#but it's troubling how it's popping up Everywhere on here

[transrevolutions]

also if you want the satisfaction of punching up I can tell you from personal experience that it is much more satisfying to focus your energy on attacking those in the actual high positions in society as opposed to [other minority group that you believe has it slightly easier than your minority group]

[yieldtotemptation]

ANACHRONISM ft. Mina

mina x male reader smut

part one of strange currencies

14k words

Go ahead, try and pretend like any of this happened by accident.

Like you totally didn’t mean to charm some poor, pretty little thing; dazzle her with the wealth, the fame, the you of it all.

Have her spreading her legs for you, bunching her dress up over her thighs, serving herself up like she’s one of those ludicrously expensive banquets you frequent, pleading—

"God, I need you inside me, like, right this fucking second."

Because here’s the truth of it all, what you’ve come to realise about this woman who has never once in her entire life been reduced to something as pithy as poor or pretty or little; let alone anything short of extraordinary. This wildly successful, elegant to the point of being untouchable, and just really, really fucking gorgeous idol:

Nothing about Myoui Mina is accidental.

Even all this—her idea: showing up at your suite uninvited, leaning against the doorframe, panties hanging off her fingertips. Showing off how ridiculously drenched she is for you and how badly she wants you to do something about it.

If only these walls could talk.

“Hurry up,” she’s gritting out. Deadlocking the door behind her. Still not used to waiting for anything, apparently. “Come on, I need your cum. Anywhere you like. Just inside me. Now.”

You should be more surprised. Instead, you’re laughing. “Patience, darling.”

A step forward, pants hitting the floor, cock in hand. Running the tip of it across her folds, making it shiny with her slick, forcing this sigh from her lips.

You pause, just to make her whine. To make her give you what you really want to hear.

Mina bites her lip.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

She knows the deal.

"Please."

That word, that crack in the composure, the control that Mina is so used to maintaining everywhere else but here. It’s the thrill of it all—the challenge in the attempt. Taking someone like Mina, all perfect posture, sparkling teeth, effortless grace; and bringing her to her knees.

Figuratively speaking, mostly.

Only, her phone lights up.

You look down and see it, left abandoned on the floor somewhere in Mina’s rush to get to you. But now its glow is stark against the dark parquet, beaming with messages by the dozen. All different variations on the same question: where the fuck is she?

Her eyes flicker to the screen, then back up to yours. There's a silent conversation happening there—desire fighting with duty, lust with loyalty.

You make it easy for her.

A push is all it takes, really. Cunt yielding to your will, cock sliding into that ridiculous tightness.

She freezes.

Braces herself.

Whimpers.

“Priorities, Mina,” you grunt through it, breaching in deeper; assaulted by the heat of her cunt around you, choking each inch. “Remember, you asked for this.”

The phone keeps buzzing, panicked vibrations at your feet. Urgent messages becoming calls, flashing faces across the screen. You can see them one-by-one, see Mina’s reaction as they pop up—sighing when she sees her managers name, eyes widening when a rather flirty photo of Chaeyoung comes next, and then her entire body tensing, tightening around you at the next picture:

Her and her boyfriend, arms thrown around each other, both looking all beautiful and famous and so very much in love. The perfect couple; so picturesque it might as well have come right off a billboard.

“God, fuck,” Mina groans out, panting, breathless. “You’d think they’d—ah—just leave me alone for one—single—night—”

“Should we snap some photos? Add them all to a group chat, send them through? Let them see the look on your face and figure it out from there.” 

Mischief flashes across her eyes, mouth open to answer back with something that is no doubt clever and suggestive and designed to get you both into far more trouble than you’re already in—but she doesn’t get a word of it out.

You’re slamming into her.

Mina nearly comes apart then and there; eyes snapping shut, neck arching, back banging against the hard, unforgiving wood of the door behind her. Her lips round into this perfect ‘O’ of surprise, and this sweet, sweet needy whine comes slipping out from her throat.

And just like that, she’s all yours again. 

It’s not like the phone goes silent—it just stops mattering.

“Asshole,” she’s saying—grinning now, doing that Mina thing where she says one thing but means another, expecting you to read the underneath. Which this time is—touch me, pull me close, pin me and keep me fucking trapped while you fuck the air right out of my lungs.

“Now there’s an idea.” You’re kissing her, tongue past her lips, tasting the rush of the forbidden, the lines she’s crossing just so she can have you filling up her cunt.

And there’s all this noise—the sound of your cock thrusting into her, skin against skin, shaft into wetness; the buzzing of the phone, her cries of your name dying in your mouth.

Oh, you know it’s going to be brutal if anyone was to overhear, if you’re caught and all this gets out. The narratives that will be crafted, the cliché of it all, the sizzling hot headlines that will undoubtedly paint her, as they are wont to do, in a million different unfair ways.

Seductress. Gold-digger. Slut.

But even as you’re fucking her deep, lips marking up her skin, digging your fingers into the meat of her ass and making Mina cum so hard that all she can say is— “please, please, please,”

—you know the facts, no matter who’s begging who under the shine of the outrageously garish chandelier hanging overhead:

You're the one that chased her first.

—

(It’s incredibly fitting that this whole thing started with a celebration.)

—

Taking a step back, to months earlier, at a gala:

Where it’s becoming apparent to you, and seemingly, just you, that Mina’s the only one here that doesn’t look entirely out of place.

Or at least, she’s the only one that seems to fit amongst the grandeur; the imposing pillars and archways, the ornate cornices, the glint of gold and jade beneath the soft glow of paper lanterns, and the shadow of the palace itself, cast over the sprawling garden like a looming guardian.

The anachronism of it all is the concept, or so you’ve been told. The new, the future—your company—against the backdrop of the old, the traditional. A fusion event, meant to celebrate and honour the past right before yanking it to the future; and yet it all somehow feels so…

Boring.

The same faces, the same games; sharks in a sea of corporate sabotage and political machinations. They’ll smile for you, sing your praises to the highest heavens, do everything they can to make you remember their name—right up until the moment you show your back.

All this to say, it’s going to be very hard to last four hours without wanting to punch someone in the face just to make things slightly more interesting.

(Oh come, one and all. Throw yourselves at the feet of Korea’s youngest self-made billionaire, and hope that by some stroke of luck or misplaced charm, you might just catch a crumb from his table.

That’s what this whole exhausting circus feels like to you.)

So, when you’re about done with what seems like the hundredth round of fake laughs and vacuous pleasantries with yet another politician who’s trying to sell you on the importance of family, and coincidentally, his very marriageable daughter, you make your escape.

Something about needing a drink.

Ease out of the circle, let the noise of the gala swallow you up like you were never there, and navigate across the garden to the bar.

Where you find her.

Mina, something of an anachronism herself; looking more at home amongst the pagodas and the cherry blossoms than in the company of suits and ties and plastic smiles. Like she’s been painted onto the scene; rendered in living colour—stark white, midnight black, blue silk. Or cobalt. Maybe azure.

You’ll have to reserve some time later to ask her about the colour of her dress.  

What’s important is that she’s alone, which seems like a crime in and of itself, on account of, well, how fucking breathtaking she is. Add that she’s here at all, and it all amounts to some kind of serendipitous miracle.

(An idol, a celebrity, willingly spending her free time in the company of the elitist dregs of society? The world's gone mad.)

You don’t really need an excuse to join her; you know her, technically. Not intimately, but in that same way that everyone in this high society tapestry is threaded together. An award show here, a charity function there—the kind of acquaintance that lets you say hello without raising eyebrows, but not much more.

All this to say it makes some sense to slide yourself onto the barstool to her right, ignoring that the rest are completely unoccupied.

The smile that Mina gives you as you approach is a little sharper than it needs to be, a little too knowing.

“You’re not going to ask if this seat’s taken?”

You return the smile, a mirror image of hers, and lean onto the bar. You don’t even need to look at the bartender; your drink is in your hand, cold and crisp, the second you set it down. “I thought I’d risk it.”

“Neat trick,” Mina says, posting her chin on one hand, watching the sleek liquid slide down your throat. She’s got a flute of champagne in front of her, untouched.

There’s a gravity to her, you’re realising only when you’re this close. Something in the way the moonlight's kissing her skin, a blend of porcelain and peaches, glowing. Maybe that’s why she’s been left alone; the other guests were smart enough not to get swallowed up in it all. Better to appreciate at a distance than to drown in it.

She regards you for a beat, runs a finger around the rim of her glass. "Shouldn't you be off being the centre of attention somewhere? Shaking hands, kissing babies, that whole bag?”

“Nah," you’re dismissive, looking back out to the crowd milling about, lost in their own conversations and power plays. "This whole thing's more for them than it is for me."

Mina scoffs. Raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. You follow her eyes—across the banners, the placards, the giant projection cast onto the palace itself.

A brushstroke circle—the logo you designed—swirling around, stamping itself on what was once a symbol of absolute power, now reduced to just another stage for the rich and the elite and all their insignificant little games.

You feel the need to clarify. “For the company.”

Mina ripostes. “That just so happens to be named after you.”

“Just one of those funny coincidences.”

“Apparently so.”

It does occur to you that it should be somewhat startling how instantly familiar you feel around Mina. Slipping into casual conversation—light jabs, coded compliments; all soaked in insinuation. Just enough edge and implication to keep you on your toes.

There's an ease to her, to how she smiles, how she laughs, how she just sits there, all drop-dead gorgeous and oh, this? Nothing special, just how I always am.

So it’s only natural that somewhere in all this easy banter, between your third drink and her second, her hand lands on your forearm, your knee brushes against hers and you both decide to stop being so subtle.

You pick your moment, as she’s thumbing through a menu of drinks she’s already deciding she doesn’t want, to try to solve the mystery of her. Past the red of her lips, the edge of her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Along the neckline of her dress, where the silk clings like it’s afraid of letting go, and down to where it dips and angles out; the open shoulder, the collarbone, the swell underneath.

It’s the sum of it all, you’re realising. The dress, the look, the woman.

(Accentuate without revealing. Tease without giving away the prize. Show off that flawless ass and dare the world not to look. And yeah, they fucking look. They all do.

You’re just the only one that doesn’t look away when you're caught.)

But now, you could reach out and touch her; unlatch the straps of her heels, run your fingers from her ankle up, up over the smooth expanse of her calf, her knee, the bare skin of her thigh right where her dress decides to daringly split, and underneath, until your hand is filled with the heat of her and all she knows is you.

You could complete her. Or she, you, you think.

Only, there’s a slight misstep in an otherwise immaculate ensemble.

A necklace.

A ridiculous, ugly, tacky thing. Hanging off her like a misplaced jewel on a swan; more ‘costume party’ than ‘refined modern gala’. Fighting the simplicity of her gown, offensively jarring, especially against the serenity of the moonlit garden.

Mina notices you staring. “A gift.”

“Boyfriend,” you realise, doing the math in your head. A careless present, given by someone who doesn’t know (or doesn’t care to know) her. Hoping the flash, the dollars spent overshadows the unfamiliarity.

(It doesn’t.)

“Partner,” Mina confirms. There’s a slight dip at the corner of her mouth, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of something unpleasant. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you caught it. “A little too old to have a boyfriend.”

“Hm.” You click your tongue. Narrow your eyes. You’ve been told that it makes you appear disarming. “And where is this partner?”

Mina’s smile returns. She takes her first sip of champagne. “You tell me. Don’t you sign off on all the invites?”

“Just the important ones.”

“Even so, not like he would have come if he was invited.” Mina leaves you to fill in the gaps. “A tad too public. For the both of us, really.”

“I see.”

And you do. You’ve seen your fair share of these types of arrangements, participated in a few, even. At the beginning, the secret of it all, the cloak and dagger; it’s exhilarating. But that only lasts so long. Eventually, like all things, it fades. Leaving you with someone who you don’t really see, who you don’t even know, and the sinking realisation that maybe the thrill was the only thing that kept it interesting. 

“So,” you lean forward, drawing your conclusion. “You’re here. All alone. Stuck in a relationship with someone dumb enough to let you go out looking like that.”

“Careful.”

“It’s just,” you offer, your gaze lingering on her throat, “You don’t strike me as the type to settle for anything less than you deserve, Mina.”

That makes Mina pause. Almost flinch. Imperceptibly if you weren’t looking so closely at her lips. The sound of her name rolling off your tongue, like it's always been there, waiting to escape—it has her reeling.

And yet, somehow, she recovers.

“Because you know me so well.”

So, you switch up, throw a curveball. “Is it the sex?”

To her credit, Mina barely reacts to that provocation, as if she was expecting the follow up. Just takes another sip of her champagne with a grace that seems rehearsed. You’ll have to try harder.

She shrugs a bare shoulder.

"Sex is just sex. It’s not everything."

“So, no sex at all, then.”

Mina’s smile is like a knife’s edge. “Are you always this forward?”

“All I’m saying,” you keep going, somewhat emboldened by the game, by the warmth of the whiskey poisoning your kidneys. “If it was me—”

Mina’s hand slides up your forearm, ending somewhere around your triceps. You’re close. Close enough to inhale her perfume; cinnamon, smoke, darker than anticipated. You’d fill your lungs with it, if you could. “If it was you.”

You take another drink. She watches.

And it clicks into place. What this really is. What she’s really doing here.

The slight tilt of her shoulder, a slip of her dress—just a fraction. A shift in her seat and suddenly, the silk has risen, too high, and there’s a stretch of skin leading up to a flash of lace that’s more moonlit than the night itself.

The suspicion sets in. Was she waiting for you?

Mina laughs.

You ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” Mina says, lowly. Grinning, like she’s reading your mind. “How even you’re the same.”

“How so?”

“All you men. How you see me, how you’re looking at me right now.” She reaches up to her neck, taps the clunky stone hovering over her throat. Once. Twice. “Making it about you. You think I need saving.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Open once more to protest—

“That’s what you think.” Mina interrupts, smirks; and your eyes are on her lips, wondering if anyone would be able to pull you off them if you were so lucky enough to taste them. “What you want is to own me.”

“Mina,” you regard her, openly. Honestly. “I could never dream of owning you.”

She nods back towards your logo, emblazoned across the castle walls. “Because you’re clearly not the type of person that likes owning things.”

And there’s a realisation here, as she’s staring into your eyes—a real, actual, bone-deep revelation—that she's been doing the same thing as you this whole time. Reading you, until she's seeing through you.

The silence stretches, thick and sweet , and it’s obvious to see where this is heading. The idea that’s being sparked—lean in, kiss her right here, right now, with all these eyes on you. Kiss that smirk right off her face, steal whatever clever rebuttals she’s composing from her lips, the flirtations that she’s left hanging in the air. Replace them all with your name.

But it’s all hypothetical, for now.

“You’re not even thinking past right now, are you?” Mina asks, amused. "The rumours you've started just by sitting next to me."

"Rumours."

"The kind that ruins careers. That never leave. That would make him want to kill you if he found out."

Another sip, letting it burn down your throat. Think about it. Attack it from every angle—

(Doesn’t it just make sense; the billionaire, and his beautiful celebrity partner? Or even if there was a scandal, just a one-night fling; wouldn’t it be worth it?

You could both live off the thrill alone, it’d reignite whatever embers her boyfriend hasn’t stomped out yet.)

“Maybe I want the rumours.”

Mina’s eyes widen. It’s the first time she’s dropped her guard.

“If you were mine,” you start, and stop immediately, reining in that last word on the tip of your tongue. “If you were my girlfriend, partner, whatever label you want to put on it. I’d tell the whole damn world. Broadcast it on every channel. Make sure everyone knows exactly who I’m fucking every single morning, afternoon, night.”

You’re hitting the mark of something, you can tell, because Mina’s hand tightens around your arm, and she doesn't seem to mind when yours lands on her thigh. A flash; the thought of spreading them, of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Or flipped over in front of you, crumpling that dress around her waist, so you can take proper purchase of that ass that’s been hinted at all night long.

And all of a sudden, she doesn't seem to be as spoken for as she might have led you to believe.

She bites her lip. Keeps it there for a second, two, before letting it go.

“So, this is what you usually say to all the pretty girls you invite to these parties?”

The alcohol’s loosened your tongue enough to state truths you’re supposed to keep to yourself. “I usually don’t have to say anything at all.”

Mina challenges. “Must be nice, being this rich, cute, and charming.”

“The being rich part does a lot of the hard work.”

“So, the cuteness and the charm?”

“I’ll let you decide,” you finish, watching her smile spread, the corners of her eyes crinkle. It makes your chest tighten.

“I suppose, in your perfect world,” Mina surmises, and now she’s so close that your knee is splitting the difference between her thighs, and you’re already planning the logistics of it all—the where, the how— “this ends with you fucking my brains out behind one of these old houses.”

“I’ve got a few in mind.”

“I bet.” Mina takes one last pull of her drink, empties it, and sets it back down. “And afterwards? After you’ve made me forget my own name and made the entirety of my existence revolve around your cock—what’s your plan then? Who are we—who are you going to be?"

You finish off your own glass, setting it down with the same deliberate clink as hers. “You know, the funny thing about money is," you say, sliding your fingers up her thigh, higher, higher. "It can make you whoever you want to be. So, the real question is—who do you want me to be?"

You’re holding your breath as she answers: “Not some knight in shining armour. I don’t need a saviour. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what do you need?”

Mina inches, gets close, and now her breath’s a tickle on the shell of your ear. She bites. “Just someone to help me scratch an itch.”

There’s a moment, somewhere before Mina threads her fingers through yours, lets you lead her through the throngs of guests and into the shadows of the palace; where all of this—this want, this need, boils over. Where Mina kisses your cheek and warns:

“You don’t have the time for me.”

Now it’s your turn to grin; reaching up to her throat, slipping that necklace off her, leaving it to clatter onto the granite below never to be spoken of again.

“Maybe. But I can make every second count.”

—

This is how you end up:

Pinning Mina to some ancient wall; the moon’s spotlight spilling over the contours of her body, a hand tangled in her hair, the other pushing her dress higher up her thighs.

You weren’t lying, you did have a place in mind. Namely, by the west gate, where a house that used to be the servant’s quarters stood. It’s a part of the palace that’s been neglected in the reconstruction, and thus, ironically, the most authentic part of this whole sham.

A true hideaway for those not to be seen or heard; a building that’s seen centuries of service, of lives lived in the shadow of royalty, and now it’s going to bear witness to this, to you and Mina, undoing each other with every passing second.

Something a little sacred, a whole lot profane.

She’s smiling against your lips; a smirk, more likely. Because she’s new to this kind of thing—the almost romantic picture the two of you are painting—chaste kisses stolen in quiet corners of royal residences. The kind of thing that could fuel a dozen dramas.

But you both know better.

So, you let her start things off, let her set the pace for this evening's affairs. And Mina, to her credit, is gracious enough to tell you exactly what she wants.

(Kiss me harder, touch me here, please, please, don't let go.)

Twisting the lapels of your jacket in her hand, desperately pulling you closer, even though there's no more room left. Kissing you with longing. Making you believe that she's missed this—missed you—despite the fact that you've only just officially met. And sure, it's a lie, but it's a lie that feels so good, so right, that you’re willing to indulge her.

Indulge yourself.

Your lips veer off the corner of her mouth, ignoring the tongue and teeth that try to keep you there, the hand that kindly urges you to not stop kissing her.

Because you’ve got a ticking clock in the back of your mind, counting down the seconds before someone calls you or her away, or more problematically, catches you and her, a heap of limbs and lust and fucking in the dusty archives of history.

You break away, keep things moving, kiss your way along her neck, feel her heartbeat drum against your lips. Follow her neckline down, down; find this sweet little spot, a darkened freckle right on top of her collarbone that makes her sigh.

“Tell me something, honestly.” Mina finds her voice the same time your fingers meet the promised lace of her underwear, turning her words into these breathless moans. “How often do you do this?”

You tug the fabric pooling at her waist—once, firmly—and Mina’s dress slips from her shoulders, whispering down her arms and leaving her in nothing but flawless white and a strapless bra that matches the silk in hue. 

You smile, look up. “This?”

Mina clarifies, "Whisk some innocent girl away into a deserted corner and—"

She’s cut off by the click-clack of her bra releasing behind her back, your fingers slipping beneath the cotton, and you’re filling your hand with the swell of her breast; so soft, so perfect.

The sound when you touch her and she gasps; if only you could capture, keep it forever. You’ll just have to make sure she keeps making it—kneading gently, rolling the pebbled peak of her nipple between your thumb and forefinger, feeling it bead and tighten.

Your lips to her shoulder, you ask, “And what?”

Mina sighs, “fuck her completely, thoroughly senseless,” and you swear there’s something revelatory about how she says it—sinful ideas from saintly lips.

"Honestly?" You pause, your gaze lingering on the goosebumps rising across her skin. "You're the first."

Her laughter's a surprise; it's light, disbelieving. "First?"

"First tonight."

Mina's smile widens, her grip on your jacket tightens. "You're so full of shit," she says, but there's no malice in it. Just the thrill of the hunt. Or, being hunted.

You don’t bother to argue the point; let her think what she wants. Instead, you lean into it (into her), let your other hand snake around her thigh, over the elastic of her panties and lower, until you’re palming the curve of her ass.

Firm, taut, flawless—because of course it is; exactly like the rest of her. She’s so hot under your touch; the softness, the smoothness of it. And you know—without a doubt—you’re going to worship this ass.

A squeeze for good measure—balancing the fine line of respect and greed. Mina yelps—surprise, pleasure.

“God,” Mina shudders, does her best under the assault of your lips on her neck, fingers pinching, tugging, hand squeezing. "You're—oh, you're not so bad at this."

You press a kiss to her throat. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Miss Myoui.”

“Please, not with the government names,” Mina hisses, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matches the glow of the lanterns outside.

“Apologies.” You chuckle, slipping your hand underneath the band of her panties, and around—down—pressing against her and sinking lower until you’ve got a proper hold of her. Soaking wet and dripping heat onto your fingertips.

A cry from her lips. A shiver. A buck of her hips.

Her hands shoot to your chest.

“Please, kiss me again.”

You oblige—how could you not, with the way she’s begging?

Her nails dig into your shirt, her breath hitches as you push your finger—your index—past her entrance and inside, and just before she can moan your name into the night air, you’re filling her mouth with your tongue, licking inside.

You kiss her like it’s your first kiss, like it’s your last. Like the only way to calm her down is with your mouth and your tongue and your teeth. She’s so wet and tight and pulsing around you, she’s trying to suck you in; and fuck, when you’re knuckle-deep she bites down on your lip so hard she nearly draws blood.

The moans that she's filling your mouth with; this symphony of want sends a jolt of pure, unfiltered desire straight to your cock. You're straining—against your trousers, against her thigh, straining against the urge to rip that dress off her and leave her bare, but you're not there yet.

It's about her, about needing her, making her beg for it. Making her so desperate that she'll do just about anything to get you inside her.

(Because there’s something about her, about Mina, that just makes you want to take your time. To learn the ins and outs of what makes her tick. The secret spots that make her moan into your mouth, the places to touch that make her shiver, the sighs and sounds that only you can coax out of her.

It’s etched into every line of her body; every curve and sharp edge—just pure heat from head to toe; And there’s a beauty so absolute in her perfection, the dash of makeup, the careful draping of her hair, it’s too good not to ruin. To not want to leave your mark on her in some way so that everyone knows she was once yours, if only for a night.)

“You’re just so needy, Mina.” You hum into her jaw, when your lips slip from hers and you struggle to resist the urge to leave these marks on her. Her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Every part of her that she’s offered to you, every part you’re eager to claim. “Like it’s been ages since someone’s touched you like this.”

“I don’t—please—” is all Mina can manage, because the pad of your thumb is ghosting over her clit, pressing in and circling, and the way her pitch rises and she sighs your name gives you your answer:

It’s been a while.

“I don’t think—gah—” She tries agin, but you torture her with another finger, stretching inside her, sinking in and curling upwards. “I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this.”

“Good,” you tell her, and she shivers when your voice rumbles through her, when you drop down and your lips go low again, and you take one of her stiff peaks between your teeth. “I don’t settle for second place.”

“Neither do—God—I—” Mina braces herself against the wall behind her, failing to find anything but cold brick to hold onto as you map out the rest of her with your hands and your fingers and your lips.

She’s so, so hot for you; you would’ve never predicted it, not in your wildest estimations. Never thought just how easy it would be to undo someone so poised and put-together like Mina, to render her into this puddle of need.

“So why don’t you show me then,” Mina breathes, voice trembling as much as she is. You suck deep, swirl your tongue, make her arch her back to push more of herself into you. “What all the—oh my—what all the fuss is about."

“As you wish, darling.”

And there’s part of you that’s recognising the awfulness of what you’re doing, taking something—someone—that’s not yours, and having her tell you all these things, finger fucking these words of oblivion from her lips, touch me, please I need it, kiss me harder, more, more, make me feel it, make me feel you.

But even that part of you is so, so small right now, buried deep down with everything that isn’t Mina, with everything that isn’t her pussy clenching around your hand, or the taste of tits on your tongue.

Ignore all thoughts of the after, of what happens when you’ve made her cum again and again, and you’ve wrecked yourself in the pursuit of it all. What happens when you return to the throngs of nobodies, all rumpled and flushed and red, and the whispers start flying, and the glances are no longer just knowing but shamelessly envious.

That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, you’ve nearly stripped her entirely, pressed up against a wall that’s seen more than its fair share of secrets, and your two—now three—fingers are ruining her in a way that has her dancing on that borderline.

“I’m close, so close,” Mina cries, but you already know.

Because you’re already giving it to her; everything she wants and then some. Touching her, fucking her with your fingers, pushing her higher, watching her unravel.

Making her whine against your skin, making her eyes squeeze shut like she’s afraid of what’s happening, afraid of how much she wants this.

“We’re only just getting started, Mina.”

You let her nipple pop out from your mouth, leaving it to bob in the cool night air, sensitive and dying to be back between your teeth. Hand shifts from her hip, sliding up to cradle her jaw, to tip her face back—force those deep, dark eyes to open so you can really look at her.

Panting, pupils blown wide, and the sight of her so undone sends another wave of heat straight to your cock.

“Look at me.” It comes out harsher, more of a firm command than intended. It does its job. “You're going to cum now.”

She nods, frantically, eyes locked on yours as your thumb traces over her bottom lip, feeling it plump and swollen from your kisses. Her tongue darts out, swipes over the pad, tasting herself and you; and you’re thinking about filling that mouth of hers, or maybe that cunt, or if she’s game, that tight, untouched little asshole.

But one thing at a time.

“I’m going to eat your pussy,” you’re saying everything you’ve dreamt of saying to her since you first saw her, first caught sight of that ass daring to wander past your line of sight; and suddenly, every raw, filthy thought you’ve had of her is coming to the surface. “Then I’m going to fuck you. Again and again. Your cunt, your mouth. That ass. I’m going to take it all. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you, darling?”

Mina breathes, nods, signing a verbal contract to let you do whatever the fuck you want with her, promising you all of her, every part of her you’ve so shamelessly craved.

“Good.”   

And so, you drop to your knees.

You glance up at her. She looks down at you.

Like she’s been burning for this; like she’ll combust if you make her wait a second longer.

Pushing her dress up until it's around her waist, keeping it up with your hands on her thighs, spreading her legs wider. And you’re seeing her pussy, the darkened, plump flesh—bare, wet, begging—and so, so pretty.

Fuck—what kind of guy could resist this?

(The kind that buys her jewellery without knowing the first thing about her. The kind that leaves her to sit alone at a gala like a trophy on a shelf. The kind that doesn’t get to taste her—doesn’t know how.

The kind that’s not you.

And maybe she was right—you do think you could save her.)

“What are you doing?” Mina huffs, impatient.

You smirk, unable to resist the urge to drag this out, to keep her on edge a little longer. "Just appreciating."

Mina's eyes narrow, but the smile never leaves her lips. "Well, appreciate faster."

You don’t need to be told twice.

Take her by the hips, spin her around, make her inhale—sharp. Force her to look away from you, to face the cold, indifferent wall, to brace herself.

“Wait, why—”

“Hold your dress up for me,” you mumble against her thighs.

Mina’s hands obey, holding the silk out of the way; and now she’s bent over, like a fucking present. Letting your eyes drink in her ass; unable to do anything but just stare.

How the moonlight kisses the curve, makes the shadows play against it. So perfect. So round and tight and full. Fruit so ripe you could pluck it from the tree with your teeth.

You’re leaning in, kissing the top of her thighs, right below where her cheeks spill over. Kissing up, a soft press of your lips to one cheek, the other, and fuck Mina’s trembling; barely holding it together, and you’re just getting started.

You drag your nose up, across the cotton of her panties and inhale her deep. Sweet and musky, a fine wine that’s been left to breathe, and she squirms.

Shivers under your breath.

And when Mina sighs something that sounds suspiciously like a warning—because she’s not the type to let you get away with anything like this so easily—you take the band of her underwear with your teeth, feeling the fabric stretch. Thin, delicate, begging to snap.

The panties fall away, down to her ankles. The sound of her heels tapping the ground as she lifts her legs to let it slide off, leaving her bare, vulnerable, and yours.

Mina goes still.

Hands spread her cheeks, and finally, you dive in, tongue first. Swipe along the crevice of her ass, taste the sweetness of her from bottom to top, forcing this gasp from her lips. You’re not shy about it—no room for anything close to it when your nose is pressed up against her asshole—and Mina’s thighs are trembling, muscles in her legs tightening like she’s trying to run away from what’s coming next.

But she won’t. You’ve got her pinned. You’ve got her right where she wants to be.

You flatten your tongue against her pussy, lick from cunt to asshole in one, long slow drag, make her sigh your name like it’s a prayer.

“I can’t believe—I never—no one’s ever—” She’s talking, trying to keep it together, trying to rationalise how something so filthy is making her fall apart in a million different, tremendous ways. But the words break off into moans, pure music to your ears.

“Like that?” You murmur against her skin, words disappearing into her.

“Oh my god, yes,” Mina cries out, a benediction. Her grip tightens on her dress, holding it up like a veil. A fucked-up kind of thing, marrying her cunt to your lips; arousal so potent you’re drowning it.

Because she’s a wreck, been a wreck since the moment you laid a hand on her. And now you just have to keep her there.

You let your tongue slide up and down her slit, teasing the folds, going lower, spreading her legs to lap up her clit until she’s begging for it—until she’s begging for you to push inside, to fuck her with it, to make her scream.

"Enjoy it, enjoy being so messy for me.”

"Oh—oh my God!" Mina cries out as you delve into her, and the sound echoes down empty corridors, bouncing off the walls, taking a grand tour of the palace. “I can’t believe—can’t fucking believe—"

You can't believe it either. That no one else has had the pleasure of tasting, of licking, of dining on this slice of Eden laid out before you. It's a crime against nature, really. A sin that you're more than happy to rectify.

"Fuck, you're so good," Mina voice is strained, her legs buckling under the weight of her own desire, she needs to post one hand onto the wall to not completely collapse into your mouth.

A dark chuckle escapes your lips. Feeling smug and utterly in control. "It's not rocket science, darling. Just a little bit of appreciation goes a long way."

But you're not just tonguing her ass because it’s there, because it’s what you’re into. You’re doing it because it’s driving her wild, because you know it’s a button that’s been left untouched, unexplored. And there’s something about being the first to do it that makes your cock throb, makes you want to worship not just her ass, but all of her.

Every part of her that's been neglected, overlooked, ignored.

"You have no idea," she breathes, her legs trembling harder now, "How good it feels."

You lean back, just a fraction, looking up at her, the tension coiling up her spine. "Oh, darling," you say, "I do. Believe me, I do."

A kiss into the small of her back, and you slide your finger back into her, once at first. So impossibly wet, stretching so easily for you, welcoming you right back in.

It’s all for you.

And you can’t get enough, so you add another, then another, stretching her even more, making her drench you and moan for you louder and louder.

You’ve figured it out. How to fuck her, lick her, press into her cunt just right. Finding the rhythm, that makes her breath skip and her body tense, that makes her pussy clamp down around your digits.

“Oh, God, oh, oh, oh—yes—right there—right there—” She’s panting, her hips jerking back, meeting every thrust of your fingers and your tongue.

You’re so close to making her cum—so close that you can almost taste it on the air—and she’s begging for it, so sweetly, so desperately.

“Please, please, don’t stop, I’m right there—” Mina’s hand reaches back, tangling in your hair, and she’s pulling you closer, grinding herself against your mouth.

Bury your face between her cheeks, fuck her fast with your fingers. It’s heaven down in the depths of hell; her thighs, her cheeks, her cunt, her ass. So soft, so wet, so very yours.

That whimper, that beautiful sigh that escapes Mina’s lips is her final invitation. You push your tongue inside her, opening it up, feeling the tightness, the warmth. The shock coursing through her as she surrenders to the unspeakable filth and bliss of your mouth on her asshole.

So tight, so clean, so delicious.

You lick and suck and kiss, fucking her with your fingers, pressing into her, exploring the depths of that tight little hole.

"This is, this is—” her voice strains, wonder, desperation, downright heat at what you’re doing to her. "No one’s ever done this to me. Keep eating my ass, please."

It’s her words that keeps you going, and it all becomes a blur of moans and shivers, of the way she tastes, smells, feels. But you don’t stop, you can’t, all you want to do is make that tight ring of muscle yours.

“Please let me cum. Now. Please. I need it—I need you—”

She needs you to never stop.

You take her, right there in the moonlit garden, hidden by the shadows and the foliage and the silk of her dress. You can almost feel the vibrations of her voice in your mouth, against your tongue, like it’s a part of her, like she’s speaking straight into your soul with every moan and gasp and plea.

The squelch of your fingers fucking her. Her cunt griping you, being devoured. Your tongue invading her ass. The way you’re ruining her for everyone else. Her cries.

She’s so loud.

It doesn’t matter.

The whispers of the gala seem so far away, so irrelevant. It’s all about Mina and her ass and your three fingers sawing in and out of her and she’s saying—

“God, fuck, how can you do this, how can you make me—fuck—"

The answer to her unfinished question: it’s because she’s worth it. It’s because of her, how she makes you want to prove yourself. Because of her hips and her thighs and her cunt and her ass and all of her, every single part.

And that’s your name on her breath, that’s your name when she’s close, that’s your name when she finally tips over, when her legs give way and she’s gasping it into the night.

“Oh my—”

Mina cums.

You swallow.

Drink your fill from her cunt, fill up your nose with her scent. Burn the memory of what it’s like to have your face buried in her ass and have her leaking down your chin. It’s a full body spasm that wracks through her, setting her soul on fire. She’s a star, a supernova, a fucking explosion on your tongue.

Her walls pulse around your fingers, squeezing, clenching, and you give it to her, keep fucking her through it, keep licking, because she’s still there, still hovering.

It overwhelms her—she lets it—you feel her body tighten, quiver, then release like a bowstring snapped.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please—yes, like that—right—right there—yes—yes—yes—”

A chant of yeses right before falling off a cliff and into an oh fuck, I’m cumming.

And you’re right there, knees in the dirt, smiling against her cheeks, holding onto her hips, making sure she doesn’t collapse entirely.

And fuck, she goes, and goes and goes.

Until the ground falls beneath her feet.

You’re there to catch her, to ease her down to the ground with you, hold her in your arms until her world stops spinning.

It takes a moment, two.

And she looks up at you, like she’s unsure of how she got there, in this tangle of sighs and limbs and you. But it doesn’t really matter because she pulls you closer, hand still buried in your hair, needing to kiss you just one more time.

Her taste lingers on your tongue—sweet and salty and so uniquely her. She kisses you again, a little less frantic this time. A little more like she means it.

It’s hard not to feel anything but pride.

Mina’s cheek is pressed to your chest, her eyes barely able to focus, her breaths coming in quiet, contented puffs.

And you’re coming to realise what kind of woman Mina is. Even now, when she should be an unrepairable mess—sprawled out on the cool floor with her dress in a puddle around her, her pussy still pulsing and leaking down her thighs—there’s this poise to her that’s downright intimidating.

She breathes, “You’re just a fantasy, aren’t you?” It feels like a warm hand sliding down your spine.

You lean down, kiss her forehead, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

And then your emergency line rings.

Mina inclines her head. A spell is broken. “Well, that’s timing for you.”

You instantly regret the next words that come out of your mouth, the rational words that have never sounded more irrational. “I need to go.”

Mina’s far too polite, far too graceful to say what she wants to say, what you’re pleading her in your mind to say. But she knows the game. You both do.

She just nods, rewards herself with a peek at the tent angrily poking underneath your slacks.

“It’s fine,” she says. (It’s not). She reaches up to your lips, running a thumb over the gloss she’s stained you with. “I think I can handle it from here.”

Her other hand slips down to your thigh, gives you a courtesy squeeze as a farewell, and it’s all you can do not to jump. But you can’t, because the phone’s still ringing, because at the end of the day you’re still a billionaire with responsibilities and a reputation to uphold.

She’s kind of enough to give you an out. “You’re supposed to be giving a speech, right?”

Said responsibility and reputation has you answering, “Yeah.”

You’re stupid for it, stupid for even entertaining the idea of letting her go, or leaving her behind. But you’re not completely blameless—it’s near impossible to even think straight when all the blood in your body has gone south for the evening.  

“Are you going to be okay with,” Mina blinks down at you. “Your situation?”

It’s painful to even say it. “I guess I’ll have to be.”

Mina sits up, pulls herself off you, untangling her legs with a grace that seems almost otherworldly.  Pulls her panties back up, tucks them into place with a little shiver. Smooths her dress down, twisting it back into a more dignified state.

You’re already regretting letting her leave before she’s even gone.

But the messages have piled up on your phone, and Mina can see it all, the endless frantic texts, the missed calls.

You’re late.

You’re needed.

The world’s waiting.

Mina reads your face, and you can’t tell if she’s impressed or disappointed. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”

You stand up, help her to her feet, because that’s what you do—you take care of your own messes. She’s still smiling at you, and you want to tell her how much you wish you could stay.

“It’s okay,” is all she says, as you push your own shirt back in the waistband of your pants and slick your hair down.

She’s redoing her own hair, trying to fix it into something presentable. Something less ‘I’ve been fucked raw against a brick wall’ and more ‘gee, quite a strong wind tonight’.

“I knew from the jump you didn’t have the time.”

You’re blurting out, “I can make more.”

“Not even money can buy that.”

Your phone rings again.

Mina’s eyes follow the screen, the glow lighting up her face. Ethereal. Yeah, that's the word for how she looks. You've never been sure of the definition but you're certain it fits.

And when she stands on her toes to kiss your cheek, to bid you farewell, she holds onto your shoulder long enough to whisper her address in your ear. “I’ll be waiting. If you can get away.”

“Why don’t I just come with you now?”

She laughs—but it’s empty, almost a little sad. “Because, you have a job to do, and I have an appearance to keep up. And unlike you, I’m not quite sure I’m ready to broadcast to the whole world who I’m fucking. Or who I’m going to fuck. If he’s not late, that is.”

And with a quiet breath, she’s gone.

A ghost in the moonlight, slipping away like she’s been painted out of existence, leaving you with the memory of her on your mouth and the ache she’s leaving in your cock.

You turn back to the gala.

The air feels somewhat colder.

—

The rest of the evening goes far, far too slowly for your liking.

While your absence has been noted, the whispers and glances are more curious than concerned. They don't know where you've been, and one of your assistants is kind enough to fetch you a new shirt to replace the one that's smudged with lipstick and makeup and Mina, before any real juicy rumours can start.

You try, and fail, to get things moving as quickly as possible:

(A business rival pulls you aside to congratulate you on the recent product launch—You're just thinking about Mina's ass.

A board member sings your praises about last quarter’s earnings, how you're really sticking it to those idiots that forecasted a downturn—You're only thinking about sticking it between Mina's thighs.

A reporter that sneaked in wants to know if you're planning another acquisition so soon after the last one—Yes, you're going to acquire Mina; find somewhere far away from here with another wall to pin her against and make her scream and ache all over for you.)

Thankfully, your assistant is at the ready before you can really make a scene, dragging you over to the stage and pulling you out of this shit show.

‘Just stepped away for some air’ is what you had assured her when she took the shirt off your hands, but really, there's no point trying to hide it.

She's seen that look before, that glow that you can't quite wipe off.

But she's loyal, she doesn't ask questions. Just tells you that you’re on in five, and that in the meantime, she’ll make sure the driver is ready for a quick exit.

So, you force yourself to smile, address the faces that meld together into a wall of teeth.

Make a speech that’s just a rush of words that you've recited countless times before. Innovation and growth, the future of the company, the same spiel from the annual report wrapped up in a shiny new bow.

But none of it matters. You're not even hearing yourself speak. You're hearing the echoes of Mina's moans, feeling the tremble of her thighs as you devoured her, replaying her orgasm in your mind again and again.

You can't wait to get off this fucking stage.

The second the applause dies down, you're off like a shot. The podium forgotten; the spotlight cold on your back. You grab your phone and slip out of the garden, dodging the eager hands that reach out for just a second of your time.

You find your driver waiting, just as instructed; Mina's address already punched in the navigation.

Just go, drop me off. Don't stick around. I'll call you to pick me up in the morning.

—

“It was cerulean,” is Mina’s amused answer to your admittedly idiotic question.

Not your best moment, to be fair. You raced up to her apartment so quickly that you really didn’t have anything more intelligent to say than ‘what happened to your dress?’ and ‘I wanted to know what colour it was’.

But still, show you the person living or dead that could have said anything coherent when being greeted by Mina, opening the door to her apartment—so unashamedly smug, and so very naked.

So what if you just stood there and stared?

Stared at the curves and dips, the way her hair cascades over her shoulders in inky waves, damp from a shower; making it cling to her skin, drape over her collarbone, her breasts. The nipples peeking straight at you, dusky, pointed, waiting the return of your tongue. Her pussy winking between her thighs, a treasure hidden in a sea of smooth flesh.

You don’t know whether to apologise for your lack of eloquence or thank her for being so incredibly distracting.

You kind of want to request that she turn around.

Mina laughs at what is certainly a stupid expression colouring your face; folds her arms across her chest, crosses one leg over the other. "Waiting for me to offer you a drink?"

You blink. “Thought you already gave me one.”

She scrunches her nose, answers, “I was only being polite.”

“I think we’re well past that.”

There’s that gravity again; shifting around Mina, tilting the world towards her until she’s pulling you into her apartment and you’re kicking the door closed behind you.

“Then hurry up and take me upstairs.”

—

There’s a part of you that feels like you should warn Mina when she tells you:

“Look, you’ve kept me waiting too fucking long. I need your cock, your cum inside of me. Right now. Before it’s too late and I change my mind. So, just please, please, please—”

But those kind of thoughts are lost halfway up the staircase; when you both decide that you just can't wait anymore, and your hands are back on her hips and your tongue is pushing into her throat.

Her fault, really.

Stripping you down the hallway, leaving a trail of your clothes through her kitchen; taking you by the cock. Firm, confident pumps as she leads you through her penthouse, refusing to give you a moment to breathe.

Because she’s obsessed with it. Obsessed with how it fills her hand, how it jumps at her touch, how it throbs when she squeezes it, strokes it.

“So big for me," Mina's says—to you, to herself, to your cock. "So perfectly, impossibly, big for me."

You’re never going to make it to the top.

Pressing her up against the banister, kissing her, hard. Deep, bruising kisses, because now that you’re out of the garden you don’t give a fuck if you’re leaving marks.

You just want her to remember this night, to feel it in every pulse and every breath.

Make her think of you when she’s with him, if she can even go back to him after this. Because you’ll both know that she’s yours even when she’s not.

“You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

You look into Mina’s eyes. You can see it all, how the rest of the night will play out. You and Mina, tangled in her apartment. You and Mina, on top of the kitchen island. You and Mina, against the shower walls, on the living room floor, maybe even on the balcony.

You and Mina, until the sun rises.

You kiss her harder. “Is that a request?”

“Of course it is.”

Because now you actually have the time to appreciate her, to let your hands wander.

They glide over her body, mapping it out again, but slower this time. You've had your fill of the frantic touches, the greedy need. This is something else. This is savouring.

You start with your thumb at her navel, tracing the line down to her hips, then back up against to the base of her ribcage. It’s the feel of the muscles in her stomach tensing and relaxing as you touch her, the inhale and the exhale. How ridiculously tiny her waist feels in your hand, how your palm fits so perfectly into the curve of her side that you swear she’s been tailored for you.

Mina chokes on her breath as she tells you, “You’re going to have to stop, or we’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”

You don’t even slow down. You just don’t care.

Your hand rises, higher, finds her breasts again; cupping it in your palm. A thumb rolls over her nipple.

You pinch. She gasps.

You smile into her neck. “So, so, sensitive.”

Mina’s so willing, so keen to give herself over to you, to your touch. You’ve proven yourself to her already, made her cum with just your fingers and tongue. Now it’s just a matter of doing it all over again—but slower, better, more thorough.

You palm her breasts, rolling and pinching them until they’ve been given the attention they deserve, until she’s panting through your teases and caresses. Kneading the soft flesh beneath your hand and making her arch into your touch.

“You’re really going to take your time, aren’t you?” Mina mewls, half-sigh, half-plead. Grinding herself into you, making a shimmering mess on your waist. “Going to torture me until I can’t breathe.”

“It is your fantasy.”

Pull her closer, take a handful of that perfect ass once again. It hasn’t really been that long since you last had it in your hands but it’s all you’ve had on your mind. What it looks like under proper lighting, what it feels like without the dress in the way. What kind of noises will she make when you grope, and she doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.

Press and squeeze, dig your fingers into her flesh. Not rough, but firm. Leaving little spots of red that will be gone by the morning.

Slide your finger down, down between her cheeks, and deeper, pressing into the sweet heat of her ass.

And then you feel it.

Her asshole. Wet and slick. Prepared.

A wink. A laugh. "Not my fault you're predictable."

You can’t fucking wait anymore.

She’ll just have to settle for the staircase.

Grab her by the hips—her ass, and pull her down with you onto the steps, her legs straddling you as you sit down.

Take her in—all of her. The curve of her, the line of her spine, the fucking paradise that’s her cheeks. Unbelievable.

You kiss into her back, follow down that trail right to where it swells, feeling the heat of her skin against your lips. You’re going to ruin this ass; permanently plant your flag there, mark it as property of you and your cock until she can’t take a seat without cursing your name.

Mina's shoulders tense when you pause, and she looks back over to you. There's a flash of nerves in her eyes, a gasp of "Here?" that's so faint you almost don't catch it.

Another kiss into her skin, you murmur, “Here’s perfect, Mina,” and she sighs when your finger presses against that puckered ring, cold with lubricant, made as ready as she’s ever going to be.

It’s the preparation that gets you; the idea of her in anticipation for you, for this, making sure she’s nice and primed. Mina at the store, still wearing that dress, fresh from her orgasm, buying lube. Mina in her bathroom, stripping herself bare, toying with her asshole, making it perfect for you.

And Mina, now, eyes clenched shut, breaths heavy as your digit is pushing through, slipping into her, and she’s so fucking tight around it.

“Oh my god,” she hisses through her teeth, a quiver in her legs as you push deeper into her tight channel.

Your hands shoot to her thighs to steady her, a reassuring anchor to keep her from toppling over as your finger fills her completely, twisting and turning, slowly but surely easing her into the idea of being taken.

It’s the moans that get you, the sighs as you intrude inside her. She’s so responsive, her breaths skipping and her pussy already starting to gush, coating your finger, your thighs, the steps below.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah—yes,” Mina stutters, her footing slips just so, but she catches herself on the banister. “It’s—it’s intense. So intense. But don’t stop, I can take it. I want—I want more. I need this. I need this now, before—before I take all of you inside of me."

“You want more?” You repeat her words, before giving her what she needs—adding a second finger, pressing them in deep, making sure she’s good and open. The lube helps, but it’s the eagerness that gets her most of the way there; it’s that trust that she has in you, her willingness to let you take her here, in this way.

“Yes, please,” Mina cries, doing everything she can to not collapse on top of you, to not come completely apart.

You’re merciless, adding a third finger, stretching her until she’s panting, until she’s crying out, making this noise, this hushed whimper that takes the shape of your name.

“Please, please, please,” Mina whispers to herself, pushing back against you, starting to rock back onto your hand, taking your fingers into her ass.

“Not yet, Mina, not yet,” you tell her, because even though she’s close, even though she’s begging, you want her to be absolutely fucking desperate for your cock when the moment comes. 

You reach around her with your other hand, finding that button, already swollen and begging for attention. Playing with it, gently at first, a soft pressure to help her let go, to allow herself to let her voice echo up the staircase and through the penthouse.

God, how is she this sensitive, reactive to every little touch, to every exploration of her cunt, her ass, her body.

It’s the ceremony of it all; this lurid, obscene ritual that you’re walking her through. Making her ass bounce on your hand in this hypnotic movement, making her stretch around your fingers, making her repeat your name over and over until she’s convinced herself that all of her belongs to you.

These perfect, near-silent sighs. This unbelievable tightness. Mina’s body, turning itself into a fucking playground for your touch; to do with it as you will. Even if it means ruining her.

And it’s when you have her creaming all over you; down her thighs, making a mess of herself with these pushes and pulls, these declarations of how ready she is for you, that her body shakes with one last, long shiver.

She cums.

Softly, soundlessly, another cry of your name dying on her lips. A hand to your wrist to stop you abruptly, panting.

Tiny, tiny shivers, twitches in her thighs, around your fingers, leaving her barely there, barely with you. Head hanging low, chest heaving, catching her breath, putting herself back together again.

Time stretches before she's cognisant again, and she turns back, looking over her shoulder and straight at you. Eyes half-lidded, hazy, dripping with lust, anticipation, burning with need.

Deep, heavy breaths. And then Mina says the most devastating thing:

“I’m ready. Fuck my ass. Now. Please.”

A gunshot in the quiet of her home, rumbling through your bones.

Your fingers leave her ass, her cunt with a wet pop, forcing a whine from her throat at the sudden emptiness. A look at her asshole, how it clenches and unclenches, beckoning for you to fill it, to claim it as your own.

“Good girl.”

Holding her by the hips, lining her ass with your cock, nudging her opening with your tip and making her shiver. You don’t go in immediately; you hover, giving her one last out, to really see if she’s absolutely certain.

Mina trembles. Nods. That’s all the invitation you need.

“God, I—”

You push in, slow and steady, eyes on her ass as she takes you. So fucking tight, so intense, you can feel every part of her squeezing, accommodating you, moulding itself around your girth and swallowing you whole.

“Take it slow, darling, take it slow,” you whisper into her skin, guiding her down, telling her how good she’s doing, how good she is for you, how much you love her tightness, her trust.

It seems impossible at first, the grip she has on you, like you’ll never get in. But inch by agonising inch, she takes you, and it’s nothing short of total heaven.

Mina, so fucking beautiful in this moment of raw vulnerability; all sharp inhales and strained quivers wrecking through her, voice shaky as she tells you, “I’ve never felt anything like this, I never thought—fuck—I never thought I could take anything like this.”

“You’re doing so good,” you kiss your words into her, wrapping your arms around her, holding her.

“I can—I can do better,” she gasps, and you believe her.

But you still go slow, so painfully slow, even though every fibre of your being is screaming at you to just dig into her hips and slam into that glorious fucking ass and never look back.

“I can take it,” Mina breathes, “Do it, I can take it. I want all of you. In my ass. I can handle it.”

Mina nods, clenches her ass, her cheeks firming up around your throbbing cock.

“I want it to hurt so good.”

No more convincing required. You push in deeper, make her back stiffen, her muscles contract, making her cry.

It’s a dance, a delicate ballet of bodies, of breath and touch, of your cock inside Mina’s ass. Lost in it, in the feel of skin on skin, the sound of wet, needy noises that she’s making, her shudders in your arms.

Until finally, with a strangled gasp, she’s fully seated. You’re buried in her tight, hot ass, basking in the warmth of her, leaving you both winded and struggling for air.

Stillness overrides the moment, because it’s too perfect, too overwhelming, and the feeling. You need to get used to the feeling.

You break the silence first. “Mina?”

“I know. I know.”

A kiss against her neck, scraping the soft skin there. A whisper in her ear, your breath hot and ragged.

“I’m going to fuck your ass now.”

You always keep your promises.

Mina answers by leaning back into you, her hand finding yours, her nails running along your fingers as if to say, “Yes, please, now.”

Moving, so slow it’s almost painful. The drag of her ass around your cock like nothing you’ve ever felt before—like you’re sliding through warm, velvet-covered steel.

“Fuck, yes, please,” with every inch you pull out, and “Too much, so good, too fucking much,” when you push back in, deeper and deeper still.

It builds and builds, this sweet agony, each pass in her ass faster, harder, turning Mina’s cries and wails into moans of pure bliss. It takes time and long, hard fucking for her body to relax into this rhythm, letting you take her, own her.

A vision above you, sweat glistening on her back, hair matted and sticking to her shoulders, and Mina’s ass, a snug ring around your cock. You watch as your cock slides out of her, the way her ass clenches around the head, holding on for just a second before pushing all the way back down.

You can’t help but groan, “Christ,” as she moves on top of you like that. So gracefully, so beautifully, so fucking obscenely on your cock.

“Thank you—God—thank you, thank you, thank you.” Mina’s moans are pure music to your ears, she’s babbling, talking through the pain, through the pleasure. “So, so good, filling me like—fuck—never been filled up like this.”

And as you push on, push further and further until your cock is melting inside her, burning her up in every way she's ever dared to dream, you can see the smile curling onto Mina’s face. It’s pride, you’re realising. Proud of herself, proud of how she can take you, how she can handle this kind of depraved ecstasy.

“It feels so deep.”

Tearing her open. Revealing the tender, delicate core beneath the glamour, the lights, the unreal beauty that is Mina. Leaving her sobbing, pleading, whining for more, more, more.

Bouncing on you now, each more assured than the last, cries of nothing but need. Opening up to accept you fully, completely, her ass a tight fucking sleeve for you, coming down and wrapping itself around you like a searing hot second skin.

You know the truth, but you still want to hear it.

“How many?”

Mina has her answer ready: “You’re the—you’re the first.”

You grin. A smug, triumphant baring of teeth that spreads from ear to ear. “I have no fucking idea how that’s possible. How nothing has ever been up this tight, perfect little asshole.”

“Oh, there's been toys,” Mina moans, strained and shaky as you pump into her, “But you’re just the first that's real.”

“Then your boyfriend is a fucking idiot,” you growl into her ear, your hand moving to her throat, gently clasping, making her gasp, making her eyes go wide with shock, with excitement. “He doesn’t know what he has.”

“Enough about my boyfriend,” Mina's quick to answer, snapping, her head thrown back, eyes screwed shut. “Even though—even if—he wouldn’t, couldn’t dream of filling me like this. Filling me up so much that it hurts, so much that—fuck, it feels so right, so fucking right—”

“You love this, don’t you, Mina?” You ask, but all Mina can do is nod vigorously, too overrun by the fucking to form words. “Underneath it all, you’re just a dirty slut for it, aren’t you? Letting me use this pretty, tight ass like this.”

“I—” she stutters, right before confessing, “I love it.”

She slams her hips down on you, the stairs groaning with each thrust, not built to withstand this kind of punishment.

“I love that it’s you, love that you’re the first. I can’t believe it—just—I need it. I need your cock in me, so deep—I need you, I need you, I need you—so please don't stop.”

“I would never dream of stopping.”

Never.

Not when she’s begging like this, her voice hoarse and her body quaking. When she sighs and shivers every time you fuck a little faster, push a little harder, testing just how much she can take.

Tits jiggling with every thrust, cunt leaking all the way down your thighs, ass puckering and loosening.

Her whole body, yours.

Yours for the taking. Mina’s divine body, in all its sharp planes and ridged muscles, squeezing and coiling at every juncture, every penetration setting her alight.

You declare it, even though it doesn't need to be said. “Made for me.”

“Yes,” she’s nodding. Or rather, letting her head fall into one. “God yes.”

“Just been waiting for me for so long, haven’t you? Been waiting for the right cock to come along and split you in half.” You’re saying these things, these stinging words that you fuck into Mina, send shooting through her like sparks. She’s a live-wire, a fucking blackout waiting to happen.

Weeping down her thighs, choking out every whine, “Yes,” she whispers, “yes, yes, yes, been needing to be ruined. Needing it, needing you. So much, so much, so—fucking—right—”

“Fucking criminal that you had to wait,” you’re saying, loving this, so enraptured by all of it. “But I’m here now.”

Mina shivers, pussy clenches, and she just can’t stop saying, “Yours, yours, yours—”

Completely, totally yours, now.

You know it. She knows it.

It’s written in the way she takes your cock, in the way she loses herself to you, loses all semblance of composure and decorum, peels back all the carefully curated layers that make her Mina, until all there is to see and touch is the raw, unfiltered need that you’ve unleashed from underneath.

"Touch me, fuck me, take me, take my ass, I need more—"

Again, your fingers find her folds, sticky and swollen and waiting.

You touch her, press down on her clit. Circling it with the same rhythm as your hips. Striking a match in a dark room, lighting up her body in this blaze.

The noises that it all makes; the slosh of your fingers at her cunt, the squelch of your cock invading her ass, so fucking explicit, so fucking filthy. 

She’s erratic, breath catching, throat pulsing against your fingers, and she somehow, impossibly, clenches even more around you, suffocating your cock with just her tight, tight ass.

You keep that same tempo. That desperate, fucking unyielding beat that’s going to make her come, going to turn this idol, this mystery, this drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman who should belong to someone else but is now screaming proudly just how much she’s yours, into nothing but a trembling mess of whimpers and whines.

“More, fuck—oh my god, oh my fucking god—it’s so fucking good—so good—so fucking good—”

She’s reaching her peak—her voice, her body, her cunt, her ass—all of her reaching that perfect crescendo of pleasure that you’ve been orchestrating, that you’ve been waiting for.

“I’ve never—no one’s ever—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Sinking into her, making her feel like she’s being torn apart and remade with every stroke, making her feel nothing like she’s ever felt before, making her feel like nothing but your fucking whore.

So, so close, barrelling towards it now, all these tears running down her cheeks, these filthy words slipping from her lips. Coming apart in your arms, because she’s never been this filled, this complete.

“Going to—going to cum—fuck me, harder, harder—going to cum all over your cock—” Mina tells you, a warning, the last one you get before she screams, “Too good—filling me—so good—give it to me—God—I can never go back—”

She shatters. Monumentally.

Into a million tiny pieces of pleasure, each one more brilliant than the last.

Her body spasms, her ass squeezes so fucking tight around your cock that you can feel the orgasm ripping through her, up her spine, through her throat, until she’s crying out and it’s hitting your ears—

“Oh my God, I'm going to—just, say my name—please, say my name when I—”

“Mina,” you say, and she cums.

“Mina,” you repeat when her pussy floods over your hand, ass smothers your cock.

“Mina,” again when it ripples across her skin, leaves her in fits, uncontrollable quakes, consumed by pure, unfiltered joy.

You watch the whole thing—watch her scream your name, watch her shake and quiver and fall apart, right there on your cock; and you're fucking her through it all, fucking her well past it, chanting “Mina” over and over again.

You'll never forget this, never forget this sight—this woman, this star, built up and broken down just for you.

“Mine,” you bite into her ear, because now, it’s true.

Mina’s barely there, eyes glassy, hand cradling your face. But she’s able to say it, because it’s branded into every bone of her body: “Yours.”

It’s a complete disaster.

And now you're cumming.

Brand new sensations, devastation in full measure—your soul ripped from your chest, until all that’s left is this impulsive, overwhelming need to give her your all, your everything—to fill her entire existence with just you.

You drive your cock into her once more, impaling her deep, and let go.

It floods her, rushes inside her, spills and spills.

Mina can't do anything but feel it—every pulse, every spurt. She throws her head back, her mouth open in this silent plea, satisfaction painted across her face as your heat surges inside her. Her ass milks you, needy for every drop, so, so thirsty for it.

“It's—cumming inside my ass—so, so nice, keep cumming for me.”

You hold onto her, throb inside her, pump ropes into her, and there's a kiss—hot and clumsy—somewhere in the midst of it all, your mouths colliding and tongues wrapping around each other in a futile attempt to last just that little bit longer.

Getting all dizzy and spellbound, floating back down to the ground as the last waves of your climaxes start to subside, until one of you says, “Thank you,” and the other echoes it back.

You stay like that, swallowed up inside her, dripping out of her ass. Lowering one hand from her throat, rising the other from her pussy, pulling her into an embrace, keeping her as close as you can while you both try to put yourselves back together.

It’s sex that soaks the air, fills the penthouse—sweat, lube, the musk of all the evidence you're leaving behind. Intoxicating, breathing it in, setting your nerves alight, rousing your cock inside her all over again.

But Mina, she’s a stunning catastrophe, torn asunder in all the best ways. Perfection not marred, but made better. Completed. Looking up at you with wonder, with gratitude, with a smile.

You look down at her and admit it, “Perfect.”

Mina laughs out loud, “Disastrously perfect.”

“This is going to be a problem, isn’t it?”

You kiss her once more.

Mina kisses you back.

“Only if we make it one.” 

—

You think you can read her mind.

And she, yours.

It’s the only way any of this makes sense—how perfect you fit together, how well you read each other; fill each other’s needs without use of any words outside of curses and names and strangled pleas.

Printed onto your DNA, carved into your bones, these exact pathways you shape through her home and into her skin.

You do make it to the bedroom, somehow.

And then, exactly as predicted:

The shower, where Mina takes you into her mouth, gags herself around you, covers herself in your cum before letting the water wash it all away.

Then the kitchen, polishing off a bottle of wine, slurring promises into Mina’s cunt, having her rake the back of your scalp and scream the same promises back into your ears.

And finally, the living room, folding her over the couch, tumbling onto the floor with Mina, riding you so hard the neighbours below start banging on their ceiling in protest. 

It's only the balcony that goes untouched.

Maybe another time.

But that’s where it ends: sprawled across a lush rug, sticky with sweat and cum and wine, naked and bare. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the photos that line the walls and shelves—family, friends, her boyfriend. Just living in this bubble where the sun will never rise and the world outside ceases to exist.

Getting to know each other in ways few people ever do.

Tracing patterns into the small of her back, asking these questions. Is this what you always imagined you would be doing? How you thought your life would be? Does it ever actually feel enough?

Mina pokes and prods back, her nails lightly scraping against your chest, leaving half-moons in her wake. Do you think you could ever be happy? Do you ever wonder why it’s so hard for other people to keep up? Are you fucked up in all the same ways as me?

And it’s so easy to answer truthfully, to be honest, because you’re both still maintaining the façade of this just being a simple fling; a blip along the timeline of your lives.

The yours and mine of it all, all those promises you were spilling. Just callous words tossed in the throes of passion.

They didn’t mean anything real.

Because it’s not like you’re going to see each other again, not like there’s going to be a mess of emotions and consequences that will have to be dealt with in the morning after.

Eventually though, the light does slip through the curtains, the clothes come back on, and you’re kissing Mina against the doorway and thinking of a million reasons why you should stay.

"So, how long are we going to pretend that this is normal?" You broach, and it immediately feels like you’re breaking some unspoken rule. 

Mina’s keeping herself busy, hands at your shirt, buttoning it back into place, one by one. Hiding away evidence that her mouth, her lips, her teeth were ever on you.

She looks up at you. Smirks. “Fucking ‘til the break of dawn, giving each other orgasms that never quite end? Flooding each one of my holes with your cum?” 

You tilt your head. 

“I don’t know. This whole thing is… unique. Uncharted territory and all.”

“It goes without saying, but, yeah. Same for me.” You echo, “Unique.”

You reach for her, smoothing her hair back. The early morning light makes it shine like a crown of jewels. 

“Do you want it to stay that way?”

Mina considers. Leans into your hand. “You think we should make a habit out of this? I didn’t pin you for the type.”

“Neither did I, but it didn’t seem so bad when you were riding me on that couch,” you tease. “And in the shower, and on the staircase, and in the kitchen…”

She blushes, lips caught between her teeth, looking like she’s struggling to hold in a laugh. There’s this glint in her eye as her hand wanders up to your cheek, thumb hovering just shy of your mouth. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you again.

But instead, she just looks at you.

Eyes you with something close to fascination, something that makes your heart stop. And you're reading each other’s minds again, knowing you're both going to lie, going to pretend like this was just a one-night thing. Something the two of you can easily wipe your hands with and walk away from like it never even happened.

Because this really is the first time—you’ve never done anything like this before. Sure you’ve dipped your toe in the pool of commitment, paddled around in the shallow end, but you’ve never fallen for someone proper.

Never worried about what someone's going to be doing when you’re not there, never thought about whether you’d be better off sticking around to find out. 

But you have a job. A company to run.

And Mina, a career. A boyfriend. A life.

So, you don’t make plans.

You don’t even ask for her number.

You don't need to.

Deep down inside you know you’ll find her again.

For now though, you spin your bullshit: “It’s probably for the best if we don’t, though.”

“Probably.” Mina agrees, but she can hear the same ticking clock as you.

The timer that’s already started, counting down to when she’ll inevitably be undoing the same buttons, redrawing the same patchwork of red and pink across your chest, and pulling you into her home and into her; fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, in all the ways she needs, until you’re spilling out of her all over again.

 “Definitely.” Mina unlocks the front door. “For the best.”

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Housewife!reader

From the request HERE

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Such a good little wife you are to your military husband, ready to welcome him back home after he returns from deployment. This time you've even prepared a meal of all his favorites, but when Simon gets back early than expected and catches you flitting about the kitchen in nothing but his t-shirt, it isn't food that he wants.

Word Count: 6.4 k

Warnings:

Simon has gotten in earlier than either of you expected, but instead of letting you know he doesn’t call, doesn’t text. There are other thoughts on his mind that cloud his judgment and the last thing he thinks about is wasting time focusing on messing with his phone when showing up back home is infinitely better. He’s excited to be back, chomping at the bit to get back his girl as he’s been missing you something terrible. Now that he’s back on home turf, that longing to see you again is only getting worse by the second.  

You had told him your plan for today: you wanted to make his homecoming right by cooking him a nice meal for the two of you as a celebration since he’s been gone for quite a while this round. The gesture is sweet and Simon is getting hungry… the only problem is that it isn’t for food.

He reiterates to himself on the drive back about the promise that he made to you that he would be on his best behavior today. All this trouble you are going to, he wants to be sure to show his appreciation by enjoying the hard work you’ve put in to prepare a dinner of all his favorite things and he plans to keep it by not letting his yearnings get out of hand…at least that is what he hopes.

By the time he pulls up to the house he is over two hours early from when he was meant to land and his pulse is racing as he parks on the driveway. Just a short distance more and he’s back in the company he’s been craving like crazy.

His key clicks in the lock and as he opens the door to his house he is hit by the sights and sounds of familiarity that instantly put him at ease. There are reminders of you everywhere, little touches that make this a place of comfort he looks forward to coming back to after being away. It is the sound of music echoing from the kitchen that urges him to continue forward after he shuts the door quietly, hoping to catch you by surprise. He sets his gear down by the door and creeps silently through the house, the metallic clangs of pots and utensils underneath the music now becoming more prominent as he reaches the source. 

And there you are.

The pupils of those caramel brown eyes dilate as you come into view; it has been too long since the object of his desire was standing right in front of him and fuck, do you look good. He watches you transfixed on the grace of your movements, unwavering gaze following the motions of your body as you go about the kitchen popping from the stove to the countertop singing along with the song playing over the bluetooth speakers. 

This is it, this is his little piece of heaven on earth, his oasis safe from the chaos that is his daily life, his sunshine that pierces through the darkness that clouds his thoughts, and she’s wearing his t-shirt. And only his t-shirt with your panties.

How the hell can you make something so simple look like perfection? He could very well be biased because he only has ever had eyes for you, but fuck your beauty could pull off anything. 

This right here is what keeps him going, knowing that this is what he will come home to.

He pulls his phone from out of his pocket and promptly snaps a picture, wanting to capture this innocent moment of carefree beauty that you exude now that you are alone in your own little world: humming happily to yourself, flitting about the kitchen, his baggy shirt randomly clinging to different curves as you move, your hair tied back into a low ponytail. 

In that moment, looking like you do, he wants you so bad it hurts. Your figure is only a few feet away from his grasp and yet his body is aching in pain still being this far. He has to be wrapped around you and it has to be right now. Moving with haste he pulls off his mask and gloves and discards them on the ground, removing any sign of Ghost so that he cannot taint his sweet thing with the unsavory dealings of his alter ego. He can’t wait, those lips and hands have to be on you the second they can.

Just as you go to stir the pot of vegetables bubbling away on the stove, the music cuts out abruptly and a familiar pair of arms snake their way around your waist from behind, lacing themselves across the middle of your stomach. You jump, not expecting anyone to be against you, but as soon as your eyes catch that forearm full of familiar tattoos you settle. He’s home, that’s all that matters and those nerves that have been brewing inside your chest all day turn into delicious flutters as those large hands begin to roam across your body.

The old familiar curves call to him, beckoning him to travel their paths once again. Who is he to deny them? He does not even wait as his hands paw over your stomach and hips, those large, exploratory hands taking the curves of your body into their embrace over the t-shirt until his grip is so full he can’t contain any more. 

“You’re early,” you say through a smile as you settle back into him, head resting against his shoulder. 

The warmth from his breath is at the edge of your ear as he moves his face in closer while his hands wander with purpose. His lips are ghosting themselves near the delicate skin of your earlobe teasingly until he has you squirming in his arms. "Woulda called, just wanted to get home as fast as I fuckin’ could," he groans as he tightens his grip around you to cause your back to form into the contours of his taut chest. “Had a craving for somethin’ sweet.” 

Pulling up the t-shirt just enough he moves under it with those large hands, splaying them across your soft flesh around your waist, your hips, your stomach as he takes your earlobe in his teeth to nibble at it playfully until it sends shivers down your spine.

“I missed ya, baby,” he says desperately against the side of your head.

"I missed you too," you return. 

The longer he plays up under the shirt, the more your sanity wanes. His touch is ecstasy and after not having it for so long, it is hard to not immediately succumb to its bliss. He’s barely even begun and you are already falling apart; if this keeps up you’ll never finish what you have started on the stove. 

"I wish you would have called,” you say, trying to break the spell, “cause I wanted everything to be done before you got home. I’m not ready, I’m not even dressed. I wanted this to be perfect." 

His lips move from your earlobe and start just below your jaw, making the connection against your skin over and again along the line of your jugular as he descends down your neck with kisses. He pauses against the vein there as his lips pick up the thudding as it pulses under his touch. The more his mouth lingers, the quicker it gets. 

With a smile he nuzzles his nose into your skin as his nostrils fill with your scent; the fragrance fills his head and it feels like he is being consumed. “Don’t need to get dressed,” his words breeze over your neck and down your chest, “ya look perfect just like this. How could I ask for anythin’ more?”

Simon takes the spoon out of your hand and rests it on the counter so that he can turn you around to face him; that stoic military officer is yearning to look into the face of the beauty he hasn't seen in far too fucking long. Meeting your gaze for the first time in months is akin to a contact high and immediately he is out of his goddamn mind as your eyes lock to his.

You are struggling just as badly. It is always a struggle not to miss him like crazy when he’s gone and now that he is back there is so much time to make up for. And the way he looks as he stands here in front of you, hands around your hips, isn’t helping. The universe knew what they were doing when they put Simon together and even though the black around his eyes is already smugged and his crinkled blonde hair is pressed down from being under his balaclava, the sight of him still makes your stomach flip. You are transfixed and it’s getting harder to breathe.

Brown eyes trail down your features to take you all in, drinking up every gorgeous facet of your face as his hands move to cup around the sides of your head like the frame around a work of art. Those eyes that light up whenever they look at him, that sweet mouth always ready with a smile, those soft cheeks glowing whenever he touches you, all of it a unique perfection that he cannot get enough of. Finally his sight lands on your mouth and as if drawn by an overwhelming urge he is compelled to move in.

He has to kiss you; it is suddenly unbearable that he still hasn’t tasted you yet. 

Leaning into your face he gives your lips a peck to test that they still feel the same as he remembers. Pulling back, he catches the sparkle in your eyes that tells him to do that again and he is ready to oblige. Then he steals another and another at an increasing pace until his mouth smashes against yours and latches on, drawing you in as he deepens the connection. 

His tongue meets yours and shoves its way past the barrier of your lips and into the confines of your mouth as he tastes you. Everything comes flooding back all at once and he is overtaken by all that familiarity. The longer the connection lasts the more he loses himself until he is panting into you, sharing one sticky, hot bit of air as his features shape themselves around your own to make your faces become one.

The thick stubble outlining his jaw abrades the skin of your cheeks and around your lips, making your face sting, but you don't want him to pull away. Not yet, not when his lips are making your mind hazy and your limbs tremble as all that tension that has been building for days as you wait for his return bubbles over the surface. 

His desperation is showing as his dick digs itself into your upper thigh, pulsing and throbbing the harder it gets until you cannot ignore it. Each heavy breath pushes his bulky chest against yours until you can feel his rapid pulse rushing angrily through his veins as his heartbeat pounds. 

"You’re gonna be the death ‘a me," he says quietly under his breath as he cannot think of anything else to say in that moment; his mind is too absorbed in the way your kiss is like heaven and he is succumbing to the feeling of it. “I know I said I’d wait til later, but I don’t think I can, sweetheart. It’s been hell without ya.”

At this rate Simon isn’t going to make it to dinner and you’re so close to being done, but maybe there is something you can do to sate him long enough that you can get through this. With a bit of struggle you break the kiss and pull away as he desperately tries to wrangle you back in so that you have to place your hand on his chest to get him to pause.

Giving Simon’s lower lip one last quick nip you slowly lower yourself to your knees before him, your fingers lacing into the leather of his belt as you fiddle with the buckle. “Then how about I give you a little something to keep you satisfied til dinner’s over?” you suggest as you look up at him with those pretty doe-eyes. “Something to make you feel better?” 

His chest heaves up and down with each laborious breath he takes as you jump into unhooking the metal of his buckle and pulling the leather through until the belt hangs loosely around his hips. Your fingers slide down the zipper, but before you can do more his hands press yours into place along the lower portion of his pelvis so that you can’t keep undressing him.

“Ya don’t have to do this,” he mildly protests. Simon knows if you don’t stop he isn’t going to be able to either and this dinner is going to take a detour, though he can’t lie that he wants you to keep going. 

Giving you a look, he waits to see if you stand back up, but you only smile as you pull your hands back out from underneath his. “I want to do this for you, baby,” you reassure, lifting the bottom of his shirt and leaning in to kiss along the light colored patch of hair that trails down into his boxers as you finish undoing his pants. 

How in the hell is someone supposed to resist this? Simon is strong, he would not have gotten far in life if he wasn’t, but not this strong. You reach the waistband of his underwear with your lips and meet the seam with your fingers to pull them down under his ass low enough that you can release his thick, fat cock.

He is hard already, the tip swollen and angry, and the veins running through it visibly throbbing. The inside of your mouth salivates as it remembers the feeling of being stuffed with that girthy appendage. You keep the spit gathered on your tongue as you lean in and open your lips.

Taking the tip of your tongue you trace the head of his cock as your hand at the base keeps his foreskin pulled back. A breathy moan rumbles out from somewhere deep inside his chest, low and guttural as his hips buck and his ass hits into the ledge of the kitchen counter, making his belt jingle from the movement.

“Fuck,” he chokes out as his head falls back and his eyelids momentarily close. “Forgot how that pretty mouth feels ‘round me.”

He can feel a tightening around him as your lips contort into a smile, excited that you can still make that big ol boy come undone with something as simple as your mouth. Clearly he has been just as worked up as you have been for him to get home. As Simon settles back against the countertop with his palm on your cheek, his thumb lovingly strokes the corner of your full mouth as you continue on.

Your lips around him, wet and messy, suck him in until his cock reaches the threshold of your throat. Those pretty eyes of yours lift back up to look into his face, keeping contact as you choke around him, vision swimming with tears while your head bobs up and down in a steady rhythm. Your lips are bright red and swollen from his kiss, your cheeks blossoming with heated color, that lust-drunk look plastered on your face; it all makes up the gorgeous picture. The visual makes his blood pressure rise until his limbs are vibrating with the racing beats of his heart. 

The slurping sounds of your saliva-filled mouth being fucked is punctuated by sparse gags; it hasn’t been this full for a while and it’s going to take some getting used to. Still, you don’t slow your pace, even as his hips begin thrusting against your face the longer you go. It’s like you’d rather suck him off than breathe and goddamn is that a turn-on. 

Simon releases your cheek so that he can rest his hands on the counter behind him. He hasn’t had you like this in so long that it doesn’t take much to overwhelm him now. That pressure deep inside is building to its peak, drawing his body to the edge of its release with each pass of your mouth over him from as far down the base as you can reach back to the tip. His hands grip hard into the surface behind him until his knuckles turn white.

Shit, he is going to come just like he knows you want, but it is at that moment that he realizes that he doesn’t want to just take this quick blow job and be done with you until later. Simon needs you, all of you, under his touch and at his disposal right this fucking second. Suddenly he is pulling out of your mouth and situating his cock back into the confines of his pants as you stare up at him with your head tilted in confusion. 

“What’s…” you start to ask, but before the words can even leave your lips you are being pulled to your feet. He doesn’t say a word as he wipes away a bit of spittle that has dripped from the corner of your mouth, using his thumb to remove it before he kisses you full force again. 

It's too much, too strong an all consuming feeling to stop and so without warning he pulls from you and throws you over his broad shoulder to carry you out of the room in a rush. He is frantic; he needs to have you now and can’t wait to drag you all the way to the bedroom. No, it’s too far.

Scanning around him as his aroused brain tries to find the fastest solution, he spots it. The dining table that you’ve set special for tonight is just a few feet away and he instantly brings you over to it. Dishes clank and clatter, ceramic and glass hitting itself as he hurriedly shoves everything out of his way to make room for your body before setting you on the surface.

"I know you’re not done cookin’, but I’m hungry for somethin' else," he breathes as he sets you down and lays you back. “I need ya now…waited too long for this.”

The movement has caused your shirt to get pulled up off your stomach and the uncovered area catches his eye; more skin that he desperately needs to claim and now. He brushes his fingertips down across your waist and over your navel, past to your lower abdomen until he lightly grazes the seam of your panties. He can feel the goosebumps forming under his touch and he can hear the hitch in your breathing the lower he gets. 

Reaching your sex he cups his wide palm over the mound and applies pressure. It is warm to the touch and he can feel it radiate into his hand. You buck against him, squirming at the unexpected sensitivity with a gasp. All that softness of your body, so delicate to the touch like silk against his skin, it’s too much for him to handle. Simon has had months and months of only rough, coarse, and rugged things from the brutal environment he was forced to endure, but the moment his fingers grace across all that balmy flesh his brain short-circuits.

It’s not just your looks that drive him wild, though. You are the one bit of happiness he keeps separate from the brutality of his work, the sanctuary that he looks forward to coming home to, the calm in his stormy existence. That's why he suggested he take care of the money so you could stay at home, not bother yourself with working, so that the harsh world wouldn't taint your sweet demeanor with its cruelty. And in return you take care of his life, never asking for anything as you make sure everything here runs smoothly.

"You're always takin’ care a me, makin' sure that everything is perfect when I get back home," he says as he gets more worked up. "Now it's my turn to return the favor. Goddammit, I just wanna screw the hell outta my pretty girl until she can’t move."

Firm hands cup against your hips as his fingertips slip between your panties and your warm skin, tangling them in the fabric so that he can pull them down your thighs and off your legs. Your bare petals faintly glisten as he gets a peak at them through the tight space between your legs, a product of his minimal touch already working on your body; nice to know he still has that effect on you no matter how much time you’ve spent apart. He slides his hands between your thighs, parting them easily as a knife in warm butter, until his hand is deep enough that he can stop and separate them so that the gap is wide and his body can easily fit in between.

"All this for me?” he asks as he stares like an animal starved at your pussy, mouth salivating to play. "Bet you’ve been achin’ somethin’ terrible since I left. Do ya need me ta fix that?”

“Yes,” you breathe.Your body is radiating with the intensity of every sensation that courses through your limbs like an electrical current everywhere Simon touches you.

“That’s a good girl,” he says as he glides his hand up so his fingers can part through the lips of your pussy.

Two of those thick fingers slide between the petals of your sex towards your entrance, gathering as much of your slick as he can on his digits. Carefully he teases them around the rim of your core, circling it through the dampness gathering in your slit. “One or two?” he asks as your back arches off the table, the stimulation driving you to the brink of insanity; it’s been too long since you’ve felt his fingers there.

You swallow hard. “T-two,” you beg. At this point, any amount will work as long as they are his and as long as they get inside you.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s what I like ta hear,” he praises as he aligns his fingers with your opening and slowly fits those two long fingers inside and up into you. “Fuck, there ya go. Just breathe for me, that’s it. Let your body do all the work and take ‘em in.”

They slip up further into your cunt and with a slow pace he begins to pump in and out of you while the overwhelming pressure causes you to arch your back up off the table. Instinctively, your hips buck against his hand, trying to make as much contact with him as possible. 

Those long, coarse fingers curl inside you continuously as his heavy palm rests over top of your sex to put pressure so that he can make more contact and cause more friction with your G spot as his thumb nestles against your clit. Your body writhes against the table, your head falling back with eyes closed as the twinges of pleasure spring up your spine and Simon is grinning from ear to ear to see he still knows how to work his sweetheart just the way she likes.

As he watches you fall apart to the stroking of his fingers, from the corner of sight he catches it: that bounce at the top of your torso under the shirt. It’s as if he suddenly remembers about those beautiful breasts as they rebound with his strokes and out of a drunken haze he is consumed by the need to see them.

Pushing the bottom of your shirt up over your chest, it’s revealed that you don’t have on a bra and his breath hitches to see those perky tits he’s been dreaming of burying his face in staring right back at him. Fuck, he can’t stop himself from getting at all that juicy meat and quickly he leans over you with a groan from the table so that he can reach you with his mouth. Lightly he grazes his teeth over the delicate skin of your nipple to make the little bud grow hard under the sharp contact.

"Oh God, Simon," his name falls from your lips in a breathy prayer.

The sweet sound of his name being spoken in such a desperate way only spurns him on; he needs to hear it as many times as he can make you repeat it, especially after not being able to hear it at all while he was gone. "Say it again," he demands, never lifting his face from your breasts, just switching sides periodically to get them both engaged.

His tongue flicks at the hardened nipple and it makes you whimper as the stimulation runs down your body like liquid fire until you can feel its effects radiating in your clit each time his thumb strokes over it. You know that he wants you to say his name again, but you don’t know if you can. It’s too much stimulation that you are losing your ability to speak.  

"Simon," you say as your voice shakes.  

His hum of satisfaction vibrates through the tissue of your breast. "Again," he repeats firmly before drawing it fully into his mouth. Latching on he takes as much of your breast as he can fit and sucks down hard. 

“S-simon,” your desperate voice clumsily moans. 

Tiny beads of sweat form along the line of your body as it burns with the intensity of the ecstasy you feel under his expert care. He’s in your head, in the very marrow of your bones; there isn’t a part of you that isn’t consumed by him. Those rough fingers grinding away into your pussy and his mouth on your body all pail in comparison to the way his kiss had felt on your lips. That desperate, consuming, overwhelming kiss is your drug and you need another hit.

Your fingers lace into his short hair and you tug hard to pull him from your chest, only then does he unlatch himself from your breast as you guide him back up to your mouth. Simon’s lips are nearly raw and yet he takes yours as roughly as he had in the kitchen, never slowing the pace of his finger fucking. 

It’s like liquid fire, your kiss, and he sucks down with a hunger that cannot be quenched. The sound of your sloppy lips match the wet slaps currently being produced between your legs. Simon is drunk as his mouth takes and takes and takes, and yet… 

His mouth craves more, another set of lips.

The pad of his tongue makes contact with your clit and you jolt, making the table creak as the over-stimulation sends shock waves through your needy body. You can feel the sigh he releases against you as he begins to suck on the nodule of pleasure while flicking it with his tongue; it’s hard to think amongst the staggering overstimulation is leaving you begging and pleading for mercy.

Simon pulls from you amidst your whined protests to drop to his knees before you, giving those thick thighs his attention. His face comes level with your pussy that is absolutely soaked from the work of his fingers and raising your legs to rest your ankles on his shoulders, he dives in. Instantly his face is buried in your heat and as he brushes his tongue through your slit his mouth is filled with your nectar, that tangy burst of flavor that he can not get enough of. It is slathering all over the lower half of his face, coating him from his nose to his chin in the scent of your arousal.

Your thighs squeeze around his head and then release. “I can’t…I-I can’t…” you murmur as you try to move from him.

His mouth releases from you. “Yes, yes ya can, baby. Now, come on my face,” he says fiercely as he grips into the muscle of your hips with all his strength, secures you to his sharp features, and dives right back in like a man starved. 

“F-f-fuck,” you groan as your hands seize the tablecloth in your fists, that coil of pleasure tightening in your stomach tighter with each flick of his tongue. 

Feverish movements against that erogenous button are no longer controlled as he devours all he can, forcing your body towards that ledge to throw you off into ecstasy. He craves it, burns for it, and would die for it: the way you feel, the way you taste, the way your hips writhe against his advances, it all makes him rabid.

As your breath grows shorter and shorter, he knows it's not far; just a bit more suffocation on his part and you will be done in. He moves his face down to tease your hole with his tongue as his nose takes over on your clit. You are so hot it feels like someone has set you on fire as the knot in your stomach gathers to its breaking point. It’s there, right there within reach; just a little more and you are going to come hard and he’ll get his wish. 

Those desperate whimpers quiet all of a sudden and he knows it’s happening; with a few more flicks of his tongue you plunge off the edge with a cry as your thighs clamp down tight around his ears so that he is blocked against you, but that is exactly what he wants. Those seconds after your orgasm shakes through you are his favorite: you writhing uncontrollably over him as he continues to stroke his tongue through you until that high has finally worn off.

Nothing has ever felt better and after not having this for months, it is pure heaven.

It isn’t until you settle down and your legs open back up that he emerges with his face covered in the sticky juices of your cum and his saliva. He is grinning like he has just been given a present, even as he wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand before wiping the slick on his t-shirt.

“Fuckin’ fantastic as always, baby,” he breathes. “But I ain’t done with ya yet. I think we can get at least one more orgasm from ya right now. Come ‘ere.”

He helps your weak body to sit up on the edge of the table to embrace your lips, hoping to reinvigorate you to keep going with the intensity of his desire. You can taste yourself in his kiss, a mixture of sweet and salty that combines with his natural tang to become the flavor of your union. The kiss only lasts a few more seconds, but after just being made to come the exhaustion makes it feel like a lifetime… not that you are complaining.

Pulling from you, he tugs at the crotch of his pants; he can’t wait anymore. “I need ya ta get up and turn ‘round, sweet thing,” he says, guiding you up and rotating you around before pushing you back down onto the table, this time on your stomach. “Gotta get inside. Need ta fill ya.”

The sound of metal jingles as he lowers his pants as his knee pushes against your inner thigh to spread you wider. He releases his cock again and squats down lower so that he can align the tip with your entrance. You can feel it press through the swollen lips of your pussy and you ready yourself for that moment when you’ll be split open.

He can already feel your dampness on his cock as he guides it through and without hesitation he grabs your hips and thrusts inside all the way down to the very base of his cock. Simon instantly bottoms out and needs a second to collect himself; it’s been too fucking long since he’s been inside you and if he isn’t careful he is going to come to quick for him. 

Those rough fingers dig in deeper to your hips as he tries to hold on for dear life. “Goddammit, baby,” he groans. “I’ve missed this.”

His girth stretches your core wide to its limit so that the walls of your cunt can’t help but feel every single detail of his cock: every enlarged vein, the exact curve of it, each and every crease.

It’s like he’s imprinting it with his signature, letting your pussy know that the one it belongs to is home once again.

Hips begin to rock slowly at first and are immediately punctuated by deep-throated groans as he cannot keep himself calm for long no matter how hard he tries. Your body is too much like paradise, so devastatingly amazing that even though he is desperately clawing at his sanity it is slipping through his fingers faster and faster with each thrust like sand in a sieve. Pulling almost completely out of you he slams back into your core down to the base, repeating this over and over with a ferocity that only gets worse. 

Your body rocks, breasts bouncing and bunching the tablecloth as you are pressed into the surface; you can only moan as the uncomfortable fullness becomes euphorically intoxicating. The table squeaks and strains against each plunge of him deeper into your pussy, threatening to break under the force at any second. Plates and silverware clatter to the floor as they are knocked off and yet you do not care. He will just replace them anyway so there is no sense to take yourself out of the moment to worry about it. 

"Ya look so fuckin' pretty with my cock buried in ya," he grunts. "My sweet girl, my good little wife, always keepin' my balls empty. How'd I get so goddamn lucky to marry someone so good, yeah?"

Desperately he grinds harder and harder into you as if he cannot get deep enough, like he cannot fill you full enough. The recoil of your ass as he pounds into you from behind is something he can’t pull his sight from even if he wants to. He is mesmerized, watching himself disappear into the confines of your body only to reemerge more coated in your juices than when he went in. 

“I want ta feel ya pulse around me each letter of my name,” he says as his hand runs down the length of your spine. “Come on, baby, let me fuckin’ feel it.”

You follow his command and flex the muscles in your pelvis. Ten letters isn’t that much, not for him; you do it all for him, anything he asks, anything he needs because you know that he is just as whipped for you as you are for him and this is the way to keep him coming back like a good little pup.

He’s panting like a bitch in heat behind you. “That’s it, fuck, just as that.”

So wet, so tight, the pulsing, the throbbing, the speckles of sweat covering your bodies, his hands grabbing at skin, your hips grinding into him… it’s all too much. “Keep going,” you beg with a shudder. “Fuck, Simon right there.”

You can feel him hitting that sensitive spot inside, his cock pounding over it at the perfect angle, and your limbs tingle as the second coming is fast approaching. There is only one man who can make you come multiple times and it is and always has been your husband. And now his complete possession of your body is almost finished.

“Come on, my pretty girl, gimme another,” he urges enthusiastically as he hears your whimpers get louder while your body trembles. “I know ya have another for me and I fuckin’ want it.”

He pounds into you as if his life is dependent on your orgasm and you steady yourself by gripping onto the edge of the tabletop. The pressure builds and builds, a scourge to your sanity until all at once that bolt of hot electricity shoots through your limbs and your head falls forward with a whine as your second orgasm rockets through you so hard that you are left a mewling mess.

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Simon growls as he finally allows himself to let go and all that build up, all that pining, all that longing for this moment comes to a head and with a few more hard, deep strokes inside your spasming pussy he too comes undone.

A roar rips through his chest as he pulls out and comes across your back, stroking his hand over his cock until he can milk himself dry. You close your eyes, laying your head down as he finishes and grabs a napkin that sits on the table above your head to wipe the cum off. His limbs feel heavy as he sits you back upright to face him. 

Simon simply stares into your face for a while, letting you both just work to catch your breaths. There are no words that need be said, not between you both. Once he is more calm, he gently pushes a strand of hair off your glistening face and tucks it behind your ear.  

“Ya did so well for me, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, placing a softer kiss on your lips as his heart slows. 

“Always for you,” you return with a smile against his lips. 

As you both stand there in the midst of the afterglow of your euphoria, a smell begins to waft in from the kitchen. It is unmistakably the scent of something burning. You poke your head around him just to be sure there isn’t a fire on the stove before turning back to his face.

“I hope you like your food burnt cause that’s what we’re gonna be having now,” you laugh as he pulls you back in for one more kiss, letting his forehead rest against yours.

“Guess its a good fuckin’ thing I filled up on the first course then,” he says as you tut in fake exasperation. He lowers his voice. “But ya know… if the food’s ruined, maybe we should just go ta bed.”

Something about the way he says it and the glint in his eye as you pull back, it doesn’t sound like you are going to be sleeping anything off.

[jarofstyles]

Leather & Lace

Hello my angels and welcome to Leather and Lace!!! We’ve got a very cute 3 parter (I’ve finished writing it) coming in for you guys. We love a good grumpy x sunshine and couldn’t help ourselves writing another one. Please leave us feedback! We love to hear from you

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Wc- 8.2k

Warnings- oral sex, praise kink, soft Dom h, opposites attract, cum play/swapping

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“How can you be this happy in the morning?” Harry grunted, hoodie pulled over his head as he sat down next to a bubbly Y/N. Her couch was comfortable but it didn’t make up for the fact that he was at her flat at 8 in the morning. 

“It’s not that early, lazy bones.” She hummed, tucking her legs under her as she sat down on the other side. “Thank you for coming to help today, by the way. I know you don’t like getting up early.”

He really didn’t, was the thing. He hated it. Harry only had so many days off and after working a long shift bartending last night, the very last thing he wanted to do was help someone unpack in their new flat. He’d rather claw at concrete than be awake right now, rather eat a raw egg, rather go through tattoo removal. If it was anyone but Y/N he would have laughed in their face at the mere ask. 

But it was her. It was twinkly eyed, pouty lipped, warm hearted Y/N who had asked him a week in advance and promised him a bagel with cream cheese and an iced coffee for brekkie, whatever he wanted for lunch, and ‘whatever he wanted in general!’. Little did she know he was going to say yes anyway, considering he knew he couldn’t say no to her sweet little ask with her smaller hand on his tattooed arm and wide eyes peering up at him. He wasn’t someone who liked to do things for many people without there being some sort of monetary gain, but this was different. 

Y/N had somehow latched herself onto one of the grumpiest bastards in the area while she herself was one of the sweetest girls he’d ever seen. Rarely spoke a mean word of anyone (except when they hurt someone close to her), went out of her way to help anyone who needed it and always wanted to be a shoulder to cry on. He’d seen her take money from her own wallet to cover someone’s bill when they were short, even seen her rush to help an elderly man across the street. It got her into trouble sometimes which was why he was glad that he’d been the hip she’d chosen to attach to. 

Their first interaction had been him sitting in the courtyard of their uni, listening to music under the tree. He’d had his sketchbook in hand, doodling in between classes when he looked up to see a girl with a pretty yellow bow in her hair offering him a cupcake because he looked ‘sad.’. He had been sad, actually, but that was pretty much his normal resting face. He’d tried to blow her off but she’d taken a seat next to him, introducing herself and telling him about her own day to ‘distract him’. He hated to admit that it worked. 

From then on, she popped up everywhere. At first he’d been a bit worried that she was following him but it truly was a coincidence. Y/N had found her way under his skin, wriggled her way into that cold heart of his and made it warm up just a little each time she came around. At some point she’d become a daily fixture in his life, her texts lighting up his phone with emojis and telling him to meet her at the cafe or the library- and for some reason, he followed.

“Mmm. Know y’wanted me here to see me get all sweaty. If y’wanted to see my tats and muscles so badly, you coulda just said so, Sweets.” He smirked, watching her eyes widen. So easy to fluster. 

“No! Stop teasing me, s’not nice.” She grumbled, poking his knee with her socked foot. She’d chosen lavender striped ones today. “I don’t have a lot of strong friends, you know that. Niall’s comin’ by after work to help you put the bedframe together and move the books from the car. Besides, I’ll let you sleepover and everything after we’re all done. I know you loveeeee my bed.”

He did. But more than anything he liked laying in said bed with her. Harry had a hard time admitting he had begun to gain feelings for the girl but deep down he knew he did. He liked that she insisted on cuddles, curling her leg around his and nuzzling her face into his chest, or even better yet the crook of his neck. Loved when she’d sleepily ask him questions about his life and tell him facts about her own. She resembled a tiny kitten while sleepy, insistent on getting all of the pets and attention. 

Harry had decided he wasn’t the relationship type after his last girlfriend had cheated on him with his old best mate- but meeting Y/N had reminded him of the die hard romantic that laid underneath the surface. All the hard work he’d had piling up bricks on top of his red, bleeding heart had seemed to be consistently excavated by the pastel wearing girl who still enjoyed the fairy lights he used to see online in those aesthetic bedroom photos. It scared him a bit at first. Even now, he was nervous about the idea of getting closer to her than they were now because her heart was a tender and precious thing and he didn’t necessarily trust himself not to hurt her- but then again, he knew he’d do miles better than anyone else could. He’d spent the time learning about her as the months went by, listening to her drawl on about the pinterest boards she made, her dream finds she always looked for at the thrift stores, her least favorite reality TV contestants, which pastries she found to be too dry at the cafe and which had the best level of moisture, what blankets she liked, every little tidbit he had stored away in his brain to use at a later date. 

No one would be as protective of her as he would be, which was why lately he’d been entertaining the thought of perhaps moving past the point of no return and trying to see if maybe, possibly, perhaps.. They could be more. 

It had come with a lot of deliberating but he’d come to understand that if he failed, Y/N wouldn’t caste him to the side. She’d never in a million years abandon him like he feared, which only gave him more motivation to go for it though… He was still biding his time. He had to let her get settled here before he shook up her life a bit more. 

They were opposites, the sweet girl and him. Harry was quite literally the bad boy cliche of everyone’s after school special’s dreams. His hair was long and curled, brushing his jaw. He went for darker clothing, usually his ripped black skinny jeans and a band tee but sometimes more eccentric with some silk and leaving his tits out when they went on a night out. His nose had a simple black hoop, his nails painted and chipped though this week they were a bubblegum pink, a la Y/N’s expertise. His body was hard from the gym he liked to frequent and inked, only getting more every month. He wore the occasional eyeliner when he felt spicy. That was only the physical things. 

Sometimes he wondered why she felt drawn to him, as she said. He was dark and moody with a darker sense of humor. Somewhat of a pessimist, he expected the worst from people and tended to stay away from them the best he could. The opposite of a social butterfly, he only usually went out in the past for a drink or to get his cock wet, never for the pleasure of interacting with people. Even then it was rare considering he did quite well in the hookup area being a bartender himself. 

Harry often wondered how and why she felt the pull to be around him and why she felt so at ease in his presence but he figured it had to be that he’d knocked the lights out of a bloke in her philosophy class who’d been riding her ass. He’d made the wrong decision of cornering Y/N at a party Harry had been dragged to, touching her a bit too much and not listening when her smile became thin and she backed away from him after giving a rejection much too polite than the man deserved. There had been no hesitation in laying him out, tugging Y/N into his side and demanding she stay with him for the rest of the party after she insisted she didn’t need to go home. 

Funnily enough she’d been a hit with his own small group of friends, everyone also feeling the same sort of kindred protection over her. Not many people were genuinely warm and fuzzy in the way she was. 

Y/N was… She was the sun, she was a cinnamon roll fresh baked on a sunday morning, she was a kitten sprawled in a sunbeam. All the good things, he could find a way to relate them to her. That probably should have been the indicator he had feelings for her far sooner than he’d ever let himself admit, but she had taken the time to crack him open. 

It was hard to stop thinking about what made her both his opposite and so special. Harry dwelled on how soft her clothing always was, both in color and texture. She liked those pastel colors and fuzzy cardigans, hair bows and those signature mary janes with the tiny heels. Lip oil as opposed to lip gloss because it was ‘too sticky’ but still dragged all his attention to her lips and made him wonder if it really tasted like tangerine like it smelled. 

Her touch was gentle and tender, cautious at first but as soon as she got the go ahead, she showered you in attention. At least, she did to him. Brushing stray hairs out of faces and wiping crumbs off cheeks, she had little sense of personal space once granted permission. She’d been mindful of his distaste for touch at the beginning but once he’d leaned into it, the girl had no qualms about straightening his shirt or leaning into his form, hell- there had been a few times she’d helped herself to his lap when there was no other seating option. Usually that was when she was tipsy considering she would most likely be a little shy sober, but that was something he enjoyed. 

The light to his dark, he doubted anyone else could make him feel the way she could. Hence why he was up after only getting 4 hours of sleep, sipping the coffee she’d gotten him. There was little he wouldn’t do for a hint of her smile. 

—--

“Babe, you’ve got t’make a decision.” Harry said gently, placing the large mirror down and leaning it against the wall. 

“I know, I know but… It’s bad luck to have your mirror facing your bed.” She wrung her fingers together. “I’m sorry, H. I know I’ve been a bit of a pain in the rear today. I promise m’not trying to, but It’s my first place and I just want it to be perfect.” Her head looked down, making his heart squeeze. 

God damn it. Leave it to her to make him feel like he’d kicked a puppy. Sighing, he tugged the bandana on his head back into place and approached her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “M’not upset with you. Promise. I just think you’re overthinking it a bit.” Her superstitions did tend to make her feel a little squirrely sometimes and he knew it.  “We’re gonna make it look perfect. Incredible, even. Reckon the magazines will be calling you up to feature you, but we can’t just have a freestanding mirror slab.” He’d picked it up for her off of craigslist just a bit ago. Even if it wasn’t a dodgy listing, he wouldn’t let her go on her own. That’s how people got kidnapped. 

“Ugh, I know.” She groaned, flopping into his chest. Never mind it being sweaty, she rubbed her nose between his tits and let out a tired groan, her hair smacking his chin. It’d been tossed up in a very messy bun that was a bit lopsided but made her look doubly as cute, though he didn’t tell her that. “Why don’t we mount it to the back of your door then? Not facing your bed, or another mirror.” 

He could almost hear her brain going as she mulled it over before he felt the nod against his chest. “That will be good, I think. I love that idea.” Y/N had been going back and forth over design choices with him all day as if he had a clue about interior decor, but he had appreciated her caring about his opinion nonetheless. “That can be the last thing we do. Niall’s fucked off somewhere futzing with the books so we can eat after that’s done.” 

The thud of his heart against her ear was steady as he gently ran a hand over her shoulderblade. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Think we’re ordering pizza because I know m’too tired to cook which means you lot have to be too.” She chuckled, finally prying herself out of his chest and blinking up at him.”Then we can go to bed.”  He was thankful her ear was away from his heart so she couldn’t hear the way it stuttered. You’d think after sleeping in her bed a multitude of times that he’d get used to the sound of that sentence but it still did him in every time. 

“Okay. I can run and pick it up after I mount this to the door if you call it in.” He knew she wouldn’t want to go. It was visible on her face how tired she was and it melted him internally. He knew that she’d be a little snuggly menace tonight and fuck if he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Gonna run into the pharmacy t’grab some body wash for here, if thats okay?”

“Course it is.” She beamed at the suggestion, making him happy that he’d even brought it up. Y/N used to suggest he sleep heer a lot before and he’d refuse, thinking she was just trying to be polite- but she really did enjoy him staying with her. “I liked the pomegranate one you used last time, just sayin’.” Patting his chest she moved from his grip, heading to grab her phone. “Normal for you?”

“Yeah, love. Same as usual.” He rubbed over the achy spot in his chest that she’d left by pulling away, looking forward to sleeping tonight so he could feel it fill back up.

—-----------

Harry had grabbed the pomegranate bath stuff. He’d grabbed the whole line, actually, the shampoo, conditioner, body wash and some sort of ‘skin buff.’ Whatever that was. 

Y/N had squeaked as he showed her, along with a pack of the makeup wipes she usually used and he’d steal. He’d figured it was about time to be the one to buy the replacements. “Ah! And you got the face mask I like.” Her eyes were wide and bright as she bounced on her toes, smacking a kiss to his stubbly cheek before looking back down at the holographic packaging. He’d hoped he had gotten the right one when he’d seen a sale on them when on his way to the check out counter. It was worth the little bit of money to feel her lips for a moment. “Thank you, H. You’re the best, as usual.” 

“The hell am I?” Niall scoffed, wiping his hands dry after washing them. 

“You’re great too, but he got me the face masks I like and they usually sell out. So he’s a bit higher up in points today.” She placated him, brushing past him to put them in the bathroom. “Harry, plate up the pizza, pretty please!”

As soon as she had disappeared, Niall shot him a look. “When are you two gonna make it official?” He whispered. “The heat eyes bouncin’ off the both of you is sickening at this point. She’s turned you soft.” 

Harry settled with a glare, placing two slices on the paper plate and sliding it over to him. “Eventually. Her whole life is shifting. Can’t do shit right now without rattling her.” It was the first time he admitted or even hinted at having feelings for her besides point blank telling anyone who came around that she wasn’t available. Y/N didn’t know he did that though. 

“Thank fuck you don’t still have your head up your arse. I was worried you’d never admit you’re gone for her.” He faked wiping sweat off his head making the other man roll his eyes. “She’ll be happy, H. You don’t have to worry about her rejecting you. Just go on and do it. She talks about you like you hang the moon every night at this point even when you aren’t around.” 

A weakness he’d spotted, Harry stood a bit straighter before leaning in. “She does? What does she say?” Oh, he hated how desperate he sounded to hear the answer but the fluttering in his stomach made him insisting on finding out. 

“Oh, how thoughtful and kind and generous you are and how you’re the best person she knows, all of that. She stares at her phone and waits for texts from you when she comes out and you’re working, gets these huge smiles or giggles when you do. or tries to get everyone to move the party to your bar.” 

That last part, he’d hoped for. He liked the idea of her wanting to be physically close to him and suggesting everyone come and see him, but knowing she did the same thing he did when waiting for messages from him soothed a piece of him. He wasn’t alone in it. It was hard sometimes for him to decipher her behavior considering she was genuinely so friendly with everyone and he didn’t want to flatter himself and think it he was special… but apparently he was. 

He didn’t have a chance to answer when Y/N glided from the bathroom, finding her spot on the kitchen barstools. “What did I miss?” 

“Nothin’, Babe. Just chatting shit.” He murmured, sliding her a plate with her pizza of choice on it. “Figured we’d go to the grocery tomorrow, yeah? It’s a bit sparse in here with the food.” He had the next day off and intended on spending it with her. They’d made lots of progress today and had 80% of the place unpacked, but he knew she liked those restocking videos online. “Think they’ve got those organizers back in stock.” 

“Oh!” She gasped.”Yes, you genius. I’ll need your help though, strong man. I like the one trip wonder.” It was a tease considering she knew Harry hated making multiple trips up with bags. 

“Lucky for you, you’ve got a lift now and I’ve got that collapsible wagon.” Reaching out he gently flicked her nose for being a brat. “So we won���t have t’worry about that.” 

—-----

Y/N was either very oblivious or a tease. Harry could never fully figure out which one. 

He sat on her bed, messing with her telly when she emerged from the shower in her little cotton shorts and one of his shirts. It was one he’d just been looking for last week, actually, an old Iron Maiden one with a few holes in the collar area. Unmistakably his. The faded gray complimented her skin, looking extra cozy on her as her powder blue plush bunny slippers flopped against the ground and she made her way to her skincare desk. 

“You little thief.” He grumbled from the bed, leaning against her headboard. “I was searching everywhere for that last week.” Though he had narrowed eyes she would know he was only teasing. 

“You left it with me, remember? I ended up packing it so I wouldn’t forget it but… It’s super comfy.” She smiled guiltily at him, spinning in her chair. “Is it okay if I wear it? It still smells like your cologne and it helps me sleep sometimes…”

Ah, a shot to the heart. 

Y/N didn’t know what it did to him to know he was an aid in good sleep. That it both made his heart stutter and his cock throb at the sight of her wrapped up in his clothing like she had all the rights to it. Like he was her boyfriend and she liked to wear it to remember him. Her scent had a similar effect on him, leaving it in his sheets when she stayed over,  “Totally okay, lovely.” He smiled gently. “M’just teasing you. Though it does wonders for my ego to know you like my cologne that much.” 

He knew he was making her a little flustered considering she didn’t look right at him, but he thrived off of that. Knowing he made an impact on her like that made him feel just a bit more confident that she felt similarly to him. There was no answer from her, but he wasn’t done with her quite yet. Standing up with a groan, he made his way over to her little makeup and skincare set up, placing his hands on the back of her chair. “What are you putting on your face?” He asked curiously, looking over her head to the products she had neatly organized.

“Well, first I wipe with one of these toning pads.” She opened the little tub, using a tiny pair of clear tongs to grab one. “You don’t want to be sticking your fingers in there and potentially making them all dirty so it came with this little thing. You give it a few passes over your t zone.” She showed him as she did it, Harry watching diligently in the mirror. 

“Mmm. Then what? You’re always doin’ all of this fancy stuff to your face. Figure that's why your skin is so pretty.” He let his fingers fiddle with a few strands of hair. 

“Thank you.” She said sheepishly, picking up a smaller tube. “Um, I use this undereye cream to help with puffiness and brightening. Its soothing. I apply it with the smallest finger though, because while I’m not afraid of wrinkles it’s the weakest fingers and the skin under your eyes is more delicate.” 

Huh. “Didn’t know what.” He was actually learning something from this. 

“Mhm. Why do you think I tell you to go gentle when you use the makeup remover?” A smile tilted up one side of her lips a bit further, eyes focused on the mirror in front of her. She pretended not to notice the slight shiver he gave her when he leaned down, letting his face get more level with hers- but he did. He noticed anything he could. “A-And then I use some vitamin C stuff for brightening, a serum and a cream. I use the little fan to make it dry faster so it isn’t sticky.” She pointed to the mini pink fan he’d always noticed. He’d just assumed it was for when she got hot. “Do you… Would you like me to use some of it on you when I’m done?” 

She sounded hesitant to ask which he understood. Not a lot of the guys in their friend circle would want that, but he wasn’t that insecure about himself that he’d say no to someone pampering him. Especially not when it meant Y/N getting close to him. “Sure, sweets. I’d love that. Reckon my skin needs it.” 

“What do you usually do with it?” She asked curiously, meeting his eye in the mirror. 

“Makeup remover, wash my face, that cream you left at my place if I remember.” 

“It’s not fair you have the skin you do.” She huffed, shaking her head. “Cruel, actually.” It kind of was. He got long lashes too, which she always complained about. “Go and wash your face first, heathen.”

Harry let out a small laugh before going off to do that. Returning with a fresh face, he stood in his prior position, watching her finish up the routine before holding the fan closer to her face to finish it off. It was an interesting process he hadn’t paid much mind to before, but then again, she didn’t bring every single thing to his place either. 

After putting her hair up in a claw clip, she stood up from the plushy chair and motioned for him to sit down. He did as asked, feeling her residual warmth as she lined up the products for them. “Okay, so we start with the toner pad.” She gently pushed him to lean back in the chair, her face coming closer to his as she delicately swiped it over his cheeks and nose. He was getting an up close look at her, noticing the scar near her eyebrow and a few spots on her face. It made him warm up a bit, being able to see her so close when she was awake. Usually this level of observation was reserved for when she was asleep. “Oi, keep your head up.” 

“Sorry.” He laughed, avoiding the impulse to move the chair back and forth. He liked to swing on it at times. 

“Wait- how about this.” Without giving it much thought, she gripped the chair and swung it over to turn his body to the side, helping herself to straddle his lap. “This seems a little easier, no?” Fingers gently tipped his chin up, eyes focused on her motions. 

Harry’s breath had disappeared. No longer available, he felt her sitting on top of his thighs, innocent as ever as she went through the motions. Tender with her movements and pressure, she was treating him like porcelain while giving him a little makeover. He should be focused on how nice the products felt on his skin, but his mind was elsewhere. 

She smelled amazing, as usual, but having it this close up was a little hard for him. Yes, she sat on his lap before- but not in his shirt, with her thighs on display and tiny little shorts. She didn’t straddle him before either, didn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t. All his energy was focused on trying to ensure she didn’t feel the stiffy that was quickly growing in his pants. 

“I can’t believe how good you’re being for me, H.” She whispered. “No whining or anything.” Her smile was soft as she wiped the serum over his face. “You’re so pretty.”

Fuck. He swallowed thickly, trying desperately to not let his cock construe those words into the filthy praise kink he had, but it appeared to be a bit too late for that. She had no idea what she was doing to him and he didn’t want to be a perv, but god damn. If the girl continued, there would be no denying that he’d cream his damn pants. Being pet on, feeling her brush his hair off his forehead while she stroked his face and adjusted his position to where she wanted… He was only so strong. “Thanks.” He murmured, trying to keep his composure. 

“Of course.” She beamed, seeming pleased. “I’m surprised you’re letting me do this, but you’re full of surprises.” It seemed like she didn’t know the battle he was facing internally, which was his goal, but that was soon to be ruined. “Hold on a second.” Shifting slightly on his lap, she stood up momentarily before sliding further up. “Sorry, I was falling down a bit-” 

Harry hadn’t meant to, he really fucking didn’t. But she sat right on top of him, squirming a bit. Giving his dick a bit of friction, making his hands grip her hips and sit her down hard to stop the movement. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t face her as he heard the hitch in her breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Sorry, I didn’t- I promise m’not being a creep or anything.” He winced. “Just been a while and uh-” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Her voice rang out, fingers brushing through his hair. “H, look at me. I’m not mad.” Of course, her words were sweet and syrupy, going right to his dick yet again. Y/N had no fucking idea how much she effected him, how many times he’d thought about her in this positon and how guilty he felt that he’d turned a sweet moment into something like this. “C’mon. You don’t need to be embarrassed.” 

He took a moment before opening his eyes, looking at her face. Studying it, making sure she wasn’t uncomfortable. Her hand cupped the side of his face, a slight pout on her pretty lips. Y/N didn’t seem upset about it, seeing as she sat still and could most definitely feel his cock under her. He could feel her cunt over him, hot through the fabric and he was doing everything in his power to be fucking normal. 

“There you are.” The tables had finally turned. Harry was the shy one in this moment and Y/N was the one seemingly not freaked out. “It’s a natural body function, H. I know you’re not some kind of perv. I sat on your lap, remember?” She soothed his nerves. “Besides, I’m flattered. Was beginning to think you thought I was some kind of troll or something.” The smile kicked up on her face, but his frown deepened.

“The fuck? Why would you think that?” Brows furrowed, he didn’t like that she thought he didn’t find her attractive. He called her pretty quite a bit. 

“Well, I’m not your type. You go for all those tattooed girls with the bad ass attitudes, which is cool cause I think they’re hot too but… I’m all soft and squishy, y’know? I like the soft things, kinda the opposite of you so I just thought I wasn’t someone you’d be attracted to. M’nothing like what you go for.” She didn’t seem offended by this, rather stating it matter of fact- but Harry couldn’t believe how wrong she was. He had to wonder how long she thought this. 

While he was secretly pining after her, she was thinking he was going off to get blowies by the girls that flirted with him which, sometimes he did. At the beginning of their friendship, he tried to stave off those feelings for her by getting someone else underneath him, fucking away the frustration but he learned fairly quickly that none of it did much when his mind was on someone else. It’d been months at this point. Sure, he liked a bit of flirting to boost his ego, but that was only when Y/N was preoccupied. 

“Well, you’re wrong.” He said sternly. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Dunno where the troll idea came in when m’always staring at you.” He scoffed. “No more of that bullshit. Wouldn’t be hard if I didn’t think you were stunning. Trust me.” In fact, she was the only thing that got him hard these days. Thinking of her mouth, her thighs, her tits, her ass, anything. Even her hands, for fucks sake. “Don’t ever doubt how beautiful you are t’me. Pisses me off.”

“Sorry.” She bleated, pouting back at him. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just.. You call me pretty but I never would have thought you meant it like that. I like that you let me cuddle you and stuff so obviously I know you aren’t repulsed by me but, I dunno.” She swallowed, looking down at his bare chest. “I’m sorry for getting you… if you’re uncomfortable.” 

God, he was mucking this up wasn’t he? He shook his head, letting his thumbs rub over her hips as he softened his face. “No, sweets. Don’t apologize. S’not a big deal, I’m not mad at you. Just don’t like the idea of you thinking poorly of yourself. You’re fucking stunning.” So stunning that his cock was still hard under her. “I’ll go take care of it when we’re done, but no more squirming. Okay?” Squeezing her, he tried to rectify the situation. “No more fussing.” 

“But…” Y/N’s lips twisted slightly, sliding her hands down to his shoulders. “That’s not fair.” 

Harry blinked a few times, looking her over hesitantly. “What d’you mean? I’m okay, pet.” 

“Well, It’s my fault that you’re like this.” She protested. “I can fix it, if you want. Haven’t given too many blowies before, but I can take instruction pretty well.”

Harry truly thought he was dreaming for a moment, his face hot as she gave him an innocent look. Like she meant it, though it slightly embarrassed her for not having a lot of experience. But feeling her shift on him clued him back into reality. This was real. “You- You don’t have to do anything for me, Y/N.” He was holding on by a string. “You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your responsibility to get me off just because my cock’s got a mind of his own.”

Y/N huffed again, shaking her head. “I want to. Can I?” Her face shifted slightly. “You’re not making me do anything. It would make me feel better If i could take care of you.” Her eyes met his. “I mean it. Promise.” 

And god, if Harry was a stronger man he’d lift her off his lap and insist on taking care of it himself. He’d explain that it could make lines blurry and he liked her a bit more than a friend and they’d have that talk. But he wasn’t a stronger man, and she rolled her hips on him again with a hum, making his head fall back when she repeated the action. “Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. “As long as.. As long you’re sure. I don’t want you to regret it or anything.” 

“I won’t.” She peeped. “I like making you feel good, Harry.” Her face seemed brighter as she watched him nod.

“Go on then, sweetheart.” He sighed. “I’ll show you what I like.” 

Never in a million years had he expected her to be visibly excited, slipping off his lap and on to her knees in front of him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eyes looked up at him with curiosity, hands running over his thighs as she waited for direction. He’d dreamt of this so many times, stroked off in the bathroom to this very mental image to get his load out quicker. His cock pulsed inside his sweats. This was really happening. “M’not wearing briefs under these.” He warned, pushing the waistband down as he slowly tugged himself out of the pants. His hand was slightly shaky ass he gave himself a squeeze at the base, a soft hiss leaving his teeth when her hand covered his own. 

“I’ve only done it a few times but…” Her eyes widened. “Yours is the prettiest I’ve seen.”

And fuck if that didn’t get him going. Harry took pride in his dick, as a lot of men did, but to get that compliment was better than anything else. His hair was normally trimmed shorter, but it had been a while. It was groomed a bit at the base, his happy trail leading up his stomach. “Thank you.” He mumbled, removing his hand and letting hers take over. Y/N was eager and that much was obvious, feeling her give him a few strokes as she shuffled closer in between his spread thighs. “I- I probably won’t last long. I wasn’t lying, it’s been a while.” And he’d imagined her in this position so many times that he was programmed to get off to it quickly. 

“That’s okay. You’re quite big so it’ll be better for my jaw.” She giggled. Fucking giggled while her thumb rubbed over the slit, making him shudder. He’d always imagined she’d be much more shy in this situation, but again he was proven wrong. “What do you like?” 

Honestly? He could cum just like this. Her stroking him slow, looking up at him with that pretty little face. Splatter her pretty face with pearly strings leaking from the slit of his cock, let it drip down her cheeks and chin. But she wouldn’t like that answer. “I’m okay with anything you give me, but I… I like to hear you.” He swallowed, a shaky exhale leaving his nose. “And uh, a bit wet. If that’s something you’d like.” 

Y/N looked like she was taking note, nodding at his words. “I want to know what you like, m’okay with anything.” She smiled. “I knew you had to be big cause.. Y’know you’ve got the energy. And I’ve felt it a few times when we cuddle, before you wake up. It’s just different to see it.” Y/N leaned her head on his thigh, continuing to jerk him off. “I’ll probably choke a little bit, cause you’re the biggest I’ve taken. It’s okay though, I’ll be fine. I’ll pinch your tummy or somthin’ if I need a second to breathe.” 

Who the fuck was she? Y/N had never, ever shown or hinted at being filthy in her life, but here she was. Talking about choking on his cock. He throbbed in her hand, making her eyebrows raise. “You liked that. Noted.” Leaning forward, she kept eye contact with him as she dragged her pink tongue from the base up to the tip, letting it sit there for a moment before she pulled away, giving him a few more strokes. “You can show me what you like too. Don’t be shy about it, H. I want you to feel good.” 

Harry nearly lost it as he watched those gorgeous lips purse, spitting right over the tip. It slipped down his length before her hand caught it, stroking and spreading it over his cock. Filthy, filthy things filled his tongue immediately, but he tried to pace himself. “Fuck me…” He whispered, gently gathering her hair in his hand. “I didn’t know you had this in you, gorgeous.” It nearly bowled him over. “Can you.. Take it in your mouth. Suck the tip for me. I want to see that.” 

Normally, he had no problem being a cocky, arrogant man. He was dominant most of the time with his hook ups- but Y/N wasn’t just a hook up to him. She was special. He didn’t want to do a single thing to potentially fuck this up. He wanted her to like this, to see how much he liked it too. She had no problems following instructions, the man watching as her lips stretched around the tip and dipped down a bit as she suckled on it. A soft hum left her mouth and vibrated over him as he curled the hair around his fist, making him groan. “Yeah, jus’ like that, angel. Fuck.” He kept his eyes on her as she bobbed shallowly, taking moments to rub her tongue over his leaking slit. “You’re so good, so sweet t’me. Can’t believe you’re doin’ this.” 

Y/N pulled off the tip, lips wet as she peered up at him. “I’ve thought about it before.” She whispered, lapping over the side of his length. “Wanted to see your cock. I knew it’d be pretty.” 

What the fuck? Harry’s brian felt fried, completely caught off guard by this information. Sure, he had thought maybe once or twice she was teasing him but it wasn’t often. Y/N was just so sugary sweet and kind, a slight air of innocence, and… Now she was telling him she’d thought about sucking him off before. “You have?” 

“Mhm.” She stroked him a bit firmer, the slick sound of her hand around his wet cock getting louder. “I heard.. Heard rumors and felt left out. You like me the best but you never asked me to do anything.” Rubbing the tip over her pouted lips, Harry was shocked yet again. 

“Cause y’mean more to me than any of the other people.” He swallowed. “Too fuckin’ sweet. I like you the best, you’re right but.. You’re my sweet girl. Didn’t want t’use you for anything like that. Would break my heart if I hurt you and you’d not want to see me again.” 

“What if I wanted you to use me?” She asked, peering up at him with those eyes. They drove him absolutely mad. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me unless I asked, H. You’re so good to me… I just want to be good for you too.” Taking the tip back into her mouth, she pushed herself down further and he felt his stomach clench. It took him off guard, feeling the hot mouth take him down and bob herself against him, a soft hum vibrating over him. 

“Oh- Fuck.” He let out a broken groan, leaning further back into the chair. “You are, baby, you fucking are. Hot little mouth… shit.” She whimpered around his cock at his words, sucking a little harder as her hand stroked the rest of him. She liked that. “What is it, hm? Like when I call you baby? When I tell you how perfect you are?” His words got a bit darker. He was slipping into another headspace and Y/N seemed to be coaxing it on. 

She did a half ass nod, not pulling off his length as she continued. Harry wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that she’d be a greedy girl like this, but he was incredibly thankful that she was. “You are. Such a good girl, so gorgeous with your mouth stretched around my cock. Didn’t know you were gagging for it, baby. Should’ve told me.” He chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t have wasted my loads in the shower before comin’ t’bed with you. Could’ve pushed into your needy mouth and let you swallow it down.” 

Y/N moaned around his prick, eyes watering slightly as she looked at him. He’d never seen a better sight. “You’re so beautiful, angel. So pretty. Didn’t know such a filthy thing could have you lookin’ even more beautiful.” His throat felt thick as his cock throbbed in her mouth. “Fuck, you don’t even know how many times I’ve thought about it.”

Y/N pulled off, panting slightly as webs of saliva connected her mouth to his cock. “How much?” Her voice was a little hoarse, but he could hear that she was desperate to know. “You- You could have. I don’t want you to waste it anymore.” There was the tiny bit of shyness coming back in. “If umm, if you think  I’m good enough at this. I’ll do it.” 

“Fuck me, baby.” His thumb wiped over her spit soaked lips, breaking the threads of spit as he caressed her cheek. “All the fucking time. S’the only thing that gets me off.” Confessions he hadn’t thought he’d be saying so soon, let alone before he’d ever kissed her, spilled from him. “You’re doing amazing. More than good enough, too fucking good for me.” He couldn’t believe she was offering. “You sure you want t’be the one to take care of it?”

“Yes, I want it. I don’t want anyone else to do it.” She pleaded. “I’ll be the best for you. Just- you can tell me and I’ll suck you or, or anything you want.” Harry tested it, gently pushing her head back towards his prick- which she immediately took back in her mouth. The perfect, wet heat bringing him back to that filthy place in his head. 

How could she think he could ever say no? She’d been his weakness since she brought him over that damn cupcake. 

“Oh, sweet girl. Anything?” He cooed. “Dangerous thing to promise me. Don’t want anyone else to do it either.” His breathing was getting harder, trying not to thrust his hips up into her mouth and make her take it all. Sure, she’d probably do it, but he still felt the need to be delicate with her. “Take a little more for me, baby. Just like- there, there you go.” He praised, mouth falling open as she did exactly what he wanted. “Gonna make me cum.” 

This felt a million times better than rubbing one out in her bathroom. His legs were near vibrating, the wet sound of her mouth taking him down and the clicks of her hand stroking his spit soaked cock filling her bedroom. This was the last thing he’d expected was her on her knees for him tonight and part of him wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a wet dream, but he was thanking whatever higher power that was up there that his sweet girl had a dirty side to her. One he wanted to be the only one privileged enough to see. 

“In my mouth.” She gasped, pulling up for a moment. “Want to taste you. Please?” 

How could he ever tell her no? 

Pushing her back down on his cock, he let his hips rise up and shallowly thrust into her mouth as she moaned around him, drooling down her chin and letting him use her the way he needed to get off. The best part was knowing she was enjoying it so much. It was a miracle he’d lasted this long already, but he attributed that to shock. She was dirty, his sweet girl, choking slightly on his cock as the tip hit her throat, but she made no move to want to stop. 

His last straw, though, was feeling her hand over his balls, whining around him as he let out his deepest groan yet. It was sloppy and messy and so fucking good that he felt lightheaded, tummy hot and legs weak as he felt himself approach his end. “Fuck, jus’ like that, your fucking mouth is perfect… fuck, fuck, fuck, baby- M’gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna-” His voice failed as his head fell back, lifting his hips as his cum began to pour into her mouth. Ribbon after ribbon coating her throat, pulling back a bit to get it on her tongue while she worked him through it. 

He didn’t realize he had so much in him, but perhaps it was just Y/N that made him cum this much. This hard. His ears rung a bit, curses leaving his mouth as he watched her mouth open and hand stroke him to see the pearly mess on her tongue. At the last little bit,he used his grip on her hair to tug her up to his face. 

“C’mere, sweet girl. Share with me, don’t be greedy.” holding her face while the other had her hair, he pulled back into his lap and her mouth to his and groaned as she licked over his tongue, sharing the remnants of his load with him. It was something a bit nasty and deprived, he knew, but Y/N merely moaned back, her clean hand curling around the back of his neck. 

The kisses slowed from frantic and hot, to softer, slow and sweet. Pecking her lips over and over again, her whimpers melted into giggled as he untangled from her hair, sliding his hand under the shirt she had on to get some bare skin on his fingertips. “Sweetest thing, most beautiful girl.” He murmured between kisses. “Thank you. Best I’ve ever had.” 

“You’re jus’ saying that.” She whispered, though the smile was difficult to wipe off her face. Obviously she liked praise just as much as him. 

“Nope. Mean every word.” He confirmed, rubbing his nose over her cheek. “Thank you, baby. Felt so damn good, can’t feel my legs now.” Harry’d never felt like this after a blowie, both in his legs and the fondness he felt for the girl. If there had been any doubts about his feelings for her whatsoever, they were shattered. He was so far gone for her, it was pathetic. 

“Good.” She smiled, feeling the kiss to his cheek. “I need to finish your skincare, though. So tuck yourself back in, cause m’gonna do that and then brush my teeth again. Though.. I can tell you’ve got a good diet. Tasted nice.” 

Though Harry knew cum never really tasted good, he was chuffed that she hadn’t minded. Even more, that she hadn’t minded indulging in sharing with him. “M’not selfish, I need to help you too.” He reminded, though she merely shook her head. 

“I’ll take a raincheck. M’so tired now, and I want to enjoy it fully.” Pecking his cheek in return, she picked up the moisturizer. “Think you need a lip mask too. Thankfully, you’re in the right hands.” 

Harry was sometimes a selfish lover with hookups and he could admit that, but with Y/N he never wanted to be that way. He wanted to make her feel good, but he could wait. It only made him anticipate it more- there would be a next time. 

“Okay, sweets.” He chuckled. “Do whatever you’d like.”

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 1.2k | warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Next part | Masterlist

Velaris was beautiful tonight. Like most nights, the stars shone over the small city, their incandescent light bouncing off the Sidra, making the surface of the water sparkle as the current rippled. The frigid water looked so dark beneath that light, its depths unknown to those who walk across the bridge. 

Rhyasnd watched the stars from his balcony, the violet in his eyes catching a glint under their shine, glass of whiskey in his hand. Feyre and Nyx were spending the evening at an art class across town, a class for children to “paint the stars” as Feyre had said. They would be spending the evening with a dozen or so other small children, his mate and their child on a blanket gazing up at the stars and trying to recreate what they saw onto a tiny canvas, no doubt splattering paint everywhere in the process. He had debated going - he loved the night sky, a fondness he’d had since childhood that carried well into his adult life. He would spend the night telling Nyx about the various constellations, what they mean, and how their planet spins in orbit around a star.

He had, instead, decided to spend his evening in his office, a note on his desk urging him to spend the evening alone until the one person who would understand arrived. He stood on the balcony waiting, his skin growing colder as the night settled in. His eyes traced the patterns of the constellations - the patterns of stars he spent many decades devoting himself to in private. The same stars he prayed to most nights, the changing of the constellations doing little to deter his devotion.

Tonight he needed their guidance, needed their all-seeing gaze once more. He felt his stomach churn as his thoughts whirled, wanting to hurl abuses at the stars above him. He knew they had all the answers, but unwilling or unable to answer his questions, he wasn’t sure which.

His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and memories, too preoccupied to notice the soft flap of wings nearby or Azriel’s soft descent on the balcony next to him. 

Azriel took in his brother’s appearance as Rhys failed to notice him - the High Lord seemed off in some way. Rhys was the harder of his two brothers to pinpoint. Cassian wore his heart on his sleeve, Azriel hardly had to look into Cassian’s big, puppy dog eyes before he knew exactly what troubled him. Rhys was harder - the youngest of all three of them, carrying the weight of everyone’s pleas for help and guidance, one that has led Rhysand to shoulder more than his fair share of burdens. His shoulders sagged as he leant over the balcony, as if he wanted to curl in on himself-

“Stop.”

Azriel blinked once. Twice. 

“Stop what?”

Rhys rolled his eyes, “stupid was never a good look for you.”

Azriel’s hummed as a soft breeze blew by, ruffling the skin of his wings. He moved his eyes away from Rhys, looking toward the Sidra instead. He could hear it from here - the water moving downstream, soft splashes as the current met the bank. He spent most of his nights gazing out over the river, hoping to see anything within its icy depths. 

“Rivers keep going, and we keep going.”

That soft voice echoed in his mind, the memory feeling all at once like several lifetimes ago and only a handful of moments prior. 

“Az.”

Rhys’s voice pulled him from a life so far away, it felt like he traveled galaxies to come back to the present. Rhys’s voice was soft as his violet eyes took in his brother. “There’s a report on my desk.”

Rhys paused, the shadowsinger unable to figure out what could be in this report that had his High Lord so rattled that he had asked him to come as quickly as possible. His shadows moved toward the desk, the black wisps moved across the page before Azriel had even moved, reading the contents of it for themselves but not moving back to Azriel.

That put Azriel on edge.

Rhys nodded his head towards the desk, prompting Azriel to move towards the large oak furniture. Scarred fingers picked up the parchment, reading the report from an Illyrian outpost. All the details from the report went hazy in his mind as his eyes kept moving toward the same word over and over again.

Empath.

The room felt like it had tilted beneath Azriel, something caught in his throat unable to let him get the words out. His eyes scanned the page again, but now the document looked like it only said ‘empath’ over and over again. His shadows were frantically moving about the room, bouncing off the walls, desperate to escape their enclosure of the office. His tight grip on the paper caused some of them to come towards him, affectionately weaving through his fingers as if they were perfectly fitted gloves.

“Rhys, that’s not possible. There hasn’t been a known empath since-“

“I know.”

Rhys’s voice was sharp and clipped, the unspoken words hanging in the air. He took a sip of his whiskey, finishing off the glass before meeting with Azriel behind his desk, putting the glass down where the paper had lain. The paper in Azriel’s hands was shaking now as Rhys lifted one of his own to push the paper down back onto the desk.

“I know.”

His voice was much softer this time, the words coming out not much more than a whisper. 

-

The next morning the two of them left for the village mentioned in the intel, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as they took off from the balcony, neither male looking rested. The flight was silent as they passed over the terrain of the Night Court, the long flight offering the both of them ample time to think.

They landed sometime in the mid-afternoon after having stopped for food along the way, the meal one of silence and heavy atmosphere, not lingering for a second once they finished eating. Upon arriving, the two walked around the Illyrian village, having impromptu meetings with several of the males underneath Cassian’s command. When the sun began setting, their feet led them toward the only tavern in the village, a small, pathetic looking building that reeked of alcohol and vomit.

Rhys adjusted his jacket before he pushed open the door to the tavern, but he barely made it through the threshold before stopping. Azriel ran straight into Rhys’s back as the male in front of him stopped completely, blocking the entrance.

Rhys was frozen in place, his spine ramrod straight. Azriel immediately reached toward his belt, wanting a hand on Truth-Teller to offer some reassurance of whatever could make his High Lord still on sight. Azriel prepared himself and looked over Rhys’s shoulder at whatever caught his eye. His eyes immediately stopped where Rhys’ had - behind the worn down bar top, the wood old but sturdy, stood someone Azriel thought had died long ago.

You shined even brighter in person than you did in his memories, almost as if you casted a light glow over everyone around you, and Azriel’s grip on Truth-Teller faltered as your eyes met his across the room.

Author’s note: eeeek so excited!! Been working on this behind the scenes a bit!!! Dedicating this to my girl @milswrites the ultimate hype woman for this!!!

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage

[bi-writes]

you get into big trouble, and you must pay the price. but bunnies should be terrified, and you are not.

mercenary!ghost x fem!reader (part 3/?)

notes about reader: she's curvy !!!! and she knows it.

cw: this is not a healthy relationship (you're both fucking insane), mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mean!ghost, toxic!ghost, possessive + protective!ghost, kissing through the mask, mentions/depictions of violence + gore, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than ghost, can be easily manhandled by him), ghost is bIG, mentions of ghost's canon trauma, mw3 spoilers, fem!receiving touching + a little oral (18+), unprotected piv

his phone pings. he turns it over, narrowing his eyes at the text on the screen.

🐰: made some cookies. come over?

he runs his tongue over his teeth, clicking it lowly before leaning back in his chair. his ass hurts; he's been sitting here for hours, watching a dark window do nothing for hours.

💀: Working.

🐰: i have a surprise for you !!!

💀: Later.

for a moment, he thinks he should be nicer. give his puppy a bone. tell her he misses the taste of her pretty pussy, that he can still smell her on the mask he hasn't washed. and this is true, he knows it; he aches to go back to where she lives. he wants to see her again. put his dirty, gloved fingers into her mouth and watch her cry, soak her soft panties again, steal them, watch her cry harder when he finally gives her what she wants.

the most horrifying part is that he wants it. he wants to feel the warmth of her body. he wants to see her wide hips stutter, her pretty thighs open. he thinks about bending her over and kneeling down behind her, spreading the meat of her ass so he can watch her come undone against the velvet cushions of her couch.

you're so fucking pretty. and you're everywhere. when he grips the metal of his rifle, he thinks about how hard he was when he ate your cunt--fucking solid, balls so heavy and tight that he thinks he came for a full minute when he finally touched himself that night. when the sight of that rifle finds its target, he thinks about the way your pupils dilated when you came, the way your eyes rolled back into your head and the little sounds you made when he drank up the essence of you. when he swings his knife and plunges it into a soft neck, he thinks about your smile, the teeth you bared, the ones he wants to slide his tongue over when he kisses you again.

he had kissed you. kissed someone. the thought alone would normally make him vomit. to think of another person seeing his face, it bothered him, would usually make him feel sick--disgusted. his face wasn't meant for anyone to see, not even just half of it, and yet--he let you touch him.

and it didn't burn.

he remembers when he had taken a hand once for it. feeling someone's touch on his face, feeling scarred all over again by it, and taking flesh as their penance.

it was only fair.

there is something wrong with him. he should've killed you for it. your hand on his jaw, your lips on his, he should've killed you for touching him--and yet here he is, in another lonely room, staring at his target, thinking about how he can get your hands on him again. how he might coax you into kissing him just one more time.

he doesn't want to make it a habit. but he does want it to happen again. and it is enough that he knows he shouldn't see you again, but he will, because he's selfish. because he's hungry. because there is place inside of him, one that he thought was hollow and untreatable, that is just that much satiated whenever he is with you.

when he closes his eyes, he sees what haunts him. it isn't the memories of torture. he doesn't feel the wood of a coffin he once laid in. he doesn't feel the sting of pain when they carved layers into his face, he doesn't feel the holes they left along his chest when they rooted out pieces of him. he doesn't feel what he felt when they popped his fingernails off one by one.

no, he feels the ghost of someone's touch. he feels the rough callouses of skilled hands. he thinks of the bruised knuckles that used to scrape over the ridges of his uneven skin, and he thinks of the eyes that used to look at him as if he wasn't this mangled, forgotten thing.

he thinks of those eyes, and how blue they used to be. he thinks of what they looked like with that brightness in them, how they used to move, so fluid and easy. and he thinks of what they looked like with nothing in them. he thinks of them when they reflected nothing but the dull light over his head, and he thinks of the scream he let out when he was alone, when he still had his blood on his gloves.

ghost never begs. he doesn't beg, he never has, but he thinks he did that night. he thinks he begged, to who, to no one maybe, but he begged anyway, but it doesn't matter.

no one answered, and he knows there is a place inside of him so fucking hollow, that nothing will fill it again. a hole that only seems to be dug deeper and deeper with each thing he loses.

he never looked back when he left. he didn't say a word. he didn't even take his belongings, he just left. and the only thing he still carries with him from his past life is how good he is at killing and the extra dog tags that hang around his neck.

ghost isn't real. there is nothing about him that is redeemable, nothing about him that is good enough to love, and that is why he just doesn't care. and when he stopped caring, the nightmares went away. when he stopped wondering where they were, what they were seeing, if they would be disappointed in him, he no longer saw their faces in his dreams, watching them fade to black as the soft images turned into violent ones.

when he stopped being human, they left him, and he is so grateful for it. and that is why you were going to be a problem.

because he wants. he desires. he tastes, and he hungers, and you are sweet, and he wants to have you, and it isn't right. he knows this. he knows what it is he needs to do, but he won't do it--and there is a voice in his head that begs, from a far away place, for him to let you go.

but while he might not be human any longer, he is still a man, and men are weak.

as a man, he cannot close his eyes and forget your pretty face. he cannot stop thinking about your warm thighs, the softness of you, the unscarred skin that you wear. you wear your body as it is yours, and not like it holds you back, not like his does. your belly is full, and your heart is good, and you are warm. you aren't made of something else, you are real, and his blood runs so cold, he can't help but itch to feel you again.

there is something about you that makes that place inside of him feel like it isn't there, even for just a moment. and those moments remind him of someone else, of something else, something he once had that made him sick to think about having again.

the last time he had this, it killed him. the last time he found himself here, he didn't realize it had happened until it was too late--he was buried, deep, and there was no escaping a shallow grave this time because he thinks he loved the one that put him there. the last time he thought this way, he felt not himself, not enough, but it had been everything his life had been without, so he stayed, and he let it happen, and he didn't push him away, and now look at me--look at what I've done, look at what I've become--

men are weak. and men are lonely. and it was only a matter of time before ghost found himself there again, on his knees for something else. something soft and sweet and real, something that loves unconditionally and begs for attention and is never satiated until he looks at them and gives them what they need.

he doesn't know what he will become after you. he doesn't know what it will make of him. he knows you will go before him--he knows you will die before he does, because he isn't capable of dying, and even though he knows this as a fact, he wants to die again. but he won't try, because it won't work, even if he takes the blade strapped to his side and shoves it right through his heart.

he doesn't have one. he doesn't know what such a wound would even do. and he doesn't wish to see what color his blood will run if he does it, anyways.

you don't like the distance he keeps you at. it isn't fair. you do everything he asks--you go where he goes, you let him come and go whenever he wants, you spread your legs for him and let him have his fill, and you don't complain when he leaves even though your mouth waters thinking about getting your mouth on him and hearing him bask in his own pleasure for even a moment.

he gives and he takes, but he lets you do neither, and you want more. you know he isn't capable of more, you know he doesn't want more, but you want it, and he needs it. he needs you, despite what he says, despite how he acts, and you will give him what he needs.

you see it in his eyes. the things that aren't there, the things you think he once had but doesn't have anymore. sometimes he talks like you aren't there, and he mentions someone else.

another person. someone he used to know. someone he used to love, you think, but he isn't capable of love anymore, so you often wonder what they did to him to make him this way.

aloof. detached. so entirely fucked, he cannot make connections or hold the ones he has or let himself have what he needs. they have done something to him, and he wears the aftermath of it so clearly.

"he woulda liked you," he says sometimes.

"woulda loved the taste of y'r cunt," he murmurs once.

but they are gone. and you are not. and you know that there is something here. otherwise, he would never come back. he would not want to see you again. maybe he would have even killed you, but he hasn't, and he eats pussy like he loves you, so you decide you won't leave him alone. you won't let him go. this isn't fair, and you will get what it is you want--and give him what it is he needs.

you see him in the pub that you met in. he sits at the far corner of the bar, tucked in the dark against the wall, and he swirls a glass of bourbon in front of him. he wears a rain jacket over his dark hoodie, and you light up when you catch sight of him.

you wear something nice for him. a short skirt, a cotton shirt tucked into it, a cropped jacket over top, and your boots make you feel tall, but you know it won't matter--you'll never be taller or bigger than that large, hulking man you have your eyes fixated on.

but when he sees you, he doesn't react the way you expect. he doesn't sit up, doesn't get off his seat to come get you, he doesn't move at all. his eyes run over you, and then they move back down to his drink.

like he doesn't know what you taste like between your legs. like he doesn't know you at all.

your smile fades. you clutch your purse now in clammy hands, and you walk shakily to the bar and sit, swallowing hard as you try and hold in the shaky breath in your throat. your chest hurts a little; your heart has fallen into your stomach, and you shift on the bar stool, fidgety and uncertain.

you had been so happy to see him. you had been so excited to come here. you hadn't seen him in weeks--but the sparse texts he had sent you were enough to keep you hanging onto your phone whenever it made a sound, as if one of those notifications might be him, throwing you just enough attention to keep you on your toes, desperate.

your lip trembles a little as the bartender comes to take your order. you ask for a shot and a chaser, and you tell him to make it a double. you want to be drunk, and you want to be drunk quickly.

you tip the drink back, swallowing it down. it burns, holds a fire in your chest, and you chase it with a seltzer, swallowing down the contents of both until you slam the can back on the counter, hiccuping.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and when you realize ghost is still not looking at you, you're drunk enough to test his limits.

there's a group of boys down on the other side of the counter. they're playing darts, and they're drinking, and you slip off the barstool with a little step before making your way over cautiously. you pull your shirt down, show off the swell of your tits, and you ask them if they'll teach you to throw darts.

they practically cheer with delight. you hear one of them drool over your ass in that skirt, you hear another whine about looking down your shirt and at the peek of the lace bra you wear, and you shiver when you realize all you ever wanted was attention.

someone to tell you that you're pretty. that you make them hungry. but it isn't all you want, and they can't give you what you want.

they won't die for you. they won't live for you. and certainly, you know, they won't kill for you. but there's a man on the other side of the room that you want doing those things for you, that has the fucking balls to do those things for you, that possesses no good bone in his body that would do those things easily for you.

you see him in your dreams, breaking necks and popping kneecaps and slicing soft skin just to please you, and it makes you ache inside. you know what he does. he's never lied to you, but he doesn't always tell you the whole truth, but you fill in the blanks of the spaces he leaves behind, and you know what it is he does.

there's blood on his boots and money in his pocket, and you should be so afraid, but you never could be. not with the way he touches you. not with the way he talks to you. not with the way he puts his tongue inside of you and holds your thighs apart, and not with the way he grunts when he disappears into your bathroom to fuck himself to the image of you on your couch, half-naked as you wait for a fucking that never comes.

why won't he touch me? why won't he fuck me? why doesn't he rip the rest of my clothes off and have his way with me? he doesn't seem like the kind of man to ask for permission, but he eats me, and then he leaves me, and i can't take it anymore, please, please, please--

you're dizzy. the room spins, and the boys laugh, and your darts are hitting the wall now, clattering to the floor as they all boo and snicker at the way you're stumbling in your heels.

they're too close. you can smell the vodka and beer too much, and it's too warm because they're too close to you. someone's hand is on your thigh, another holds you upright with a grabby grip on your back, and there's someone else playing with your hair. they hum and they talk, and when they say they want to take you home, all you can do is hiccup and smile.

but as soon as you turn and leave, there's a large shadow waiting outside the door, leaning against the wall. you giggle knowingly, because you knew he would be here, and when the boys notice him, they try to take you in the other direction.

"if y'blokes knew wot was good for ya, y'd let 'er go and be on y'r way." he isn't in a good mood. he clicks his teeth as he comes off the wall, stepping under the streetlight. it makes the shadows of his hoodie darker, but his eyes are clearer now, bright under the mask as he breathes hard. he's angry, and he doesn't seem like his patience will linger tonight.

"oi, mate, relax," one of them laughs, and you giggle again when you see ghost tilt his head to the side. fuck, he's deadly, and you're wet. you squeeze your legs together looking at him, and you want him to put one big hand on your waist and tilt your head back--you want him to push his mask up and kiss you, all sloppy and soft like he did all those weeks ago. you want him to put his hands up your skirt and fuck you with his fingers right in the street, the same hands he squeezed the life out of someone with, the same hands he was going to kill these boys with.

ghost steps closer, and he goes for the nearest. brings a hand up, smacking one big hand against their cheek until their head hit the side of the building, and he crumpled to the floor in a pool of his own blood.

they scatter like bugs. stumbling drunk over their feet, tripping, and they disappear into the dark as ghost tilts his head to the other side now, looking at you.

you smile. giddy, hitting your toes together, and when you step to the side, you don't notice you've stepped in that man's blood.

"y'think this is fuckin' funny, eh? hangin' about with lot like that, y'think it's fuckin' funny?" he spits, and you put your hands behind your back, biting your lip.

"you...you ignored me," you hiccup. "why did you ignore me?"

"that wot this is about?" ghost snarls. "me not givin' you a proper look?"

you bite your lip harder, nearly drawing blood.

"i missed you," you whisper, your lip trembling slightly. "m-missed you so much..."

"fuck off with that," he mutters, but you step closer anyways. when he doesn't step back, you step forward again, until you're flush against his chest, tilting your head back to look up at him. you go languid when his arm falls, slipping up the back of your skirt just like you imagined. he squeezes the flesh of your ass before he leans down, and you whine when he presses the front of his mask against your lips. you kiss, your soft mouth kissing him through the fabric.

"is he dead?" you ask when he pulls away. ghost says nothing at first, just smooths his hand over the lace of your panties. he grunts when he slides his fingers between the seam, satisfied when he hears the squelch of your wet pussy as he pets you there. you squirm a little.

"dunno," ghost murmurs, and you get wetter you think, at how nonchalant he behaves as he touches you shamelessly where anyone might see. "fuck, bunny, y'r soakin' my fuckin' gloves."

"why don't you like me?" you whimper. you reach up and put both hands on his chest, and you dig your nails there, but you meet resistance. the muscle and fat there barely give way, and he hums when you drag your nails down, anchoring yourself to him. when you meet his eyes, they are dull, and you know he doesn't care. "i-i like you...i-i like you so much..." he huffs in annoyance, but you keep going, "you like someone else," you whisper. "there's someone else..."

someone else. as if there is some kind of competition, and maybe there is, but it isn't what you think. there is someone in his head, someone that screams for him to leave, someone that begs him--simon, please, yer goin' to hurt 'er, please, she's so pretty, please--but it isn't because he loves someone else, it's because he did love someone else, and he doesn't think there's room for more.

but he also cannot explain what swelled in his chest when he watched you with those boys. the searing heat of emotion that bubbled in his throat, and how the only relief he feels is the satisfaction that the boy at your feet bleeds because he put his hands on you, that is good, make them suffer, touching what fuckin' belongs to me.

there's a breaking point. it's the law of physics. something as rigid as ghost could only bend so far back before it reaches the elastic limit, and then it is deformed, and then it snaps, and then it is two pieces instead of one that cannot be put back together--and he feels it. he knows this is it. the fine line between what was and what is, this is it, it's too late--shut the fuck up, johnny, it's too late, i have her, she's mine, get out of my head, get out of my fucking head, i'm going to have her, have her, have her sweet fucking cunt--

you are bliss. you are the air that allows him to breathe. you are the threads in the fabric, the water in the soil, the heat that warms the house and breaks the soul and drives the machine.

you are in his bed, on your back, and when he slides your skirt off, there it is. the soft place between your pretty thighs, glistening and so wet, puckering and pulsing as you spread your knees for him and slip your shirt off.

he doesn't remember taking his mask off. he doesn't know where it went, but it is gone, and your lips are on his, and your tits are bouncing as he grinds his cock into your soft, squishy folds. the tip catches sometimes, and it makes you cry, and you whine when he breaks the kiss to lick your tears and taste the salt of your pleasure. the tears are heady and desperate, and he knows this flavor, and he wants more of it.

he commits this to memory. when he sits up and feeds you his cock, he memorizes the way you moan. the twitch of your pussy, the leaking of your wetness, the way you clench and tighten and grip so he cannot do anything but force himself deeper inside of you.

what is it that he loves? what is it that he loves so much that he cannot look you right in the eyes? whose body did he have underneath him all that time ago that steals him away so much he cannot fuck you the way you deserve? the way you need, the way he wants?

you reach up and grip his dog tags. they jangle against his chest as he grips your hips and fucks you, and you use them to anchor yourself, tugging on the metal necklace as you focus on the way he thrusts. powerful, smooth, with ease--he's so big, but he fills you so well, and you can't help but wonder if he's losing himself because it's so familiar. to be inside. to be gripped and squeezed and milked for all that you are, the brute of a man so misunderstood that fucks like a goddamn pornstar.

he's so good at this. when he finds the gooey spot in your cunt, he knows how to get you there. hitting it just enough to bring you to the edge, and then slowing down to savor the wet mess your cunt has become, and then doing it again. he listens to the cries you make, the crescendo of moans that you sob out that come back down when he goes softer. he thinks about this, and he makes music out of you. the pretty bunny, so fucking dumb inside, but the thing he cannot be without.

when he fucks you, he sees in blue, and he knows this isn't a coincidence. the blue in your eyes, it doens't lie--he knows what this feeling is, and he prays to no one that he can fuck this feeling right out of himself.

you come so messy. you soak his thighs, creaming on his cock as you beg him to fill you, and he cages you between his arms as he fucks harder, faster, losing momentum as he nears the same glorious high. he's been so good, but this he cannot help--not the way this feels, so familiar, so easy, so freeing.

there are no thoughts when he is inside of you, and this is bliss.

he kisses you when he comes. cups both puffy cheeks of yours as he spurts hot cum inside of you, sliding his big hands down to grip your thighs as he nestles his hips against yours. you reach down with two hands and squeeze his lower back, keeping him inside. this feeling, the feeling of being so full and warm and enjoyed, it isn't natural to you, and it isn't one you feel often, and you chase after it. you lick into his mouth and whine, and he hushes you.

"easy, rabbit," he pants, licking over your jaw, and you close your eyes. if he is predator and you are prey, then so be it. you want him to have his fill--you want him to trap you, steal you away, tuck you into this den he keeps and never let you leave.

you don't mind the blood on his boots, stained on his clothes, under his fingernails. in fact, you think about it often. you think about taking a rag and cleaning the leather of his shoes. you think about teaching him the cold water and peroxide trick to getting the blood out of fabric. you think about taking the gloves off, letting his fingers wander into the warmth of your mouth so you can suck his skin clean, all while your eyes never left his.

you think about the thing that you are. the bunny you are, the prey you've manifested yourself into, and you think about the thing that he is. you think about the dark, dense places that must exist inside of his head, and you think about how you can't see them in his eyes.

you think about being the bunny in a cage and how he holds the key. and you wonder if you would even leave if he ever let you go.

ghost loves someone else. you don't know who they are or where they've gone, but he loves someone else. but that's okay. that's temporary. that's just for now. they didn't love him enough to stay.

they didn't love him enough not to die. you don't intend to die. you're going to carve him up, right along the scars that he wears, and you're going to slip inside of him and live there forever, nestled between the organs and the black of his blood and the heart you know he doesn't have.

ghost is a thing. but he's still a man.

and men are fucking weak.

[storiesforallfandoms]

junker ~ beck oliver;victorious

word count: 2011

request?: no

description: after her car breaks down in front of the dreamy boy’s house, he helps her to fix it

pairing: beck oliver x female!reader

warnings: swearing, one mention of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

“No,” you said to yourself as your car began to slow. “No, no, no!”

You hit your steering wheel in frustration as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road.

This wasn’t the first time you had encountered issues with your shitty excuse for a car. It was definitely because the car was older than your parents. It was a miracle it even started in the first place, which, to be fair, it didn’t most of the time. You had no idea what your parents were thinking in buying you this hunk of junk to be your first car. They didn’t have to buy you a brand new sports car or anything, but they could’ve gotten you something from this decade at least.

You got out o the car to inspect what had happened. You opened the hood of the car and inspected inside. You couldn’t tell if anything was off because it all just looked the same to you. There was probably something, but you weren't exactly knowledgeable on cars.

You exclaimed in frustration and kicked the wheel, followed by a string of expletives as pain exploded from your toes.

“Car troubles?”

You turned to see a boy around your age stood at the end of a driveway.

“It just stopped,” you said. “I have no idea what’s wrong with it.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face as you realized how screwed you were. You were a few blocks away from home, so walking wasn’t necessarily off the table, but it would take you a while to get home. Not to mention you had no idea how you’d get the car back to your place, or off the road at all.

“Here, bring it into my driveway,” the boy said. “I’ll take a look at it.”

“How are we gonna get it into your driveway? It’s like...dead dead.”

He approached the car, taking a quick glance at the still open hood before reaching to close it. “Put it in neutral. I’ll push, you can steer.”

You weren’t sure if that sounded like a good idea - one person pushing a car on their own didn’t seem super doable - but you had no other choices. So, you got back into your car, waiting for him to get in place, then shifted the car into neutral. You started turning the wheel, shifting the car towards the driveway. It took a while, but eventually the two of you had managed to get the car into his driveway. You put it back in park as he came around to pop the hood again.

“I’m Beck, by the way,” he said as you got out of your car.

“(Y/N),” you responded. “Thanks for the help. I thought I was screwed.”

“Why are you driving a junker like this? It must be like, a century old.”

“My parents got it for me when I got my license. Something about wanting to get an older car as my first one until I learn responsibility, I guess?”

“So they gave you a rolling death trap?”

You scoffed. “Yeah, basically. I bet they’ll regret that now.”

Beck leaned in to get a better look at something. “When did they buy it?”

You shrugged. “A few weeks ago, I think.”

“Well, they’ll definitely regret however much money they wasted on this thing. It’s completely dead.”

Your eyes widened. “What?!”

Beck stood back up. “There’s not a single thing that works in this thing now. Engine is toast, battery zapped, starting motor gone. It’s a wonder this thing ever worked in the first place.”

You let out a long groan. As if your luck couldn’t get any worse. What were you supposed to do now without a car? You couldn’t go back to relying on your parents to drive you everywhere, and you certainly were not about to start taking the bus to school again.

“Do you have a phone?” Beck asked.

“It’s dead,” you said. “I was on my way home anyways, I thought I’d be fine.”

“Listen, mine is in my RV. You can use it to call your parents if you want.”

You eyed the silver RV in the yard. “You live in there? When there’s...a house?”

He chuckled. “I prefer to be on my own. The RV was the only compromise my parents would come to. If you’d rather not come in, I understand. I can bring my phone out instead if it would make you more comfortable.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. It’s starting to get dark, so it’s probably best if I wait inside instead of out here while it gets cold.”

Beck nodded for you to follow him into his trailer. It was a decent size, big enough for one person living there. It was also evident that a teenage boy lived there given the mess. Beck must’ve noticed, too, because he quickly started picking up dirty clothes and laundry from the floor, mumbling something about ignoring the mess. You quietly giggled to yourself.

Beck passed you his phone. You sat down on his couch and dialed your mom’s number first. It rang for a long time before an automated message told you she was away from the phone. You hung up and tried your dad’s number, only to have the same outcome. You rolled your eyes and hung up, handing the phone back to Beck.

“They must be busy,” you said. “God, this sucks. What am I going to do?”

Beck sat down next to you. He was close enough to you that you could feel his shoulder brushing against yours. You were suddenly very aware of your situation: alone in a trailer with a boy who was incredibly cute. A broke down car, no way to get home until your parents answered your calls. You shuffled awkwardly in your seat, looking down at your lap when looking into Beck’s eyes became too much.

“I could drive you home,” he offered. “Then, when your parents are home, you can tell them what happened and where the car is. Then they can decide if they want to come get it, or they can leave it here and I can salvage whatever parts I can from it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You think there’s anything salvageable from that car?”

“Well...the tires.”

You both laughed. You knew you should be getting home, but part of you also didn’t want to leave yet. Sure, you would still see Beck again whenever your parents decided to come get the car - if they decided to come get the car - but after that you may never see him again. He wasn’t familiar to you, and you were sure you’d remember someone like Beck at your school, so that meant he went to a different school. The likeliness of you two ever crossing paths again were incredibly slim.

But you also couldn’t just invite yourself into his place to stay for a while. You were still a stranger to him, and him to you technically. And you probably should get home so you could charge your phone, just so your parents didn’t start freaking out if they tried to call you and couldn’t get through.

So, you took Beck’s offer and followed him to his car. It was definitely a lot nicer than your old piece of junk. You were almost embarrassed that he had to see what you were driving before. The one silver lining to this whole situation was that your parents might actually buy you a good car after all of this.

You knew it was going to be a short ride to your house, so you had to make the most of it. You looked over at Beck and asked, “So, what school do you go to?”

“Hollywood Arts,” he responded.

“Oh! So that’s why I haven’t seen you around. You’re too busy becoming a big star.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so. Trying to, at least. I’m not a singer like most of the people who attend that school. I’m trying to become an actor after I graduate.”

“Hey, the world needs actors. That doesn’t sound like an impossible dream to achieve.”

He shrugged. You felt like the conversation was drifting away, and you desperately wanted it to keep going.

“I do appreciate what you did for me,” you said. “Most people in LA probably would’ve driven right past me and wished me luck.”

“I couldn’t let you just stay there stranded right in front of my place,” he said. “What kind of a guy would I be if I didn’t offer the pretty girl some help?”

Your face immediately burned at his compliment. You quickly looked away so he wouldn’t see how flustered you were.

“Still, I appreciate it,” you said. “And the ride home. I probably could’ve walked, come to think of it.”

“No way. I wasn’t going to let you walk when I have a perfectly good car that could’ve driven you home.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

He chuckled. You noticed the car slowing to a stop, and when you looked up you saw that you were in front of your house. You almost deflated with disappointment. Your time with Beck was finally, and unfortunately, coming to an end. There was no way you’d be able to see him again, you were sure of that. It was already pretty clear the both of you wouldn’t be running into each other at schooling events, unless you managed to make it out to a performance at Hollywood Arts that Beck just so happened to be starring in.

“This is me,” you said, trying to keep the sadness from your voice.

“So it is,” Beck said with a nod.

You looked down at your lap, trying to stall as much as possible. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how I can repay you for all of this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“What if I wanted to? I mean, surely there’s something else I could do or give you as a way of saying thanks. Something more than that lump of junk that’s still sat in your driveway.”

He made a face. “No, that’s a terrible thank you gift actually.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying I want to give you an actual thank you gift.”

He thought for a moment and you waited patiently for his answer. Finally, he looked back at you and said, “There is something you could give me.”

“What is it?”

“Your number.”

He was holding his phone out to you. You looked from his phone up to his face. You were almost sure this wasn’t real, that you were hallucinating that this was happening. But the longer it took for you to take Beck’s phone and put your number in it, the more his face was starting to show worry. As if you were about to turn him down.

“Yes!” you finally blurted. “I mean...yeah. Yeah, I can...I can do that.”

He seemed amused by your flusteredness. You quickly took his phone and typed in your name and number before handing it back to him.

“You better get your phone charged,” he said. “Otherwise, how am I supposed to try and plan a date with you?”

Oh, he smooth.

You wanted to say something back that was equally as smooth, but you were at a loss for words. Instead, you just nodded your head for a long time, like a crazy person, before finally saying goodbye for real and getting out of his car. You could feel him watching you as you walked up to your front door and let yourself in. He didn’t leave until the door closed behind you, and even then he waited for you to lock it and turn on the light over the door.

Once you were alone, you leaned back against the door and you couldn’t stop the wide smile that broke out across your face.

Okay, at least there were two silver linings to that stupid thing breaking down.

[dragonsoulage]

Fighting with his beloved nurse...

feat. Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu is not used to people that like him and that are concerned for him. He does not even understand why you were angry when he got hurt a little too bad for your taste. Afraid he would need to split apart from his favourite nurse. So you two ended up arguing

Hello world I am still sick but I wrote a little Giyuu stuff here. Idk why I feel like he always would think he is not good enough, poor boy so we need to show him that he is precious ✨ anyways I still suck in proof reading but have fun. That's just the first time I wrote something for Demon Slayer 💖

Wordcount: 2,0 k

Warnings: fluff, fighting, a little suggestive in the end

The situation was kinda frustrating. He just came back from a mission a few days ago.

You were a nurse around from the butterfly estate. Stunning, gorgeous, breathtaking...all these words that popped in Giyuus head when you appeared in his sight. But not only that, you were indeed a kind soul. Always gifting him with the sweetest smiles of all when he returned.

Slowly over the years you build a connection with him. He was a cold man, not really social, so it was not that easy. But you were kind from the bottom of your heart. Not even could harm a fly.

Patients you card for all said the same, you were an angel walking on earth.

But even angels can be mad, right?

You and Giyuu, never really named what this was between you two.

All you knew was that when he came back from a mission, and you saw him, you came walking toward him in a quick pace. Hugging him so tight to make sure he was really there. And Giyuu? He always breathed in your scent. One hand on your face needing to look in the depth of your orbs to make sure, you were there and wouldn't leave, like everyone else.

He grew attached, more than that he loved you. He cared deeply, and yet saying it out loud felt so dangerous.

That poor boy was afraid you would slip away when he wasn't careful enough. Although you would never fade, for what reason?

He may be quiet, but he listened to you, he loved when you were yapping around. Or even the deep talk you two had sometimes in the middle of the night, when you slipped into his room after your late night shift was done.   

But right now? Oh, you were mad. And why? He did his job, as a Hashira eliminated a demon.

But when he had been coming back it was so close that he could've died, you were freaking out...because you were afraid. "Don't act like that would've been nothing. Look at you." you scolded him, as he stood in front of you. You looked everywhere except his eyes.

"I did my job, you are fully aware that I am a demon slayer, what is the trouble. That's not the first time I come back and not be unharmed." he asked, his voice sounded nonchalant.

He wasn't sure how to respond to your subtle anger, especially not when he was wounded.

Probably he didn't even understand the fact that you liked him so much, that you were actually worried. You sighted trying to make the bandage sit a little better.

"Are you mad?" he asked you then, he sat there shirtless as you personally took care of his wounds. Just a little more to the left and his wound would have been critical. You didn't just see Giyyu as a demon slayer or Hashira anymore. You were afraid that someday, he wouldn't come back. Furthermore, you never doubted his talent, but you were worried.

"Do I look happy?" you asked him back, shortly narrowing your eyes. Now he sighted, he thought he did something wrong. Disappointing? Fighting not hard enough? Being not good enough because he was harmed?

These were his thoughts, although it was quite the opposite.

"You don't." he replied curtly, with a heavy voice, his head was making scenarios.

"Right I am not, when that demon would have hit you just a little more left....you would have been dangerously wounded." you meant while you reached around his torso for the bandage. 

  "I endured worse things. I don't understand why you are making a fuss." probably this was not the answer you wanted to hear. Or that anyone want to hear. You loved him, cared so deep for him. It was not a fuss, at least not for you. You saw a lot of demon slayers die in your job, and you didn't want to have him on the list. You were done with the bandage and looked at him, sad eyes coupled with angry ones.

"A fuss? Is that what you think I do when you get back?" You asked him, your voice carried a hint of annoyance. Both of you kinda talking, not straight to the topic. You were worried, and he thought he was not good enough.

"(Y/N)...you patch me up. You come looking for me, I don't mean that you don't do your duty as nurse I..." Giyuu was lost for words. Well, what happened when he came back?

Yeah, it was you, you took your sweet time patching him up carefully. Listened to his dangerous adventure and after that? Showering him with praise and kisses, just to see how badly wounded he is and when it was not, that exhausting, you gifted him with passionate nights.

He grew accustomed to this routine, always wanting to be good for you. Not a lot of people liked him or took even interest in him. Not at all. He was just so afraid he would lose you, before he had the chance to acknowledge his feelings.

"We both know I do more than that...it's not what I meant." you said, and you were done patching him up at least as good as it could get now, because after this he stood up, ignored the pain in his ribs just to take his haori and put it on.

Giyuus face had a slight scowl in his brows, his black long ponytail just slightly disheveled from the journey back and the exhaustion. The bandage around his lower torso, his strong chest showing off even when the haori was already over his shoulders. He made his way to the door.

"I know that we...we are having a thing. That you do more than every other nurse in this estate would do. I just don't understand what is different now then before...." maybe he even mumbled that to himself. With a sigh he opened the door ready to go outside, he was not good dealing with arguments. Not that he couldn't say anything, but with you, it was different. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. He couldn't even bear the face you made. This was when it hit you, he was not going because he was angry too, he was going because he was afraid he fucked up and didn't even know why. Your steps then went fast over to him, and you grabbed the door with your hand before you stopped him from leaving. Gently closing it. "What do you think will happen when we fight, Tomioka?" you asked him, clearly a whole different topic than before. You looked a little strict but your features softer now.   

  Should he be honest? That he was simply afraid he did something truly wrong and lost you? Well, this was at least what he was thinking. Losing that pretty nurse, that made him feel...loved.

"We split, isn't it like that? Not that it would be a surprise." he spoke then, looking everywhere, but not in your face.

"Look at me, when you talk to me. I taught you manners." you meant, it was sounding a little sharp but with that edge...you were softer now. You saw what his problem had been, he didn't got the fact that you were concerned for him, afraid he could die. You liked him too...maybe even more than like. Then Giyuu looked up, poor boy, he was so distance and cold until he met you. He loved your warmth, the way you made him feel prickly in his chest. The way you smiled, the way you brushed strands of his raven hair out of his face. The way your waist felt in his hands, when he pulled you close. The way you smelled when he nuzzled his face in your neck.

"Giyuu..." you started and used his first name, your sweet voice filled with a little regret that you didn't see it that he was insecure, afraid to even.

"Just because I am mad don't mean we split... I am sorry when I made you feel unwanted. It was not-" before you could even finish, he stepped closer, his one hand reaching out cupping your cheek. It was even enough for him to hear that you don't split. You were his only person he wanted to have close now, where he allowed himself to be close.

"You didn't make me feel unwanted. It was just...the way you scolded me, making me...fear I did something that upset you so much you would change your mind about me." he said to you, his voice was now lower. "And I don't want to upset you. I just can't change the fact that fighting demons is my job, and apparently I am quite good at it." he added.

You laid your hand over his. It was a tender gesture. Nearly like all the tension flew away suddenly.   

  "I was just afraid... I don't want to lose you. You know? I see demon slayers die every day... I like you, you know. You don't complain about my yapping, the way you hold me close. I like all these things, and I was just concerned. Sorry that it overwhelm me and that I was being too hard to you." alone the fact that you apologized because you maybe reacted a little over in such a moment. The fact you spoke out you didn't want to lose him, that you liked him. Giyuu was anything than good at expressing his feelings. He pulled you just a little closer to give you such a loving kiss on your forehead. Before his forehead rested against yours. He took a deep breath.

"Actually (Y/N), I like you more than just...like. That is why I fear you wouldn't keep me around when I wasn't good enough." it was a little plain, not the passionate confessing others dreamed off. But it was his confession. The way he told you he loved you.

"You are a Hashira, you are one of the best, the best. My best." you answered him before you then reached out and placed a kiss on his lips. It was sweet at first, all the feeling you two had poured into this kiss. All at once. Then your hands slid up his bare chest. You felt his muscles tensing slightly, the way he shivered when your cold fingertips went over his skin. Before you laid your hands around the back of his neck.

"So we are going back to the usual routine when you patch me up?" he then asked, with flushed cheeks his one hand had grabbed gently your waist pulling you closer. He was still injured, and in pain, at least with certain movements. He just spoke in between the kiss, loving the way your lips felt against his.

"Depends on how much are you hurt?" you asked in between before gently guiding him back to the bed for patients. Where he sat down. Looking up at you with such ocean eyes. It was always so cute when he blushed because he was excited. "Not that much...you could be on top." He suggested with a tone kinda desperate for you. He would lie when he said he wouldn't love the fact that after you patched him up that you gave him such a delightful treatment. You guided him to lay down and straddled his lap, your cute nurse skirt rising up a little, and his hands went to the new exposed creamy skin he found. Rough hands caressing you. You then tilted your head just a little. Maybe one round he could take before he really should rest. "Oh, is that so? Not so much? Well while I will try to make you feel better, you can just continue to tell me how much you like me, that's a deal right?" Your voice was sweet when you said that, the whole argument forgotten, but of course not the fact that he admitted he liked you more than just a bit. And you would use this now to your advantage and gifting him with his beloved patching up routine...  

[temiizpalace]

🎉Congrats on your milestone! 🎉Could I have idia and vil for prompt 4 pls?

☆┊TAKE MY JACKET, I INSIST. (💀 vs. 👑)

SUMMARY: COLD CHILLS RAN DOWN YOUR SPINE AS YOUR TEMPERATURE BEGINS TO DROP. HE OFFERS HIS JACKET LIKE A GENTLEMEN, BUT A CERTAIN SOMEONE HAD THE SAME IDEA.

CHARACTERS: idia shroud vs. vil schoenheit

EVENT MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: no determined end couple, jealousy

NOTES: vil and idia was such an interesting matchup i love it. tysm for your request!

reader is g/n, reader yuu

˚∘☆∘˚

he should’ve just stayed in his room.

idia roamed the halls of night raven in search of you. he just had to show you his recently imported collection of pokemon merch (that somehow exists here…) and can’t wait to nerd out and explain to you why pikachu could be goku in a fight. it was exciting to find someone willing to listen besides ortho.

until..

there you were. with vil. a SUPERMODEL and SUPER ACTOR, chatting away and having a good time. suddenly any and all of idia’s confidence was blown to smithereens and now he wants to go back to his room and weep. okay, cringe over exaggeration but he wants to go back to his room. just as he thought he shuffled out of sight, you spotted him in that split second and called him over. “idia! hi!” you wave, making him flinch.

hesitantly, he outs himself from hiding and waved back. “h-hey..” he mumbles, watching as you walked over. “what’re you doing outside of your room? i was just about to visit you.” you tease, poking his shoulder. “you were?”

“yeah! me and vil wanted to ask about the new game you bought the other day. apparently he was hired as a voice actor and wanted to get into character, yknow?” you stated that calmly, too calmly. vil? voice acting a game that he plays? seriously? that’s gonna be really weird playing the game and all of a sudden hearing your classmate grunting in pain.

“indeed. any facts for this character, idia? i’ve never voice acted, so this is not in my forte.” vil asks, showing him a photo. “u-uhm.. they’re super cunning, i gues?” idia stutters, backing away slowly. normally he’d love to geek out about this topic, but today was different. he was looking for you, and wanted to geek out to you. not to vil.. “while that’s super cool and all, i think i might head out now.. [MC], see you for our gaming sesh. v-vil.. bye.” and before you could even speak, idia walked faster than he never has before.

embarrassing. so embarrassing. he could barely hold eye contact, how in the world will he ever confess? all hope is lost. the world can end here and it’ll be better than this. overreacting again, but whatever. he wants to lie in bed, cover himself in the sheets, and sulk for a little. such a baby.

☆˚∘

idia rotted away in bed the rest of the day, scrolling through magicam for any new codes he could redeem in his games. a banner pops up, the contact leading to you. hesitantly, he opens the message. stargazing later!! u should come too!11!!

he stared at the message, unable to respond. he wants to go, but also doesn’t.. aaaaaaaa why did he have to like you, it’s not fair. as much as he wants to decline, he knew you’d probably ping him a billion times til he agrees, so he’ll save himself the trouble. sure i have nothing to do later lol

and now he’s here. sitting on the hill with you and vil. gee, it’s like he’s seeing this guy everywhere. “idia, i had no idea you were joining us.” vil says, crossing his arms while looking idia up and down with a glare. intimidated. that was the word to describe idia at this moment. “[MC] invited me.. so..” he murmurs, curling up into a small ball. “cheer up idia! you’ll miss the stars if you hide like that.” you grin, keeping him from hiding his face.

you and idia’s banter couldn’t help but make vil scoff. so noisy.. it should’ve been just you and him. why’d you invite that shut-in too? he’s just going to complain the whole time, right? alas, it can’t be helped. but vil has natural charm, perhaps that’ll win you over.

the breeze begins to pick up, making you shiver. you should’ve brought a jacket, but you didn’t want to miss anything. your negligence has costed you. “cold?” vil asks, watching as you covered your arms with your hands. “a little, but i should be fine.” you reassure him, waving it off like it’s nothing.

“y-you can wear my jacket..” idia stammers, unable to look at you. “hm?” you raise your brow, looking to the boy on your right. his face was flushed red, the tips of his hair slightly pink from embarrassment. “here.” he offers you his jacket, the one that looks ever so comfortable and extremely warm. the one he never lets go of, in your hands. “you mean it?” you ask in disbelief, staring at him as he hid himself further.

“just take it..” just as you were about to put it on, a coat drapes over your shoulders, the warmth catching you off guard. “what kind of gentlemen would i be if i let my dear friend freeze?” vil smirks, looking at idia with a shit-eating grin. “i insist you take your jacket back idia, wouldn’t want to get sick now.”

idia frowns at vil’s pettiness, suddenly feeling very competitive. “woah woah, hang on, wouldn’t want superstar vil schoenheit to get sick because of me. you should take your coat back so you don’t get frostbite.” idia states, taking the coat off you and back into vil’s arms. “please, there are filming conditions in colder weather.” vil scoffs. “should see my room in the summer months.” idia retorts.

“uhm.. guys?” you cut in, breaking their focus. “i can just run back to ramshackle really quickly..! don’t worry about it, stay here.” you get up, rushing down the hill. the silence became deafening, not even the trees rustling broke their awkward tension. refusing to face one another, they stare up at the starry sky. shooting stars begin to fly by, one by one, a never ending stream.

gazing upon it, they shut their eyes and make a wish.

he’ll marry you, and cut that other guy completely out of the picture.

they wished as they glare at each other discreetly.

A/N: shorter than others because i ran out of ideas euheuheueh

date published: 9/2/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[reverieblondie]

Clumsy Kitty: Part 2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara X Blackcat Fem!!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, oral (fem receiving), Teasing, Spanking, Inquiries, slight angst? Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Miguel dosen't communicate well and neither do you.

Summary: After your night with a specific grumpy spider you test the limits to your new found...relationship?

A/N: So I rewrote this a lot because this originally wasn't supposed to have a part two but here we are! Hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Word Count: 6,157 (I wish I knew how to write smaller fics!)

Eyes still shut you are leaning on the warmest thing you have ever felt. It's so silky soft you can’t help but nuzzle your face deeper. The smooth breathing and the sound of a steady heartbeat lolls you further into a relaxed state. 

Very gently you feel the solid warm mass being replaced with a cool pillowly feeling, you feel yourself pout from the loss of warmth but you're too exhausted, your body feeling too drained to even muster a protest. The warmth is back for a single moment, it softly brushes from over your swollen lips to your cheek. The soft touch makes you drift further into the sweet darkness of rest. 

Almost as quick as it was to slip into your slumber you are rushing to awaken from it. Opening your eyes abruptly you are met with the sight of your room, lying in your sheets, wrapped in your comforter smelling like the detergent you used to clean all your clothes. Blinking for a couple of minutes your brain goes over everything that happened last night. 

Going to lean up your now awake body feeling painfully sore, Plopping back down you feel the soreness everywhere your arms, your legs, your throat, your aching sex. Spider-Man or scratch that Miguel did a number on you. Though you would do it again, you plan to do it again. 

Stretching your arms you hear your bones pop and the soreness stretch through your shoulders, where's the damn Tylenol? Getting up, the rest of your body aching from standing awake you finally look over to your nightstand where a note catches your eye. A paper folded to stand says ‘Take me’ and there's an arrow pointing down to a pill. Ah, plan B smart. 

Grabbing the pill and the card you walk to your restroom, examining the card you assume to be from Miguel you take in how nice his handwriting is, and turning the card over you see another message for you, ‘stay out of trouble’. A small chuckle leaves your lips and you stand in your small bathroom. 

“Stay out of trouble huh?” you say with a smirk, looking back to the pill you laugh slightly again before unceremoniously dropping the pill in the toilet and flushing it down. 

Probably should tell Spidy you're on the pill, no plan B needed, and also there is no way in hell you're going to be staying out of trouble now, not when you've got so deliciously rewarded for your little escapades. Now the trick will be how to see him again…you know now where his little clubhouse’s location and you could always do your tried and true getting into trouble, though what if you should try to see him out of the suit, like just regular people…would that even work? Could you even find him? 

Losing yourself in thought you run through the possibilities, though one thing rings in your mind, does he want to see you again? Whelp, that's just something you will have to figure out. 

Taking a deep breath you look at your reflection in the mirror, time to get ready for another mundane day. Though your day was sure to be as mundane as any other, the excitement of what the night could hold has you looking forward to your day. 

Now, you might be crazy or just too dickmotized but going into the same museum that you had first met Spider-man seemed like an almost romantic way to meet him again. Poetic really. Walking through the museum you walked around looking for something good to snatch up. Your eyes fall on some relic-looking thing in a glass box with lots of lasers to set off, perfect!

Public eye hot your tail, and you're running from them hoping from building to building then finally slipping to the underground, a place they are sure to lose you in. It worked but you're a bit disappointed, Miguel failed to appear. Now stuck with some relic you don’t even want you to start to make your trek back to your apartment.

Swinging from building to building, you stop to rest in a dark alley, you need to work out more if you're going to keep this up. Taking your breather you fail to hear the person sneaking up behind you.

Suddenly a large hand is placed over your mouth while the other wraps tightly around your waist. Being pressed against the solid body of your capture you only panicked for a moment before feeling that familiar warmth. Turning your head you see that it’s the masked vigilante himself pressing you close. Dragging you further into the ally, and you let him lead the way. Finally being secluded enough to his liking he releases you. While he releases you he grabs the relic from your hand. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?” Miguel places the relic to the side before he crosses his arms, you know under that mask he's giving you that furrowed brow look of disappointment. 

“Oh well you know old habits die hard,” You say slowly getting closer to him. You reach your hand out to touch his chest but he quickly grabs your wrist before you can touch him. Looking at him you're a bit confused but filled with anticipation. 

Pulling you closer he causes you to crash into him holding you tightly, more bruises for your already sore body. You can't help but feel that familiar excitement from the last time you two were this close.   

“Kitty, I told you to keep out of trouble, if you keep up this bad behavior I will be forced to do something about it…” 

Oh, this is perfect, he is definitely into your bad girl behavior, “Well then do something abou-” Before you can even finish your sentence, you are turned around and quickly pinned to the nearest wall. 

“You're in trouble now gata, now count…”  

“Count-” Right as you're saying the word back to him you feel a hard slap across your ass. Mouth hanging open in surprise you don’t even know what to do. The rush of excitement makes your lower stomach tighten as you feel that familiar tingling. Hands grip hard to the wall and you brace yourself.  

“Count…” his gruff voice demands in your ear. 

“One” turning your face still against the wall you see that he’s still in that damned mask. The eyes narrow at you then another spank strikes you making a quick moan escape you. Your body shakes in excitement, “Two”

Miguel's large hand can be felt running up your body from your hip to your breast massaging gently. It's a completely different feeling from the sharp slap following the gesture. “Th-three” you stutter out, the spanking is degrading enough but forcing you to count, it was making your slick pool in your panties.  

A fourth slap and you're starting to feel the stinging pain welling up on your cheek. After mewing out “four” you feel him rub his large hand on the plush flesh of your bottom. The sweet gesture has you arching yourself towards him feeling his length straining in his suit.

 As you're grinding your ass against him, he moves his hand away, reeling back. Knowing what’s going to follow you shying away from the incoming spank before he’s even done it. 

Soft lips are then pressed to your neck and his hand moves from your breast to grip your chin. Feeling his desperate open mouth kisses burning against your neck, your eyes rolling as he approaches the shell of your ear, nipping slightly. 

“Don’t shy from it now bad girl, take your punishment…” nodding your head slightly you still yourself as best you can, clenching your thighs and shutting your eyes tightly, bracing for the delicious sting. 

The fifth spank comes down, but it’s gentle still felt but not as hard as the other four. The warmth of his body moves away from you and you can’t help how you almost whine missing his warmth so close to you. -you’ve got it bad…

Turning around still pressed against the wall you see his mask is off and he's smirking at you, clearly proud of himself. And he should be, your body is heated, face flushed, and panties are ruined. If the goal was to turn you on and take you in the alley it was working and you were willing. 

Though, to your disappointment, he grabs the relic you stole instead of ravishing you further. 

“Was that supposed to teach me a lesson? I think you could have done more than that” you tease trying to get a reaction.

“What do you even need this for?” Miguel tosses the relic in the air and catches it casually. 

“To lure you out spidy” Danm, getting good at this confident banter. 

Miguel shoots you a look that you easily read as he silently says ‘really’, you can’t help but laugh, “You're the one who keeps rewarding my bad behavior” This gets a soft chuckle from him. -Hell yeah! Fall for my charm spidy.

Miguel's mask goes back over his face and before he goes to swing off into the night Miguel tosses the stolen relic back to you, “Make sure you be a good kitty and take that back.” 

Going to grab the relic, you're trying your best to catch the priceless artifact. However, you have never been good at catching. 

The relic fumbles in your hands before it crashes onto the ground breaking into pieces.  The impact makes your hands fly to cover your mouth to hold in your yelp, this is not good… Slowly you lift your eyes to Miguel as he stares down at the ruined artifact before he slowly rises to view your shocked face. 

“Really…” his voice says dryly

“I wasn’t expecting you to throw it!” 

Breaking a priceless artifact and then haphazardly gluing it back together before returning it to the museum was not one of your prouder moments. Can’t say it didn’t fit in with the bad girl persona, even without trying you were slipping into your naughty girl ego. Though Miguel didn’t exactly seem happy about a priceless relic being destroyed. -whoops

You would just have to make it up to him. Did it involve you breaking into somewhere and stealing? Yes, but you made sure to steer clear of anything too irreplaceable so you opted for Alchemax, a place that every time you sunk it Miguel was a forsure arrival. 

It was the chase that had your mouth watering, barely slipping through Spider-Man’s fingers as you ran away with whatever bullshit seemed important. Honestly it didn’t matter, he was chasing you with that taunting tone of come back and you were swinging and climbing barely out of reach. Miguel could have caught you easily, he was stronger and way more agile in the air than you, but something told you he was enjoying chasing his prey as you led him closer and closer to your apartment.  

Spider-man catches the bad blackcat to face justice, and if the place he so happens to catch you in was your apartment then so be it. Sure the neighbors would be confused about who this so-called Miguel is as they file a noise complaint about you. But he had to be rough with you slamming into you over and over as you begged for forgiveness and promised to be a good girl. How else would he teach such a bad girl a lesson? 

Too lost in the thrill of the chase and the fantasy of the night in store for you; you don’t notice that your grappling claw is releasing at a delay. So, once you jump off the side of the building and shoot for the next, it jams. 

Panicking, you're trying to release it but it's not reacting and now you're falling. The ground is fast approaching as the neon lights of the city blur in your vision. You're quickly trying to find something to grab or something to land on. This is something you have never thought would happen and now it’s happening, you should have planned better. Trying not to panic you can’t help how you slip a cry of Miguel's name, slipping his identity is a major no no but you don’t know how else to convey you are in trouble. 

Though your outing of his name isn’t even registering to him right now, he just sees you falling to the ground; panic consuming him. In an instant, he's jumping down, crawling, falling, then grabbing you in a bone-breaking embrace. The force of him hitting you in such a desperate attempt has you both crashing into the nearest building's window. Breaking and entering unintentionally. 

A throbbing pain can be felt on your head and talons can be felt piercing through your suit and skin, holding you so tightly in his burning warmth. The blazing warmth of the tight embrace almost has you not registering how the blood weeps from your wounds. Breathing in a stutter from the adrenaline and from how he is almost crushing you, it only tightens further until you can relinquish one steady breath that eases him. Pulling away from him you can only imagine what's behind his mask in this moment, anger, happiness, relief, fear? 

Suddenly a sharp pain makes your brows furrow and your hand shoots towards the pain, placing your hand to your side you feel it then looking down you see it. A shard of glass embedded into your side blood coating the transparent intrusion. Not used to such injuries you scream then almost faint but Miguel is swift to catch you in his arms. An injury like this is nothing to him you assume from his apparent calm demeanor. 

“Really I will be fine” You sat on the couch as you heard Miguel shuffling around your bathroom muttering to himself. With his mask off, you see that it is not a calm or even a pitting demeanor; he’s irritated and it seems to be pointed at you. 

Coming back into view you see he has managed to scrunch up some supplies to help take care of you. Laying all the supplies on the table he doesn't meet your eyes. Feeling guilty about the whole situation your eyes fall to the floor, this was not what you had in mind for the evening. 

Fingers caress your chin making you look and meet his eyes, those eyes…absolutely hypnotic…you can’t help how you slowly lean in wanting to kiss him. But he moves his head back slightly avoiding your advance, looking down at your side still impaled with the glass and his face twists into further irritation. 

“This might hurt,” he says dryly.

“What?” swiftly Miguel pulls the glass from your side, honestly not all as deep and bad as you had originally thought, But the sudden yanking out of you is painful. 

“Son of a bitch!” you yipe at the sting. The stinging pain was quickly dissipating as Miguel worked tentatively to patch up the wound. Honestly, him playing doctor with you was making your stomach swarm with butterflies. 

Wanting to flirt and tease him you decide against it as you look down at his face. Seeing him with a serious face was nothing new for you but in this moment there was an air about him that was making you walk on eggshells. Miguel had hardly said anything to you this whole time, he was just speaking under his breath or just giving sharp commands.   

“Okay strip, I need to patch the rest” Miguel demands as he stands away from you. 

Gently you run your hand along your side where he had bandaged you up. Looking up at your hero, he’s refusing to meet your gaze as he is prepping alcohol on a cotton pad and setting up more bandages for you.

Standing carefully you start to disarm your gadgets and slip off your suit letting it pool onto the ground beneath you. Having to strip down in front of him has your face blooming in a deep blush. Yes, the man has seen you naked, hell he’s been inside you but the situation still makes your stomach flutter. 

Once stripped to your underwear Miguel gently turns you around to observe the inquiries to your back. Softly his hand traces where his talons had punctured and scratched your skin. The dried blood trails down your back and he is extra gentle as he cleans you up with a rag. Applying the alcohol to the wounds makes you tense releasing a hiss, the sting disinfects and cleans the marks. Tension in the air is thick as he gently begins to patch your wounds with bandages, you hear him faintly whisper an apology as his large hands work on you. Unsure if he meant for you to hear the apology you just hum softly. 

Once you're finally patched up he moves away from you and starts packing away the supplies. Softly you thank him and he only hums in response still avoiding meeting your eyes. Awkwardness makes you fidget and you excuse yourself to your room to put on something. Miguel is always quiet and sure he is not the most commutative but he’s acting strange, even if he was mad at you from past experiences with him you know he wouldn’t shy away from telling you that he was mad at you, so what's his deal?

Quickly you slip your shirt and shorts on returning to the living room. Sat on the couch you see Miguel looking down at your suit and gadgets neatly folded and placed on the coffee table. Seeing him still in your apartment has you surprised, with the way he has been quiet you were sure he was angry with you and would have slipped out but he’s still here…Maybe he wants to stay and look after you for the night! That would be a welcomed surprise!  

 “Can I get you some coffee?”  you ask eagerly while rushing towards the kitchen, but as you are rushing to make coffee you stub your toe on the couch leg as you are passing it; letting out a sharp cry as you hold your foot. How did this hurt more than the glass? 

“You can’t even walk in your apartment without hurting yourself.” Miguel laments, shaking his head as he walks past you making his way to the kitchen. 

Shortly after Miguel is placing a hot coffee in front of you as you sit on the couch favoring your foot; he even places down sugar and creamer on the table. Looking up at him you see him drinking his coffee, steaming hot and black you assume based on his personality. 

“Than-”

“I’m taking the suit and the stuff with me…” he interrupts sharply 

“What? Why?” you ask confused.

“Are you serious? You almost died today! Look at you!” Miguel's eyes are piercing you as his body tenses further. 

Deep down you know that Miguel was right, your inquiries could have been a lot worse if he wasn’t there, you understand that, but taking your suit to prevent you from being Blackcat was overreaching. 

“Look what happened was scary but I am okay and I’m going to make sure to fix it where it doesn't happen again.” Reaching your hand out you step closer to him, but he backs away from you. 

“So am I,” Miguel says dryly, staring daggers into you, unwavering in his decision. 

Opening your mouth to further protest you are cut off by Miguel's watch beeping and his holo agent appearing. “Miguel, we have a situation that needs back up” 

Miguel's eyes stay on you roaming over your figure watching the bruises slowly blooming on your skin and the patches he so tentatively wrapped you in. 

“Tell them I’m on the way…” 

“Right away~”

Miguel swiftly grabs your suit and gadgets from the coffee table heading towards your window to make his exit. 

“Miguel, wait! You can’t leave now! This isn’t over!”

“That's where you're wrong…it is over…”

Stopping dead in your tracks you feel a sharp sting in your chest from his sharp words. Does he mean the conversation or does he mean…

“Wait!”

Halfway out of the window he turns to look at you cutting you off again, “Just finish your coffee and for once listen to me.”

The pain and confusion must be evident on your face because, for a split second, you see his face go from irritated to concerned before his watch goes off again, making him break his stare and slip out your window into the restless night. Taking your alter ego with him leaving your head whirling. 

Who does he think he is? Taking your stuff and leaving! Taking away the one thing that was keeping your life entertaining! If he thinks he can just take your stuff without consequence he has another thing coming! Plus what did he mean by over? Does he mean your crimes or did he mean…you two?

It had been two days and you had healed up and couldn't take it anymore. Sneaking into his HQ you were ready to enact petty revenge. It was a lot easier to break in this time, maybe it was the fact that you had done it before or the fact that you were driven by your anger but you were a cat on a mission! 

Miguel taking the things that you worked painstakingly hard to create was driving you mad, little did that grump know you made an extra set of grappling claws for emergencies like this. Though you didn't have another suit you had to just settle on an all-black ensemble, not as super thief looking but the hoodie was comfortable.   

Starting off sneaking in, were you quickly seen by multiple spider-people? Employees? Whatever, they didn't seem to care about you being in there very much, a few even waved at you saying “Miguel's cats here” or some cat-related pun. You weren't listening, just focused on getting to his office. 

Finally making it to the dark office you can’t help how your chest aches from being in the place that took your criminal x superhero relationship up a notch. Up to a level that you were not exactly sure what it was or how to define it. Complicated? Enemies with benefits? though now that the two of you were upset with each other you were even more confused. 

How do you even talk to him about this? Do you talk to him about this? Shit, are you here making an idiot of yourself? Just had to like the hero ....you're not good at this bad girl game…

Rummaging around his office you do not care if you're making a ruckus or even a mess. You wanted Miguel to show his stupidly handsome face, and give him a nice verbal thrashing of all the things you thought to say after he left.

There was a part of you that wished this would end up like the last time you were here, ending with you wrapped in his arms…growing closer…this alter ego is how you got to see him after all, it's not like you have ever met as civilians, hell, you didn't even know how you two would find each other…you didn’t even know his last name. 

Stopping with a sigh you start to think of the word “over”. Was that his way of ending things, this, whatever it was with you…the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Now here you are so desperate for his attention, to keep it going after he told you to stop…there is no way this ends well right? 

“He’s not here” A voice suddenly startles you. Looking around you try and pinpoint where it’s coming from then you look up. Walking casually on the ceiling you see a lanky-looking man in an odd-looking spider suit with a pink robe, he smiles at you before he drops down in front of you. 

“Where is he then?”

“He's been out on a mission, I think he’s coming back soon though. Do you want to wait for him? Or I can call-”

“Don’t!” you say quickly cutting him off, he gives you a quizzical look. 

“We aren't exactly on friendly terms right now” 

“Then…Uh whatcha doing here, stray?” 

“Stray?” you quickly shake off the comment “There was a slight accident, and he got all grumpy spider and took my suit and gadgets, so I am just getting revenge. Don’t try to stop me.” the man seems to only laugh at your comments so you look around for something to take till something catches your eye “How about that white and red suit? Seems important…” 

“Yeah, I would advise against that. I think taking things is only going to escalate things.” 

Huffing you lean against a nearby desk crossing your arms. “Then what should I do?” 

The man laughs before he speaks, “Cat, you're asking for advice about a very complicated guy…”  

Sighing you feel a mixture of emotions swell through you, the man leans against the desk next to you, “Have you tried talking to him?” 

“This isn’t exactly a very communicative relationship, I don’t even know if he even likes me or if I am just entertaining him…” 

“Oh, he likes you,” you can’t help at how you light up at that comment looking at him with pleading eyes, wanting to hear more. 

“He has been in such a better mood with you around, and get this, he doesn't even mind the cat jokes. Plus..” He leans closer to whisper in your ear “I’ve seen him looking at pictures of you” 

“Really,” You try to hide your enthusiasm but it seeps through making the man laugh and nod yes. 

“If you ask me he seems to like you” 

“He said this was done, and the bastard didn’t even bother to elaborate on what he meant!” 

“So why don’t you ask him? The first time you confronted him worked out for you, why not do it again?” 

“Yeah but…that was confronting Spider-Man, not Miguel whatever his name…”

The man thinks for a moment then a smirk stretches over his lips before he snaps his fingers “I have an idea!”  

Either this Peters guy’s plan was completely brilliant or completely idiotic. Here you are, broken into Miguel's apartment in Babylon Tower. Waiting for him to come home to talk to him. Talking to him in his office you thought would have been better but Peter was instant that you come here. Something about forcing Miguel out of his Spider-Man ego and the shocked look on his face. 

Sitting in his apartment was pretty surreal. You two have only met in costume, and now here you are unmasked and waiting for him. This felt like something people in relationships would do, not whatever you two are. 

As you sit waiting in anticipation the moment finally arrives. You hear Miguel's front door opening with his holo agent greeting him and informing him that he has a visitor in the living room. Miguel rightfully looking confused approaches the room quickly, stopping in his tracks when his crimson gaze falls on you. 

Watching his face contort from confusion to irritation back to confusion he finally starts to ask a question but you are the one to cut him off this time.

“I need to talk to you and…this is what your friend Peter suggested.”

Miguel rolls his eyes “Of course he did…” 

Placing his eyes back on you he approaches. Coming closer, you're able to see him in his normal attire out of the iconic Super-suit, oddly he’s still as intimidating. Muscles still bulging with every movement. The shirt he was wearing was basically crying against his wide chest, One sharp movement and you're sure it would rip into a bunch of tiny pieces. 

“I’m guessing you're not here to talk about getting your stuff back considering you broke in here without issue” -Okay not seeming mad this is a good start. 

“Actually I do want those back but that’s a later conversation. I’m here now to talk to you about…us?” you can’t help but cringe at your own words sounding so pathetic. 

Miguel on the other hand seems unfazed, “what about us?”

“Are…Is this thing over? Or was this not ever even a thing? I mean you're a hero and I'm just a thief and not even a few good one either…” As you're rambling on you fail to notice Miguel inching closer keeping his cold gaze fixed on you. 

Once you finally look up Miguel has moved so close to you that he is practically pinning himself against you. All your words begin to die off as he lifts his hand to cup your cheek gently stroking your soft skin. It's almost like he’s petting you to soothe you. 

“Cat…”

“Spidy…”

Leaning down his warm breath fans across your face, those blazing eyes burning into yours. 

“I couldn’t be done with you even if I tried”

“Mig-” 

True to himself he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is different from your first kiss, it’s gentler. Holding onto you as if you were made of glass, Kissing you as if you are precious to him. And you are…

Beginning to move his lips against yours he opens your mouth effortlessly, then capturing your bottom lip between his teeth he pulls back and lets go making your lip pop back and swell instantly from the teasing bite. 

The sensation makes you moan pressing yourself flush to his body, that warmth of his is still intoxicating to you. Moving your head to expose your neck he kisses your sensitive skin with hot open mouth kisses that lick and bite at you. Shuddering at each kiss you feel yourself getting slick between your thighs. 

“Your Mine” His rough voice purs before he's lifting you effortlessly causing you to curl your legs around his narrow hips. Miguel bounces you up and down a few times just because he can. The Motion has your cunt rubbing against his strained cock tenting his pants. 

Miguel carries you to his bedroom commanding Layla to dim the lights. Pressing kisses desperately against each other you finally make it to the bedroom. Crashing into the mattress doesn't stop the pursuit of each other's lips. Getting drunk on one another's taste you're making quick work to get each other naked as quickly as possible pulling and tearing at the clothing. Mouth-watering as you finally pull away to admire Miguel's body shows his sculpted physique and perfect skin, you can’t help that you start licking up and down his chest making him shamelessly whimper. 

Once he can’t take anymore he's tasting your skin but kissing from your neck, licking at your collarbone, then finally finding his place at your breast. Miguel is quick to latch his mouth onto your nipple, licking and biting causing you to moan out as he continues to suck, moving from one to the other and trailing his saliva all over you, practically marking you. His other hand fumbles with the button and zipper of your pants as he snakes his fingers underneath the hem to strip them off you. 

Releasing from your swollen bud he is pulling your pants off completely. Looking down at you he spreads your legs apart to watch that glistening stain on your panties. Without reservation, he's leaning down lapping at your clothed cunt eating you through the thin fabric. Feeling him sucking and rubbing his hot tongue against your bundle of nerves has your toes curling and throwing your head back. Practically begging at this point you're pushing your sex against his face selfishly wanting to chase your high. 

Popping out his talons he quickly disregarded your panties, throwing the remains to the floor. Lifting his eyes to meet yours he sees your desperate eyes lidded and mouth pouting for him to taste you fully, his lips curl into a grin. 

“Such a needy girl.”

Whimpering at his taunts you spread your legs wider for him then take your hand to slide across your folds to spread yourself for him. 

“My girl is begging like a damn slut…You want me to take care of you, baby?” 

Nodding quickly he's quick to take care of you. Leaning down he flicks his tongue on your clit making you lift your hips off the bed. Keeping his tongue working on your clit he probes his finger into you, starting with his index finger and then moving in his middle both plunging knuckles deep, curling against your gummy walls. The closer you are to your orgasm the more you tangle your hands into his thick hair, Pulling him into you more. He was right, you are needy. 

Feeling that familiar quivering of your cunt and the shakes from your body he’s licking faster, getting that white-hot pleasure rushing through you as you cream on his fingers. You swear you hear him chuckle before he pulls out his digits to lick up your essence. 

Once he's done he's moving away from your weeping slit, already aching for more. Discarding his pants quickly he’s already crawling back on to you. The tip of his cock bobs up and down nudging along your cunt. Leaning down he kisses you desperately making you taste yourself on his tongue. Pulling away he pumps himself as he lines up to your entrance.

“Your mine…all mine…” 

All you can do is nod and hum as if you're too drunk in anticipation to give out actual answers. Sliding in you gasp at the overwhelming stretch. Your cunt is so desperate to be filled you could feel yourself practically sucking him in and the feeling is not lost on him. 

“Damn…if you keep sucking me in like that, I’m not going to be able to resist filling you up,”

Mumbling out a string of yes’s you curl your legs around him as he draws his hips back to where only the tip was in. Leaning down he nudges his nose against yours probing you for a kiss, arching forward to slide your lips hungrily against his. 

Thrusting upwards he hits that sweet spot deep inside you causing you to break the kiss with a moan. 

“That's my girl” Pulling out and rolling into you deeper he keeps praising you “My good, good, girl,” with each word he thrusts into you deeply making you shake and cry. 

“So, tight..and mine…” his words slur together dripping with lust as he continues to fuck himself deeply into you. Both of you are approaching your highs feeling his cock throb in you as he continues to moan a symphony of ‘mine’ as he ruts into you. 

As you begin to feel yourself clamp around his thick cock you hear him softly say your name making you clamp down harder humming to him. 

“Say your mine,” His thrust began to speed up. 

“I’m yours, always,” with that he rolls into you deeper making you squirt on his cock, making a creamy mess all over him. 

Groaning and grinding against you, his orgasm finally washes over him. Miguel cummed in you, it was deep and hot like the first time setting your insides ablaze. Unhooking yourself from him you're surprised to feel him lean further into you, keeping himself in you. 

In this position, you could feel his racing heartbeat. 

“Say I’m yours…I…I need to hear you say it” looking up at you with his intense eyes and flushed face. The sudden vulnerability makes your heart skip. He made it clear that you were his but he wanted you to want him as much, and you did. 

Cupping his cheek he leans into the soft touch, “Your mine Miguel…”

“You know, this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop being Blackcat,” you say resting your head on his warm chest. Miguel just chuckles slightly as he lazily traces your side, carving your figure into memory. 

“Yeah, I figured you still wouldn’t listen, But maybe you can be helpful to me instead.” 

A huge smile stretch’s on your face, “Are you going to let me join the spider society?” 

Miguel gently creases your chin and pulls you closer to his face, “perhaps if you learn not to be so clumsy” he quickly teases before he places a kiss on your nose. 

Huffing you are not entertained by his teasing. Watching him with a pout you see that perfect body of his roll off the bed heading towards the bathroom. 

“You know, you're not funny Mr.-” you stop. -Shit after all that you still don't know his lastname…

“O’Hara” His smooth voice breaks your thoughts.-O’Hara, huh?

“Now come on, I want to take a shower with my pretty girl before I have to go back to HQ” 

“Your leaving me already?”

Miguel approaches wrapping his arms around you pulling you closer to his bare body. “Don’t worry pet, I plan on taking you with me.” Leaning down you feel his hot breath against the shell of your ear making a familiar heat shoot down to your stomach.

“Maybe I will even let you sit on my lap while I work…”

Tags:

@xspideyxx

[3amfanfiction]

Johnny's Halloween Costume

Johnny is proud of his Halloween costume. It seems like Ghost likes it too. cw: none. 2.2k, Ghoap smut

Credit for this story is owed to @pricegouge for fostering his ask with me. Now it’s time to give it back. Thanks for always being willing to help my brain worms wiggle! <33

"I want to be slutty for Halloween but nothing sounds good," Johnny huffs as he slams back onto Kyle's bed, ignoring the hey! as he disrupts a clean pile of clothes.

Kyle pulls the clothes out from under him to re-stack while grumbling, "Just be yourself, how much sluttier can you get?"

Freeing the last of the items he turns to sit at the desk, looking at Johnny in exasperation as he recounts all of the options he's thought about and discarded.

"—bunny but everyone has done that. Same with a gladiator," he whines while staring at the ceiling, pouting. "It needs to be something good, something that will drop jaws."

Kyle rolls his eyes at Johnny's dramatics, "Be a hoochie daddy or something, I don't know. Just do it in your own room!" He blinks in surprise when Johnny shoots up to face him, a manic grin across his face. Nothing good ever came from this smile. it's Johnny's 'This is going to go badly but it'll be so much fun in the process' smile.

Kyle thought up the name himself.

"You're a genius, Gaz! I knew I came to the right person," Johnny beams at him, a toothy grin showing all the way to the molars. He bounces up, ignoring the deep sigh as he knocks the clothes over again and strides for the door, eager to get started now that he had a plan.

\\\

The spoon clinks against ceramic as Ghost stirs his tea in the small rec room, having fled from the festivities in the bigger hall after doing his mandatory 5 minute drop in.

He wouldn't have even done that much if the order didn't come straight from Price, I don't care if they're a bunch of numpties. Show up, foster camaraderie for a handful of minutes then you're free.

A handful of minutes. As far as Ghost is concerned that meant five. Three hundred seconds of torture before he was allowed to leave. He would do it but it certainly didn't mean he would like it.

He had escaped the second the hand ticked over and he had no intention of going back. He is going to drink his tea and then go to bed—leave all the idiots to get into trouble by themselves.

The door to the rec room burst open and Ghost is greeted with his own personal headache.

"LT! What are ye doin' hidin' away in here?"

"What are you wearing?" Simon ignores his question, dumbfounded at what he is seeing. Johnny prances into the room in an outfit which showed more skin than it covered.

His orange shorts rest high on his hips, the crotch obscenely tight causing his bulge to be highlighted by the taut fabric. The shorts end after a few brief inches showing miles of thickly muscled thighs covered in dark hair which end in combat boots. On his upper half he is wearing half a shirt, the fabric stopping right below his chest, showcasing his thickly muscled torso covered in a healthy layer of fat and coarse hair. Johnny beams as he looks at Ghost with a lightly stubbled face, his mohawk looking freshly trimmed.

"I've been lookin' everywhere for ye," he exclaims excitedly, hurrying over to crowd Ghost's space. "Well?" He spreads his arms, causing the shirt to strain against his biceps and wide shoulders. Ghost is pretty sure he hears a stitch pop, "What do ye think? I'm a Hooters boy!"

Ghost doesn't say anything, he can't say anything with his tongue feeling like it's two sizes too big in his mouth. If he were any less disciplined he would be swallowing in need right now. Thankfully, Johnny has no issue carrying the conversation.

"Ye should've seen the look on everyone's faces when I walked in. Looked like big mouthed bobble heads, the lot of them. It's like they'd never seen a man as beautiful as me before," he preens, striking a pose for the full affect of the outfit.

Ghost finds his breath shuddering on the exhale.

"You look like a whore, that's why they were staring at you," he finally managers with a deep rumble, staring at where the tight waist makes a gentle pooch right above it. He drags his eyes away to meet Johnny's gaze, thankful for the mask to help keep his expression level.

Johnny only laughs, seemingly pleased at being called a whore by his commanding officer. "Yer only sayin' that because ye want in my pants," he taunts, spinning around to show his ass off to Ghost before completing his spin.

Ghost abruptly makes a decision. Walking over he grips Johnny firmly by the nape of his neck, amused as Johnny instantly goes still and silent, eyes darkening at the pressure. "Let's go, pup. You're gonna get what you're begging for."

"What I—" Johnny chokes, trying to get words out, "LT, I was only joking—"

But Ghost doesn't listen, just turns them both to begin heading down the hall towards the barracks.

\\\

Pushing Johnny through the door first, Ghost directs him towards the bed, hand still placed firmly on the back of his neck, rough callouses scratching the thin skin. He might have unwittingly found Johnny's sweet spot because the sergeant was unusually quiet the whole walk.

He watches as Johnny sits down carefully, enjoying the uncertain hesitation of his movements. It was rare to see the younger man anything but cocky and self assured so this is a treat Ghost has every intention of savoring.

Moving over to the bed he pushes Johnny backwards, watching him collapse onto the bedding with slightly too fast breaths. Crawling over him with ease, he lifts his mask to right below his nose, rolling the fabric until it holds itself up. With no other warning he dives in for a kiss, immediately deepening it and pressing firmly into Johnny's mouth.

The other man moans at the first stroke of his tongue, slick and warm, before reaching up to grasp onto him tightly and kissing back with equal fervor.

Ghost took his time mapping out Johnny's mouth—tracing his teeth, stroking his tongue, tickling the sensitive gums, feeling the soft cheeks. He knows the sergeant is tough—he'd covered Ghost's ass enough times for that to be fact. But damn if he doesn't feel particularly soft in this moment. Ghost isn't sure if he wants to tuck Johnny up inside of himself where he could be kept, secure and warm, or if he wants to live inside Johnny's skin, always present, able to venerate this golden boy who is as warm as the sun.

Coaxing Johnny's tongue into his mouth is the work of moments. He's unable to help his filthy grind at the resulting vulgar groan when he begins suckling on it like a teat.

"Fuck, but you're a needy boy, aren't you?" Simon rasps as he pulls away slightly, panting into the space between their lips. He's pleased at the rapid agreement from the man below him, eager to continue. "I might just have to keep you. Tie you up to my bed, stuff a fake cock down your throat so you can't yell for help. Keep you wet and spread for me so I can slide right in after a day of dealing with idiots."

The choked, needy moan Johnny lets out as his eyes roll back is heaven. Ghost feels a wave of lust flood is veins and he knows right then and there he won't be letting this man go.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" he continues, slowly rocking into Johnny. Short, soft, barely there thrusts that did more to tease than to relieve. "Being my little fuck pet to use as I see fit. Wouldn't need to worry that pretty little head about anything more than when your next orgasm will be."

Johnny shudders in arousal, little panting pleases dripping from his tongue. His eyes wide and soft.

Ghost smiles meanly, snaking a hand under his shirt to pinch at his nipples just because he can. Catching the resultant yelp in his mouth, he presses firmly against him, grinding his hard cock against Johnny's through layers of fabric, enjoying the dry rasp.

Pulling away from Johnny's chest once his nipples are swollen and puffy, he laughs mockingly as he notices the wet spot growing on Johnny's pants.

"Looks like someone's an eager little slut."

Scooting back to sit between his spread thighs, Ghost pulls down Johnny's shorts just enough to expose his cock and balls, cradling them with the bunched fabric. Johnny's cock slaps his stomach as it's freed with a meaty thwack, drooling thick drops of sticky precum onto his abdomen. Ghost reaches down to meanly pinch the ruddy tip, smiling at the resulting yelp before moving further down to play with his balls, rolling them in his palm and giving a firm squeeze intermittently.

"Look at this tiny cocklet. Cute little thing isn't it?" He says antagonistically, laughing callously as Johnny immediately flushes and begins arguing.

" 'S nae little! What are ye on about? Yer probably the one that's little. Go on then, let's have a look. Probably a wee pecker you have in there," he gestures at Ghost's pants, ignoring the tenting which made it clear there wasn't a wee anything about Ghost.

Smirking, Ghost pulls back to shuck his pants, sliding them halfway down his thighs and letting his cock springs out, pointing downward with the weight of itself. He can practically hear the swallow the Scotsman lets out in response.

"Well," Johnny croaks, flushing scarlet red, "that's why you think it's small, isn't it?Ye've got a fuckin' horse cock 'tween yer legs!" He gathers himself valiantly, "donnae mean mine is small, now ye take that back."

Still smiling meanly Ghost responds with a flat, bored, no, before leaning forward, wrapping a sizable hand around both their cocks, his fingers unable to meet due to the thickness between the two of them.

Setting a fast pace right out the gate, he delights in Johnny's wide-eyed gasp, mouth falling into an oh! of pleasure. He promptly makes it a objective to draw that sound out as many times as possible.

A handful of dry, rasping strokes follow before he lets go, ignoring Johnny's whine of pleading disappointment to reach up and grasp his mohawk, pulling him up and forward to hunch over. "Spit," he directs, aiming Johnny's face at their laps.

He hasn't ever seen Johnny so eager before, with how he spits on their cocks before tilting his chin up for a kiss like a dog asking for a reward.

Ghost laughs but can't help leaning down for another kiss, giving him what he's asking for so prettily. Pulling back he pushes Johnny's forehead causing him to fall backwards once more before wrapping his hand back around their cocks, smearing the wetness with a nasty twist before resuming stroking.

The wet glide is significantly better.

Johnny's back arches almost instantly, a loud, low moan falling from his open mouth. He reaches for Ghost—desperate, grasping hands that hold on tightly once they find purchase, reluctant to let go.

Ghost takes great joy in wringing every sound possible from his mouth, every twist, stroke and squeeze done with the sole purpose of finding every soft spot the other man has so he can exploit them ruthlessly.

"Christ, you're whining like a whore."

And he is. Johnny has tears gathering on his lash line, high-pitched uh uh uhs escaping with every stroke.

Ghost watches in awe, biting his cheek to give him something to focus on so he doesn't finish too quickly. Johnny is a vision spread out below him. Sweat dotting his face, mixing with the tears and drool he couldn't keep contained, a blissed out look in his eyes as he watches Ghost back, keeping their gaze locked.

That is the last straw for Ghost.

He focuses intolerably on the areas Johnny moaned the loudest for, touching him with intent. The younger man isn't able to hold back anymore and he comes with a long cry, audible to anyone passing by the room.

A final tug is all Ghost needs before he's finishing too, cum wetting the thick hair of Johnny's torso and pooling in the divot of his belly button.

As they pant in the aftermath, Johnny looks at him with something close to worship in his eyes before it's shrouded once more, pressed deep in an effort to hide and protect the feeling.

Ghost leans forward to give one final messy, wet kiss before backing away to fix his pants. He smacks Johnny's hands away when he reaches for the corner of the bedding with a harsh, leave it, pup, before pulling the orange Hooter shorts back up over Johnny's waist, tucking his slowly softening cock gently to the side.

Standing, he ushers Johnny to the door, opening it and gesturing him out without looking to see if anyone is around. Johnny's breath is still slightly too fast to be normal as he passes. With a firm pat on his ass, Ghost watches him walk down the hallway, still covered in sticky spend for anyone passing to see.

He'll have to come up with a more permanent way to mark him in the future and his mind is already whirring with possibilities.

banner by @/cafekitsune

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[vodkababy]

love story . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁💐

౨ৎ inspired with the song love story by indila !!

౨ৎ s1! rafe x fem! pogue! reader

౨ৎ angst, mentions of drugs, drinking, & fluff

౨ৎ takes place in midsummers - rafey baby so handsome there

you met him at that state he was - relying on barry and his coke to calm his senses down. soon along, you became friends. he was your rock, and you were his.

of course - his sister, sarah had seen the unmistaken look in her troubled brother’s eyes, of which ones were dilated & jittery by the euphoria had turned serene and much more.. adoring?

no. that didn’t sound like the big bad rafe everyone knew and had on their books.

he had changed - because of a stupid girl. a stupid pogue. surely, he wouldn’t let that affect his family’s name! but god, he was wrong.

he’d grown fond of you, come to think of it - you weren’t like “your people” as he said it. he’d seen her as a sweet and caring person— something he lacked in his life.

so as you and him exchanged glances at the country club— you were a bartender, just serving him a glass of wine— you couldn’t help but be drawn to the man who sat across you in that little taupe barstool.

“i haven’t seen you here,” the blue eyed boy stared at you up and down.

“i just started a couple days ago.” she replied softly.

it only started like that. what could possibly go wrong?

it wasn’t until 10 months into it. midsummers was nearing— rafe had invited you to be his plus one. he was shy- a little bit jittery- and he handed you a flower.

“for me?” she said in awe, looking at the peony he had gotten her.

“yes you.” rafe had replied— coldly. he didn’t want to come off like a pussy, as his friends top and kelce called him for being too shy.

apart from you being a pogue, he had no issues. you were the first one he didn’t get into bad terms with, which surprisingly shocked you. —and shocked him too. he didn’t expect to fall hard, head over heels for you.

that led to him, on the following night of the next friday—waiting.

you had doubts, being a pogue in an all-kook annual party, you had your dress ready, hair done, but what else was there to it? you couldn’t do it. you couldn’t bring yourself to walk to your car to drive to figure 8. you couldn’t let yourself ruin the cameron name. you would never make an attempt to embarrass your lover. you were just a bartender— not some silverspoon-born girl.

he had a rose in his hand, constantly pacing across the room, his hand running through his hair, pushing it back. he felt himself getting hot, the camerons were about to come out, so where were you?

surely— you wouldn’t blow him off; he thought.

was he crazy? he kept checking his phone, looking at your contact. he checked your photos on his phone gallery, trying to calm himself down.

“rafe!” rose, his step-mother calls, telling him they have to go out of the door since the party’s starting. he runs a hand through his hair, and tries to breathe calmly.

the whole party, he had expected you to be with him. he had expected your hand in his, your arm linked with his, and your head on his shoulder. but where were you to be found?

he quickly typed on your contact;

—where are you sent 7:22

you immediately see the notification pop up, you were crying, you couldn’t bring yourself to text him back. you were breaking his heart and yours too.

it had been minutes since he sent that. no text backs?

—y/n sent 7:31

—why aren’t you here?? sent 7:32

—i thought you were coming w me sent 7:32

—i even bought you a damn dress sent 7:32

—y/n answer right fucking now sent 7:34

that was all it took to piss rafe off. you were blowing him off? he was furious— almost crushed a glass on how hard he was gripping it.

the whole night, he couldn’t sleep. what were you doing? all he could think of was you. does she even like me? does she still care? he sees you everywhere.

the next day, he checked his phone. no reply. he decided to drive to the country club in which— you were working at.

he was surprised to hear you didn’t come in this morning, supposedly calling in sick. lies. he thought. he knew you had a brain on you, and that you were quite smart in times like these. but right now, it wasn’t helping.

for the past week—he had been driving to the country club everyday, checking on you. which was not left unnoticed by ward.

“the fuck is on my credit card bills, boy? all from the country club?” ward asked rafe furiously.

“it’s just drinks.” rafe answered defensively, not wanting to talk to his dad anymore.

“put it on your card! not mine. you have your own card for that—“

“look, dad— the money—“

“what about the goddamn money!? you out of cash, rafe? see. this is what happens if you don’t bother to be responsible, to think! you don’t think, rafe! and to say i was the one who raised you.. god.” ward answered hastily, leaving the room with him massaging his own temples.

rafe was outraged. this whole week had turned for the worse, you were supposed to be there for him. but where were you?

his frustration brought him back to his worst behaviors. he spent his days at barry’s. snorting the white lines of fine powder.

“country club. what’s gotten you all knees for the c dust?”

“hard week, barry. don’t remind me.” rafe answered angrily, just wanting to get over it.

“i hear you haven’t been seein’ your girl, huh?”

“—so what!?”

“chill, chill, you’re actin’ out. she’s a pogue.”

“i haven’t seen her in a goddamn week. i don’t fuckin’ care if she’s one. she’s everything i think of, fuck.”

and that led to him, driving to your house at the cut. hearing a knock on your door, your mom calls you to open it while she was in the kitchen.

“rafe—“ she spoke softly, until she got cut off by his lips on hers. he smelled of beer. had he been drinking?

worried, she pulled him up to her room secretly. looking around to see if anyone was near them or could hear.

“have you been drinking?” she asked sadly. what had she done? all of that because of her? only a lazy nod was what she got from him, quickly laying him down on her bed.

“i’m sorry rafe.”

“what happened y/n? i thought you were gonna come and you’d be my date— i even bought you a fucking dress. a goddamn dress because i wanted you to look gorgeous that night. and what do i get? a dead rose and an absent woman—“

“i’m so sorry, please i promise you i am-“

“promise me.. everything’s alright between us baby.” rafe spoke softly with a drawl, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with yours as he stared at the ceiling. the lights were off and his only source was the one coming from the moon out the window, that cascaded your features.

“i do,” she replied with her voice slightly breaking. she leant down to hug him tight. she felt so sorry for him.

“i just- i dream of you. i- i fucking want you with me y/n, baby, stay with me, but i don’t- i don’t know how to love..” “fuck. i’m such a mess. dad’s on my ass again about the money- then you go fucking vague!”

“rafe, rafe, i’m so-“

“no, stop! just please- stop saying that.”

“i didn’t want- i couldn’t go anymore. i’m not rich, rafe. i’m not a kook for crying out loud! i just- i just didn’t wanna embarrass you,“

“no, baby, don’t say that,” he said, wrapping her lips in his.

“i’ll give you everything. i’ll give you gold if you don’t care, i’ll wait for you, i don’t give a fuck if you’ll ignore me- i’d even kill for you, baby.” rafe muttered.

she only looks at him with tears in her eyes, him wrapping his arms around her, wiping her tears away and kissing her.

“don’t fuckin’ pull shit like that on me again, mkay?” he hummed against her lips aggressively, pulling away.

“i’m sorry,” she sighed, feeling a tear stab my eye. “i just—didn’t want to try to fit in to be someone i’m not.” “i’m so sorry rafe,” she softly sobbed in his arms.

“shh, shh, it’s just you and me baby, i love you.” he whispered, rubbing your back.

“—i love you too.” she replied. nobody would possibly believe it but, love makes a fool of the kook king

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ 💐 ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ .

by drewsprettygirl 𝜗𝜚

[good-chimes]

Cub takes over the Permit Office

A short textual recap of the Succession-style coup Cub just carried out (Timestamp: Grian s10 e21 14:40-29:30)

Grian, Scar and Skizz all receive a mysterious summons to a disciplinary hearing to discuss ‘restructuring’ at the Permit Office.

Scar and Skizz turn up thinking they’re in trouble with Grian. Grian, who has received two warnings for completely unfair reasons like ‘not doing his job’, knows he’s in trouble with Mysterious HQ Person (Grian, terrified but curious: Is it Doc??).

Waiting nervously, all three of them agree that their collective efforts are a shambles, a mild blame game ensues, also a horse is here and they can’t kill it because Judge Bdubs would object.

A flying figure approaches.

To Grian and Skizz’s surprise and Scar’s delight, it’s Cub.

Cub times his slow-falling potions to sink slowly and dramatically to the ground in a completely horizontal position. (Cub: Hello, boys) (Scar: Hello, God!)

Cub has a red tie and a gold name tag and performs an immediate show of dominance by taming the horse and handing out golden apples.

Scar: yeah that horse was—

Cub: it’s my horse now

Grian, eating the apple: He’s trying to butter us up. Skizz, don’t eat the apples.

Cub: Grian, I have some excellent news for you, my friend. You’re fired.

Grian: I’m what—

Cub: And also rehired! To a lesser position.

Grian: So I’m, what, assistant permit manager?

Cub: assistant TO the permit manager.

Cub: that’s me.

Cub: I’m sorry you had to find out this way

Grian: [into his hands] I’m so relieved I hate this job so much

Grian: IT’S NOT FUN AND I CAN’T CONTROL IT. LOOK AT THE SHOPPING DISTRICT. THERE’S POP UP SHOPS EVERYWHERE.

Grian: even I’ve got a pop up shop!!

Cub: Grian and I share a similar sentiment, which is that the permits shouldn’t exist

Cub: which is why we both have these jobs

Scar: But… but it was you two who came up with the idea of permits in the first place!

Cub: yeah

Cub: but you were supposed to enforce it

At this point it should be noted Cub has variously a) claimed he's been sent by the higher ups and he didn't want to do this but, boys, he has to, b) claimed he is one of the higher ups, c) claimed he's 'quite high up but not so much' d) vehemently denied that there exists anyone who has a fancier name tag than he does

Cub forces them into an immediate tour of the shopping district

There really are pop up shops everywhere

Cub: Alright, here's some TNT.

Grian: er! wait! I dunno—!

Cub: What.

Grian: Maybe we should give people some warning?

Cub: Hm

Scar: We did! We have a thing! I built a redstone countdown clock! [waves at the contraption of stacked red-yellow-white pillars he spent several weeks on]

Grian: Scar, that HASN'T MOVED SINCE YOU BUILT IT

Scar: It does move! It's just going slowly!

Cub: We need to move faster.

Scar: I can adjust it. This is 2024 advanced redstone. I can change it. [flies off]

Skizz: Can he really—

Grian, resigned: He's just going to mine it. [Scar mines it]

Skizz: Can I take a shot at him?

Cub: Fire away, Skizz

Grian: I'm not sure about this new management!

Meanwhile Cub has been contemplating the nearest popups in a critical way.

Cub: I'm going to be honest, I'm part of this glass collective, and even I want to see this one blown up.

Grian: Look, boss, what if we put a big billboard up that says 'Pop up purge'... certain date.

Cub: Hm.

Cub: That's very reasonable. I was just going to blow stuff up, but if you want to do that, I think it's a good choice.

Grian: How much time are you giving them, boss?

Skizz: Well, that's what the timer was—

Scar: I HAVE A TIMER! IT'S COUNTING DOWN!

Cub: We want to do this lickety-split. Let's go two weeks.

Grian: [repeating to himself under his breath] Two weeks!

Scar: I'll program the redstone!

Cub: You program it in, Scar. Grian, you make the billboard. Skizz…

Skizz: Yeah?

Cub: …you keep on keeping on, baby.

Cub: You've been the background of this whole operation, Skizz.

Skizz now dramatically attempts to get them to a high point so they can look at the layout of the shopping district, a simple task stymied only by the fact Scar and Grian both refuse to take any instructions unless they come from Cub

Cub then orders that pop up shops will be confiscated to Scar and Skizz's enforcement office. Grian very curious about the punishment for permit violations. Scar suggests banishing violators to the far reaches by Doc's 'shooty-offy cannon'. Cub approves this exile penalty enthusiastically.

Cub: Alright.

Grian: There's a storm comin'.

Scar: [looks up at the blue sky] Really?

Skizz: Us. He means us.

Grian: It's more like a moderate breeze.

Skizz: Well, that's official, we're under new management! And the tone I’m getting is that Rub-a-Dub-Cub is not messin’ around.

Cub: You guys gotta get to it.

[Actual in-game storm starts]

Grian: There is a storm coming.

Scar: A storm of pain!

Grian: [to Cub] I'm so relieved. I couldn’t keep control of any of this.

Cub: It's alright, Grian. [PEAL OF IN-GAME THUNDER] We'll keep people in line.

Grian: It feels like the permit office has taken a really dark turn

Cub: Nah, it'll be fine. People will care about their permits! [MORE THUNDER] People will comply :)

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Bats And The Bees｡⋆.

Dick Grayson x plus size reader

The one where they tell everyone some big news.

Warnings: fluff, humour, pregnancy, brief mentions of a breakup but it's a joke

WC: 1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The Graysons Masterlist

Dick had never known fear like this in his life. It had been eating away at him for over a month now, invading his every thought, his every dream. Everywhere he looked, there it was, almost as if it were taunting him.

And you were absolutely no help at all. You laughed at his pain, giggling under your breath every time he would lay in bed to sing his woes to you. “Why don't you just call them? It doesn't have to be such a big deal.”

“It is a big deal!” Dick whined into your neck. He was laying on his front, his broad chest pressed to your ribs carefully, over-aware of not putting any pressure on your stomach. “This is a huge deal! It's world changing! I don't see how you aren't freaking out over this too.”

You gently scratched his scalp, messing up his back hair. “I know it's big Dickie, remember we had a good cry about it together. But your family will love you no matter what and I bet they'll be even more excited than we are.” He hummed against your skin, nuzzling even further into your hold.

“I mean mom has been dropping hints for a while.” You smiled and laid a kiss to the top of his head.

“I know babe, we have lunch every week.” 

—————

“What are you doing here Grayson?” Damian stood with his arms crossed as he blocked his older brother from entering the house.

“Can't I visit my family?” He chuckled, pushing past the small boy easily. Damian trailed behind him, green eyes fixated on the large duffle bag hanging over his shoulder. 

“Not without your girlfriend. Have you broken up?” He asked bluntly. Dick scoffed in return. 

“No. She's at work right now.” As they entered Bruce's office, Dick opened up the elevator to the cave, knowing mostly everyone would be down there as evening began to fall over Gotham.

“Why the bag then?” He poked the dark canvas almost resentfully. 

“Be patient baby bird. All good things come to those who wait.” They stepped into the elevator side-by-side, Dick shifting the bag to his other shoulder so Damian wouldn't be tempted to try and open it. Damian just glared at him for that.

The doors opened to reveal his family all dressed for a 'night out'. His mother saw him first, visibly lighting up as she spotted him. “Little bird! We weren't expecting you tonight!” Immediately she abandoned her husband in favour of coddling her eldest. 

The others scoffed as she fussed over him even though she did the same for them. “Well I thought I would drop by and drop off some presents from Dove and I.” 

Jason's head popped up from behind his bike, a smear of grease on his pale cheek indicating that he was once again tinkering with the motorcycle. “Presents?”

Dick smirked, of course that got his attention. ”Yes, presents. So c'mon, gather up.” Soon he was surrounded by his family, each with a very different emotion on their face. Bruce was suspicious, Tim was almost disinterested, Jason excited, Damian annoyed and his mother curious but with a knowing gleam in her eye.

Quickly, he pulled out five small and horribly wrapped gifts and distributed them to the group. “Now with these gifts, you're gonna have to give them back in a few months but I doubt you'll have any trouble doing that.” 

“Chum, what do you have planned?” Bruce raised a greying brow at him but Dick just shrugged.

“Just open the damn presents.” He whipped out his phone to record their reactions.

Of course his mother was the first to get it, squealing with delight as the small onesie with 'Nana is my favourite superhero' embroidered on it was pulled from the wrapping paper. Then it was Jason who held the black onesie with the iconic red bat on the front like his uniform. He just smiled, his hands tightening on the delicate fabric, only just holding back tears of happiness.

Then it was Bruce. Excitement seemed to explode around him as he gave a belly laugh that Dick had only heard once or twice in his life, showing his wife the Batman onesie in his present. Tim realised a moment after his father, his eyes going wide as he pulled out a Red Robin version of the baby outfit.

And finally, Dick turned the camera on his youngest brother who was stock still and almost glaring at the fabric that was adorned with his moniker. His eyebrows were scrunched and his nose twitched like a bunny's. “Why did you buy this for me? It is far too small for me to wear.” 

“It isn't for you really, it's for someone else.” That seemed to anger the young Robin even more.

“Then why did you say it was a present for me?” He snapped but Dick simply chuckled.

“Well, I'm giving it to you now so you can give it to your niece in 4 months.” His mother and father gasped as Jason gave a hearty 'fuck yeah!'. 

“Niece?” His voice was softer now but still held some confusion in his tone. Dick handed his phone to Tim who kept recording, as Dick kneeled to be level with his brother.

“Yeah Damian, your niece. Dove and I are having a baby. A little girl to be exact.” He placed a huge hand on his small shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. “The onsie is for her when she's born.”

His mouth closed slowly before opening once more. “I'm going to be an uncle?” Dick nodded. “And it's a girl?” His smile was Damian's answer.

He looked back down at his hands, a small smile growing on his face. “I guess that's acceptable.” Dick tugged him in for a quick hug before he was forcefully ripped away and pulled into his mom and dad's arms. Jason and Tim quickly joined in, equally as excited.

But then Damian got a strange look on his face. “Father, where do babies come from?”

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Dick Grayson

@jason-todds-bitch @honkytonkbabe @nini-trash-forever @itsbqueenthings @batmaninamaiddress @getoutofthere @blasianbitch @theweepingvulcan91 @luvvvjada @im-a-satanic-ritual @m0nster-fvcker @onlystarshere @stabmemaybe @beautyb1ade @star-dusst @marvel-mistress @bking4000 @aleck-cross @ambassadortotrilliusprime @girl-of-multi-fandoms @originalsourpatch @oxymorondemon

The Graysons

@lovelyy-moonlight @hc-geralt-23

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 3: Honeycomb

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The manor is a chaotic mix of half-packed boxes and disarrayed belongings.

There's an assortment of boxes accumulated, some hastily packed and stacked against the walls. Others sitting open, their contents scattered on the once-polished hardwood flooring.

Everywhere you look, there's evidence of neglect, cobwebs in the corners, and a layer of dust that's settled over nearly everything.

It makes you wonder just how bad of a condition your Pop was in before he kicked the bucket.

The only things infusing life into the manor are the fresh smell of coffee you purchased from town this morning and the soft melodies of music coming from the speaker of your phone nearby.

The aroma of the coffee drifts through the air, mixing with the faint melody to create a small pocket of vibrancy in the otherwise stale air of the abandoned estate.

You stand and stretch, feeling your back pop with a mix of relief and soreness. The thought of getting a hotel room crosses your mind — it would be so much more comfortable than sleeping on the park bench. But something in the back of your mind nags at you, telling you to stick it out just a bit longer.

But getting a hotel room could invite comfortability, which could indirectly coax you into staying longer than you care to.

And staying here is not an option.

You brush the thought away, deciding to tough it out and continue packing. You don’t want to take your time with this, you want to be done with it as soon as possible and leave as soon as possible.

As your mind wanders, the caffeine from the coffee seems to steady your thoughts, allowing you to replay the events of the past few days in your mind.

You've been back in town for three days, but it seems like a lifetime. The memories flood your mind as you pack — the funeral, facing the tormentors of your past, meeting Lorraine again, the strange mix of familiarity and tension you feel in her presence.

Your mind drifts to the strange pouch you discovered in Bobby-Lynn's room, but you shake off the thought immediately. It's not your business, you tell yourself.

Trying to understand the pouch, or making it your problem, will only invite trouble. You continue to pack, determined to stay focused on the task at hand and avoid getting tangled in anything more complicated.

Yet… curiosity continues to gnaw at you as the thought crosses your mind.

Why would vindictive women like Bobby-Lynn and Maxine be suddenly so friendly with Lorraine, the one they constantly degraded in high school?

Not to mention RJ, who you definitely remember Wayne gave hell to for years.

And now they’re all buddy buddy? It just doesn’t add up.

Or maybe that just happens naturally overtime when you stay stuck in your small hometown in the middle of nowhere.

Questions start to swirl in your mind, making you wonder if there's more to the story, if perhaps these women have somehow roped Lorraine into something.

The thought of Lorraine being involved in something sinister makes your protective instincts flare.

A sharp and unexpected knock on the manor’s front door cuts through the music and the noisy thoughts in your head, making you stand upright. Your gaze instinctively flits towards the foyer, your senses suddenly on high alert.

You stride towards the front door, intending to peek through the peep hole to see who's outside. However, before you can reach the door, another knock rings out, followed by a loud, familiar voice on the other side. You can't quite pick out the person's words, but the sound of the voice instantly makes a scowl form on your face.

You swing the front door open, and there stand the three women who have been occupying your thoughts all morning — Bobby-Lynn, Maxine, and Lorraine.

The sight of all three of them together on your doorstep sends a mix of annoyance and unease through you.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "Sorry ladies," you say sarcastically, "I won't be buying Girl Scout cookies today." Your gaze flickers between them, your defenses slowly rising in the presence of their unexpected and unpleasant visit.

The corners of Lorraine's lips twitch with a concealed smile as Bobby-Lynn steps forward with a fake smile plastered on her face.

"Lorraine mentioned wanting to stop by," she says, her voice dripping with pretend sweetness, "we reckon you wouldn't be opposed to havin’ some extra hands to help, would you?"

Maxine nods beside her, a sly gleam in her eyes.

Your unfiltered thoughts spill out of your mouth as you speak your mind. "I told Lorraine she could come by if she wanted," you say bluntly, your irritation clear in your tone.

"Not you two folk, and if I needed help, I would have asked. Which I did not” you gesture to the two of them from where your arms are still crossed. Maxine smirks at your statement, while Bobby-Lynn's smile turns smug.

Bobby-Lynn and Maxine exchange a glance, a spark of challenge in their eyes. Your refusal to welcome them in seems to fuel their determination.

"C’mon now," Bobby-Lynn chimes in, her voice dripping with feigned innocence “what, you don't trust us or somethin'? We just wanna help”.

As you begin to protest, Lorraine's gentle voice cuts in, her words silencing you.

"Rooks ain’t said none of that” her voice soft but firm, she shoots Bobby-Lynn and Maxine a reproachful glance before turning back to you.

"They're just tryin’ to be helpful” she murmurs, her expression silently asking you to not be so defensive for her sake.

You sense a change in your demeanor as Lorraine turns her attention back to you, a distinct caw echoes nearby. Your irritation eases, replaced by a strange mix of gratitude and something deeper. You find yourself faltering in front of her, unable to maintain the same defensive front.

It's as if her presence has an inexplicable effect on you, causing your usual walls to crumble. You hate how weak she makes you feel, yet at the same time, you're silently grateful for her calming influence.

You reluctantly step back, your feet moving even before you fully make up your mind. You silently grumble as you slowly move aside, pushing the door back open just wide enough to let the women pass through.

Bobby-Lynn and Maxine happily waltz into the manor, their grins widening as they saunter past you.

Lorraine hesitates in the doorway, her gaze lifting to meet yours. A soft smile forms on her lips as she murmurs a sincere "thank you" for your efforts to be civil.

Her eyes hold a hint of appreciation, silently acknowledging the way you've been trying to be polite despite your reservations about her new companions.

The moment passes quickly, and without a word, she follows the others inside, leaving you standing by the door.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you release a weary sigh, bracing yourself for the unexpected intrusion into your once-peaceful morning.

Mentally preparing yourself for the company of these women, you steel yourself for the unknown length of time you'll have to endure their presence in the manor.

As hours pass, to your surprise, you find yourself strangely enjoying their company.

Despite your initial reservations, Bobby-Lynn and Maxine seem far more subdued and mellowed out than they used to be in high school.

The four of you work together to sort through your Pop's belongings, and a sense of unexpected ease settles over the task.

As you sift through the chaotic mess of old belongings, you can't help but notice the way Bobby-Lynn and Maxine crack jokes, making the task almost... bearable.

You observe Lorraine silently working beside you, her focus on the task at hand, but you catch her stealing glances at you occasionally.

It's as if these women have transformed into different people altogether, and you can't help but wonder what brought about this change.

Bobby-Lynn continues to fold down the flaps of one of the multiple boxes you've all filled, and she turns to you with a casual question.

"So, you got any plans tonight?"

You dart a quick glance towards Lorraine who is working nearby, not-so-inconspicuously listening in.

You hesitate before replying to Bobby-Lynn, questioning her question. "Uh... just this," you gesture towards the boxes surrounding you, "why?"

With an over-the-top cutesy gesture, Bobby-Lynn rests her elbows on a nearby box and props her chin up on her fists, another award-winning smile lighting up her face.

She answers smoothly, her voice dripping with persuasion “we're havin’ a bonfire tonight out at Jackson’s. You should come, y’know, for old times' sake”.

Despite Bobby-Lynn's attempts to entice you with the offer, your expression remains impassive. You give a noncommittal shrug, the idea of attending a bonfire with everyone isn’t currently sounding like a thrilling prospect.

You reply with a neutral tone, adding a condition to your potential attendance "depends, will all the guys be there?"

Your voice is casual, but your words make your stance clear — you aren't keen on attending the bonfire if RJ and Wayne are going to be there.

Bobby-Lynn responds with a nod, her insistence evident in her voice. "Yeah, ‘course they will! It'll be a real blast. C'mon, it'll be better this time around, I swear."

You shoot Bobby-Lynn an unintentionally comical look, one that perfectly expresses your disbelief and skepticism about her promise.

Your expression causes Lorraine, who's been quietly watching the exchange, to let out a stifled laugh. She tries to hide it behind her hand, but her amusement is evident nonetheless.

Bobby-Lynn scoffs in mild frustration, straightening up and turning to Lorraine, her voice exuding annoyance "Lorraine! Tell Rooks to come for godsake! The damn stubborn ass only listens to you!"

Lorraine raises her hands in mock innocence, her feigned obliviousness all too apparent.

Despite the situation, a smile threatens to form on your lips, and you attempt to shake it off as you continue packing your Pops’ belongings into a box.

As Bobby-Lynn's protests to Lorraine become background noise, you suddenly notice that Maxine has vanished from the scene. The realization causes you to pause, wondering where she could have gone. You scan the room quietly, your focus shifting from the half-packed boxes around you to the surroundings, searching for Maxine's whereabouts.

Your mind races to figure out where Maxine could have gone and what she could be up to. The sudden disappearance leaves you slightly uneasy, and a sense of suspicion begins to grow within you.

You continue to glance around discreetly, and wait a bit, because chances are she slipped off to find the bathroom.

But why not ask where it is? She’s never been here before, not to your knowledge at least, she would’ve asked if that was the case.

You bide your time, waiting for an opportune moment to slip away unnoticed. Once Lorraine and Bobby-Lynn are sufficiently distracted with their banter, you quietly make your escape, moving stealthily through the manor in search of Maxine. Your steps are silent as you proceed, your determination growing with each step.

It doesn’t take long for you to find her.

You locate Maxine in your Pops’ old study upstairs, her fingers tracing along the spines of the books on the shelf lining the wall.

The sight of her in this room, touching your Pops’ belongings, causes a flicker of irritation to surface within you.

How dare she? You, his only child, would get a tearing into so help you set foot past the threshold, and she just lets herself in?

Anxiety courses through your veins as you step into the room — old habits die hard — footsteps deliberate and intended to alert her of your presence.

Maxine doesn't even acknowledge your presence, continuing to scan the spines of the books as she speaks. Her words are casual, her tone nonchalant as she reflects on the room's decor. "I always wondered what the Mayor’s private office looked like," she muses aloud.

Irritation flickers within you as you respond, your voice laced with annoyance at Maxine's nonchalance, “now you know what it looks like. Anythin’ else you need to satisfy your curiosity?"

Maxine glances over her shoulder, her vixen stare meeting your gaze. The look on her face is a mix of innocence and subtle suggestion.

She responds, her voice as innocent as her gaze, though the underlying meanings behind her words are clear “oh, I'm sure there's plenty more here to satisfy my curiosity”.

Her words and her stare leave you feeling unsettled. The suggestive undertones in her voice and the knowing look in her eyes ignite a sense of unease within you. You straighten your stance and narrow your gaze, sizing her up.

“Don’t even try that here, you go on and take that bullshit and shove it up Wayne’s ass for me” you say bluntly, crossing your arms as you glare her down without remorse.

Maxine feigns looking around the room, her body slowly turning towards yours “for what it’s worth,” she takes deliberate steps in your direction, her movements almost calculated.

As she approaches, her voice continues, dripping with nonchalance as her movements bring her closer to you “your Pop was just as strange as you are," she adds, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Her words ignite a spark of anger within you. Her audacity and presumption in speaking about your Pop, as if she knows him or you, infuriates you.

You try to bite back a sharp retort, your jaw clenching as you try to control your rising irritation. Your voice is taut with underlying anger as you respond, “watch your mouth, you don’t know shit about me or my Pop”.

Maxine remains undisturbed by your outburst, her gaze steady as she continues to approach you. As she nears you, she casually drops a hint, her voice dropping to a lower decibel.

"Oh, believe me, I know more than you do”.

Maxine stops within the doorway, standing close to you, her presence palpable and suffocating. Her eyes lock onto yours, a silent standoff between the two of you.

With a sly smile, she muses aloud, her voice dripping with intrigue “I can only imagine what secrets might be hidden in this old place, just might be the death of you”.

With that, Maxine smirks, her gaze trailing slowly up and down your figure. The look in her eyes is both challenging and appraising.

Then without another word, she turns on her heel and leaves. Exiting the study to rejoin the others downstairs, leaving you standing in the silence of your thoughts.

You take a moment to process the strange encounter with Maxine, your mind racing with unanswered questions. But then you snap out of your thoughts, refocusing your attention to the task at hand.

You begin checking the room, meticulously searching for anything that might be missing or out of place. Your senses are heightened, your intuition on full alert as you carefully comb through the study.

As you filter through the study, nothing appears out of place. However, Maxine's words continue to linger in your mind, creating a nagging feeling that something may be hidden.

Even if anything was missing, you probably wouldn’t notice, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve been inside this study.

Despite the seemingly undisturbed room, her cryptic comment about secrets hidden right in front of you casts a shadow of doubt over the room's appearance.

You shake off the lingering doubt, reminding yourself to revisit the room later. At the moment, you're focused on getting everyone out of the manor, your trust in Lorraine to keep the other two in check only goes so far.

Despite Lorraine’s presence, you’re not entirely comfortable with these women poking around in your Pops’ old place thinking you aren’t paying attention.

With a final glance around the study, you exit and make your way downstairs, the sound of muffled conversation from Bobby-Lynn and Lorraine guiding you towards them.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you discover that all three of the women are already at the front door, preparing to leave. Maxine maintains her usual indifferent demeanor, exiting the manor nonchalantly, followed closely by Bobby-Lynn.

Bobby-Lynn's voice rings through the air as she calls out, her words firm and authoritative “we'll be seein’ you tonight, Rooks! You ain't got a choice in the matter!"

You stand in the now-empty foyer, your gaze fixed on the two women as they descend the steps of the front porch and make their way to their car.

Lorraine still stands nearby, lingering in the doorway. You slowly approach, your mind still preoccupied by Maxine's ominous hints and Bobby-Lynn's demand.

You break the silence by addressing Lorraine, stating matter-of-factly, "you need better friends."

Lorraine fondly rolls her eyes at your comment, unable to stifle a small, amused smile. She responds to your comment with a playful retort, a hint of humor in her voice.

"And you're any better?" her words are lighthearted, a hint of teasing in them. Lorraine knows you well enough to understand the irony in your comment.

You cast a glance towards the car where Bobby-Lynn and Maxine are getting in, a feeling of uneasiness settling over you.

There is something about them that doesn't sit well with you, something off that raises your suspicions. They play nice, they work their acts extremely well, but you can smell bullshit out of anyone.

You suddenly feel a little sick for even allowing yourself to somewhat enjoy their company. Or maybe you’re just being ridiculous and they actually aren’t that bad. Doubt chews at your mind, like a boat in the middle of a storm at sea.

Lorraine's voice is soft as she speaks, catching your attention."You should come this evenin’, if you want” her words sound almost like a casual suggestion, but coming from Lorraine, you know there's a hint of more beneath the surface.

Lorraine’s gaze drifts to the floor, her hand moving reflexively to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

There’s a vulnerability in her gesture, and her next words add intrigue to the invitation “and for what it's worth, RJ won’t be there”.

There’s something unspoken in her words, a hidden meaning you can almost grasp.

Lorraine's gaze, those big brown eyes staring up at you from under her eyelashes nearly mesmerize you, you miss chattered caws nearby. You feel your mind growing foggy, despite your desire to think clearly, her presence makes it difficult to focus.

Lorraine raises her hand, pausing for a moment before gently resting it on your forearms, which are crossed over your chest.

Her touch is gentle, her voice tentative as she asks, "just… think about it?"

There's a hopeful note in her question, her eyes searching your face for a response.

As Lorraine's hand rests on your forearms, a tingling sensation runs through your body. The pull you feel towards her only seems to grow stronger with each moment spent together.

Will you regret this? Probably, you regretted going the other night.

Despite your resistance, you can't help but relent as your breath releases in a sigh.

One of these days, you need to do your own study on yourself to figure out why the fuck you can’t seem to deny Lorraine.

"What's the address?"

____________________________________________

You bring your motorcycle to a halt, pulling up to the location Lorraine provided. As you shut off the engine and remove your helmet, you can't help but make a face as you dismount your bike.

The place is not exactly what you expected, and you have a feeling this event may get… interesting.

Walking towards the house, you take in the surroundings, noting the subtle details. The structure is a modest two-story house with a wraparound porch, located within a quaint, older neighborhood.

Soft tendrils of smoke rise gently from the backside of the house, the scent of burning wood and leaves wafting through the air, a clear indication that a fire is crackling somewhere inside.

As you approach, the hum of distant conversations and the faint strains of music grow in volume, letting you know that the party is already in full swing.

You arrive at the doorstep and knock, expecting a quick response. However, to your surprise, no one comes to the door.

Silence hangs in the air, the only sound accompanying the quiet neighborhood the soft buzz of insects in the trees nearby.

It's as you stand at the front door, contemplating the lack of response, that you realize that the sounds of the party is coming from behind the house instead of inside.

A look of confusion crosses your features as you descend the porch steps and move to round the house, curiosity tugging at the corners of your mind.

As you make your way around the corner of the house, a subtle shift in energy envelops you, a sense of unease settling in because isn’t it a little early to be starting up a bonfire?

When it comes into view, you notice the light from the bonfire flickers eerily, casting long dancing flickers on the nearby trees.

The laughter and chatter of the group by the fire sound more like whispers, the words distorted and almost unidentifiable.

There's an odd stillness in the air, as if the evening itself is holding its breath. You cannot shake the feeling that something is not quite right.

The scene before you is surreal and almost dreamlike. A few figures are sat around the bonfire in a strange circle, sitting on an assortment of different chairs. They chant, whispering amongst themselves, their voices inaudible as they echo in the clearing.

However, it's the two figures dancing around the fire that truly catch your attention. Their movements are disjointed and erratic, their limbs moving to a rhythm that doesn't quite align with the music.

Wait. Is that music even music?

The cawing of birds in the distance disrupts your observation of the dancing figures, and you recognize the familiar sound immediately.

The haunting call sends shivers down your spine every time you acknowledge it, and your eyes dart to the trees. For a split second, a large black crow swoops into view between the branches before disappearing again into the foliage.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong here.

The air suddenly feels heavy with an ominous and foreboding energy as your heart rate quickens, your thoughts beginning to spiral in uncertainty.

Then, just as you’re about to be engulfed entirely by the growing tension, you hear a familiar voice calling out your name.

“Rooks?”

The moment your eyes meet Lorraine's gentle brown gaze, an instant sense of relief washes over you. The heavy atmosphere seems to melt away, replaced by a feeling of comfort and familiarity.

Lorraine's mere presence has a calming effect, her soft demeanor chasing away the heavy dread that had begun to build.

Your gaze shifts back to the bonfire, and now everything seems different. The music playing sounds normal, the voices raised in conversation are clear, and the dancing around the fire carries a joyful atmosphere.

You can hear laughter in the air, but all you can truly feel is confusion. It's as if the scene before you has been completely transformed, and you're left questioning what you experienced moments before.

No. No not again. You worked too hard to stop this from happening, was all of that effort for nothing?

You flinch instinctively at Lorraine's touch, the sensation of her hand suddenly on your arm sending a jolt through you, even through the leather of your jacket.

But as your eyes meet hers again, the tension in your mind eases, her gentle gaze providing an unexpected sense of calm.

Lorraine watches you closely as you remain silent, her hand still resting on your arm. When you don't respond, she continues, her tone soft and gentle, "I was just about to head out, if you wanna come with?" her words are a subtle invitation, her gaze searching your face for a response.

You furrow your brow in confusion, puzzled by Lorraine's sudden announcement of departing.

She was the one who invited you here, and now both of you are supposedly leaving? It doesn't make sense, and the confusion is evident on your face as you contemplate her words.

Lorraine's hand hangs in the air for a brief moment after dropping from your arm, her gaze shifting to the bonfire. She seems to sense your confusion, a subtle shrug of her shoulders is followed by a soft admission.

"My parents are having a cookout," she explains, "and I know you really don't wanna be here with them” her words are filled with understanding, her eyes expressing her knowledge of your discomfort in this setting.

You attempt to brush off the concern by quickly muttering, "I don't mind-" But Lorraine cuts you off before you can finish, sensing your attempt to downplay your discomfort.

"You don’t have to front with me” she tilts her head, her gaze is unwavering and her tone leaving no room for argument as she calls you out on your attempt to mask your true feelings.

As you survey Lorraine, your mind races with conflicting thoughts. You've always seen her as delicate and innocent, pure, untouched by the world’s harsh realities.

But seeing her with them, surrounded by the atmosphere they create, feels wrong. Your intuition tells you they only seek to corrupt her, to taint the purity you've always attributed to her.

Lorraine notices your mind wandering, your thoughts consumed by the conflicting emotions and worries.

With a gentle "hey," she coaxes you back to the present moment, her warm eyes locking onto yours, searching for a connection.

As your gaze meets hers, again you feel a sense of calm wash over you, the worries and concerns that had been swirling in your mind moments before start to recede.

You snap back into the moment, focusing solely on Lorraine's presence, and strangely you find yourself unable to remember the exact reasons you were so worried.

Lorraine maintains eye contact with you, a small, gentle smile on her lips as she turns to walk away from the party. "C’mon," she urges softly, "my momma is gonna love to see you again, she was always more tolerable when you’re around”.

Her words echo in your mind, the mention of her mother bringing back memories of the warm, welcoming energy she always exuded.

The poor woman can’t help her husband is a narcissistic control freak, or at least, those are Lorraine’s words.

You follow behind Lorraine, your mind slightly foggy, your thoughts swirling as you cast a glance back at the bonfire. The flicker of its flames seems to provoke a sense of unease within you, stirring up those earlier feelings of disquiet.

Despite that, the pull of Lorraine's presence and the promise of her mother's warm welcome keeps you moving forward, away from the unsettling atmosphere.

As you approach your motorcycle, the change in Lorraine's demeanor catches your attention. She suddenly seems uncomfortable, her eyes scanning your bike with hesitance.

Her gaze settles on the helmet rested on your handlebar, and a hint of unease creeps into her expression. She hesitates, watching as you retrieve your helmet and turn to her.

You take notice of this and address it directly, gently coaxing her with the words, "what’s up, talk to me”.

Your fingers loosen the strap of your helmet, but your gaze remains fixed on her face, silently urging her to open up and share whatever is on her mind.

Lorraine takes a deep breath and finally gives in to your gentle coaxing. She looks at the motorcycle with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue and then turns her gaze back to you.

“I... I've never ridden one before," she admits, her voice a whisper, her eyes searching yours almost apologetically.

Your response is instantaneous, a slow shake of your head followed by a reassuring smile.

You lock eyes with Lorraine and ask, “you trust me?" The question is genuine, and you hold her gaze, silently assuring her that her trust would not be misplaced.

Lorraine listens intently to your question, her fingers absently reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She averts her gaze for a moment, her teeth nibbling on the inside of her cheek in thought.

Then, with a newfound determination, she looks back up and locks eyes with you as she nods once.

As Lorraine nods, a subtle wave of relief washes over you. You carefully place the helmet on her head, adjusting it gently until it sits snugly against her temples.

The helmet seems oversized on her slight frame, and for some reason the sight of it on her is endearing.

Your touch is gentle as you tighten the helmet's strap beneath her chin, your fingertips brushing against her skin.

The contact sends a small shiver down Lorraine's spine, but she remains still, her eyes never leaving yours. As you mutter the word "perfect” under your breath, there's a hint of tenderness in your voice.

You reach out and take Lorraine's hand in yours, guiding her to the back seat of the bike. You feel her hesitance and uncertainty palpably, but she follows your lead, allowing you to help her onto the back of the bike. Once she's settled, you slide into the seat in front of her.

With Lorraine now seated on the back of the bike, you turn slightly to check on her. "Okay?" you ask, wanting to make sure she's comfortable and ready. You kick up the stand with your boot and adjust your grip on the handles, all while waiting for her response.

Despite the bulky helmet covering her face, the nod Lorraine gives is undeniably adorable. Her head moves up and down, the helmet bobbing slightly, and it's difficult to keep the small smile from forming on your lips. The sight tugs at your heartstrings, stirring conflicting feelings within you.

You start up the engine, the rumble of the bike filling the air as you twist the handle, revving it up.

The sudden sound startles Lorraine, and her arms instinctively wrap around your abdomen from behind, holding on for dear life. You can feel the warmth of her embrace through the leather of your jacket.

It’s hot, with the sun still beating down, but honestly you can’t find it in you to be bothered. With her arms around you like this?

You struggle to maintain a neutral expression as Lorraine's arms remain wrapped around your abdomen, the feel of her fingertips pressing into your stomach sending a wave of unwelcome warmth through you.

As you begin to drive down the road, heading towards her family's farm, your mind tries to dismiss the way her touch makes you feel.

____________________________________________

It’s almost unfair, how well it goes, how quickly it becomes the only moment you’ve felt peace since arriving back into town.

You had forgotten how much you genuinely adore her momma, her warm and welcoming presence making you feel at home in a way you didn't expect.

Lorraine's mother, a woman as warm and welcoming as her daughter, always greets you with a smile that lights up her face. Even after being gone for five years, and it's always been clear to you that Lorraine inherited a majority of her traits from the older woman.

However, her father stands out as someone who is far more intelligent than he lets on. Despite the farmer's hardworking exterior, there is a hidden depth to him, a mind that is both sharp and astute. But he projects control, his words always strict and his demeanor definition ‘alpha male complex’ in the most bible-thumping-back-in-the-sticks type way.

Your Pop was the same way, maybe that’s why you and Lorraine relate so well.

Despite your initial thoughts that you would be treated differently due to the recent passing of your Pop, Lorraine's parents treats you no differently than they ever have.

Her momma never allows you to remain a wallflower, drawing you into conversations and activities with her easy-going nature.

There are no judgmental comments or subtle digs; she simply continues to welcome you into their home with open arms.

Her father however, is quiet, observant in the presence of company. You don’t need to see it physically to know the underlying truth here, the way Lorraine and her momma both tense any time he speaks says plenty.

You find yourself caught in a mix of conflicting emotions as you’re somewhat forced to assist Lorraine's father at the grill, only to find yourself roped into helping her mother setup not long after.

A part of you rebels against the feeling of being a part of a family dynamic, not only because you’ve never had one yourself, but because you also know deep down that it's all a facade.

But, even as reluctant as you are to admit it, you’re glad Lorraine drug you along for this. Maybe pretending that everything is fine, that it always has been, that you never left… is okay for now.

Just a minute to breathe.

As the evening settles in and the warm glow of the sunset casts a golden hue across the sky, you and Lorraine decide to head out into the backyard to watch the last few moments of daylight.

The air is still warm, but a gentle breeze carries with it the familiar scent of the countryside — the smell of open pastures and blooming wildflowers.

That, you will admit, is something that has a nostalgia factor. The quiet out here, the tranquil, the peace, the ability to check out of reality even if for a second.

As you walk, the crunch of the ground underfoot is the only sound between the two of you.

You and Lorraine walk to the old tree that stands behind the barn, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy. The old beehive still hangs from one of the branches, a silent testament to the past.

You find yourselves a spot beneath the tree, the grass soft and slightly cool beneath you as you sit. The silence around you is broken only by the soft hum of the bees still going about their work within the hive.

As you sit beneath the old tree, Lorraine bumps your shoulders together innocently, a playful smile on her lips.

"Not so afraid of bees anymore?" she teases, memories of a time when you feared those buzzing creatures flood your mind.

But as you sit there, surrounded by the gentle hum of the bees, you can't help but scoff and roll your eyes at Lorraine's comment, a playful scowl on your face.

"I was never afraid of ‘em," you protest, gently bumping her shoulder back in response "I just had a healthy respect for the little guys”.

Memories flood your mind of the day you both sat here a few years ago. She had carefully explained the difference between a honey bee, a bumble bee, and the carpenter bees, her voice soft and reassuring as she did so.

You can still picture her sitting next to you, the sunlight filtering through the branches and casting dappled shadows on her face.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet the memory is as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.

You can still remember the way her fingers gently touched the petals of the wildflowers that grew, her face lit up with excitement as she pointed out different insects that flitted among the flora.

Despite your initial wariness of bees, you had listened intently to her explanation, the sound of her voice and the look of genuine joy on her face having completely captivated you.

It was a simple moment, but it was one of the first times you had ever seen Lorraine truly open up and show a side of herself that she usually hid away.

Yet you still try to convince yourself you two weren’t that close.

As you continue to sit beneath the tree, your thoughts suddenly shift to a darker time.

Memories of high school come rushing back, specifically of how girls like Bobby-Lynn and Maxine and guys like Jackson and Wayne would torment both you and Lorraine during the school years.

The feeling of helplessness and rage wash over you like a wave, bringing with it a bitter taste in your mouth.

As you mull over those unpleasant memories, Lorraine gently bumps her shoulder against yours once more, noticing the shift in your demeanor.

She murmurs softly, her voice laced with a hint of concern and curiosity, "you're thinkin' awful loud, might as well share with me”.

At Lorraine's words, your lips quirk up into a small smile, staring off across the field at the sun setting on the horizon. It brings in the cool breeze, the rays of light not so intense and beating down from above.

Absentmindedly, your fingers begin plucking at the blades of grass at your feet, the repetitive motion a mindless distraction.

With your eyes fixed on the setting sun, you remain quiet for a moment, collecting your thoughts before speaking. "I just don't understand," you murmur, the words heavy with frustration and disbelief.

"They were awful to us, to you” the memories of their cruel words and actions flood your mind, the anger you felt on Lorraine's behalf simmering beneath the surface.

Your voice falters as you continue, your eyes finally turning to look at Lorraine. “I know we weren’t… as close as we could’ve been,” you begin carefully, the unspoken words hanging in the air between you.

“But with the amount of times I stood up for you and for you to just—” you pause, taking in the sight of Lorraine’s face, the sight of her sitting there, listening to you intently.

The silence between you stretches on, your eyes locked on each other’s faces. It’s as if the two of you are trying to read each other, searching for understanding and deciphering the other’s thoughts.

The wind rustles leaves and grass around you, a soft whisper against the silence. As you listen to the sound of the buzzing bees above, your gaze drifts for a moment, lost in thought.

The familiar hum of the bees provides a comfortable background noise, calming your mind and allowing you to process your thoughts.

Then, Lorraine speaks up. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, and it draws your attention back to her.

Lorraine looks at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of wisdom and compassion. "I learned the hard way," she begins softly, "that holdin’ a grudge will only eat you alive on the inside”.

Her voice is quiet but firm, as if she's speaking from personal experience “I forgave ‘em because I refuse to let anyone’s actions define or control me any longer”.

As the sound of a bird’s caw rings out in the distance, the hairs on the back of your neck bristle. Instinctively you whip your head around, watching as a few crows cut through the darkening sky, their wings creating a black streak against the orange and pink twilight hues.

You watch the crows as they soar through the sky, your eyes glued to their path. You keep your eyes fixed on the crows until they vanish from sight, a sense of unease settling in your chest.

Even after all these years, you can't shake the feeling that they're something otherworldly.

Your voice is strained as you murmur your concerns to Lorraine, "they're actin’ strange, Lorraine. I just... don't think they have good intentions." The unease lingers on your tongue, and you chew at your lower lip absentmindedly.

You look towards Lorraine, speaking intently with your hands as you explain the small bag you found at Bobby-Lynn's. Your fingers move in sharp, nervous motions as you describe the contents.

"There were these bones and herbs," you begin, "and strands of hair braided to a leather string inside” your eyes flit to Lorraine's face, trying to gauge her reaction to your words.

Lorraine's face shows a look of disbelief as she responds to your revelation, “you went through Bobby-Lynn's things?"

Her voice is a mixture of surprise and mild confusion. You can see the question in her eyes: why would you snoop through someone's belongings?

“I just— I didn’t mean to it— goddamn it I don’t know I guess—“

You take a deep breath, trying to articulate the feelings that have been swirling around in your mind since you arrival.

"Ever since I got back, I've just felt off. My head's been all clouded, and I just get these really weird vibes around ‘em. It's like somethin’ just ain’t right” you can feel the frustration and confusion bubbling up within you as you speak.

You moisten your lips, your gaze flicking towards the now darkening sky as you continue. "Maxine..." you mutter, your voice filled with contempt.

"I found her going through Pops' study, said somethin’ about him hiding secrets” the words hang in the air between you, the implications of Maxine's words sending a shiver down your spine.

Lorraine's bewilderment grows at your revelation, and she mutters a soft "what? What’s that even mean?"

Her eyes are wide, and you can see the wheels turning in her mind as she tries to process what you've told her about Maxine. The sky continues to darken overhead, the first stars of the evening beginning to appear.

You look at Lorraine, your voice dropping to a hushed whisper as you shift in your spot. "There's somethin’ going on here," you say urgently, "somethin’ ain’t right with ‘em." The sky above you is now fully dark, the sky a blanket of velvety blackness pierced with bright specks of light.

The moonlight streaming through the branches of the tree casts a silvery glow on Lorraine's face as she processes your words. Her usually soft features are now sharp in the silvery light, her expression thoughtful and a hint of worry creasing her brow.

The crickets chirp around you, a soft chorus providing just enough background noise to keep the silence from becoming uncomfortable now that the bees have turned in for the night.

Lorraine takes a moment to collect her words, a hint of hesitation evident on her face. Her voice is gentle but firm as she speaks, "I don't want to dismiss your concerns, or invalidate what you're feelin’, Rooks. But you do see how this is comin’ off, right?"

You open your mouth to respond, but suddenly, your mind grows fuzzy. You can feel it slipping away almost like a cloud of haze settling over your thoughts.

Your brow furrows as you try to grasp onto the threads of your thoughts, but they slip through your fingers like water.

The sound of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind seem to fill your ears, as if they're amplifying the silence.

She looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and empathy, trying to understand the situation from your perspective.

Lorraine notices your struggle to grasp your thoughts, and her eyes soften with concern. She speaks up, her voice soft and reassuring. "Hey, it's okay," she whispers “just take a deep breath, focus on the sound of my voice”.

You hadn’t even realized you’d started breathing irregularly, the subtle racing of your heart uncomfortable as your veins tingle with small but sharp prickles. Lightheaded, as you force your eyes to stay focused in.

Her brown eyes are soft in the silvery light, and she reaches out to gently touch your arm, her touch both comforting and grounding “you're okay, just focus on me”.

You do as she says, focusing on her words and the soothing tone of her voice. You're suddenly aware of the moment and the atmosphere around you.

The moonlight casts shadows on Lorraine's face, and her eyes are like dark pools of honey. The trees around you create a protective canopy, and the sound of the crickets is a soft background noise that somehow enhances the intimacy of this moment.

Your gaze is fixed on Lorraine, and the world fades into insignificance as you take her in.

Lorraine's fingers fiddle idly with the leather of your jacket sleeve, her eyes dropping to watch the small action as she speaks. Her voice is soft and gentle, filled with a hint of concern.

"Rooks," she murmurs, "you've got a lot goin’ on right now. I just... hope you ain't projectin’. They ain’t perfect, but they care." The words hang in the air, a quiet plea for you to give them a chance.

The sweetness of Lorraine's words is like a honeycomb trap, sticky and irresistible. Her soft voice, as if spun from silken threads, wraps around you like a gentle embrace.

Every word she says seems to make more sense, a soothing balm to the doubts and confusions that cloud your mind.

Lorraine's small smile is like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. With a hint of playfulness that belies her shy nature, she turns to you and says, "since we're on serious topics, you ever gonna to tell me why the hell you named your motorcycle Brad?"

The question is casual, a lighthearted distraction that is clearly designed to change the atmosphere.

You laugh, the sound bursting out of you like a dam breaking. Your hands clutch at your belly, and you lean back until your back hits the soft grass.

The moment is unexpected, but the relief it brings is undeniable. You can't help but feel a sense of levity, a momentary escape from the heavy conversation.

The laugh feels like fresh air in your lungs, and for a moment, Lorraine's presence feels lighter, warmer.

Maybe she’s right, why should you continue to hold grudges?

They only tear you apart from the inside, leaving behind nothing but bitterness and poison.

previous, next

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Tag List: @thatshyboy1998

[in1-nutshell]

Hello could I have idw windblade x male human in it windblade is first finding out about humans and falls in love with them

Lets go Windblade!

Hope you enjoy!

Windblade falling for Human Buddy

SFW, Platonic, Hinted romance, Human reader

IDW

It was Thundercracker who introduced Windblade to Buddy.

Windblade had gone to Earth in Starscream’s place as something big had popped up and forced him to stay.

Whether there was something that actually came up, Windblade was excited to finally see Earth.

She had seen so many videos and read many data pads on the infamous planet and was ecstatic to finally have a chance to see it with her own optics.

Chromia was less excited than her friend, preferring terrain she knew, but someone had to protect her.

Thundercracker and Buster were the one’s who first welcomed them to the planet when Buddy and Marrissa came in.

Marrissa and Buddy look up at the two new bots. Marrissa: “Welcome to Earth Windblade and Chromia. I am Marrissa and this is Buddy. We will be your human liaison’s during you stay on planet.” Buddy was still looking at the bots. Marrissa nudged Buddy on the side, snapping him out of his trace. Buddy: “Pardon me, I am still new to Cybertronians on the job. As Marrissa said, I am Buddy. If you need anything or have any questions, please feel free to ask.” Windblade: “Buddy, I have a question.” Buddy: “Yes?” Windblade: "Is it true that there are turbo foxes on Earth? I read on the way here that there were.” Chromia and Thundercracker look at her curiously. Not the type of question they thought the City Speaker would ask. Buddy: “We don’t have ‘turbo foxes’ but we do have the smaller organic version of them. Also depending which type—” Windblade: “There’s more than one type?” Buddy: “Yeah, I mean, yes. On Earth we have different types of foxes. If you follow me, I think we rescued an injured one that was caught in a bear trap a couple days ago. If Berny hasn’t released him yet, we can still see the little guy.” Windblade fluttering her wings a bit: “Yes, please!” The jet follows the smaller human happily chatting about the fox. Chromia, Marrissa and Thundercracker: “…” Thundercracker: “You know, that sounds a little like one of the screen writes I have drafted.” Chromia glaring at the human from a distance: “And how does it end.” Thundercracker: “They both fall in love—” Chromia: “Nope.” She marches right behind the pair. Thundercracker: “I bet a tube of wax Windblade falls first.” Marrissa: “Thundercracker! That is highly inappropriate!... Anyways, Buddy already fell for her.”

Chromia was Windblade’s shadow everywhere she went with the human.

She didn’t believe that her friend could fall for someone she just met.

She was smarter than that!

Buddy sensed the hostility coming from Windblade’s companion and tried including her in as many activities as he could.

He had already brought done Windblade’s walls with showing the foxes and some of the more peaceful areas outside the base.

Chromia was a harder challenge, but Buddy was always up for a good challenge.

It came in the form of the indoor racetrack and Cybertronian sized sparring ring.

Buddy was the sole pilot of a prototype mech suit created to help other Cybertronians on Earth if trouble came around.

Apparently sparring was the way to get through to Chromia.

Buddy slamming down on his back in the suit. Windblade and Thundercracker wince at the sound. Chromia walks over his suit. Chromia: “Your form is sloppy and slow.” Buddy: “Yeah, well it’s kinda hard when you’re still getting used to the new framework.” Chromia smirks and offers him her servo. He takes it and lets her pull him up. Chromia: “Despite that, you did manage to get a few good hits.” Buddy: “Is that a compliment I hear?” Chromia: “Please, you’re a decent fighter for a human…maybe we should get a new sparring partner. Windblade get your sword.” Buddy: “What?” Windblade: “What?” Thundercracker and Marrissa: “What?” Buster: “Woof?”

Buddy didn’t stand a chance.

Not that Windblade was a better fighter than he was.

No…

It was that he didn’t want to hurt her, which ultimately lead to him getting his behind slammed on the ground for multiple rounds.

After the ‘fight’ Buddy offered to show them around more places around the base and to see the sunset.

This seemed to be the pattern for the rest of the visit.

Work, sight see, spar, sight see, back to base.

The sight seeing only increased once Marrissa helped Buddy get clearance for certain airspaces.

Windblade had a soft spot for leisure flies around dawn and walks near the bases forested area.

The two were rarely seen apart during the whole visit.

Sadly, the visit had ended too soon for the pair.

Buddy, Marrissa, and Thundercracker waving at the ship as it disappeared out of sight.  Thundercracker: “That was a nice visit. Better without Screamer here.” Buddy: “I will never get how out of the ‘trine’ thing, YOU came out with a semi stable moral compass.” Marrissa: “I second that.” Buddy starts moving to the door. Thundercracker: “You’re not upset that Windblade left, are you?” Buddy blushes a bit before shaking his head. Buddy: “We knew the visit was short Cracker.” Marrissa: “So you aren’t going to miss her?” Buddy: “I didn’t say that. She is a good friend—” Thundercracker fake coughs loudly while Marrissa gave him a knowing smile. Buddy just huffs and walks back to his office desk. PING! Buddy looks down at his tablet to see a message. Windblade: “Can’t wait till I visit again! Miss you already!” Buddy blushes and smiles. Buddy: “Can’t wait either.”

How Buddy was looking at Windblade when she steps out of the ship.