tiny notebook before you can change your mind, whistling as he walks away from you – you think you see his truck off in the distance.

You turn and head back to the crime scene without another word, intent on finishing up quickly.

You’re interested in finding out what the rest of the night has in store for you.

---

You arrive at Cash’s place just before 8:00, the Captain letting you off early and with strict instructions to rest for the next few days. You’d gone home to shower and patch yourself up a bit, confirming that the cut to your head wasn’t anything to worry about, and changed into a fresh set of clothes.

Choosing an outfit had taken some time – this wasn’t a date, and you want to make that perfectly clear, but you are still celebrating together. You eventually settle for dark jeans and a pretty blouse; a safe enough option for dinner at a friend’s home.

You have to park down the street, his small driveway not having room to accommodate your vehicle as well as his truck. You walk down the sidewalk to his house, a surprisingly large detached home, and the front door opens just as you approach. You’re struck with devilish inspiration, hiding behind a hedge to try to scare him.

“Yeah, I can meet you there no problem.”

You freeze, confused by his words. Sure, you were a little early, but where could he be going on such short notice?

“Yeah, the plan went off without a hitch. I’m really looking forward to seeing the payoff.”

Your whole body goes cold, and you find it hard to breathe as you watch Cash end the call on his cellphone as he hops into his truck, the engine thrumming to life.

Cash had… he had lied to you? Had this whole thing been a set-up, a way to get another player out of the way so that whatever shady business he was running with would have less competition?

Terry had been right the whole time.

You watch his truck drive down the street, feeling horribly betrayed and used and hurt, like your insides have been cut open and hollowed out. It takes you a moment to regain control of your body, but the moment you do you’re flying back down the street, throwing yourself back in your car.

You start driving before even consciously deciding where you’re going, just trying to push past your numb state enough to be somewhat aware of the road in front of you. When you park, two blocks away from the Deja Vu jazz club, you’re only half-surprised at where you’ve ended up. You don’t even know if Terry is back yet, but if anyone can understand what you’re going through right now, it’s him.

It’s a Sunday night, so the club isn’t in full swing, just a regular bar with jazz playing on the radio. You walk in feeling wooden, trying to keep yourself together for just a little longer.

“You look like you’ve had better days, Y/N,” a voice says from behind the bar. Turning your focus to the man, you give him a weak smile.

“H-Hi, Jake. Is Terry back home yet?” you ask, hoping that your desperation isn’t too evident in your voice.

“No, not yet, I’m afraid,” the older man replies, looking uncomfortable with your obvious emotional distress. “Can I get you a drink?”

You shake your head violently, unable to speak, your lips pressed together tightly to keep from crying. Jake surveys you with pity for a moment, before seeming to come to a decision.

“Right, come with me.”

He walks around the bar, wrapping a fatherly arm around you and guiding you through the bar to the stairs at the back.

“He got home a few hours ago,” Jake informs you quietly as he leads the way, presumably up to Terry’s room. “He’s out grabbing groceries right now, and asked me to tell anyone that came by that he wasn’t coming back until tomorrow if they asked for him. But I’m willing to bet that you’re exempt from that rule,” he says knowingly, and you manage to give him a grimace somewhat resembling a smile. This wouldn’t be the first time you crashed at Terry’s place – it was common to celebrate closing a difficult case with a late night at Deja Vu, and it was no secret that Jake wanted you and Terry to settle down with one another.

He reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his keyring, unlocking the door to Terry’s apartment and gesturing inside with an arm. “Make yourself comfortable, Y/N. He should be back soon, and I’ll send him right up.”

“Okay, Jake. Thank you so much,” you choke out, trying to hastily close the door behind you without being rude.

Turning on the light overhead, you take a look around Terry’s sparse apartment, eyes lingering on his travel bags at the front door. You assume he was only here long enough to bring his stuff upstairs before heading out again; he must be exhausted. You walk to the kitchen to look out the window at the city street down below in the hopes of distracting yourself from the guilt of bothering Terry with your problems that he had warned you about on multiple occasions. But before you can start mentally spiraling down that unpleasant train of thought, a couple of photographs on the kitchen counter catch your eye and, being nosy, you decide to investigate further.

You immediately regret your decision, even as you can’t take your eyes off of the pictures of Cash and Terry.

They could be brothers, with their twin blue eyes and their tall, strong builds. You notice that in one photograph, Terry has his arm wrapped around his partner’s shoulder in a friendly hug as they pose for the camera, a horseshoe ring on his finger just like Cash’s. There is something so beautifully carefree in their expressions, and it makes you ache. You’ve only seen flickers of the light and happiness reflected on both of their faces in these pictures, and you’re again overwhelmed with frustration and sadness at this messy situation.

You force yourself to look away from the pictures, unable to stomach the pain of seeing how much had been lost in this years-long predicament, not to mention where you stand in it all.

Hopefully Terry will be home soon, and hopefully he won’t hate you when he finds out what you’ve been up to in his absence.

---

Terry’s POV:

Terry arrives back home at 9:00, his arms laden with grocery bags. He still has a few days off before he needs to go back to work, and he doesn’t want to have to leave the apartment anymore than he absolutely has to. Working on the farmhouse had been no easy task, and he’s looking forward to a few days of rest before heading back to work.

As he enters the club, he heads over to Jake at the bar. Maybe a nightcap would help him get some restful sleep, or at least ease his aches and pains.

“Hey, Jake! Could I get a –”

“No.”

He goes to glare at the man, not in the mood for his snark, only to see a serious expression on the man’s face. Something is wrong.

“You need to go to upstairs; she’s waiting for you.”

He doesn’t even take a moment to thank the man, jostling his bags as he all but sprints through the bar and up the stairs. You were the only person on earth that Jake would let into his apartment without asking him first; the only person he still trusted or cared about beyond the scope of a typical friendship.

The only one he loved.

He tries not to anticipate the worst as he struggles to fit his key in the lock, opening his front door. He sets the groceries down on the counter by the front door, scouring the room for you and finding you curled up in a tight little ball on the couch, seemingly asleep. His gaze softens as he quietly closes and locks the door behind him, taking off his coat and shoes before slowly approaching you for a closer look.

You’ve taken the small trashcan out of his bathroom and put it in front of the couch, used tissues in and mostly scattered around it. Your eyes are red from crying, and the bags beneath them look like you haven’t slept in a week, but you look relatively unharmed. He can’t think of a time in the five years he’s known you that he’s seen you like this, and he can’t even imagine what has caused you to look like this now. Had someone died? You look heartbroken.

He immediately regrets leaving you by yourself to go work on something as insignificant as renovations, the guilt eating him alive. Desperate to be of use, he gently drapes a blanket over your body; you look like you need the sleep, and he’s not going anywhere.

He sets about tidying the place up, picking up the tissues and returning the trashcan to the bathroom before moving to unload the groceries. His travel bags are mostly filled with dirty laundry, so he doesn’t bother to unpack them yet; that could wait until after he figured out what was going on with you.

When you still show no signs of waking – he knew from experience you were a rather heavy sleeper – he decides to take a quick shower, hoping that it would help him be fresh and alert to help you with…whatever it is you needed. He rushes through the process, not wanting you to wake up without him there, quickly toweling off and changing into some of his last clean clothes, grey sweatpants and a black sleeveless muscle shirt. He’s in the middle of towel drying his hair when he hears you stir.

“Terry?” you call for him groggily, and he flies out of the bathroom, quickly coming over to you. He pulls one of the kitchen chairs over to the end of the couch that you’re curled up on, sitting next to you and hunching down to search your expression, your body for anything that might give him a clue as to what the fuck happened.

“I’m here, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he says softly, watching you blink up at him through your bleary eyes. His hands itch to hold you, but he keeps himself under control. He’s had years of practice, after all.

“What happened, Y/N?” he asks, gently pushing the question when you fail to do or say anything for several long minutes. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong, Terry!” you exclaim, though your voice seems incapable of the volume at the moment. “I fucked up, I was so stupid, and I’m so sorry!” you wail, hiding your face in your hands as you start to cry again. He immediately slides off his chair to his knees, his chest brushing your legs as he wraps his arms around you to grip your shoulders.

“Hey hey, none of that,” he tsks, wishing he could just scoop you up into his arms and squeeze all of your hurt out of you. Instead he stands, quickly moving to the kitchen to get you a glass of water and holding it out for you. You take several gulps, the glass shaking in your grip, and he gently takes it from you to set it on the coffee table.

“Look at me, Y/N, please,” he pleads with you, and after a moment you lift your head, your watery red eyes locked with his. “I promise, whatever you did or think you did isn’t going to be as bad as you think –”

You cut him off, keening loudly in a piercing, heartbreaking note that sends his heart up to his throat and down to the pit of his stomach all at once. Unable to refrain from comforting you any longer, he moves to sit next to you on the couch, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and pulling you flush against his side. You feel uncharacteristically fragile, so different from the fierce, confident woman that he’s come to know and love.

He gives you a few moments, and you manage to get your tears and your trembling relatively under control. He’s not exactly sure when he did it, but at some point his hand had guided your head to rest in the crook of his neck, and was now stroking your hair slowly, feeling you relax under his touch. He tries to stay focused on the matter at hand, but he can’t deny how incredibly natural it feels to hold you like this, to take care of you. Neither of you liked to be vulnerable, especially with one another, but he knows that the two of you had tiptoed around the issue more and more as your time working together had gone on.

“Terry?” you say his name in the quietest, most broken voice he’s ever heard, and it makes his heart twinge painfully. Instead of responding he releases you, turning you both so that you’re facing one another so that he can try to convey just how willing he is to do any-and-everything for you through his gaze alone. You seem to receive the message, taking a deep breath.

“Before I tell you, can you please promise that you’ll let me finish explaining myself before doing anything… rash?”

The request has his guard up, but he nods tightly. He’ll give you whatever you need.

“I’ve spent the last week working on tracking down the crime ring running that operation on scrap metal in the area,” you begin, your eyes watching his for any hint of a reaction even as he does the same to you. “We arrested nearly twenty perps today, and have secured a ton of evidence.”

“That’s… incredible, Y/N,” he says, more confused than ever. Why did this have you so upset? Had you been promoted as a result of your work? Were you leaving? “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you; that’s a lot of progress to make all by yourself.”

Guilt washes over your face, and you break eye contact with him. “I had a team of six with me today during the bust; I was covered, no one was seriously hurt on either side.”

“But?” he presses, losing patience now despite his best efforts to remain calm.

“I… I wasn’t working alone this week. I was working with Cash.”

Your eyes fly up to his to gauge his reaction, but Terry finds that he’s nearly going numb, staring out into nothing. You’d gone behind his back and lied to him? About this of all things? After everything he’d said and done to dissuade you from listening to that corrupt, lying piece of –

“How is that even possible?” he asks hoarsely, interrupting his own train of thought. He doesn’t want to get angry yet. He promised you, and unlike you – unlike everyone else, apparently – he kept his promises.

“Terry, I didn’t go looking for him, I promise. When we talked about it last month, I kept my word. I didn’t speak to him or so much as see him until the beginning of last week. We ran into each other while I was in pursuit of a suspect and he helped me get the guy down. I didn’t even know who he was at first, I swear…”

He bites his tongue so hard that he worries it might bleed, but nods at you to continue. You’re cringing away from him as though you’re worried he’s going to hit you, and while he is very upset with you right now, he knows himself well enough to know that he would never lay a hand on you in anger.

“He came to me the next day with some intel, that he thought he knew where the crime ring’s base of operations was. He wanted to report the crime to me directly, so that I would be able to tell you so you would see he had left all that crap behind. We got to talking and he offered to help me work the case since I was doing it all mostly on my own while you were gone. Everything went perfectly, Terry, until tonight. I thought that together we would be able to prove to you that he’s cleaned up his act, so that you would give him a second chance, but…” you stop, seemingly unable to continue past the lump in your throat.

“What happened, Y/N?” he growls, his temper starting to rise. If that fucker had laid one hand on you…

“We were going to get dinner tonight, to celebrate the break in the case, and I got to his house early. He didn’t know I was there, but he was on the phone with someone else and I overheard him talking about payoffs and plans. He left to meet someone, and then I came here.”

A part of him feels guilty for the relief that flows through him. Cash hadn’t hurt you physically or tried to seduce you – he’s rather surprised, the latter would be fairly par for the course for the bastard – but had deceived you rather similarly to how he had lied to Terry. His anger towards you all but evaporates; sure, he was disappointed that you hadn’t listened to him, but your intentions, as always, were pure and good. You were simply too trusting.

However, he’s still unsure of why the other man’s deception is hitting you so hard. If you were telling the truth, which he believes that you are, then you had only worked with the man for a week. Why was Cash’s betrayal so devastating for you?

“I’m so sorry, Terry! You were right and I should have listened to you. I j-just… I figured I owed it to you to tell you the truth myself, rather than you hearing about it some other way. I understand if you h-hate me, I really do, and I promise –”

He stops listening, his hearing disappearing completely as he tries to process what you’re saying. You were so upset – nearly hysterical – because you were worried about what he thought about you? That he would hate you for being lied to be the man that had done the same to him?

For such a brilliant detective, you could be so oblivious sometimes.

He suspects that that fucker has put it into your head that he would lash out at you for the smallest infraction against him. What other reason could there possibly be for you to be so wary about how he’s going to react to your confession?

“Right, I’ll be back in a bit,” he says abruptly, rising from the couch and moving to the front door. His temper had reminded him of its presence, and this time it wouldn’t be ignored. Cash lying to him all those years ago was bad enough, but doing the same to you was absolutely unacceptable.

“W-Where are you going?” you ask in a panic, clearly confused by his sudden shift in demeanour.

“I’m going to go try to beat some sense into him, at the very least,” he snarls, throwing his coat back on and digging through his pockets for his badge and gun. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Terry no, don’t! Please,” you beg, stumbling as you try to cross the room to reach him, your eyes brimming with concern. “This was my fault –”

“He took advantage of you, Y/N, of you and your kindness. He knew exactly what he was doing,” he insists angrily, speaking more to himself than to you at this point.

“I gave him the means, the motive, the opportunity!” you babble. “I encouraged us working together to solve the case, I made this mess! I was stupid to trust him, but I did, and I’m sorry. Please don’t throw your career away by confronting him about this. You’re all I have left.”

That gets him to stop in his tracks, frozen between you and the door. He glimpses the photographs of him and Cash on the kitchen counter. The two of them had been inseparable, closer than brothers… He couldn’t let what happened with Cash happen with you.

He doesn’t think he could endure it.

Terry turns back to face you, your small frame visibly trembling from the combination of emotion and fatigue, and he acts on instinct, closing the distance between you and gently taking your hand in his as he leads you back to his couch.

“Sweetheart, you need to calm down, alright? We’ll both stay here, okay? I promise. Just take a few deep breaths for me,” he croons, and sets about spending a few minutes helping you calm down and clean up. Soon you are breathing normally again aside from the occasional stuttering gasp, your eyes teary but dry.

“T-Terry, I’m s-s-so sorry. I should have believed you, I should have listened, I just wanted you to be h-happy again,” you stammer, and he can tell that you’re working hard to keep yourself from sobbing again. You were always so selfless, always prioritized him first. He knows that you’ve seen how affected he’s been from the way people have screwed him over, and he doesn’t like the person that he’s become, but to say he hasn’t been happy is patently untrue. Working with you, getting to know you… it’s been his greatest source of happiness.

He can’t say that he was planning on doing this at all, let alone now, let alone like this, but something is pushing him to be open and honest with you, maybe to set himself apart from Cash.

“You were right too, Y/N,” he says gently, lightly caressing the side of your face, needing to confirm that the small cut he sees is nothing to be concerned about. “We should give people second chances. Maybe if I had, he wouldn’t have gone back to that life, and he never would have hurt you like this. You just have more good in your heart than I do. Hell, you have more good in you than most people do…”

You smile up at him through your tears, and his heart takes off like a hummingbird’s, thrumming against his chest. He’s cradling your face in his hands now, and he doesn’t think you’ve really noticed.

“It’s one of the things I love the most about you.”

Your sudden intake of breath at his confession is the only thing that breaks the silence in the apartment, the two of you leaning in towards one another as though pulled by a magnetic force.

He gently presses his lips to yours, feeling your whole body shudder against him before you gasp into his mouth, kissing him back needily as you wrap your arms around his neck. Moving slowly – he doesn’t want to rush things and spook you, despite the unbridled joy thrumming through his veins as he’s finally able to kiss you the way he’s wanted to for ages now – he lifts you up off the couch, just long enough to sit down himself with you in his lap, your lips never parting. He brushes his lips against yours again and again, wanting to absorb your pain with every kiss, wanting to distract you from your hurt, wanting to do whatever it took to make you happy.

“Terry,” you whimper against his lips, and a part of him wants to interpret it as permission to continue, but he knows from your tone of voice that you’re having second thoughts. Reluctantly he pulls away, checking your expression for an indicator of what you’re thinking. He can’t resist kissing your forehead as he leans back, his arms still locked around you, one at your hip and the other tangled in your hair at the back of your head.

“I – we – should stop before we get carried away,” you breathe, unable to meet his eyes. He thinks he hears reluctance in your tone, and latches onto it with hope.

“What’s wrong with getting carried away, honey?” he asks, curling his arms to press you against him more firmly. “You’re safe with me,” he coos reassuringly. Give him the opportunity, and he would spend the night showing you just how much he cares for you with every single move he makes. He just needs a chance; he isn’t sure he can keep himself from you now that he’s had a taste.

“Terry, I’m exhausted, I’m an emotional wreck…I don’t want to do this if there’s even a chance I could lose you for good. If we go down this road and it doesn’t work out, I...” you trail off, unable to voice even the possibility of the two of you not being in each other’s lives.

“This doesn’t need to be anything but two people that care about each other being there for one another. Just for tonight,” he coaxes, feeling your doubt melt away. So the sex might mean more to him than it will to you; he’s more than okay with that, so long as you don’t regret it in the morning. He’s a simple man; he’ll take what he can get. “But you’re never going to lose me, Y/N. Let me prove it to you.”

He kisses a line from your temple down to your jaw, letting out a pleased growl when you tilt your head to the side to give him access to your neck. He lavishes the sensitive skin between your neck and your shoulder with lush kisses, finding a spot that makes you whine and honing in on it, sucking and nibbling the delicate flesh until you’re moaning his name, writhing in his arms.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he groans, surveying the dark hickey he’s left with a primal sense of dark satisfaction. You arch your body, your hips rolling against him as he runs his hands up and down your sides possessively, wanting – no, needing to feel you. Call him selfish, but he’s going to have all of you tonight, especially since he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to have you again.

“Take me to bed, Terry, please!” you plead with him, and if you only knew the number of times he’s fantasized about hearing you say those words…

He stands, his hands at your waist, lifting you up with him until your arms and legs naturally wrap around his body tightly, your face buried into the crook of his neck as you pepper him with feather-light kisses that have him swearing he’s died and gone to heaven.

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he teases as he carries you over to his bed. He gently lowers you onto it, taking a moment to look down at you: hair fanned out around your head on his pillow, face flushed, eyes gazing up at him with lust.

You sit up as he takes a seat on the bed next to you. Terry watches you intensely, unblinking, his eyes noticing everything as your small hands brazenly trace the muscles of his bare arms up to the back of his neck to play with his still-damp curls, nibbling your lip shyly as you explore his body.

You take a brief reprieve to build your confidence, and he’s happy to grant it, then your hands slowly move down from his neck to his collarbone, your dainty fingers eagerly exploring his firm pectorals. He does his best to stay still, to be calm and patient, but as your hands wander down past his ribs to his abs he can’t help the groan that escapes him, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder. You let out a nervous giggle.

“Sorry, am I moving too fast?” you ask nervously, and he bites back a bark of laughter. Instead he silences you both with a passionate kiss, his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. He doesn’t let up, intent on kissing you breathless as he lays you down on the bed again, keeping his weight off of you as he comes to lay on top of you.

“It’s been more than five years, Y/N; I don’t think we could move any slower,” he jokes once he’s let you up for air. You giggle, holding his face in your hands as you look up at him with a soft smile. “But I’m here for you sweetheart; have your way with me however you want!” he adds with a lopsided grin.

“So generous of you, Mr. McCain. Always the pinnacle of chivalry,” you tease, twining your hands back around his neck. He tightens his grip on your small waist in return, wanting to memorize this moment so that he can cherish it forever.

“Only for you, doll,” he replies in a husky voice, moving back as you sit up slightly, leaning on your elbows as you rest your forehead against his.

“Terry, I… it feels like so long since I’ve been able to think about us. Just us,” you clarify, and it’s clear you’re referring to Cash. “I don’t want to think about anything except you and me. Please help me forget.”

If he has his way, you’ll never think about Cash Ewing or any other man ever again after tonight.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you, always,” he promises, and he can feel you melt at his words. “Just relax, and let me make you feel good.”

You let out a wordless moan of consent that he captures with his lips, kissing you passionately as he pins you against his mattress. His hands trail down your body to your hips, his fingertips exploring the soft skin of your belly where your shirt has ridden up. You arch against him with a mewl, and he grips the hem of your shirt to pull it up and off of you, his eyes greedily roaming your torso. Your ample cleavage is too tempting to resist, and he buries his face between your breasts, kissing the bare skin of your chest above the cups of your bra. You throw your head back, letting out a wanton moan, your legs wrapping around his hips as you grind yourself against him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Terry, please!” you cry, writhing beneath him and even in this moment he knows he’ll never forget those words coming from your lips with such need.

“Don’t you worry, babygirl,” he coos, laying kisses all over your collarbone, his hands gently but firmly gripping your hips and holding them down. “I’m going to give you everything tonight, I promise. But let me take it all in, honey – I’ve been dreaming of this for ages now.”

You pout at him teasingly, and he takes the opportunity to suck on your lower lip until you groan at the throbbing ache. Smoothing his hands back up the sides of your body, he slides them beneath you to unhook your bra, tugging the garment down your arms and tossing it on the floor behind him. The instant your hands are free, you’re tugging insistently at the hem of his shirt, making him chuckle lowly as he takes the hint, pulling it over his head. Your eyes darken with lust as you take in his bare chest and you lick your lips, making him growl low in the back of his throat before bringing his hands down to cup your breasts. Your nipples are peaked and prominent against his palms, and he can’t resist the temptation any longer, bowing his head to take one into his mouth, one hand teasing the other.

“Fuck, Terry! You’re way too good at this,” you groan, and that stroke to his ego sends a jolt of desire right to his dick. He redoubles his efforts, teasing your breasts with his fingers and lips and tongue until your voice is hoarse from begging, your hands fisted in the sheets after you realized that clawing at his back wasn’t going to get him to let up on you. He’s feeling dizzy from the way you’re coming apart at the seams for him, his straining erection throbbing with need. He’s never wanted anyone so much.

“God Y/N, you feel amazing. I can’t get enough of you,” he moans, grinding against you as you lock your legs around him once more, pressing your centre against his cock.

“Try,” you demand sassily, looking up at him with a teasing smirk that has him growling and reaching for the button on your jeans and pulling your zipper down before tearing the pants down your legs. You gasp from the rough treatment, wantonly allowing your knees to fall open as you look up at him, breathless with need. His nostrils flare as he takes you in, eyes drifting to the scrap of silk and lace between your legs, the only thing concealing your body from him. He spots the damp patch on your underwear and it shatters his remaining resolve.

Lunging forward, he buries his face in the apex of your thighs, laving his tongue along your slit and up to your clit through your underwear. You shriek with surprise before clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries of pleasure, and he groans against your pussy, dizzy from the heady, musky scent of your arousal. You buck up against him, your free hand tangling in and tugging at his curls, and he grips your inner thighs in his large hands, squeezing them possessively as he holds them spread open.

Your muffled pleas take on a higher and higher pitch as you reach your peak, and he chases after your orgasm hungrily, parting your panties to the side and delving his tongue into your tight channel. Your grip on his hair tightens, and he slips a finger inside of you, moving his mouth to suckle on your clit as he curls his finger up against your g-spot, your thighs clenching around his head as you come hard for him. You’re barely coherent at this point, but he manages to pick out a few words amidst your screams, ‘fuck,’ ‘Terry,’ and ‘so good’ among them. Eventually, he feels your muscles relax, and manages to slide up your body while you catch your breath.

“You taste better than I ever could have imagined,” he purrs in your ear, laying hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slope of your neck, feeling your pulse thrumming under his lips.

“Oh my God,” you pant, squirming beneath him as he squeezes your hips, wanting to claim ownership of as much of your body as possible. “Terry, that was… you were amazing.”

“Just giving you a taste of the worship a woman like you deserves,” he croons in a light, teasing voice, moving himself around your body to lay gentle kisses on top of every bruise he sees; the day’s events had left you rather battered, though he sees no sign of serious injury. He would happily get on his knees and show you the depths of his devotion every day if you would allow it. He’ll do everything in his power to see to it that you do.

Unfortunately, you seem to have other plans, your hands moving to the drawstring of his sweatpants, one hand trailing down to stroke him over his pants while the other dips into his waistband, tugging him towards you.

“Your turn,” you inform him coyly, and he feels like a teenager again, getting close just from you fondling him over his clothes.

“God, sweetheart,” he groans, hips thrusting into your palm. “Feel how hard you make me,” he commands in a rough voice, and you squeeze his length in a way that makes him hiss with pleasure.

“I need to be inside you, Y/N,” he confesses, and you shudder against him. “Let me have you, let me make you mine, baby, please,” he begs, watching your eyes roll into the back of your head at his smutty words. You nod frantically, your eyes now scrunched shut, seemingly unable to speak. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband, pulling his pants and briefs down in one fluid motion and kicking them off. When he looks back over to you, you’re staring at his cock with hooded eyes, your mouth agape.

“Terry, I…” you trail off, trying to find the words. “You’re so big.”

He can’t help the smug grin the spreads across his face at your words, and you giggle, rolling your eyes at him and rolling onto your side to bury your face in his pillow. He slides himself behind you, spooning you, his length insistently prodding between your thighs. You whimper, grinding your butt against him at the sensation.

“I’ll be gentle, honey; I promise,” he murmurs soothingly, running his hands up and down your arms as he clutches you to his chest. “Let me give you everything,” he coaxes, leaning down to kiss you as you turn your head to face him.

Occupying your mind with his tongue, he trails his hand down your body to your knee, lifting your leg up and back to wrap around his, allowing him to open you up. His other hand slides up your waist to your chest, his palm on top of your heart as he pulls you back against him. Guiding the head of his cock to your slick entrance, he slowly pushes inside you, swallowing your moans into his greedy mouth. You’re so fucking tight; it takes everything in him to keep from pounding into you.

“That’s it, baby,” he croons approvingly as you start to rock your hips back against his, letting out little mewls as you slowly take more and more of him. Your pussy feels like heaven, just as he knew it would.

“Mmmhhhnn, Terry!” you cry out, and he knows he’ll never get tired of hearing you moan his name. “M-m-more!”

“You want more, Y/N?” he asks in a low, harsh whisper, biting back a snarl as he grabs your knee possessively, bending it up towards his chest to spread you open more. “You want to take all of me?”

“Yes yes please!” you beg, and it’s music to his ears. He pulls out of you slightly, hearing you whine at the loss before thrusting his hips forward, sinking his cock fully inside you until he’s pressed up against your ass. He groans, your body gripping him tightly like it was trying to keep him there, sheathed inside of your tight heat forever.

“Oh fuck, baby, you feel amazing,” he pants in your ear, his arms wrapped around your torso as his hips set a slow, deep pace that has you nearly sobbing.

“Oh God, Terry baby, you’re so deep,” you whimper in his ear, still rocking your hips back and forth as much as you can in this position. “Your cock feels so amazing, fills me up like it was made to!”

He fucks you harder, spurred on by your dirty talk, and you let out a wanton wail in response, your fingernails digging into his forearms as you cling to him.

He pulls out before he loses himself completely, sitting up and kissing your ankle before rolling you onto your back. You hook your feet around his ass, pulling him towards you impatiently and making him chuckle at your enthusiasm. He eases himself back into you, resting his weight on his forearms to either side of your head and gazing deeply into your eyes.

Every time he’s fantasized about being with you for the last five years, he’s climaxed to the thought of your face looking up at him the way it is now. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t come in you for the first time while gazing down at your beautiful face, twisted into a mask of ecstasy because of him.

“You’re so gorgeous, sweetheart,” he breathes, looking at you with reverence. “You feel so good, I wish I could stay inside you forever.”

You hold his face in your hands, stroking his cheeks as yours flush from his praise. So innocent and shy, even while he’s balls deep in you.

“I want you to come for me, Y/N,” he purrs, trailing a hand down your body to where your hips are joined to play with your clit, watching every slight reaction you make with fascination. “Come on my cock, sweetheart – let go for me.”

Those seem to be the magic words; your eyes roll back into your head as your whole body clenches and twitches around him. You chant his name like a mantra, and he chases after his own orgasm, pumping his hips into you fast and deep as your cunt flutters around him, releasing inside you with an animalistic grunt of your name.

The two of you stay locked in an embrace as you both catch your breath, every inch of your bodies pressed together. He savours the feeling of bone deep satisfaction coursing through him, pressing kisses to every part of your body that his lips can reach.

Reluctantly, he twists himself free of your grip, smiling softly at your incoherent whine as he pulls away from you. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment and returns with a warm, damp cloth. You had been so tight, so much smaller than him, and he doesn’t want you hurting in the morning.

Tenderly, he takes the washcloth to your entrance, feeling your body relax under his ministrations. Finished with his task, he lifts you off the bed, holding you with one arm while he bends down to pull the blankets back before sitting you back down on the mattress.

“You’ll stay tonight?” he asks hesitantly, not wanting to push for anything more than you wanted but desperately wanting to spend the night holding you. You give him a shy smile and nod, wordlessly holding your arms out to him. He crawls into your embrace, sliding under the covers with you and taking you into his arms, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair and kissing your forehead.

He’s completely exhausted, but he fights to stay awake until after you’ve drifted off in his arms. The moonlight illuminates your face, and he’s pleased to see a soft smile curving your lips. Unlike when he’d walked in on you sleeping fitfully hours before, you now look completely serene. He feels a surprising amount of pride and pleasure at the fact that he was able to give you exactly what you’d asked for. He’d helped you to forget.

But he hadn’t forgotten.

At least one good thing came from knowing Cash Ewing: he had pushed you right into Terry’s embrace. Now that he’s finally got you, he’s not keen on letting you go.

*boos Anna Gilmour*

---

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

---

Master List Here

Like my writing? Support it here!

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

The Sounds of Justice (3)

Warnings: canon typical violence, cursing, non-consensual drugging, descriptions of character death, car crashes, lying, manipulation, mentions and descriptions of jail, guns, yandere themes, mafia AU, mafia Rafael Barba (trust me, he needs the warning), mentions of rape (not to the reader), and unwanted advances (nothing happens to the reader).

Chapter 3

“Is Abby usually that…” Sonny struggled to find the right word.  “Excitable?”

“How do you mean?”  Bishop asked with protectiveness barely concealed in her voice.

“When I showed her the analysis machines that we use, she linked her fingers, stretched out her arms, stared at the machines, and then said, “You are my babies and I am your benevolent ruler!”

Tony chuckled, “That’s our Abby.”

“Speaking of tours, we give you the tour.  We’ll break into groups or pairs.”

You ended up paired with Fin and he escorted you around the precinct, pointing out the important places and most notably, the break room.

“What did you do before you worked here?”  He asked.

“I worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit as a profiler.  You?”

“Narcotics.  Worked there for over ten years.”

You let out a low whistle, “That would’ve been rough.”

“No rougher than working sex crimes.”

You leaned against the island in the break room, “Have you ever had a case where you realise that your case is actually part of a bigger one?”

“I hate those.  It means more people have suffered.  Usually there’s politics at play as well which makes it more complicated than it needs to be.”

The two of you lapsed into silence.

“What do you think about this one?” Fin asked.

You rubbed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose with your fingers, “I can already tell that it’s a bad one.  Not only has your guy become our guy but Abby has located three other cases with a few similarities in the tri-state area.”

“She works fast.”  Fin remarked approvingly.  “We only recorded the third case a couple of days ago.  Seeing as you guys are the feds, I’m guessing you have access to that data base.”

“She does.”  You agreed “She’s a sleuth in the truest sense of the word.  And yes, we do.  If it helps, we don’t spend our time trawling through your data bases just because we can.”

“I’m not sure whether to be relieved or insulted by that.  Do you think this case is part of something bigger?”

“The murders appear random.  So far there’s nothing that connects them which means there’s nothing to tie them to our unsub.”

“Unsub?”

“Old habit.  It means ‘unknown subject.’ Since there’s no connection yet, I only have a vague idea of a profile.”

“How does that work?  The profiling?”

“Basically I gather all the information in my head, piece together bits of information that seem like they belong to the same group and create a portrait based on that.  With the right amount of information, I can determine ethnicity, age, height and build and behavioural patterns.  But I’ll only do it once I’m one hundred percent sure and I’ve collaborated with my team.  Otherwise I risk getting it wrong and starting a witch hunt.”

“In all my years in narcotics, I’ve never seen anything like this.”  Fin revealed, “The amount of sophistication that an operation like this would take speaks to me of a professional touch.”

“Do you think a gang could be behind this?”

Fin shook his head as he leaned against the cupboards and rested his hands on the bench behind him, “While I’ve seen some sophisticated gangs with the technology to pull something like this off and the ability to stay one step ahead of law enforcement, I feel like we’re missing something crucial.”

“What if it’s more than one gang?  United under a particular person?”

Fin nodded slowly as he thought it over, “Smaller gangs can slip under the radar and they’d be more inclined to work for someone bigger in exchange for protection.  Especially if they’re working with rival gangs under the leadership of our mystery guy.  Question is: who?  Who would have that kind of power to unite them?”

You let out a moan, “Which brings us back to our original problem?”

“Not only that.  We’re no closer to figuring out why and how your boy was involved.”

“Well, how did you find out about your guy?”

“Witness called in a failed rape.  Said that the intruder burst into his home and shot straight towards him.  Grabbed his clothes and tore them.  Just before things could get worse, the intruder keels over and dies.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Fin confirmed.  “Victim was pretty shaken.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Footsteps reached yours and Fin’s ears at the same time and Tony appeared in the doorway to the break room.  You knew it was serious when he didn’t make a quip about you finding the break room first like he normally would have.

“Anonymous caller just phoned in that there is another victim.”

“Same MO?” Fin questioned.

“Looks like it,”  Tony replied heavily.

[viveltres]

( AMITA SUMAN.  CIS WOMAN.  SHE/HER )  - the new york city resident, kaneila  acharya,  was  seen  sporting  a  lewd  tramp  stamp  and  rejected  back  dermals  above  her  low-rise  jeans  on  park  avenue  today.  the  twenty-seven  year  old  is  a  flight  attendant  in  the  city  &  has  been  here  for  three  years  on  and  off.  since  being  here,  she has  been  told  to  be  detached  from  the  outside  world,  but  also  a  trendsetter,  but who  really  knows!  according  to  nycslam,   she  has  homewrecked  multiple  families.  anyways,  guess  we'll  find  out  for  ourselves!

WHO ARE YOU?

full name:  kaneila acharya. nicknames:  canelé, neila, nellie, kiki. will respond to anything, but goes by kaneila herself. gender:  cis woman. pronouns: she/her. sexuality:  complicated, but identifies as bisexual for now. aesthetics:  mall rat couture, spiked detox smoothies, uneven and purposeful tan lines, paparazzi plaything, confessions of a teenage drama queen, bedazzled vape bars, bottomless mimosas to cure last night's hangover, every PR team's nightmare, tacky tattoos to cover up her exes' names. age:  twenty seven (27). date of birth:  28th of july. zodiac sign:  leo sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising. place of birth: miami, florida. residence:  a penthouse in the heart of new york city. she lives alone, however, a few of her friends crash there so often they might as well have moved in (wanted connection). occupation:  flight attendant + face of her father's airline VELOURAIR.

INTROSPECTION

(excerpts of an interview pulled from the archives of COSMOPOLITAN, the issue of 2020)

For those unfamiliar with you, tell us a little bit about your background.

Have you guys ever watched that MTV show “My Super Sweet 16”? I've been told I'm, like, a carbon copy of those girls on the show, which is, honestly, not as big of an insult as they think. Like, yeah? I'm a spoiled little brat and my daddy's little girl, sue me, bitches! Last time I checked, being rich isn't a crime (shrugs). But anyway... My dad's, like, a billionaire because his parents are crazy rich too, but he started off as a pilot and then ended up founding his own airline, which is super exclusive. He doesn't like it when I brag about him like that, but who else will if not me? I mean, it's not like we're seeing pilots on TV. I'm the face of the VELOURAIR for a reason.

What about your mother?

You know, I'm not so sure. We weren't that close growing up, but not in a depressing way; she didn't abandon me as a child or anything, she's just super hot for her age and using that to her advantage! I flew out to South America last year to see one of her bellydancing shows and then I went with her to her Botox appointment. She's probably doing something else now because she doesn't know how to stick to one thing. Like mother, like daughter! (checks instagram) OMG, that's so funny. Do you guys see that? She's posting dressed up chihuahuas and stuff. Aw, that's so cute! Wow, that's so many followers. Should I be doing this too?

Your job title is ‘flight attendant,’ but we know your role involves much more than that. How would you describe what you do to someone unfamiliar with this world?

TBH, it's not even that much. I've heard so many flight attendants be like, this job is a lot harder than you think, blah blah blah. That's just soooo dramatic. It's really not. I get to travel a lot, wear cute fits, and have sex with A-listers in the bathroom. What more could you ask for? I guess I also promote brands that sponsor us, but let's be real. All I need to do is smile, flash a little bit of thong, and suddenly, they're all wrapped around my finger (shimmies and winks).

Can you walk us through your typical day when you’re off-duty? How do you spend your free time?

Oh my God, okay, if there's one thing I hate about my job is that most of the time, I don't get to sleep in. No one should have to wake up before 3 PM, that's just torture. But if you entice me with a bit of lazy morning sex... (moans) Suddenly I'm the earliest bird, pecking every worm in sight. After that, I'm out having brunch with my girls or shopping, or at the beach, or slashing tires of an ex-boyfriend's car, or all of the above. Just, you know, the usual. Days are so boring to me. Everything comes alive at night! Before then, I'm just passing time.

What are some passions or hobbies that you’ve developed over the years? Are you doing any other side gigs apart from working at your father's airline?

I'm actually currently in the process of getting a license to be a nail technician. No one else gets my vision like I do, so I was like, why not do it myself? But I do a bunch of other things, too. A bit of modelling here and there, I do some personal shopping and styling for those who are completely tone-deaf when it comes to fashion. I can do anything once I put my mind to it, I think. It's just sooo much effort... I'd rather stay in bed and watch Sex and the City.

What's next for you after this?

A dick appointment (giggles). Oh, you mean, like, in life? Eugh, I don't know. Just hoping I'm not dead in the next few years. That's all I can ask for. But if I am, then I hope someone makes a biopic about me. I already have a journal stashed for this and it's full of juicy dirty secrets. I won't care about them once I'm dead; I just want the audience and my fans to be entertained.

[addictedtostorytelling]

I'm curious, in you headcanon, do you think that Grissom and Sara had sex in SF or only in LV?

hi, anon!

something in-between?

so i give my headcanon on this topic a bit of play in the two most recent chapters of my canon-compliant wip, if you're interested (see here and here).

heads up for anyone who's still following that story: my response here spells out some ideas that so far have only been hinted at in the fic, so, uh, beware of (mild) spoilers, i guess.

for the more "barebones" version, check under the "keep reading."

__

so my headcanon for grissom and sara pre-vegas goes as follows:

they meet and fall in love at first sight at the 50th annual forensic academy conference (held in san francisco, california) on february 9th, 1998.

they spend the next three days attached at the hip not only during conference hours but in the evenings, taking long, meandering, and very romantic strolls around the bay city. each night, grissom drops sara off at her front doorstep before returning to his hotel.

on the final night, february 12th, 1998, he finally summons the courage to kiss her for the first time under the porchlights. the next morning, she drops him off at the airport, and they part with more kisses.

thereafter, they keep in regular contact, both via phone calls and longhand snail-mail letters.

in october 1998, sara works a homicide with a badly decomposed body ravaged by insect activity that she can't make any sense of. asks grissom if he'll consult, and he ends up flying to san francisco and spending four days in town, helping her get the solve. for propriety's sake, he stays at a hotel for the duration of his visit, since he's in town in the capacity of an official sfpd crime lab consultant™ and they want to keep everything on the up-and-ups (particularly as he may eventually have to testify as an expert witness, should the case ever go to trial).

however, in what limited free time they have during the investigation and after the case is concluded, he and sara do very much comport themselves like a couple. though they don't have sex, there is a definite physical component to their relationship: lots of handholding, kissing, and even a few hot-and-heavy make-out sessions on the beach.

in my headcanon, this visit is when they take that photo that appears in both the deleted scene from episodes 08x12 "grissom's divine comedy" and 09x05 "leave out all the rest."

over the course of the next two years, they continue to see each other annually at the forensic academy conference (held each year in february) and on a handful of other occasions—on one particularly memorable visit: grissom tells sara he'll be in california visiting his mother over a long weekend and asks if he can see her while he's there; she of course says yes, clears her schedule; he shows up in san francisco and they spend a lovely saturday afternoon together; he only admits on the tail end of their time together that in point of fact his mother lives in los angeles and he traveled seven hours north to get to the bay area; suffice it to say, sara's jaw drops—and while their time spent together is always romantic and affectionate, never do they label the nature of their relationship or make claims on each other.

because they are each painfully aware that they live and work 400 miles away from each other and only get to see each other a couple times a year at most, neither one of them is brave enough to say or do anything to really "rock the boat" between them. for as strongly as they feel about each other, they've never "dated" or been able to share their lives, so they're not to a point where either one of them would feel particularly comfortable declaring anything, much less making a bold move. instead, they just savor what little time they get together and idly daydream about a "someday" where they can actually have a full romantic relationship.

of course, in the meanwhile, whenever they see each other, they continue to express their affection, and their physical relationship gains traction. they get close to having sex a couple of times but never actually manage to "cross the threshold" before being preempted or without one or the other of them (typically grissom) backing down.

sara assumes that grissom is just being a gentleman, trying not to take advantage, and to some extent, she's right.

however, he also has some very deep-seated trepidations surrounding the possibility of having sex with her, not because he doesn't want to—just the opposite, in fact—but rather because every romantic relationship he has ever had previously has gone off the rails once things turned sexual, and he doesn't want to risk losing sara in the same way he has his past girlfriends.

god bless his poor little demisexual heart.

in february 2000, two years after their first meeting, at what will be their final forensic academy conference before sara ends up moving to vegas, grissom and sara rendezvous in reno.

nick and warrick actually attend this conference along with grissom, but they have trouble keeping track of him. he somehow manages to dodge them for pretty much the entire four days that they're there and is so entirely successful at doing so that they don't actually meet sara or even have any idea that she exists until months later, when they meet her for the first time after grissom hires her at the lab.

in the meanwhile, per their usual, grissom and sara maximize their time together, attending the same panels and keeping each other company in the evenings. however, despite being happy to be around grissom, sara is a little down throughout the conference, as she's been butting heads with her work superiors as of late and dreads having to return to san francisco once the conference concludes. thankfully, grissom is able to console her and offer sound advice. he also tells her—jokingly, she incorrectly assumes—that she should consider coming to las vegas to work with him.

this conversation is one of the most intimate and confessional they've ever had, and it segues into them spending the last day of the conference drawing closer and closer together, both emotionally and physically.

that evening, the conference caps off with a banquet and open-bar party, which they both dress up for but only attend for all of five minutes before slipping out together. one thing leads to another, and they wind up back at sara's hotel room, where she invites grissom inside, and he accepts.

to use the "sex as baseball" metaphor: they don't hit a homerun, but they do round third base, with grissom using his hand to bring sara to orgasm. the experience is incredibly intimate and connective for both of them; secretly, the best sexual contact either one of them has ever had, despite not being full-on intercourse.

grissom is secretly afraid to go further (as he doesn't want to ruin what has otherwise been a perfect thing), but he is on the brink of tossing aside his caution and just doing what comes naturally as sara turns her attentions onto him in the afterglow.

unfortunately, at that point, grissom is being paged by none other than warrick and nick, with whom he has plans to drive back to vegas that night, in preparation for their scheduled shift the next evening.

he and sara end up parting.

of course, neither one of them is happy to have to say goodbye. but they both do so under the assumption that the next time they see each other, they'll finish what they started.

over the course of the next eight months, sara becomes increasingly unsatisfied at the sfpd and particularly with a new supervisor she can't seem to please.

then, in october 2000, after rookie trainee holly gribbs is killed on the job, grissom finds himself unexpectedly promoted to be the graveyard shift supervisor at the lvpd crime lab. in his first official act as management, he brings sara on to help investigate the circumstances of gribbs's murder, then immediately offers sara a permanent position on his team. she accepts without second thought, quitting her job at the sfpd, moving across state lines, and starting work at the las vegas crime lab, all within the course of just two weeks.

sara's expectation in moving to vegas is that with distance no longer impeding them, she and grissom will be able to finally commence a real romantic relationship—and, initially, he shares her same wavelength. for the first couple of months she is in vegas, they still comport themselves like a couple off the clock; albeit, they never get back around to resuming their activities from reno. however, as grissom soon realizes just how much is at stake for him, having the (younger) woman he's in love with as his employee, within a few months, the nature of their dynamic very much shifts, with grissom emotionally retreating from sara and their interactions becoming more and more centered on the professional.

as i talk about here, the change isn't one that happens all at once or even fully sticks once it's made, so sara doesn't really wrap her head around it until she's been in vegas for over a year and suddenly comes to the conclusion that despite what she had anticipated when she agreed to move to nevada, she and grissom are actually (emotionally) further away from each other than they have ever been before.

things unspool from there as we see in canon.

they go through years of back and forth, where though they are still very much in love with each other, grissom's reluctance to act on that love traps them in a strange limbo, their relationship neither fully platonic nor fully romantic, fully professional nor fully personal, fully public nor fully private, etc.

eventually, sara tires of the runaround and dates hank peddigrew, eliciting grissom's strong jealousy.

of course, it's worth noting: part of her motivation in being with hank is that, by that point, it's been years since she's had sex, and she's sick of going without it; she can't wait around for grissom forever, you know?

however, even when she is with hank, sara still longs for grissom, and so immediately moves back to pursuing him once she and hank break up.

grissom's outright rejection of her after the lab explosion then serves as the catalyzing event for the remainder of the gsr love story, as she spirals into a depression thereafter, and he eventually realizes that he is at risk of losing her forever—a possibility which scares him more than any of the potential consequences of being with her that he had feared previously. jolted to action, grissom makes his commitment to sara clear, and, by my estimation, by s5, they finally (properly) come together as a couple.

it is at this point, i assume, they have full-on sexual intercourse for the first time.

anyway.

like i said, i've written more about the subject in my fic, so if you want the more narrative version, it's there.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Written in 2014 (2) Masterlist

part one

30 Days to Fall - kawaii-kanai

Summary: Dan’s scraped by in life, never really enjoying it due to persistent bullies, stern parents, and loneliness. When a mysterious man from his past tells him he only has 30 days left to live, he finally takes the initiative to make the best of what time he has left.

A Thousand Words (ao3) - dlester

Summary: Dan joins an art class because he fancies a girl in it, but then he meets Phil, who he finds out started drawing for a very different reason. Slowly he begins to realise that the girl is not the only thing keeping him there, and he learns a lot from the strange boy.

Are We Out of The Woods Yet? (ao3) - starrywrite

Summary: “We were built to fall apart and fall back together” - Taylor Swift, Out Of The Woods

Clarity - thatsmistertoyou

Summary: New glasses. Cute boy. Eye puns.

Crawling back to you (ao3) - definitelythor (yourlionheartx)

Summary: Inspired by Do I wanna know by The Arctic Monkeys [x] Dan and Phil started having phone sex while Dan was at uni, and once they moved in together they just stopped. Now they’re both coming to the realisation they want more, but they can still only tell each other over the phone

Crime and Punishment (ao3) - thisisalterego

Summary: This one is a little more intense than my usual fare. Consider yourself warned!

Cute Next Door Neighbor - dxnhowell

Summary: Dan gets bored one day when he's at home and decides to look out of his kitchen window, only to find his very attracted neighborhood raking and jumping into a pile of leaves and gets caught staring at him.

Death Angel - amazingdanielhowell

Summary: Daniel is a Death Angel and has been since he died. Phil is killed after being hit by a car at university and now it’s Dan’s job to cross him over. Phil has questions for his Death Angel and wants to talk to him while Dan just wants to cross the boy over so he could go back to his duties. Phil only has so much time to cross before he’s too weak to do so but refuses to go without Dan who can’t cross due to his Death Angel status so Phil sets out to find out how to cross Dan over…whether Dan wants to or not.

Dirty Glasses - chocolatesaucelester

Summary: Phil in glasses and a button up and Dan drooling over Phil. 

Do Let Me Keep You - ficster28

Summary: Or, in which Dan and Phil get a cat.

Easy (ao3) - ironicallyrad (snakedolls)

Summary: Contains coffee shop, pretentious and flirty boy, cake and coffee, and truth or dare in a secluded field.

Exposed - dxnhowell

Summary: Dan and Phil have been in a relationship for quite some time now and even when hiding, things seem to have been going smoothly. A picture had been posted by a phangirl and things quickly change and things get more complicated than ever for Dan and Phil. 

Four In The Morning - daeguk

Summary: Four in the morning is the poster child for loneliness, earth's betrayal; Dan Howell's never been good at falling asleep at night. Because being alone in an empty house becomes suffocating, Dan finds solace in a cashier working the night shift at a grocery who's afraid to fall asleep: Phil Lester. Maybe some questions are better off unanswered, or maybe Dan's just afraid of the response.

I Can't Slip in if Your Pants Don't Slip Off - venuslester

Summary: Dan and Phil are in the heat of the moment, just totally wanting each other but then Dan’s skinny jeans won’t come off easily.

I guess you do the dirty now and I do the dancing (ao3) - stillinblossom

Summary: Dan is a budding pianist growing up in a town where nothing really happens. Time seems to stand still to the point of dust never even settling, but merely hanging in the air and painting the town in a glum, grey colour. Convinced you either get out or get stuck there forever he spends his days perfecting the skill that could take him to the bigger cities – the bigger existence – that he’s dreaming of. Then something does happen; Phil happens. Phil is older and in Dan’s eyes extraordinary at all times, but never more so than in the dim light of his dance studio, in his own world that Dan somehow gets an invitation to.

Just Like In The Books (ao3) - Rhensis

Summary: Dan and Phil are total strangers that happen to catch each other's eye in a coffee shop one day

Just Making Sure - placingglaciers

Summary: In which Dan unpredictably meets his favorite radio personality, Phil, by being late for the train journey home. It is quite the encounter as they both had the worst possible day ever before meeting.

Just That Easy (ao3) - Sinncity

Summary: In which Dan and Phil meet for the first time.

Dan keeps reminding himself that this is real. That Phil is really standing there right next to him. Phils smile can brighten Dan's day and his absence can fill a room. Phil's hand brushes against his own, there’s a pink tinge on his cheeks and suddenly there's no doubt in his mind. Maybe that's how it’s meant to be, maybe it’s always been that easy.

Last Roll of Wrapping Paper - auroraphilealis

Summary: It’s midnight on Christmas Eve, and Phil has just realized he has no wrapping paper.

Lonely This Christmas - passionfruitwriter

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Phil is desperate to buy one last minute present. However, his plan falls apart when he gets stuck in a closed shopping centre with a mysterious stranger, who has a quite different task in mind.  

Make Me Feel Like Someone Else (ao3) - Sinncity

Summary: Dan gets kicked out of home for admitting his gay and runs into a guy called Phil, who doesn’t have it in him to let Dan stay on the streets.

His strong persona is gone, broken into a million pieces and it feels like all of him is shattered. “They kicked me out.”

Phil doesn’t have it in him to walk away now.

Separate Pages (ao3) - Sinncity

Summary: Dan finds it nearly impossible to think he never noticed Phil Lester. His note book is filled with doodles of lions and planets and stars and maybe the fluttery feeling Dan gets in the pit in his stomach isn't such a bad thing.

Seven Days - washedoutgay

Summary: Dan was known as a 'man-eater' at his school, accepting dates from whoever offered, but he had never stayed with anyone for longer than 7 days. He never expected to change this lifestyle either but then again, he never thought a boy that asked him on a date to see a 'kids movie' would change any of that.

Shelter Me - howthemoonsuitsthenightsky

Summary: It's raining and, yet again, Dan has forgotten his umbrella. Luckily there's a stranger who's willing to share theirs.

Simmer Down and Pucker Up (ao3) - Sinncity

Summary: Maybe it would have been better, if he just left things alone. Because then he wouldn't remember Phils laugh in such avid detail, or how much his eyes light up when he get excited over the smallest, almost meaningless things.

After Dan's forced to pick between his family and Phil, he realizes he's made the biggest mistake of his life; but he's going to fix it.

Sirenia (ao3) - potatoesarenotforsex

Summary: Phil is a marine biologist, called in to work on something unusual found off the coast of Australia. Dan is the last thing he expected to find.

Spin Cycle (ao3) - pluginlester

Summary: The day after getting back from Florida, Phil has lots of washing and unpacking to do, but he and Dan get a little distracted.

Take Me into Your Loving Arms (ao3) - Emejig16

Summary: Save the date! You have been cordially invited to Dan and Phil’s winter wonderland wedding, but first experience Dan and Phil’s nerves first hand, and all of the wonderful moments leading up to their big moment. Then, sit through the ceremony of their dreams (Disclaimer: may need a few tissues handy). Afterwards, feel free to enjoy some dinner and all of the other wonderful parts of their reception. Then a little later, take a peek at what they get up to on the night after their big day.

Taking Every Chance I've Got (ao3) - nagirci, Rhensis

Summary: All Dan wanted was to get drunk, really. Have a good time, meet a few new people. He didn’t really think about getting involved with someone as dangerous as Phil Lester (someone as cold, as pale and, well, as not alive), and he definitely didn’t think that one trip out to a bar would change his life forever.

That Other Time We Broke the Sofa - phansomedevil

Summary: They've just filmed a gaming video, and Dan is strategizing how to go about fixing the sofa. Bored by this discussion, Phil has other ideas. 

The Boy On The Bridge (ao3) - TheSadisticMunchkin

Summary: I never thought of a boy as beautiful.

But this boy, he was definitely beautiful.

The glass around your heart (ao3) - definitelythor (yourlionheartx)

Summary: Everything comes to the surface a few months after Orlando, while Dan and Phil are in France, because there’s only so much Dan can take. And Phil needs to face up to his feelings

the lucky ones (ao3) - sohmaskyos

Summary: AU in which everything is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. Or, the one where Dan and Phil meet and are thrown into a world of colour.

Wake Up Wokingham (ao3) - Azure (Fancy_Ravenclaw)

Summary: Dan Howell has to learn how to deal with being the only one on earth to know that everyone is being controlled by a higher power. Fortunately, he has Phil Lester to help him with this, and maybe together they could change the situation forever. Maybe.

You’re everything I want, why should I resist when you are there for me? (ao3) - smallbump

Summary: high school!au where dan’s failing too many subjects and phil tutors him, but they end up helping each other with so much more.

[thatstormygeek]

And so fascists play on, in a land of zero consequences for fascists.

In order to deal with this problem of unpopular and illegal goals in a governmental system that's meant to run on what is popular and legal, the fascists also intend to end democracy, and they sure have been making strides with rules they've changed and rules they're changing. In the swing state of Georgia, Republican election saboteurs have seized control of the election process and are rather predictably sabotaging the election, which they claim they are doing in the name of protecting the election. And Republicans are pushing an election law they call SAVE, which they claim is written to protect elections from fraud, even though the danger they are safeguarding against is non-existent, and one real effect of the rule may be to prevent women from voting. And they're trying to move the goalposts in Nebraska—even though the voting has already started—to claw back a single electoral vote Republicans have managed to let squirt free of its moorings, and they say they're engaged in this clear disenfranchisement of the people in the name of letting the will of the people be heard. This means that every 2 years or so the main choice we're making is whether or not we ever get to make choices again, which doesn't seem sustainable, probably because it isn't sustainable. It's like playing football against a team that only has to score a single touchdown to win no matter what the scoreboard says, because instead of playing football they spend their energy changing the rules, and now they've got one that states that if they (and only they) score one touchdown, then they get to execute any referees they don't like—according to the head referees, who they have been bribing. And if all the cheating fails and they lose anyway, then retaliatory violence is all but assured, partly because that's what happened last time and partly because that's what they are promising. This gang wants killing and they intend to have killing, one way or another.

Robinson also posted far worse things on the porn site than the things about his predilection for peeping on unsuspecting women and other sexual misconduct, which we know, because CNN, who broke the story, decided not to publish the worst stuff, because it was too bad to print. So I guess there's even worse out there that's just ... not being reported on, for our protection, I guess. Protection from what, I might wonder. Maybe CNN is sparing us the boredom of learning things about Republicans that we already assume are true, things that it has decided to decide for us won't "move the needle." Maybe CNN decided that we all already know that the true reason Republican voters liked Robinson enough to nominate him is that he is the sort of person who says things like "some folks need killing," and that statement so obviously represents the true core value of Republican voters that it no longer bears repeating. But it also presumes that Robinson's shocking statements about slavery and Nazism are all things that should probably be assumed of anyone these days who is a Republican candidate for high public office. Still, let's not single Robinson out. It also came out in court documents this week that Florida Representative Matt Gaetz attended a drugged-up sex party with an underage teen, which I could have sworn is something that already came out about Matt Gaetz. But then again sex crimes and predatory behavior and protecting those who commit them just seem to be standard party-issue stuff for Republicans these days, so perhaps it is notable mostly because Gaetz (like the rest of his fascist party) uses the protection of minors from pedophiles as the unfounded justification for their active persecution and demonization and dehumanization of trans people and other queer people and elementary school teachers and librarians (among others). And of course we have the head donut Donald Trump and his vice donuthole JD Vance, who along with demonizing trans people (among others) just won't stop inciting terrorist violence from their violence-aligned cult against Haitian people living in Vance's home state, smearing these poor people with a blood libel for the fake crime of eating neighborhood pets—animals that everyone by now knows were only temporarily missing and are still alive and well. At a recent fascist rally, Vance insisted—even while admitting that the targeted Haitians are there legally—that as far has he is concerned, the Haitians are illegal. And they intend to round up and deport "illegals," even as they signal that the definition of "illegal" has nothing to do with law, is in fact something that is entirely up to them and their bigotries. It's just directly shocking Nazi propaganda straight out of the genocide playbook, and it's quite popular with the sort of people who like that sort of thing, which for many of us includes neighbors and family.

So the report's conclusion was clear: The Republican Party could not succeed in a democracy any longer. Something would have to change. Republicans decided to take the report seriously, and set about making change; not attempting to build popular support by abandoning their base of white supremacists, but rather by destroying democracy. And here we are. Trump is here because he is very popular with fascists, and fascists are numerous enough that Republicans can still squeak out wins by using every anti-democratic tool at their disposal and inventing new ones. Trump is fascist because he sensed that fascism is what fascists wanted, and that fascism could be harnessed by somebody willing to give it in undiluted form. And the fascists responded because he was right about them, even while our institutions all agree to tell exonerating myths about them. All the tales I hear about how Republicans actually have other motivations and other, better, more honorable desires ignore the inescapable evidence that Trump took over the party with no shots fired, with only a few objections quickly walked back, a few murmurs and harrumphs. Trump didn't invade the Republicans. They summoned him. They were what they had decided to be. Trump was an inevitability just as whoever comes after him will be an inevitability, for as long as what he is is what they want. The rot isn't at the head; there is no head. The rot goes to the core. ... Republicans intend denaturalization and deportation and ethnic cleansing because those are the things that fascists want, and they intend to cheat at the election as much as they can, and they intend chaos if the cheating fails, and they plan violence if the chaos fails, because fascists don't care about rules, they only care about ruling, which is a matter they insist has nothing to do with questions of whether they have actually won the right to do so. They're doing all this openly because doing it openly is maximally menacing for the people they want to target, and fascists enjoy the fear of others, because the fear of others demonstrates that they are still dominating others. They're lying about why they're doing it, not because most of them don't know that they are lying, but because getting away with lies demonstrates domination. And the lies are ridiculous and laughably obvious because getting away with obvious lies demonstrates more dominance than being forced to craft believable ones does. They're calling themselves heroes for doing it, even while they mock and scorn true heroism, because being held blameless for abuse when you are the cause demonstrates dominance most of all. And they're getting away with it, because our institutions and systems and even the political opposition favors civility and politeness over truth and consequences. Even acting as if fascists intend to do what they say they intend to do is seen as gauche. And so fascists play on, in a land of zero consequences for fascists.

[penisaswordus]

The Stand Up Comedy Hour

A handful of m&ms seem like enough until you’re done with them. Candy fucks with your brain. You want to do as much candy as you can all the time. Chocoholism is real. It’s a sugar high.

I like the concept of having sex until I think about the effort it takes me to talk to people. The sex part is easy, but making it seem like I know what I’m doing isn’t. There isn’t a shirt you can wear to declare your sexual capability, despite some questionable attempts I’ve seen. There’s no secret code.

Waking up early is such a scam. No one who isn’t a farmer needs to be up before sunrise, and even then, wait a bit. We’re actually a lot happier and more productive if we start the day with leisure time instead of stress.

I spend most of my day thinking about my first meal. That’s the joy of intermittent fasting. I don’t feel super hungry all day or anything, I just have nothing else going for me.

What happened to TV? Didn’t there use to be blocks of shows to look forward to? And that went on for decades? And now we have on demand and it’s too much. Anything good I just watch in one sitting and then have to wait months for something new.

There needs to be more hypemen for fiction books. I have no idea what books are coming out and I don’t know where to look. I’m not going to pop into book stores to check, so they should really have influencers or someone talking about books. Self help books are the only ones that get sold like a commodity, when fantasy and fiction are just as valuable to our minds.

Why am I constantly in a fight with my own mind about what to do with my body? I want to lose weight because I’ve done it before and it felt good, but I also want to get high and eat m&ms and gummies while playing Skyrim on godmode and somehow the latter option makes a very convincing argument nightly. Like, I’m not happy about it, even in the midst of it usually, but it’s like that charismatic sociopath that talks people into going along with his crimes. This won’t end well! No, but we’re having fun aren’t we!? I guess.

I don’t think it’s fair to try to date someone else when you hate yourself or your life. What can you bring to a conversation? I really hated getting up today. Work was miserable. I have no passion for anything I used to enjoy, and I look at my body with disgust. So how are you doing? Oh that sounds like the actions of a functional person. Can’t relate. Can we have sex now?

I let little things ruin my life instead of just dealing with them. My car is coming due for an oil change and instead of just getting it over with, I spend night and day dreading doing it. Doctors appointments are the same thing. I can’t enjoy myself because I know I have to talk to someone, take some time out of my day to ask them to do a service, and then pay them. Just a normal interaction that everyone has to do, and I want to give up on life instead.

Gum is tricky. I like it, and I like the flavor, but I can’t chew it without wanting to eat something for real. It’s a tease. I wanted to use it in place of snacking, but I think it just upped my urge to snack by reminding me how good sweets taste. It can also turn into a bad flavor after a while, which again, only pushes me toward putting something better in my mouth. So there’s no good situation for me to chew gum.

The lack of public space to just exist in is a bit jarring. If you don’t drink regularly, or want to just stand around at a park, what else is there? It’s all businesses now, and no loitering. When did living become loitering? This has been going on a long time, because as a kid I remember big box stores were the most interesting place I could go to hang out. Once the internet came along to show me all the new stuff that was being sold, even those stores lost my interest. What’s left? A sectioned off piece of land with some trees and grass. It’s not just the lack of social spaces, the urgency I feel anytime I’m around crowds is also a big deterrent. I don’t want to hang out and meet people, I want to get in and out like a spy on a secret mission behind enemy lines.

Garfield started in the 70s. He was one of my favorite cartoons as a kid because he was grumpy and that’s my favorite type of character. But I read his 90s strips. Going back to the beginning, you learn some new stuff. It’s bizarre. Garfield loves mondays. Odie belongs to some guy named Lyman. Jon sexually assaults Liz by forcefully kissing her against her will at a vet appointment. Ah, humor. Yes.

Having kids is weird. Like, they're such a pain in the ass, but occasionally, they also cost a lot of money. I don’t want to make them feel unloved, but it’s so much easier to complain about them then to brag about how they made clean cuts when they used the scissors to cut grapes in half and toss them all over the floor. I don’t have unreasonable expectations of them, and I’m proud of them for doing just about anything, but where they really excel is at being loud and inconsiderate. Also now I have to keep living or else they get raised by their mother.

I’m tired of hearing about how the government is failing and the country is going to collapse. I’m not going to be the person who fixes it. Beyond voting, I don’t have any actual power at all. I’m just along for the ride. It’s too much negativity for my brain. I don’t want to be judged for blocking it out, but I need to in order to feel happy. I’m not living a charmed life here, I eat rice or pasta or hot dogs for most meals. Let me feel good about eating broccoli and spinach. The civil war is going to happen the same either way.

I wish private security had a better face than Paul Blart. Mall cops are better than real cops precisely because they don’t have power to abuse. We shouldn’t be associated with cops at all. Observe and report is what journalists do. We’re story tellers. We watch crazy shit go down and then we write the tale. It’s true, some of us are tasked with stupid jobs, like stopping skateboarders and booting homeless people, but no one likes that part of the job. The bourgeoisie hate the poor and make the rules. We’d rather help the homeless and give props to skaters for nailing tricks. Then there’s the other side of the spectrum, like blackwater; killers for hire. Somehow more respected than mall security.

I’ve realized I have a lot of internalized shame about what I have and haven’t accomplished in my life. It’s crazy, because if I were an objective observer, I wouldn’t think anything of it; I wouldn’t look at my life and say “that guy really fucked up somewhere.” I graduated from a good school, I have a decent job, I have a car and an apartment and two healthy kids. It’s honestly just the pay. I don’t get paid enough to relax, and that in itself feels like failure. I also consider myself an artist, and I have very little in the way of art to back that up, so on that level, I can’t feel successful. I blame myself for not getting stuff done, and the world is happy to reinforce that belief for me. It feeds the depression that keeps me from getting more done. It sucks.

Some weekends seem to go off the rails for no reason at all. Like, I’m just staying in and watching movies and eating leftover pizza, but now I’m stoned at 6 pm eating chips in bed and my sleep schedule is all fucked, and my stomach hurts, and my throat is sore and I did fucking nothing. It’s like a no effort bender. Somehow completing the thieves guild quest line and having a sandwich was all it took. Now it’s 2 am and I slept but I have to be up at 5:30 for work and that’s stressful somehow, even though I’m not tired, but I will be before I get off work because I woke up so early and couldn’t fall asleep again. Why do I feel so bloated?

I think more time needs to be granted to people to just do nothing. Stare at a lake. Watch squirrels. Responsibilities are shit and taking a break from it is harder and harder. Unless you’re rich. But the rest of us need our moments to just exist with no stress, ticking clocks, duties, goals, etcetera. Maybe it’s just me, but sitting in silence and zoning out is the best thing I can do to clear my head. It’s what siddartha did, right? Nirvana comes from rejecting active thought and just vibing with the universe. But I like art and entertainment too.

I still get excited to have a little bit of spending cash. It’s a holdover from being a kid, I guess. But back then, I would buy something and it would become my world for a period of time. I could spend hours looking at it, thinking about it, getting lost in it. Now, I take a look at what I can afford, and I feel empty. Nothing I see is going to make much of a difference to my life. I’m not going to get sucked in to a product and enjoy it like I used to. I’m lucky if I can find something that I even feel strongly about. Being broke feels terrible, but having some cash and knowing there’s nothing I can do with it that’s going to make me happy is almost just as bad. Sometimes I get desperate to find something and end up spending the money just hoping that the rush will come, but it doesn’t.

The concept of emotional capacity is something that I wish I had considered earlier. The limits I have on my emotional capacity make it a challenge to take care of even just myself. The more stress there is on it, the harder it gets and the worse I perform. We’re not all unlimited. I can’t spread myself that thin. I’m exhausted and the only way to recover is to not have to care for a while. How do I do that when I’m a single father? When can I stop expending my emotional energy on my kids? They're hardly self sufficient. Their mother isn’t going to let me relax.

I like to pretend life is a video game and break it down into stats and quests. It’s fun to micromanage that stuff in videogames, but kind of dreadful to do it in real life. Counting my money, grinding, trying to buy upgrades; it’s somehow less tedious if I imagine I’m building a character. If I don’t, then it doesn’t feel like I make any movement at all, and it’s easy to start wasting my time and money on things that seem amusing for a moment but ultimate just hurt me. It kinda falls down when I have to do “multiplayer” though. I’ve never been good at that part even in videogames.

It feels selfish to care so much about myself, but I’m the only person I have to please, and I still let myself down constantly. I’m hard on myself, but apparently not ready to change. I guess if it only matters to me, that’s not much different than it not mattering at all, and that’s what screws me up. Holding myself accountable, letting myself fuck up; they both feel like punishment.

Why did my chicken wings come out so dry? Is it me? Did I not love them enough? There was sauce, but it was clear about not putting the sauce on top. Even in pictures, it’s in a cup on the side. But that’s not good enough. I dipped every bite, and it still felt too dry. Covered in sauce. I think it must have been the quality of the meat, or quantity. Following the time on the instructions fucked me, or they were always going to be bad. Either way, it’s a bummer.

[allisonlol]

How about Dazai Fyodor and Nikolai finding their s/o's sex toys 😳😳

a/n: y'all keep hitting me with these smut reqs and i fall for it everytime! also started college back up again today and ugh

warnings: nsfw, sex toys lol, kinda explicit

(Dazai, Fyodor, Nikolai) Finding Their S/O's Sex Toys

Dazai

so, you and dazai had started dating quite recently and you hadn't felt comfortable yet showing him your...collection

and tbh i don't blame you cuz like how do you even go about telling someone that?? just whip open the drawer and be like "behold"??

so for the time being you decided to keep it a secret, hiding the toys in the bottom drawer of your dresser

but at the same time, dazai was slowly moving himself into your apartment?? doing that thing where they start leaving some of their stuff there until they are gradually fully moved in LOL he ain't slick

^while at work he'd texted you, asking if he could borrow the bottom two drawers of your dresser for his clothes

honestly you weren't thinking too clearly atm and had just replied with a quick "sure!"

no more than five minutes later you see dazai has sent you a photo, and when you open it your heart DROPS

it was a picture of the open drawer with your sex toys and he'd only captioned it with "what's all this, hmm?"

PLS ur too scared to message him back and you spend the rest of your shift shaking until you return home

^once there, this mf is waiting for you

deadass has all the sex toys lined up on the bed. makes you take off ur clothes right away so he can use them all on you <3

probably blindfolds you and makes you try to guess which toy he's using too

Fyodor

tbh you just never showed him your sex toys cuz you were scared of what he would do to you for having them lol

i mean, fyodor loves to dish out punishments, am i right?? called crime and punishment for a reason

knowing him, he would be disappointed by the fact you were getting off on something other than himself

but nonetheless, that's why you decided to keep it a secret. although...nothing is truly a secret when it comes to fyodor

don't ask me how, but he knew you had them since the start. never commented on it until one day when he'd pretended to "accidentally" find them right in front of you

^on this night, you were sitting in bed on your phone when fyodor got up and just?? started opening random drawers on your dresser??

he's getting closer and closer to the one you keep your toys in and you feel yourself getting increasingly nervous

ur all like "tf are you looking for" and he's just like "i can't seem to find my favorite shirt..." mf you are already wearing it??

fyodor eventually reaches the secret drawer and YANKS that shit open before turning to you with a knowing smirk

you fly out of bed and try to close the drawer, but he grabs your wrist and backs you onto the bed

pls your face is bright red and you are pleading with him to not be upset

he says some "why would i be upset, my dear? now i get to watch you put on a show and use them all for me" <33

yea...you're not getting out easily. fyodor sits at the end of the bed while watching you use each toy on yourself until you are shaking and crying from overstimulation

Nikolai

so you had been planning to tell nikolai about your little (not so little) collection but hadn't gotten around to it yet

plus he was just so good in bed that you didn't even have a use for the toys anymore... (ᵔ◡ᵔ)

therefore you'd actually forgotten about them for a bit

on this night, you'd decided to clean up your apartment, and was finishing up with your bedroom

nikolai had come over after work right when you were cleaning out the last drawers of your nightstand

you try to get him to help you but instead he's doing some bullshit and poking thru your stuff ofc

you yank open the last drawer of the nightstand and your heart drops when it reveals all the sex toys you'd forgotten about?? smh

you quickly slam the drawer shut which catches nikolai's attention, and it's like he teleports next to you cuz suddenly his arm is around your waist and he's all like "what are you hiding in there, hmm?"

you can't stop the way ur face turns red and that's when he knows something is up

^reaches past you and yanks the drawer open while you're trying to unsuccessfully push him away

nikolai loses it and starts laughing like "THIS is what you were trying to hide??"

he's very open to the idea of sex toys so he instantly gets all excited; meanwhile you're standing in the background like (⦿ᴗ⦿) while he EXAMINES each one

ends up tying your legs open on the bed and spends hours testing them all out on you until ur crying <33

taglist: @deadmitochondria @miycutie @chuuyasboots @shy-socially-awkward-intovert @beandaifuku @stygianoir @sonder-paradise @irethepotato @serenareiss @ashthemadwriter

[knucklescum]

Pollen - tasm!Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: SMUT!!! swearing, mentions of experiments? unprotected sex

You and Spidey aren’t exactly friends. He’s the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man whilst you were - quite possibly - the complete opposite. Spidey stops the little guys: the corner store burglars, the car hijackers, the pick-pockets. You, on the other hand, spend your days tackling organised crime, taking down rings of the worst criminals imaginable and outing people of power as the monsters that they truly were. You were both doing something meaningful, you guessed, but there was no denying that your work was far more important.

Despite your starkly different targets, the two of you often bumped into each other. Tonight, however, both of you were headed to the same place

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Spider-Man.” you mock as he swings his way towards you, planting his feet onto the roof beside you. “Wait,” you pause, sitting up and glaring at the man. “You’re not here with them, are you?”

“With th-what?” he shakes his head. “I’m looking for my bodega guy’s cat.” he states as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ah, a cat. Of course.” you jokingly nod along, a sigh escaping your lips.

“Always with the attitude.” he says, sliding himself down the unit behind him to sit opposite you. “I’m guessing some real shit is going down here, then?” he says. “It’s never just friendly neighbourhood stuff when you’re involved.”

You let out a hum in agreement, nodding your head before turning back to your binoculars.

After a good few minutes of silence, you assume that Spidey had swung off into the night to continue his own mission (or, cat rescue). Once you turn your head, you’re shocked to see that Spider-Man is still sitting opposite you, peering down onto the buildings below.

“Don’t you have a cat to rescue?” you laugh, placing your binoculars onto the wall beside you.

“I mean - I did.” he shrugs. “But this seems more important.”

He stands up, his tall frame towering over you as he steps towards you before quickly sitting beside you. 

“Do you know what’s happening in there?” he says, gesturing to the building that you had been watching.

You contemplate telling him. 

He does the little stuff, this isn’t his problem! 

Then again, you could use some help.

“Some sort of experiment.” you say, anxiously pulling your knees to your chest. “At first I thought it was some kind of drug ring. They were always carrying plants in and out of the building,” you say. “ I assumed it was just weed so decided to leave it alone. I came back to check it one night, just in case,”  you gesture, Spidey nodding along in agreement. “It definitely isn’t weed.”

“What?” Spidey leans in for you to continue. 

“I have no idea - but when they carried the plants in this time, they were in full on safety gear. Suits, masks, gloves, the lot. And the plants were in containers.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” he says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“No shit.” you mutter, standing up in an attempt to focus back on the matter at hand. 

You hear him shuffle on the spot behind you before he gets up, joining you at your side once again.

“Are we going in there then?”

You turn to face him, a shocked expression on your face at his uncharacteristic brashness. Uncharacteristic when it comes to situations such as this, anyway.

“You aren’t worried about the possibly deadly plants?”

“Eh, we’ll figure something out.”

-----

You definitely shouldn’t be here - although you guessed if you weren’t, nobody would be. 

The two of you had somehow snuck in undetected, currently finding yourselves in a large, dark room lit only by blue overhead lights. Odd looking plants covered the room, one of the walls completely coated in leafy green. There was nothing particularly off putting about it all except for one thing: the smell.

“What do you think it is?” you ask, uncharacteristically close to Spidey, in fear of what you could have possibly stumbled across.

“Uh- I’m not sure,” he stammers. “Look closely, can you see that?”

He gestures to the plant closest to you, his gloved finger flicking one of the leaves.

With a squint, you spot it. There is some sort of dust, a glowing residue surrounding each leaf.

You look back to the man beside you, surprised to see him pulling nervously at his suit.

“Warm?” you tease, chuckling as you walk further into the endless rows of plants.

You hear him shuffling around before you turn your attention back to the plants, looking for any kind of clue to identify them.

“H-hey, don’t get too close” he says, his voice strained as you stare back at him, an amused smirk on your face. “The pl-plants. Get away from them.”

“Come on now, Spidey. Scared of a few plants?” you laugh, although you can’t help but notice the weird tingling sensation slowly growing throughout your body.

You pull at your sleeves awkwardly, suddenly becoming extremely aware of your clothes against your skin.

The two of you catch each other’s eyes as you frantically start tugging at your clothes, your skin desperate for air.

“What’s happening?” you ask as you become increasingly more aware of your bodies. 

An intense heat grows between your legs as you edge closer to the suddenly extremely attractive, masked man in front of you. Your eyes scan his frame to find a large imprint on his thigh, the shape begging to be freed.

“W-we need to get o-out of here,” he says, pulling at the neck of his suit so harshly that it could rip any second now.

You grab his hand as he starts to run in an attempt to find an exit, the warmth of his gloved hand against yours too much to endure.

You reach the door you entered through, only to find it locked.

No fucking way.

“You’re joking!” you exclaim, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your equally sweaty hand. “What do we do?”

You stare at Spidey, your eyes unintentionally moving over his entire body as you slide to the floor in defeat.

“I think you know, (y/n).”

Feeling his eyes on you, you move your focus back to his masked face.

You don’t even attempt to fight the feeling as you begin pulling your clothes off, tugging your shirt over your head in an attempt to dispel the ever growing heat on your skin.

“Is this a good idea?” you ask as you shimmy out of your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear, crawling desperately onto his lap.

“Probably not,” he answers, lifting the bottom of his mask to reveal his lips before pulling you closer.

In an instant your lips are on his, tasting the sweat and saliva and everything good as his tongue searches your mouth for something, anything.

His lips feel as though they were made just for you, although that may just be the chemicals talking.

Unable to control yourself, you grind against his thigh, eliciting the most wanting noise from his throat. 

“Fuck. What are we doing?” he pants as he grinds up against you, his hands sliding frantically up your back. 

“I think you know, Spider-Man.” you mock as you continue to move on him. “Take this off,” you whisper into his mouth, pulling at his skin tight suit.

He moves his hands to undo the zip, quickly pulling it down before returning his hands to you, rubbing them against your thighs.

You tug at the suit, managing to reveal his toned chest, letting your hands explore the new found skin. 

“I can’t hold back much longer,” he breathes. “I need you, (y/n).”

The sound of his voice uttering your name echoes around your head, going straight the bundle of nerves between your legs.

“What are you going to do about it?” you tease, although you’d guess that you were just as desperate as him.

“Always such a tease,” he utters before standing up, lifting you up with him. 

You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you over to one of the counters, pushing off several of the plant pots as he plants you onto the surface. 

Before you can even comprehend it, his suit is fully off (bar his mask), his hand on his solid, lengthy cock.

Your eyes widen at its size before Spidey’s gentle chuckle pulls your attention back to the rest of him.

“Where have you been hiding that?” you ask, a teasing smile on your face, although your legs pulling him closer give you away.

He gives a playful nod before ripping your underwear from you, the air on your vulva easing the intense heat, if only slightly.

“Are you done being a brat?” he says, his tip brushing against your wetness.

In an instant, any mocking or teasing thoughts are vanquished from your brain and replaced only with desire.

“I want you.” you whisper.

“Good girl.”

With no hesitation, he pushes into you. The two of you make a unanimous sound of pleasure as his cock stretches you - you’re too hungry for him to even notice any pain.

Using your legs, you pull him in even tighter, his dick just brushing the spot.

As he pushes in and out of you, your desperation only grows.

“Harder, Spidey.” you pant, your hands sliding up to his neck.

“Call m-,” he interrupts himself with a groan. “Call me Peter.”

You don’t think twice about the fact the mysterious Spider-Man has just revealed his name to you, only that you want Peter to fuck you much harder, much faster than he currently is.

“Fuck me, Peter.” 

Suddenly, his speed picks up and the sounds - oh god the sounds! He’s moaning and panting and you’re oh so wet.

You begin to grind yourself upwards, meeting him in the middle of each thrust as his hands leave all sorts of marks up your thighs and into your waist. 

A tight knot starts to form inside of you as Peter hits all of the right places. 

Your fingertips find strands of hair at the base of his neck as he leaves kisses all over your chest. Desperate for something to tug on, your hands sneak under the back of his mask, spreading your fingers to pull at his hair. Peter pounds into you as your fingers make their way up his head, your knuckles slowly edging his mask upwards and off of him.

Peter makes no attempt to stop you as you push the mask off of him, revealing his - unbelievably gorgeous - face.

Instantly, your fingers push deeper into his hair as his lips plant kisses up your neck, eventually finding your lips once again.

“Peter,” you moan into his mouth, a guttural noise escaping his lips in return.

“I’m so close,” he breathes, pushing deeper into you.

“Wait for me,” you utter, the knot in your stomach becoming even tighter.

“I-I-fuck, (y/n),” he moans, his thrusts becoming more sporadic as he loses all composure.

You tug tighter on his hair as the knot comes undone, your moans filling the room. 

As you feel yourself coming, Peter’s movements become slow, his warm liquid pouring into you. 

“Peter,” you moan, your hands releasing his hair, your arms falling to your chest.

Slowly, he pulls out of you, causing a mixture of the two of your liquids to spill out of you. 

His eyes scan the room before he finds what he was looking for, picking up your underwear from the floor and wiping any juices from your skin.

You hum in thanks before he tosses the underwear to the side.

“I guess we have to leave them some sort of evidence that their freaky plants work.” Peter laughs. You shake your head in response, a smile on your face as you stand up from the counter.

A/N i had noooo idea how to end this so i hope it’s okay! also sorry for being gone for months, your girl has been working - gotta make that money!

[bodyswapmischief]

Swapping Sentences: Fit for Trial

(Hello, everybody! I hope you all like this story. It's one of a two part collaboration with the incredible @swap-meet. His part should be up within the coming day so, be on the look out. Without further to do here we go...)

I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know how it got to that point. But, I hated my life. I was trapped in a feeder - feedee relationship.

All I knew was that I never wanted that for my life. I missed being fit. Being able to do things I couldn't anymore. I missed going to work ... instead of sitting at home, watching tv and eating non stop. I misssd my old life. But over the course of the past 5 years, I've become just some kinky abomination for my boyfriend.

Mark was perfect at the start. He was very loving and always wanted to take me out to eat for our dates. It started with him encouraging me to eat little more. And once I moved in, he wanted me to stop going to the gym so, we could spend more time together. Before I knew it I had a starter gut.

That's when he said he had a feeder kink. But, I was so in love with him and how he treated me. I let him get me fat. As time went on, however; he becoming less loving. Eventually, he only saw me as a weird sex object. I became way fatter than I wanted. I told him I wanted to stop but he only became more aggressive. Telling me that one day he'll make me immobile. The worst part is I couldn't leave him. I was tied to him emotionally, socially, and financially.

----------------------------------------------

So, I did something crazy. I downloaded a new app called Mutual Swap. I knew nobody was gonna wanna be in my fat body, so I used an old picture of myself ... from before I started dating Mark. I felt bad about lying. But, it wasn't like I planned on making the swap permanent ... I just needed a break.

Then I met Jordan, through the app. His profile picture was incredibly hot. The way he drank in luxury. The way he leaned back, showing off his body. He had the life I wanted. And, I couldn't believe he wanted to swap bodies with me. But, to be fair, he was looking at an old picture of me. I didn't get my hopes up, though.

You see, Mutual Swaps has a safety feature that allows any of the people involved to end a swap earlier than the agreed upon time. So, I had tried swaping bodies before, through the app. But, as soon as someone saw they were in my real body, they swapped back, immediately. So with Jordan I thought, Fuck it. It's still worth a try. Even a second in some else's body was worth it.

I got comfortable and sat up in bed. And pushed the button, agreeing to the swap. I waited a few seconds. Then I saw that he also confirmed. My vision went black.

As, I woke up. I looked around and I was in a beautiful hotel. My new body was perfect. I couldn't wait to have some fun. A few minutes passed and I was surprised that Jordan hasn't forced us to swap back. I thought I got lucky, with an an understanding guy. Until, there was a big bang at the door. The door cracks open, as police swarm my room. At that moment, I realized why he didn't swap back. He didn't want to go to jail.

"Jordan Rogers you are under arrest." They proceeded to handcuff me. They read me my rights. But, I tried to explain the situation, to them. I begged them to search the phone. However, the asshole set a timer to digitally fry it. Everything was scrubbed off the phone, including the app and all our talks of setting up the body swap.

Jordan obviously pissed them off. They are treating me like I'm one of the worst people on earth. They keep telling me I'm going away for the rest of my life. Everytime I try to tell them the truth, about the body swap ... I get roughed up. They think I'm trying to build an insanity case. But, I just want my body back. I can't survive prison. I don't even know the crimes I'm paying for, but they can't be good. My trail is gonna start next month. So, I guess that is when I'll learn the crimes I'm being made to pay. Now, I'm just sitting in a jail cell wishing I never downloaded that app, in the first place.

[chanshoesunite]

can i request reader & their boss (chan) hooking up or having a secret friends with benefits relationship & reader invites him to a family get together & introduces him as a friend/ their boss & chan is a little shocked because he thought they were both exclusive so he gets slightly upset & they both fuck in the bathroom 🫣

24 Days of CHRISMAS: Day 21

Content info: See the prompt above

Word count: 3886

Warnings: raw sex (YN has an IUD and they’re clean, but kids, wrap it up, please, Auntie Hare doesn’t need more nieces and nephews), dirty talk, stupid siblings (but who doesn’t have those? Well, only children, that’s who, I guess), oral sex (f and m receiving), semi public sex? (it's in the upstairs bathroom idk how squeamish you are about that sort of thing)

Apparently, Chan thinks you’re his girlfriend, and that’s why you decide he should fuck you in your parents’ upstairs bathroom before dessert.

But from the beginning.

You and Chan have been sleeping together for months. You know it’s not actually professional to fuck your co-workers (thanks, TikTok), but since your CEO JYP regularly insists that there is “no real hierarchy” in the company, you sort of took the opportunity at the summer party to expand your only half-serious ongoing flirtation with your hot Australian team leader to making out in his car afterwards and sleeping with him the next day when he came round to cook you some hangover stew.

This has been your ongoing spiel for the past months – you cook, you watch Netflix shows, you fuck. Nobody at work knows, and you’d like to keep it that way – not because you’re embarrassed. Chan is a fantastic catch, likely way too good for you, and you enjoy spending time together a lot. It’s just that neither of you has ever brought this up so… Why ruin a good thing by putting a label on it?

You are at work when your phone rings and it’s your mum. Chan’s in the room, talking about some proposal with another team member, but you have a fairly relaxed phone policy, and it could be an emergency, so you pick up.

“Mum? Everything okay?”

Chan glances up and gives you a questioning look. You shrug, turning your back on your handsome fuckbuddy.

“Hi, sweetie, yes, only a minor inconvenience but I hope you can help. You know how we’re planning a dinner and crime night for your father’s birthday tomorrow night?”

You do, it was kind of your idea, plus you ordered the game and distributed the role cards, but now is not the moment to be petty, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yeah?”

Your mum sighs. “Well, as you know, we were originally going to be seven people with your brother and sister and their girlfriends, but now Lilian and Steph both caught a stomach bug and there is just no way they’ll be up for eating a three-course meal tomorrow. Now, we are down to five players, and we need at least six, otherwise we can’t go through with the game. Can you bring someone, sweetie? Nobody expects you to find a real date or anything,” her laugh is decidedly not charming, “but maybe one of your friends? Please.”

You think for a second. You are really looking forward to the 20s themed crime dinner, having carefully curated a perfect flapper girl outfit with one of those frilly short dresses. Also, your dad loves this nerdy nonsense, and you can’t let him down. Even though it will be likely less fun without your sister and her girlfriend. “I’ll bring a date,” I promise. “We’ll absolutely be able to play.”

Your mother squeals with joy and you know you’ve made the right decision. “I knew I could count on you! Thanks, sweetie! See you tomorrow at 7!” And she’s gone.

“You’ll bring a date?” You turn to find Chan, curiosity still evident on his face.

You flop back into your chair. “Yeah, to dad’s birthday dinner tomorrow. We are doing this crime dinner game thing, and you need at least six people, and currently we are one player short.”

Chan raises his eyebrows at you. “And are you going to ask me?”

You choke on air. “You? You want to come to my dad’s dinner and crime party with me?”

Your boss frowns. “Yeah? Why not? It sounds fun. Would I have to dress up?”

“As a 20s Chicago mobster, yeah.” Actually, the idea isn’t half bad. Chan is lovely, polite, fun, a great conversationalist. Sure, your mum will ask you about him at every opportunity for the next two years, but… You realise you would love to have Chan there, especially since your brother’s new girlfriend is always making you feel somewhat lesser-than.

Chan grins. “A chance to wear a bowtie and braces, fantastic!” He seems honestly delighted at the idea. How endearing. You tentatively smile too.

“And you wouldn’t be weirded out that it’s my family dinner?”

He shakes his head. “Why would I be? I’d love to meet them.” That makes you a little suspicious, because why would he want to meet your family, but whatever, it’s his call. And you really do need a sixth person, the more enthusiastic, the better.

“It’s tomorrow at seven,” you say, resigning yourself to the fate of spending a night watching your boss/fuckbuddy charm your mother.

Chan nods. “I’ll pick you up… When? How far is the drive?”

“About twenty minutes.”

“6:40 then. Perfect.” His smile is still weirding you out a little, since that sounds like rather unspectacular plans for a Saturday night in your twenties, but he made his choice and you can’t walk around second-guessing whether everyone’s decisions were only made to humour you, your therapist says.

So… you just go with it. “Great, thanks for saving the dinner, Chan.”

He briefly touches your face over the desk so that nobody sees. “My pleasure, baby girl.” And with a wink, he goes back to his work proposal.

…

At exactly 6:40 the next night, the doorbell rings, and you quickly dash to the door to buzz Chan up as you fix a pearl earring to your ear. A moment later, there is a quiet knock on the door, and you open to –

You gasp.

Chan looks absolutely stunning in his bowtie, braces and flat cap combined with a white shirt, dark grey trousers and fancy dress shoes. Many women might not have cared for this look, but you are a sucker for vintage fashion, and this is exactly the way you want Chan to look as he walks you down the aisle.

Wait. That’s not what you want. Chan is just a casual thing. A fuckbuddy, really. Right?

You only now notice how wide-eyed he is. “Oh wow,” he says softly. “You look beautiful, YNnie!”

You blush and quickly turn to look at yourself in the mirror. You are wearing a black and silver flapper dress combined with elbow-high black gloves; your hair is pinned in a faux-bop and held back by a sparkly headband, your makeup is heavy on the eyeliner and a deep red lipstick completes the outfit. It’s a good look, you must admit, and Chan, who mostly sees you in your corporate outfits or his own hoodies, seems absolutely taken with it. “Thanks,” you say shyly, distracting yourself by slipping into a pair of Mary Janes and grabbing your dark red coat. “I’m ready to go!”

Chan nods, but takes a step towards you, crossing the threshold and crowding you against the wall. “I assume,” he growls,” I shouldn’t kiss you with that lipstick on?”

You refrain from biting your lip because of the aforementioned lipstick. “It would be better, I guess.”

He presses a kiss to your throat, then, and your knees buckle slightly. “I will have to be patient until we come back, then,” he muses, letting you know that you’ll be up very late tonight. You have the audacity to grin. “I’ll make it worth your while. You are hella sexy in that outfit, Channie.”

Chan closes his eyes for a second. “You’ll be the death of me, YNnie, red lipstick or not.”

You both step out of the flat and you lock up. “Should I start wearing it round work?”

“If you want to get fucked in the staff kitchen after hours, I’d recommend it.”

You giggle. “Ew, boss, that’s not sanitary!”

Even though you were afraid it’d be awkward – you and Chan never go anywhere, you just visit each other to fuck and hang out – the banter carries you downstairs and into his car, where his playlist sparks a discussion about music. Chan knows of your musical tastes, and so you discuss the artists and sing along. It feels so domestic, like it always does with Chan, like you don’t have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. In moments like this, it’s easy to forget he’s not really your boyfriend, he’s only your – it doesn’t matter. It is what it is. You will enjoy what you have with him and not ask for more.

Chan parks in front of your parents’ house, where your brother’s car already takes up the majority of the space. “My brother’s a bit of a dick,” you explain, “and his girlfriend thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread. So yeah.” You touch his hand on the gear shift. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s important to have someone around to roll your eyes at.”

Chan smiles at you softly. “I’ll always be there to roll your eyes at me if you need me to.”

You snort. “That’s oddly sweet,” you say. “Right. Let’s go inside?”

Chan grabs a gift bag from the back seat. “You said your dad likes white wine, right? I got him two different ones, because I wasn’t sure whether to go for dry or sweet.”

You blink at your date. “Why are you so great? How do you even remember me saying that? I know I don’t!”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “Let’s go in!”

…

“Sweetie, there you are!” Your mum leans in to kiss your cheeks before moving on to Chan, and her eyes go wide. “And you must be Chan,” she says, planting the obligatory cheek kisses on his face, too. “We’ve heard so much about YN’s work friend!”

You turn to see Chan look confused for a second, but then the thousand-watt smile is back on his face as he produces a box of chocolates for your mother seemingly out of thin air. “Thank you so much for the invitation, Mrs. YLN,” he says sweetly, and your mother melts. Relaxed, you kiss your dad and congratulate him before giving your brother and his girlfriend loose hugs. Chan’s and yours are definitely the best outfits, even though your dad has grown a moustache for the occasion, so brownie points for that.

“Oh Chan, that wasn’t necessary,” you mother is currently cooing at him before pushing him towards your dad. “Darling, this is Chan, YN’s team leader, who was so nice to help us out tonight.”

“You brought your boss to our dinner?” your brother whispers at you. “Tell me you’re single without telling me you’re single.”

You smile at him sweetly before turning and stepping on his toes on purpose. His harsh intake of breath is immensely satisfying to you; some things never change, whether you’re six or twenty-six.

Your dad and Chan shake hands, and Chan hands over the wines, and fifteen seconds later, your dad has a hand on his shoulder and launches into a talk on the merits of different wines, all the while leading Chan into the dining room. Your lover throws back a slightly panicked glance at you, but you simply give him two thumbs up and follow them.

You and Chan are seated next to each other opposite your brother and his girlfriend. “Nice dress, YN,” she comments, sneering just a little bit. “Even though in the 1920s, it wasn’t really en vogue to be curvy, was it.” You want to throw your Singapore Sling into her face, but Chan just puts his arm around the back of your chair and looks at you. “You look perfect, YNnie, and I’m sure all of the former flappers would agree. Because,” he adds with a little side glance at your mean sister-in-law, “real women build each other up, don’t they – sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

She looks gob-smacked and as if she wants to complain to your brother, but he’s on his phone, not paying attention. Chan looks back at you and winks while you smile gratefully and squeeze his thigh beneath the table.

…

The next one and a half hours pass in a whirl of bad acting and great food. The scenes are played between the courses, and evidence appears in each of them, making the narrative more interesting. Chan is clearly also not a born actor, but it’s funny to see him and your dad fight about who killed the heir to the mafia empire, and even your wet dishcloth of a brother makes a valiant effort, threatening to duel your mum, which has all of you crying with laughter. Both the salad with slices of steak and the roasted venison are delicious, as are the vegetarian alternatives you get, and you’re more than happy with the progression of the night so far, feeling grounded with Chan next to you, and less inclined to shout at your brother and thus ruin the dinner.

Chan belongs here, you realise. There could be plenty of these nights, spending time joking with your family, if only this was real...

There is a lull in the game before dessert because your mother wanted to bake your dad’s favourite ice cream cake and it needs to be done directly before being served, so you have sort of a break.

“So, Chan,” your brother asks, leaning forward, smirking at him. You can’t tell if he dislikes your date or if he’s just constantly cynical these days. “Do you accompany all of your employees to family functions, or is our YN one of your favourites?”

Chan puts his elbows on the table. “I think it’s safe to say that YNnie and I are more than friends.”

Your brother’s grin is sleezy. “Does HR know about that?”

You whip your head to look at Chan. “Channie, can we talk for a second? Upstairs?”

Chan stares at you hard, but nods, and you grab his hand and pull him out of the room, your brother’s chuckle following you. Your mum tries to intercept in the hallway, but you wave her off. “Chan wants to see where I grew up,” you say hurriedly, and your mum’s happy reply doesn’t quite reach your ears because you are panicking.

It was a bad idea to bring Chan – you should have known what it would suggest, and you should have talked to Chan about it beforehand, but –

But you were scared.

Then you are upstairs and you are contemplating where to take him before settling on your little en suite bathroom so there will be at least two closed doors between you and your nosy family.

Inside your bathroom, you turn to face him. “Chan, I –“

Chan interrupts you. “Did you really tell them I was only your co-worker, YNnie?” He seems less mad and more upset at the idea, leaning against the door, his arms crossed, his eyes focused on the floor.

“Chan.” You step closer and gingerly put a hand on his elbow. He doesn’t look up, but he also doesn’t shake you off. You take that as encouragement. “The truth is, I didn’t know what to tell them. It’s not like we’re dating, is it?”

Silence stretches between you, and he finally looks up. He is confused. “We are… Not dating?”

You are baffled. “You think we’re dating?”

He looks shocked. “Wait, what? Are you seeing someone else?”

Now you’re just confused. “What? Why would I see someone else? Have you met yourself? It’s like anyone –“ You take a deep breath. “Chan, there’s no one like you,” you add quietly, and it feels like a confession.

He shakes his head. “So then why do you think we’re not dating?” He is clearly exasperated.

You throw your hands up, helpless. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because we never actually talked about it? Maybe because we never actually go on dates? We only fuck and watch TV, Chan, you call that dating? I am basically your dirty little secret!” You look down so he won’t see the tears swimming in your eyes, because you get it, Chan looks like a fucking movie star and he is the kindest person you’ve ever met and he could be dating anyone so why would he choose his team member and –

His hand gingerly touches your face, and you look up. Chan’s dark eyes are shining with emotions. “I am such an idiot,” he breathes. “Please tell me you haven’t spent the past few months thinking I don’t actually want to be with you.” When you say nothing, a pained gasp escapes him. “YNnie, baby, I am so sorry. I am such a homebody that I’ve never stopped to consider you might feel uncomfortable not going on dates with me. In my head, we’ve been dating since the day after our summer party, so our anniversary is the 28th of June.” You release a quiet sob. Chan shakes his head again. “I’m so incredibly stupid. Tell me how to make it up to you.” He strokes both your cheeks softly, wiping away the few stray tears that cling to your eyelashes. “Tell me what I can do.”

You hiccup slightly. “I have a few really lame dating ideas?”

He smiles gently. “I’ll happily take you on each and every one of those dates and I’ll absolutely love them, because I’ll be spending them with you, baby girl.”

That nickname stirs something inside your belly. Chan and you are locked in your childhood bathroom, and you still have at least fifteen minutes until dessert. And just like that, you're back from sappy to sexy.

“You’re not upset with me, Chan? You know that I am head over heels for you and that you are the best man I’ve ever been with, right?” You step closer to him and let a hand slide down his chest, lower, towards his clothed cock.

Chan looks surprised for a second, then an evil expression takes over his features. “Oh, baby girl,” he rasps. “I would be much more assured of your affection if you’d ruin that pretty lipstick blowing me right now.”

That’s the invitation you’ve been waiting for. You don’t hesitate and just go straight for his belt, undoing his trousers, taking a moment to slide down his braces and finally pulling his cock out. Then, you sink to your knees and just go for it, licking the tip messily as if it were your favourite lollipop before engulfing as much as you can into your mouth and bobbing your head up and down. Chan’s hand carefully finds the top of your head without ruining your hairstyle, and this softness makes you even more horny, as do the quiet little gasps he tries to bite back.

You pull off with a pop that could be considered pornographic and look up to meet Chan’s blown pupils. “Lock the door, baby boy,” you purr, “I want you to fuck me against it.”

Not a second later, you can feel yourself being pulled up as Chan locks the door and pushes you against it. Your legs wrap around him as he lifts you up, and you won’t ever forget the moment he realises that you are wearing thigh-high stockings, because he looks like Christmas came early. He tugs your thong to the side, all the while holding you up with only one hand, and moans as he finds how wet you already are.

“Please tell me I can fuck you raw,” he begs. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I have an IUD,” you confirm, “and apparently, you’ve been thinking of me as your girlfriend for months, so I guess you’re clean?”

He nods, desperation obvious on his face, turning into wonder as you nod your consent. He sinks into you, and you both gasp at the way he stretches you out; it’s been a few days – not that his size isn’t always a surprise.

You stay like that for a few seconds, gasping and looking at each other. “That outfit is so hot,” you say, staring at the way his white shirt stretches across his heaving chest.

He shakes his head, bemused. “Silly girl,” he chides. “When you’re the absolute vision that you are, who would notice me?”

“I would,” you say. “I always notice you, Channie.”

His eyes are full of tenderness and lust, but lust wins over as he pushes into you more firmly, and you gasp. “You need to keep it down, YNnie, or your whole family will know what a little slut you are,” he coos into your ear.

You gasp again. “Kiss me, then, so they’ll see as well.”

He jumps at the opportunity, kissing you deeply, all the while thrusting into you again and again, and there are entirely too many clothes between you, these awesome but ridiculous costumes, when all you want is a naked Chan above you. But you’re moving together, ravenous, passionate, but filled with a tenderness, knowing that this is the real thing, that you really do like each other like that, that you are boyfriend and girlfriend for real.

Chan’s strength does seem to have limits, because suddenly, he puts you down, only to bend you over the sink and push into you from behind. Facing yourself in the mirror, you can see that you’re both slightly sweaty, your hair isn’t as carefully styled anymore and your lipstick has made it onto Chan’s mouth. You look debauched, dishevelled in the most delicious way, and it seems to egg Chan on even more, because he fucks you forcefully, picking up the pace while staring at you in the mirror.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growls, kissing your throat, leaving faint traces of colour there as well. “I’ll take you out every night so everyone will know how much I love you. And then every night, I will fuck you well so you won’t forget, either.”

You gasp. “I love you too, Channie,” you whisper, and then he’s coming inside you, stilling his movements as he bites your shoulder lightly.

For a moment, all you hear are your laboured breaths. Then: “Did I really just tell you I love you for the first time while fucking you in your parents’ bathroom?”

You giggle as he pulls out and you turn to face him. “You did. Like the absolute dork that you are.”

Chan shakes his head. “How embarrassing. But that doesn’t make it any less true.” He pulls you close for a sweet kiss, and you feel his heartbeat slowing down a bit under you hand.

Then he kneels before you. “Let me clean you up,” he says, a diabolical grin on his face. And then he starts licking into you, collecting his own come and then stimulating you clit, sucking it into his mouth until you come, biting your arm so you won’t scream.

…

Ten minutes later, you make it down to dessert. Your whole family glances up at you, and you can see on their faces what they’re seeing – a young couple who has obviously just fucked upstairs.

“Mum, Dad,” you say, grabbing Chan’s hand. “I think there was a misunderstanding earlier. Chan is not my colleague – he’s my boyfriend. Why would I bring a colleague to a family dinner?” You laugh artificially.

Everyone is staring at you, but in Chan’s case, it’s adoringly.

You take a seat. “Cake, me love?”

He grins, ignoring the weirdness and proving once again why he is the ideal partner in crime. “I’d love some.”

~Day 22~