#hand controls for cars installation

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

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[girlgenius1111]

close to you part five

alexia putellas x leila ouahabi x jenni hermoso x reader a third installment of the orgy fic: rush by @vixwritesagain [all chapters + all OOYG chapters linked on her masterlist] the ice finally broken between r and alexia, things quickly spiral out of control in a very fun way. smut. 18+.

—

“Leila, leave the volume alone!” Jenni hissed. 

You chuckled as the music grew louder in the car, exchanging an amused look with Alexia who was sitting in the back seat next to you. 

When you’d gotten up that morning, a part of you had been worried that things were going to go back to how they’d been. Back to Alexia barely speaking, and the thick tension that followed the two of you around the villa. 

When you joined the other couple in the kitchen, while you didn’t get a smile from Ale, you did get eye contact and a cup of coffee slid across the counter. The coffee was perfect, just the way you liked it. You wondered whether Jenni had told Alexia how you took your coffee, but the way the blonde watched you shyly as you took your first sip suggested otherwise. Perhaps she’d been watching you for longer than you’d thought. 

It wasn’t awkward, nor was it overly erotic. It was almost as comfortable as a morning spent back at home with Leila, with a few more hands on you whenever someone walked by. You felt a surge of satisfaction when Alexia took a seat next to you, bumping your knee with hers. 

It had remained calm and innocent for the entirety of the morning, until you all realized that somehow you were already in need of another trip to the store. Alexia wanted more strawberries, Jenni wanted to get a pool float to lounge on, and Leila was insisting on more chocolate ice cream. And, well, you wouldn’t be left alone. 

All four of you set out for the store, a short drive away from where you were staying. Despite this short drive, Leila had insisted on sitting in the front seat because Jenni’s driving made her sick. This left you and Alexia next to each other. Only a few minutes into the drive, you felt her hand press against yours where it was resting on the seat between you. 

You were the one to lace your fingers over hers, glancing over to catch the tiniest curl of her smirk as she looked out the window. The sharp cut of her jaw was so pretty with her hair scraped back into a ponytail. Her smirk grew a little too wide to control, and all of a sudden your cheeks flushed thinking about what she might have been thinking about.  

You’d turned back to your own window when she lifted your joined hands and set them on your thigh. 

High on your thigh. 

“Not again, Jenni.” Your girlfriend whined in the front seat as the driver turned right and slowed considerably before slotting into a space in front of a shop. 

“It’s on the way! I just want one more look. Coming, Ale?” Jenni cut the engine and unclipped her seatbelt. 

“No,” Alexia replied. “But…” 

“I know.” Jenni interjected. “I won’t be long.” 

Silence fell when she’d exited and disappeared into what looked like the doors of tourist trap hell. Leila tapped away on her phone.

Still, Alexia’s fingers curled around your thigh. 

“Jenni buys me something from the places we go,” Alexia murmured, glancing over at you. 

“That’s nice of her.” 

“Sí.”

Maybe you should have left it there, but she was pretty and she was touching you and it felt right when you leaned across and kissed her. 

And then kissing her felt so nice and normal, you did it again and again. Less about expressing how attractive she was, and more about exploring how she felt against you. Before you could really register, you were unclicking your own seatbelt and moving closer. 

You broke apart for a second. She pulled back to free herself and twist towards you. Her hands reached up to cradle your face, then back into your hair. Her eyes really were beautiful. 

Alexia leaned in slowly, and when she kissed you again there was no debating who was in control. The opening of her mouth, the slow lick of her tongue, the way she held you so unwaveringly. All of it made your brain go blank. 

By the third pass, you breathed a moan to break up the wet clicking of your kiss. You pulled back first this time, trying to find any amount of time to put yourself back together. 

Alexia didn’t need time. As you sat back, she turned to the side, leaning over to kiss Leila with the same level of care. You heard her quiet Spanish mumble but couldn’t quite translate before she was sitting back, leaving all the space Leila needed to hop the console into the backseat. 

–

Jenni hummed as she walked back to the car, too excited about what she’d purchased to worry about how long she’d spent in the store. As soon as she gave Ale the keychain, Leila the snowglobe, and you the pretty blue coffee mug, she knew none of you would really be annoyed with her for taking 20 minutes. 

She was so undeniably happy with the way this trip was turning out that she missed the warning signs; the absence of Leila in the front seat, and the muted noises spilling out from the car. She flung open the door to the backseat. Her jaw dropped at the sight. 

Your shirt was gone off, your bra pushed up to bunch around your neck. You were reclined in Alexia’s arms, neck tilted back on her shoulder. Leila was crammed into the remaining space. One of her hands held your shorts and panties to the side, the other fucking two fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace. The wet sounds were very audible now that the door was open, as was the squeal of surprise you let out. 

“Oh my god!”  Jenni whisper-yelled, looking around frantically and slamming the door shut. She stomped around to the driver's side door, throwing it open and getting into the car. She turned, glaring at the three of you in the backseat. 

You were still laying against Alexia, and Leila was still touching you, though she’d stopped fucking in and out for the moment. You’d tugged your bra back down. There was a hint of shame on your flushed face, but only satisfaction on Leila and Alexia’s. 

“What is wrong with you three?” 

“What?” Leila said innocently. “We were just passing the time.” 

“By fucking in the rental car? In a public parking lot? Are you insane?” Jenni spat. “First of all, it is not sanitary. Second, you are public figures! Anyone could have seen.”

“Relax, Jenni,” Alexia grinned, reaching her hand out to tug lightly at her girlfriend’s ponytail. Jenni’s eye twitched, before she turned around and started the car. 

“I can see the headline now. ‘Barcelona player serviced by teammate, Ballon d’Or winner in car.’ Or ‘football star’s group sex in Ibiza.’” Jenni huffed, pulling out of the parking space with an unnecessarily sharp acceleration. 

She was so visibly annoyed, yet her words so absurd that all three of you in the backseat were struggling not to laugh. Leila broke first, of course, giggling into your shoulder even as you repeatedly slapped at her knee to try to get her to stop. It just made her giggle more, until all three of you were howling as you scrambled to do your seatbelts up again. 

Jenni shook her head, fighting the smile that pulled at her lips. It was such a stark contrast to how you and Alexia had been behaving the whole trip. She looked in the rearview mirror briefly, finding Alexia nearly doubled over, and it was really a struggle not to grin too. 

“No shop for you three. You’ve lost the privilege of being in public.” She said faux-sternly. 

Leila turned to you, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Well, if we’re headed home…” 

The brunette began to trail her fingers back up your thigh, as Alexia’s lips returned to your neck without hesitation. Both of them jumped away from you, though, at the sound of Jenni’s voice. 

“No!” She said sharply, glancing back at you, a familiar glint in her eye. “I get to finish her when we get home. That is the punishment.” 

—

the next day

The car ride to the restaurant was blissful. Jenni drove, with her girlfriend in the passenger seat. Leila had squished herself into the middle seat to be closer to you, your head resting against her shoulder. 

It had been a slow day spent by the pool. None of you had gotten much sleep the night before, thoroughly distracted by each other into the early hours of the morning. As a result, all four of you awoke in the late morning with nothing on your minds but eating breakfast and getting in a nap by the pool. 

It was a day entirely devoted to relaxation and you were feeling calm, excited to eat a good meal then curl up on the couch for a movie upon returning to the villa. 

Calm, until you caught Alexia eyeing you from the front seat. There was something familiar about the way she was looking at you. You felt your stomach flutter with excitement. 

You were no longer sure what the evening had in store as Jenni parked the car and opened your door for you. Alexia clearly had something in mind from the brush of her hand against your ass on the way inside. 

Alexia was about to follow you into the restaurant, a hungry look on her face that had nothing to do with the food, when Jenni grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. Alexia looked up at her girlfriend with her eyebrows raised, the two holding eye contact for a moment before Jenni spoke. 

“We’re in public. Behave yourself.” She murmured, as if she had been reading Alexia’s mind earlier. It was evident that the striker knew Alexia was plotting something, though she wasn’t sure what. 

“Or what?” Alexia replied defiantly, feeling a surge of excitement rush through her as Jenni’s grip tightened on her wrist. 

“You know what. Behave. Or you’ll regret it.” Jenni’s tone was dripping with authority, and it took everything in the midfielder not to make an undignified noise. She was sure Jenni would make her regret it. Later. 

But she was also sure she wanted to touch you in the restaurant, so close to all those people who would have no idea what was going on. In front of your girlfriend and her girlfriend. 

And as much as she’d never admit it, she was sure she wanted Jenni to put her in her place after.

With a smile, Alexia tugged her hand away from her girlfriend and turned to walk into the restaurant. 

You didn’t think much of it when Alexia slipped into the booth next to you. Given the intensity of the eye fucking Jenni was giving her, there was something private brewing between them. 

“Lei, do you want to split the–oh,” you gasped, jumping in your seat at the feeling of Alexia’s large hand settling high up on your thigh. You could feel her gaze burning into the side of your face as she squeezed. 

“Bebé? You okay?” Leila checked as she held out your water glass. 

You nodded, taking it. “Yeah. Sorry. Just misread.” 

You took stock of the lengthy tablecloth which surely covered her actions to the rest of the restaurant. All the while, Alexia’s hand stroked over the fabric of your dress, sliding down until she met the skin, then back up until she could nudge at your other leg. Without thinking, you parted them.

Was it a happy coincidence that Leila had you all worked up before you’d left the house? Or had the decision to slip your panties off been intentional on her part? Either way, you had to force your eyes back to your menu. 

The blonde’s hand shifted, sliding up under your dress and closer to your bare core. You could feel the heat of her thigh pressed against yours. You held your breath, willing yourself not to give anything away even as Alexia’s little finger finally made contact with your center, a surprised huff leaving her lips. 

“Puta.” Alexia said under her breath, pushing your legs slightly wider. 

You bit your lip, the ability to focus on the words on the menu evading you. All you could think about was Alexia’s hand on you. How if her fingers pushed just a little bit, they’d be perfect to grind down against. How easy it would be for her to slip inside you, with no one around any the wiser.  

“Bebé?” Leila called, her eyebrows knitted together as she looked at you. Your head snapped up, finding all three women staring at you. 

“What?” You replied, wide eyed in an attempt to look innocent even under Jenni’s stare.

“Do you want to split something?” 

Forcing the intoxicating feeling of Alexia touching you from your mind, you conversed with Leila, deciding on what you wanted to split with her. The woman next to you must have been feeling generous, or else she was trying to put Jenni’s suspicions to rest, because she didn’t move her hand for a few more minutes. It just rested against you, warm, tempting and wholly distracting. 

It was only once you’d all ordered that Alexia acted, spreading you apart with her fingers and pressing them even closer against you. Whether intentionally or not, the pad of her finger pressed against your entrance and you gasped in surprise, quickly turning the sound into an unconvincing cough. 

Across the table, Leila and Jenni were wearing completely contrary expressions; Leila with a knowing grin, and Jenni’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

And as much as you wanted Alexia’s fingers, you couldn’t help but think that Jenni had a point. 

As soon as the thought had crossed your mind, Alexia slipped her hand from your leg. “I’m going to the bathroom.” 

Jenni pushed her chair out almost immediately. “I’ll come and zip up.” 

“No.” Alexia stopped her sharply turning pointedly to you as she stood up. “I have help.” 

Without even thinking, you got up too, quickly glancing at your girlfriend to make sure she seemed okay. Of course, she was grinning at you, giving you a not-so-subtle nod as you began to follow Alexia. 

Jenni sank slowly back into her chair, raking her fingers through her hair with a huff. 

Her frustrated expression met Leila’s elated one, and the striker rolled her eyes. 

“I love this trip.” Leila sighed. 

“I don’t.” Jenni grumbled. 

Leila giggled, patting her friend on the shoulder reassuringly. “Liar.” 

Jenni opted not to reply. She looked at her watch, noting the time. She’d give Alexia 5 minutes, and if you still weren’t back she was going to do something. Exactly what she was going to do, she wasn’t quite sure. 

—

Alexia could have skipped to the bathroom, but she maintained her composure, walking casually and calmly with you trailing just behind her. The smallest of smirks pulled at her lips at the sight of the restroom door; it was a single stall, which made her plans significantly easier to follow through with.

She opened the door, politely gesturing for you to go in first, as if she wasn’t very obviously about to fuck you in a public bathroom. Too turned on to care much about the location, you wrapped yourself around her back as she closed and locked the door, mouthing at her neck. The blonde turned in your hold, backing you up until she had you pressed against the wall, her lips finding yours in a searing kiss. 

“Rapido, sí?” She mumbled, pawing your dress up around your hips and sliding her hand down the front of your body. Her hand mirrored her words, quickly swiping through your core and circling over your clit. 

You whined needily. Alexia’s free hand immediately clamped down over your mouth as her gaze caught yours. 

“Shh.” She whispered, pressing her forehead to yours as she slid her fingers further down and pushed inside. Her touch was urgent, her fingers  pumping in and out just like Jenni’s would. There was something so hot about her taking you like this, unable to wait. You relished in the rush of adrenaline knowing that anyone could walk by the door and hear the pornographic sounds that Alexia’s hand was barely muffling. 

She was everywhere, and it only heightened the experience. She knew you well enough by now to know just how to get you there. 

You felt your stomach begin to tighten, the heel of the blonde’s hand pressing into your clit with every pass. 

“I-” You tried to warn her, barely able to get a syllable out of your mouth or around her hand, which still covered half your face.

“Close?” She murmured, an intense look in her eyes that made your knees feel even weaker than they already did. You nodded frantically, and she sped up, easily fucking you to the peak of your orgasm, and through it. 

You whined incoherently as you came, head falling forward onto your captain’s shoulder with a soft thump. 

Alexia slowed inside of you, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around her fingers. You’d been enjoying each and every glimpse of gentle Alexia that you got, and this time was no different. 

She slid her fingers from you slowly, lingering at your clit just to watch you shiver through the aftershocks. Your arms loosened around her neck as you let your head rest against the wall.

“Okay?” She breathed, leaning back to get a look at your face. 

“Fuck.” You huffed. “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

Alexia’s bright smile only lasted a second before she was leaning in to softly peck at your lips. “You need a minute?” 

“No. Can I…?” You stroked down her front to the waist of her tight little skirt. 

“No.” Alexia answered immediately. And while you still felt the pang of rejection, the kiss she pressed to your cheek and her cunning smirk gave insight to her thought process. “Later.” 

“Later.” You agreed, wondering just how masochistic Alexia could be. “We should get back before Jenni comes over and breaks the door down.” 

Alexia unwrapped herself from you, a twinkle in her eye at the mention of her girlfriend. Moving to wash her hands at the sink, she dismissed your concern with a lilt. “Jenni can wait.” 

Jenni did not like to wait, however, and you both knew that very well. With a fond shake of your head, you adjusted your dress one last time, and headed for the door. You wouldn’t put it past Jenni to include you in whatever punishment she was cooking up, and denied was not how you wanted to spend your final night. 

“I’ll go out first.” You declared, feeling Alexia’s eyes on you in the mirror as you slipped out the door, carefully shutting it behind you. 

Making your way back to the table, you tried to hide your amusement at the state of your girlfriend and Alexia’s. Leila looked completely relaxed, sipping at her drink and speaking rapidly to Jenni, who was looking over her shoulder at you. The striker looked torn between annoyed and excited, and you knew it hadn’t just been Alexia that craved their usual dynamic. 

As soon as you sat down at the table, Leila turned her full attention to you. “Hi, bebé,” she sang dreamily, reaching out to wipe a smudge of Alexia’s lipstick off your neck. 

“Hi,” you replied, admittedly getting a bit lost in her bright smile. 

“Ugh.” Jenni complained, pointedly turning in her chair away from the two of you. 

Alexia made her appearance, then, her bratty mood apparently still in place as she wrapped her arms around Jenni from behind and placed a few kisses on the striker’s neck. 

Jenni was somewhere between amused and exasperated, staring at the blonde until she finally took her seat next to you. It was a staring standoff, each waiting for the other to crack and say something first. 

“Amor, I hope you brought ear plugs. We’ll need them tonight.” Leila giggled finally, just barely dodging the elbow Jenni threw her way. 

“Shut up Leila.” Jenni grumbled, the heat in her eyes as she stared her girlfriend down telling everyone that Leila was correct. 

—

“I was not snoring.” You snapped, shooting a glare at Jenni, who was chuckling to herself as she filled up her water bottle. 

“You were! Ale and I could hear you over the sound of the plane engine.” She snorted, looking to her girlfriend for confirmation. 

Alexia had the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up around her head, so you could barely see her face, yet her amusement was clear in her tone. “You snore louder.” 

“I do not!” Jenni objected, tucking the bottle into her bag and crossing her arms over her chest. 

Collectively, the rest of you groaned. A much delayed flight had made the day way too long after your sleepless night, and all you wanted was to go home. 

Jenni seemed to be intent on prolonging the trip, though, having stopped to go to the bathroom, stopped to get a snack, and stopped to tie her shoes two different times. The striker was evidently enjoying how much she was annoying you.  

“I’m not walking again until you all agree that I don’t snore. Ale, you can go first.” 

Alexia studied her girlfriend for a moment, shaking her head fondly before turning on her heel and continuing on her way. You and Leila followed suit a little slower. 

The sound of hurried footsteps followed you, Jenni huffing her annoyance. “Add it to the list, Alexia.” 

Alexia’s cheeks flushed as she glanced back at the comment, knowing exactly what list Jenni was referring to; every single one of her transgressions over the past few days, beginning with the car… incident. 

As Jenni used her long strides to catch up with her girlfriend, your own curled her spare hand around the back of your neck. You groaned softly at the gentle rub of her fingers, wanting nothing more than to throw your bag down and curl up against her. 

“Home?” She suggested quietly. 

“Home.” You agreed, unable to hide the relief in your voice at the thought. There was something so special about the time you spent alone with Leila. You could tell Jenni and Alexia felt the same way, if the way they were clinging onto each other much more publicly was any indication. The long journey home only made your longing for some peace and quiet grow. 

The couples were headed in different directions once you finally exited the airport. You began to say your goodbyes, Jenni pulling you into a hug first with a wry smirk on her face. 

“Thanks for coming with us, cari,” she murmured. “We had fun with you.” 

“Thanks for meddling.” You chuckled. 

Alexia was waiting for you as Jenni pulled away, hesitantly opening her arms up for you. You walked into them, squeezing the taller woman in a tight hug. 

“Gracias, cari.” Alexia murmured, pulling away after a moment and holding you at arms length. “I will see you soon, yes?”

There was a very suggestive lift of her eyebrow. 

“Sí,” you agreed, feeling Leila’s arms wrap around you from behind. 

“Ale, do you think I could have my girlfriend back please?” She grinned, kissing your cheek as she continued to pull you away from your captain. Alexia took her hands off you, lacing her fingers with Jenni. 

“For now.” She agreed, smiling over her shoulder as she began to walk to her car with Jenni. 

You turned, following Leila towards your own as she chattered about what she wanted to order for dinner. You were excited to have some time with her at home alone, but also very aware you’d be seeing Alexia and Jenni again soon. 

And that prospect was also exciting. Very exciting. 

—

thanks for coming along on this silly little domestically smutty journey with me.

appreciate you all very much, but none more so than @vixwritesagain who is incredibly smart and helpful and truly just a lovely person.

[number1jeonginstan]

Part of my Valentine's Day Collab!

A/N: First installment, I hope y'all enjoy it!! I ended up re-writing this twice because I hated it the first two times...

Pairing: Bf!Lee Know x Reader

Warnings: Unprotected sex (who am I without it?), having sex in public (kinda....), oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, cumming inside, use of a vibrator.

“What if we try something new?” Minho asked as you put you got out of the shower, trying to find an outfit to wear your your dinner date. 

It was your first Valentine’s together, and you wanted to make it special, especially because he was always busy with work. 

“And what would that be?” you asked as you placed your complied outfit onto your shared bed, only to see him lying down with something silver in his hands. 

He showed you the small device with a grin spread across his face. “Think about it, you walking around with this touching that cute little clit of yours” 

“Minho” you exasperated, before putting on your dress in front of him. “Come on baby, you look so pretty, just think how much prettier you would be if I could control you” 

You turned around to hear shuffling, allowing him to zip up your dress. He kissed your shoulder, then your neck in the process, eliciting a small whimper from your mouth. 

“Please kitten, for me” he whispered into your ear. Who were you to say no to your boyfriend when he asked so politely? 

“Fine, if and only if you let me ride you tonight” you grinned. 

“Face or cock, I don’t mind, as long as it’s with you” he giggled back before spinning you around, throwing you onto the bed, and pulling down your underwear. 

He placed the bullet vibrator right on your clit before pulling your underwear back on. “Be a good girl and hold that for me tonight” 

“Yes sir!” 

It took you another forty-five minutes to do your makeup, the entire time, Lee Know was watching you. He pretended to read a book, splayed out on the bed in his dress shirt and slacks. 

As you were putting on your lipstick, he decided to have a little bit of fun. Taking the remote out of his pocket and setting it on the medium setting. 

You jerked, your lipstick slowly cascading off the corner of your lips, causing you to groan. “Lee Minho, what the actual fuck” you whined, taking a tissue to try and take it off before it dried down fully. 

“What kitten, I was just testing it out. Plus, I don’t know why you insist on wearing lipstick anyways, you know it’s going to end up on my cock at the end of the night” 

“You are so crude” you giggled, throwing one of your brushes at him in retaliation. 

“You love it though, but seriously baby, let’s get going I don’t want to miss our reservation” he chuckled, slowly making his way off his bed and behind you at your vanity. 

He watched you through the mirror as you adjusted your lipstick, admiring how beautiful you looked. How dolled up you would get just for him, it’s like he’s the luckiest man in the world. 

“Let’s get going” you grinned, grabbing your purse as the two of you headed out the door, bidding a farewell to Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, giving them all mandatory pats before heading to his car.

As he drove, one of his hands gripped the wheel while the other gripped your thigh, your eyes trailing every single one of his veins. 

The restaurant wasn’t far away, but the ride was pleasant. The low hum of the music in the background as you stared out the window, the heat of his hand filled all your senses. 

As the two of you arrived, he slowly parked the car, removing his hand from your thigh only to fidget with the remote in front of him, turning it on to the lowest setting. 

“How does it feel baby?” he asked as the two of you arrived at the restaurant.

“It’s nice” you giggled, the light hum on your clit giving you a bit of pleasure, but not enough for it to be noticeable. 

You finally understood why he had told you to dress so nicely. It was the restaurant he had been raving about.

“And what if I do this?” he grinned as he turned it all the way up, causing you to cover your mouth to hold back a scream before he turned it off completely.

“Minho, if you do that again, I don’t think I will be able to make it out of this car” you whined as you heard his chuckle.

“What if that’s exactly what I want?” 

“Then we shouldn’t have gone on a date and could have just stayed home” you muttered “I got all pretty for nothing” 

“Fine, if you want to show your cute little self off, let’s go” he grinned, quickly getting out of the car and opening the door for you, holding out his hand.

“Wow, what a gentleman” you giggled, taking his hand and walking to the front of the restaurant with him.

“This place is beautiful” you grinned, taking in the restaurant, fresh jasmines and plants rid the walls. He decided to take you on a sushi date, a place that he was recommended ten times over by Jisung and his girlfriend. 

“It truly is” Minho replied looking at you and not even taking in the place surrounding him. He walked up to the host stand, stating “We have a reservation for two, under the name Lee Know” 

The hostess simply nodded, guiding the two of you to a more secluded area, filled with individual rooms. 

As the two of you sat down, watching the hostess leave you quickly whispered “This must have cost a fortune” 

He replied with a simple “Anything for you” causing a soft blush to kiss your cheeks. 

You zoned out for a second, taking in the room. But before you could fully process it, he turned up the remote in his hand, causing you to moan out loud. 

“Fuck Min, you have to give me some type of warning” you whined as the vibrator kept the medium pace. “What if someone hears?” you whined

“Then they will hear how good I make you feel” he giggled before ringing the bell on the desk, informing that the two of you were ready for your first course as explained by the hostess before she left.

“Ready for the first course?” he asked, waiting for your response. “Yes please” you responded, not noticing the subtle grin on his face.

It only took a few minutes for the food to arrive, the waiter bringing it in before closing the door once again. 

 On the plate was cut-up tuna, each piece having a good amount of fat, laid on a bed of roasted asparagus and pomegranate aioli paired with a glass of 2022 Louis Latour Puligny-Montrachet. 

“Take a bite” he grinned, taking a sip of the wine placed in front of him. As you did, a moan escaped your lips. Each flavor complements the last, the taste exploding in your mouth. 

“This is so good” you grin, holding out a bite on your fork for Minho to taste. He sensually took a bit, groaning at the taste as well. 

As the two of you took a few more bites, savoring the food as the two of you talked about work and the crazy things happening between your co-workers, you could feel yourself slowly getting wet for some reason. 

The vibrator wasn’t even turned on, but your pussy was clenching around thin air. You played it off as the thought of Minho in front of you and nothing else, but little did you know he had planned the whole thing.

“Are you ready for the second course?” he asked, taking sight of your thighs pressed together, taking note of how they already started to kick in. 

“Of course” you gleaned, wondering what course they were going to bring out next, and how it was going to top the last one the two of you had just eaten. 

“Oysters?” you looked a bit puzzled as the waiter brought a tray with two plates of pasta and oysters, placing them in front of the two of you as well as two glasses of red wine. 

“Just enjoy baby” Lee Know grinned, taking a sip of the wine, you following suit. The sweet nectar covered your tongue, causing you to moan out loud. 

“Wow, Minho this is delicious, where is this from?” you pondered taking another sip. 

“If you like it, I’ll buy you a bottle, just enjoy the food in front of you” 

You took his suggestion, tasting one of the oysters before taking a bite of your pasta. “I think this might be better than the last” You grinned before taking another bite. 

“I’m glad kitten” he followed suit, taking a bite. “We should do this more often” he grinned, taking in your contempt face. It was nice to finally spend time with you, especially in public. 

“I agree” you hummed, taking the sight of his relaxed body. 

As the two of you talked some more, the food slowly disappeared, but you barely noticed, too immersed in your conversation with Minho, that was until he turned on the vibrator, causing you to squeak. 

“I told you I would do it when you least expected it” he chuckled, but you could barely register what he was saying. Even though the setting was so low, it felt ten times better than it did an hour prior. 

“Minho, fuck I’m going to cum” you whined as the vibrator pushed against your cunt perfectly. 

He turned off the vibrator just before you were going to reach your high, ignoring your whines and pleas, forgetting the two of you were in a public setting, where the waiter could come check up on you at any time. 

He ignored it before crawling underneath the table, his face nuzzling between your thighs, kissing up them. “Such a pretty looking cunt” he whined against your cunt.

Before you knew it, his face was in front of your cunt. He quickly pulled down your panties, licking stripes against your cunt as he turned the vibrator onto a medium setting. 

“Fuck Minho” you groaned, trying to push his head away, but he wouldn’t let you. He looked straight up at you, with hooded eyes before pushing one of his long fingers in you. 

“We can’t do this” you whined, clenching around his finger “There are people here” 

He didn’t care, ignoring you and going back to kissing your thighs as his fingers continued to squelch inside of you, your hand covering your mouth in an attempt to hide your moans. 

You cried as his fingers continued to abuse your soaking wet cunt. “What did we eat today?” he giggled before diving back into your pussy, his tongue pressing the vibrator harder against your clit. 

“Fish and oysters” you whimpered, the feeling becoming to be too much. 

“And what are those?” he grinned, pulling his face away from your pussy to look directly at you, your juices dripping down his chin. 

“Aphrodisiacs” you gasped as you came on his fingers.

 You had learned about them months prior when the boy’s girlfriends and you were playing a game of truth and dare. Felix’s girlfriend had admitted that he had made her eat oysters and fish before having sex one night, and it was some of the best sex they had ever had. 

“Good girl, you got it already” he replied, kissing your lips.

He slowly removed his fingers from your cunt, taking out the vibrator as well before stashing it away in his pocket. 

“Now, think you can be quiet for me and cum on my cock?” he questioned, bringing your hand down to his dress pants and rubbing it along his already hard cock. 

You nodded, allowing him to pick you up and place you on the table. He watched in awe of your body, your chest heaving as he pulled down, his already hard cock free of the confines of his pants and boxers. 

“Fuck kitten, you look so pretty like this” he grinned, slowly dragging his cock along the lips of your pussy, watching the way his pre-cum smears onto it. 

“Please Sir” you whined, begging for him to insert his cock into you. “Are you sure that you want my cock kitten? As you said, anyone can come in here and see me fucking you” 

“I don’t care anymore sir, please I need you inside of me” you whined, taking hold of his cock and pushing the tip inside of you. 

“Fuck kitten, you are so wet” he whined before slowly pushing his entire cock inside of you. 

“Look at you taking my cock like a little whore, do you want that waiter to see you like this? He was eyeing you up ever since we got in here. I bet he’s imagining how good you would look like this on his cock, but who’s little whore are you?” he groaned, slightly slapping your face.

He could feel your cunt get tighter at the thought of someone walking in. 

“I’m your whore sir” you moaned as his thrusts got harder, the tip of his cock hitting deep inside of your cervix. 

He couldn’t stop, the way your cunt was squeezing his cock, the way you were whining underneath him. He loved every second of it, never wanting to leave your warm wet little pussy. 

“There we go kitten, keep taking my cock inside your tight little cunny like a good girl” He whispered in your ear as he slowly lifted your legs, pressing deeper inside of you if that was even possible. 

You could feel yourself getting close, all of your senses slowly diminishing. Before you could cum, you heard the sound of the bell going off. The same bell that signifies the two of you were ready for the next course, the same bell that brought the waiter to your private room. 

“You better cum baby, don’t want the waiter to see you all fucked up like this do we?” he grinned. 

It was the push you needed to cum with a silent scream around his cock, your walls squeezing him in. 

It only took him a few more thrusts to cum inside of you, his hot release covering your walls. 

You quickly tried to come down from your high, trying to pull your underwear up, but before you could, Minho pushed his fingers inside of you. 

“Just making sure it doesn’t go anywhere” he giggled, before making himself look decent again. 

Right as the two of you sat back down, the waiter walked in. 

“Can I get you anything else sir?” the waiter asked, trying not to stare at the way your cheeks were flushed and your dress was a bit askew. 

“I think we can get the check, we have dinner at home” he chuckled before licking his fingers that had just been pushed inside of you only seconds prior. 

[starkeyisthelastname]

@rvfecamerons has asked me to write this amazing idea she came up with. I hope this didn’t disappoint. Thank you again babe! 💕💕💕

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

You had never really been much of a troublemaker, always listening to your elders and being respectful to everyone, even those less fortunate than you. After you turned 19, you started to become more independent. Going out to parties, taking trips to the mainland to shop by yourself, and even to her dismay, talking to boys.

Rafe had been the one to suggest getting the AirTag to put in your car. He wanted you to always be safe and to ease her worries, at least that's what he told his wife. The real reason being much darker than that. He had been sickly obsessed with you since the moment he laid eyes on your pretty self. No boy was going to touch you as long as he had control of it, and getting the AirTag installed was just the kind of control he needed.

For the last month, he had been stalking everywhere you went through the handy app on his phone. Even got in his own car and drove by a few places to check and see if the damn thing was working. Your innocent little self didn’t suspect a thing either, which is what made you so naive to the situation.

It had been like any other night. Your mother and you had gone out to dinner while Rafe worked late. She being oblivious to the fact you were texting your guy friend, who had invited you over. She never thought you would actually sneak out, you were too much of a sweetheart to do that. It was much to her surprise though, when your room was empty and car was gone at 1:00 in the morning. She immediately thought of the AirTag, Rafe had installed a moth prior, running back to their shared room.

This was the moment he had been waiting for. To catch you being the little slut he knew you were. The GPS on, he zoomed towards your location until the icy white Mercedes with a bedazzled North Carolina tag came into view. The only car there. He shut the truck off, letting his muscular 6’2 frame stalk towards the door. His usual light blue eyes, turned pitch black as soon as he barged through the door. “Bozo’s” tongue down your throat as you laid on the couch.

Gripping the shirt, the boy wore, Rafe teared him off of you. His fist immediately connecting with the boy’s jaw. You sat still, in complete shock by multiple things. Your head was spinning, how did your step-dad find you? How did someone punch one time to have teeth falling out? You knew that your step-father had a violent past but to quite literally see the boy you liked getting beaten to death, had not only scared but something else. Something that made your princess parts tingle.

“Rafe.” You whispered, the boy you had been making out with now bruised and battered as your step-father towered above him.

One look up and Rafe’s hand was gripping your arm, yanking you off the couch. He took your keys and purse in the other, dragging you towards the still open door. You winced, trying to get out of his grip but ultimately failed as he literally threw you in the passenger seat of his truck.

The tires screeched as he sped off, zooming down the empty roads of Kildare. His jaw was tight, the vein in his forehead protruding as he boiled in anger. “I knew that innocent act you pull all the time was a load of shit.” His voice so low it made goosebumps rise on your skin.

“You think I’m stupid, huh? That I don’t know you are a fucking slut. You can hide it from your mom, but not from me. I could tell you were a slut from the moment I met you. Batting those ridiculous lashes at me.”

“Not a slut..” You mumbled, looking down. He was berating you with every sentence he spoke, his words nasty and degrading.

The laugh that came from him was sarcastic almost menacing, he glanced over at you for a moment, truck swerving in the process. “You know I told your mom that girls like you need some discipline. Been too fucking spoiled all your life.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, tearing your gaze away as you tried to stay relaxed in the car ride from hell. You noticed Rafe turning a few streets too early, making your frown. The street leading towards Figure 8 was nothing but trees, making it dark and desolate. You were about to ask what he was doing when the car came to a hault. It came too fast, one second you were being yanked out of your seat and the next you were being pushed against the bed of the truck.

“Rafe.. what are you doing?” You whispered, feeling the cool air hit your exposed bottom from the short skirt you wore.

“Shut up and listen.” His voice boomed, a hard smack to your ass from his hand, making you squeak out. “I’m a proactive type of person. So that means when I say I’m gonna discipline you, you are going to get disciplined.”

You weren’t expecting him to spank you, your ass cheek now stinging from just one hit. You hated yourself and more importantly your cunt for clenching around nothing at the pure wrongness of this. You felt just how damp your panties were getting, wishing you hadn’t worn a skirt or better yet had not even snuck out that night.

The sound of a zipper being pulled down and the clank of a belt, had you turning your head. It was a quick look as your head was roughly pushed down onto the hard plastic of the bed of his truck.

“Rafe..” You whimpered, head burning. “No..”

The taller man behind you, yanked your skirt up, tearing your soaked panties in one go. The dark sounding chuckle behind you was all you needed to hear to know that something bad was about to happen.

“You wanna act like a slut. You get treated like a slut.” His voice rough as he shoved his length inside you with no warning. “Show you what real dick is, since you wanna find out so bad.”

He was huge. Bigger than anything you ever could have imagined. You had only lost your virginity a few months prior and hadn’t had sex since. The burn and stretch to your hole was brutal, tears pooling in your eyes from the pain. The control he had over you though was powerful and you couldn’t bring yourself to fight back.

“What was that earlier? Not a slut.” He growled, yanking your head up by the hair. His hand came to grip your jaw tightly, dark blue eyes boring into your soul. “Why you dripping down your thighs, huh?”

Truth be told, you didn’t know why. Your step father was gorgeous to look at, and a part of you didn’t want to ever disappoint him. That was no reason to be soaking his cock though as he held you down against your will.

“Cat got your tongue?” He laughed, ramming inside you at a cruel pace, making you take his monster of a dick.

“Too.. too much.. please.” You begged, your lower stomach on fire as your first orgasm was already approaching. His hand moved down to your throat, clasping it in a tight grip. You felt your oxygen being cut, the lightheadedness coming to your brain as he squeezed hard.

“Awe don’t please me, pretty girl. You shouldn’t have been such a disrespectful little bitch, if you didn’t want to learn this kind of lesson.” Rafe’s words making you clench around his cock.

You tried to cry out, the pleasure of him taking over your body whether you wanted it to come or not. You quite literally thought that this was it. Being strangled to death, while your step-dad’s dick was buried inside you. But as you came down from your orgasm, the grip from your neck released, making you gasp for breath.

“I sure do hope that you don’t think this is over.” He breathed heavily. “Your daddy’s girl now little bitch. Got that? I catch you fucking around with another clown, I will kill you.”

You knew he had never been more serious.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

rafe cameron as a baby daddy who doesnt allow u to talk to other ppl

stop i love this, I kinda changed it so reader only talks to people who he lets her (: so like absolutely no pouges

𝒟ℴ𝓃𝓉.

Masterlist

Warnings: dark!rafe, sorta controlling behavior, he’s not a good daddy, gun pointing at Sarah again sorry girlie, gun flashing that’s it rlly,

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Rafe had little rules when it came to the new house. But there was two he always put emphasis on.

1. Don’t open the door for him, wait it out.

2. Don’t talk to people he doesn’t give you permission to talk to, or people he doesn’t like. No strangers, no pogues.

He walked around, pacing the living room while on the phone. He whispered so he didn’t wake the baby who you just got to fall asleep.

“That’s not what I fucking said!” He said, voice rising in volume until he looked back down the hallway and realized his mistake, the baby awoke with a loud cry.

You gave him a look, a look he knew by now. He quietly walked out and went onto the porch with a sigh.

“Sh. Sh…” you mumbled, picking her up and gently rocking her in your arms.

Today was going to be long.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Rafe was out, he mumbled he’d be back and he was going with a friend. You believed him when you saw Topper coming out the car.

Finally, the baby had been sleeping again. You fed her and Rafe gave her a shower. It was night now, and you just switched on the tv, turning it down and curling up on the couch.

You ended up falling asleep, that was until a harsh and loud knock came from the door.

“Open the fuck up, Rafe!” She shouted, you furrowed an eyebrow. You knew that voice. Sarah Cameron, Rafes sister. He despised her.

You rubbed your eyes out of tiredness, the baby would wake if she keeps it up, you thought. And that was the last thing you wanted.

But if you opened the door and talked to the pogues, Rafe would be livid. But as soon as you heard her let out a small cry, you weren’t thinking and got up quickly.

“Hello?” You grumbled out, opening the door. her knocks stopped when she saw your face.

“Oh. Shit. I’m- I’m sorry. I forgot he had a-“

She was cut off by a cry, making you groan.

“He’s not here.”

“Where is he?” A blonde haired boy asked, lightly pushing Sarah.

“I don’t know. Can I please just go-“ You lied. You did know.

“We’re really sorry, but it’s really important. You have to understand-“

“I’m not telling a bunch of kids where my boyfriend is so you guys can go beat him up or something. Sorry. If you’ll excuse me, I have a baby to take care of.” You closed the door, leaving them dumbfounded.

“Does Rafe have a baby?” John B asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I didn’t know that.” Sarah mumbled.

“I’m more shocked Rafe has had a girlfriend this long.”

They stood there, waiting for him. You didn’t even notice them after you left.

They didn’t know however, that he had a little camera installed, where he was watching on his phone.

You didn’t think about it until you went back into the nursery to try and get her to sleep again.

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath.

“I gotta go, man. I’ll see you later.” Rafe said to his friend suddenly, standing up and saying his goodbyes.

He practically raced towards his house, looking back on his phone to see them all talking and just waiting at his front door.

He got out the car and they all went towards him.

“Never fucking come here again.” He was seething with anger when they came up to him.

They all began to talk over each other to him, in anger.

“Shut up!” He shouted, hands moving towards his waistband. They all didn’t, and one of them went to go punch him but they just ended up on the floor.

“Get the fuck away from my house. Leave.” He flashed his gun now.

“We’re not fuckin’ leaving-“ his sister began to argue.

He pointed it at Sarah, one of the boys going in front of her.

“You didn’t tell me you had a baby.” She spoke from behind the boy.

“Leave. Or I will fucking kill every single one of you. Was all he said, putting the gun down and walking towards his home, ignoring them. His gun still in hand as he opened the door.

They walked away, defeated but with a new plan. He was dripping with anger when he entered the house.

“What did I tell you?” He asked you, before you could say anything.

“I know, I know, but I-“

“There was a reason I didn’t want them knowing you or her.” He motioned to the nursery room. He walked closer, gently grabbing your face and looking into your eyes, wiping the hair from your forehead.

“There’s a reason why you can’t talk to them.”

“I know. But they woke her up and I didn’t-“

“You talked to dirty fuckin’ pogues. They know you exist and they know she exists.” His hands were trembling, you noticed.

You slowly grabbed the gun from his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t want anything happening to my girls, that’s all.” His voice was shaky, his hands still on your face as he searched your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know. I love you. We’ll be perfectly fine, okay?” You put your forehead on his, he nodded, his breathing calming down.

“I love you.”

[ronwestbreeze]

too fast

pairing: miguel o'hara x spider!fem!reader warnings: more angst summary: he should've stopped you... word count: 2.4k author's note: this will be the last installment! since we don't know what happens after atsv we're gonna leave it here for now! thanks for giving too slow so much and i hope you enjoy part 2!

part 1

If Miguel O’Hara had to guess, it all started going downhill when you accidentally discovered that your sister was going to die. It wasn’t supposed to happen, you finding out. Like everything else in a Spider person’s life, it was a canon event that was bound to happen, a significant event that would truly make you who you were now. The White Spider. An event that would happen naturally, like all tragic ones do.

Because the truth was, they happen. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

That’s what Miguel tried to tell you. That if you tried to interfere, then your dimension would unravel just as his did. He didn’t want that for you. Couldn’t want that for you. There were worse fates and that was one of them.

But of course, you were determined.

“Don’t tell me to stand by and let it happen, Miguel, all because of some stupid canon shit. Don’t tell me that.” You gritted out as you stalked down the hall, him right behind you.

“I am, Domino.” Miguel argued desperately. “I am telling you not to endanger your dimension over something that is supposed to happen. I am doing this to protect you—“

You whirled around on him, causing Miguel to stop short in front of you, “This is your way of protecting me? By telling me to stand by and let my sister die all because of some computer program?! Be fucking for real, Miguel!”

“Yes, because I know the dangers of what’s going to happen if you—”

“No, Miguel, no you don’t.” It hurt, your words. You knew what he had gone through, what he had lost. But you were too stubborn. He knew this. “I’m gonna try. Because that’s what we do. We try even if the odds are against us. That’s what all this shit that happened to me has led up to, right? Why stop now?”

It wasn’t like Miles Morales. No, this was before he learned that there were more forceful ways to stop something like this from happening.

He should’ve stopped you.

But things just fell apart too fast for him to keep up in the end.

Miguel practically dove through the portal to your dimension with Jessica and a few other Spider-men at his side. The crisis was a disaster. The Brooklyn Bridge was halfway in the water, cars either destroyed or hanging by black webs made by you. Immediately, Miguel and the others played damage control. There was yet another villain that had escaped their world and fell into another. This time it was a Green Goblin. One large enough to do this much damage.

It didn’t take long for Miguel to spot your white suit swinging about frantically, your head turning quickly every second. Which meant he had arrived just in time to stop you from making the biggest mistake you could’ve ever made for yourself and your universe. Miguel kept his eyes glued to you while leading people to safety. Until he spotted your sister’s car being thrown up in the air, quickly being caught by your black webs.

You were at the top of the bridge, trying to convince your sister to calm down, revealing your identity to her. Miguel landed on top of the bridge, you sent him a scowl and raised your hand, “Don’t!”

“You know what will happen, Domino.” He tried warning you. “One life or an entire universe? Over other families? Other brothers and sisters? What then?!”

You ignored him and shot a web down to your sister to grab onto. “If I don’t do this, then I will never forgive myself. I’m not like you, Miguel.” You looked at him pleadingly, desperately. “I can’t—”

The green hulking figure hurtled right into you, taking both you and Miguel off guard.

Your grip on your sister slipped but she was able to grab onto another web and hold on while you were preoccupied with the Green Goblin. A wave of rage—fear?—hit Miguel as he dashed toward the ugly beast, using his whole weight to throw it off of you and tackled it down to the ground.

“You don’t get to touch her!” He growled, pounding the goblin’s face until it was finally unconscious.

The bridge began to fall. Jessica began ordering every spider person around to quickly gather all the civilians left on the bridge. The top of the bridge where your sister was hanging began to crumble and Miguel watched as you swung back toward her.

He should’ve stopped this long before. He shouldn’t have let it get this far.

You were already dashing across the top of the bridge, Miguel had ended up behind you in seconds. You glanced over your shoulder at him, “Miguel, don’t!”

But he ignored you and shot his scarlet webs toward your figure. But of course, you were quicker than him, You always were.

His webs had missed. The web holding your sister up snapped. She was falling.

And you had dived after her.

Miguel leaped off the bridge, shot a thick web toward you and above him. In seconds the fall had stopped. You were now hanging and attached to Miguel’s web while the other half of his web kept him attached to what was left of part of the bridge.

But your webs had already been released.

You had already caught her.

No. No. No. No. No.

You had been too fast for him.

When the adrenalin cooled down a bit, you shot your head up at him, the angered glare evident on your face, “Were you really about to fucking stop me?!”

Instead of acknowledging your anger, Miguel shot back, “Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

“I saved my sister!”

“You’ve given your universe a death sentence!” Miguel shouted. “Why do you have to be so fucking selfish?!”

“Selfish?!” You snapped. Now you were quite pissed. Truly, he had never seen you this angry before now. He supposed that it made sense that it would be him to cause this. There had been many close calls. Now, it was different. You couldn’t keep your resolve. “I didn’t invade another universe and replace a girl’s father! Did you ever think that your situation was different?! Did you ever think that what you did was a lot worse than me saving my sister?! You can’t project your problems onto me, Miguel. It’s not the same and you know it—”

“Did it ever occur to you that I did this because I love you?” Miguel hissed. “Did it ever occur to you that I couldn’t bear to watch you lose everything over the same mistake I made?! Did it, Domino? Did you ever stop and think—”

“Wait.” He realized then that you weren’t looking at him anymore. Instead you were looking down. At the end of your web. “If I screwed everything up, then how come my dimension isn’t unraveling?”

The way you asked this, the way you posed the question made him go silent for a moment. Because he just then realized things weren’t changing. Other than the chaos that was happening around them already, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. No holes in the dimension. Nothing disappearing.

“I….” Miguel looked back to you, “I….M-Miguel I saved her, didn’t I?”

He still couldn’t respond.

You reached your web up and tied it to Miguel’s wrist before snapping his web attached to you apart.

“Domino—”

But he watched you fall toward the bottom.

It didn’t take him long to get there too. It didn’t take him long to see the limp body attached to the end of your web. It didn’t take him long to realize that your universe wouldn’t unravel any time soon.

Your sister was dead. Just like it was supposed to….

This was supposed to be better. This was supposed to be what kept you and your universe safe.

Miguel O’Hara always made the tough calls. The decisions that no one else could.

So why did it feel like the dimension was tearing itself apart in front of his eyes? Why did it feel like you were going to disappear at any second? Why did it feel like he had already lost you even though you were right there.

He did. He lost you.

You slipped from his fingers so fast…

“Is this what you wanted?” A weak whisper left your lips, your back still turned to him.

There were no words he could say that could fix any of it.

Miguel removed his mask, so that you could see his face. So that you could see how sincere he was. Only for you to see. Only you mattered in that moment.

“Sometimes you can’t stop what’s meant to happen.” When you glanced over your shoulder at him, when you looked at him through glassy eyes—your mask now gone—it made the words a lot harder to force out, “I never wanted any of this. Not like this…”

Jessica and the others arrived but didn’t say anything. Jessica had been one of the people on Miguel’s side about the whole ordeal, but even she was smart enough not to say anything. You were already hurting too much.

You glared at him through the water falling from your eyes, you glared at Jessica, you glared at all of them.

“Well, congratulations.”

“Y/N…” Jessica tried, only she went silent when she noticed your sister’s body limp behind you. There was nothing to be said.

You tore off your bracelet and threw it at Miguel’s feet. “You saved the canon, O’Hara. You should be proud.”

After that, you stopped coming to HQ. Except for that one time when you announced you were quitting the society for good. After that he stopped seeing the White Spider swinging around your dimension and stopping bad guys. The only time he saw you don your suit was to fight a new villain called the Electro. After that, he hadn’t seen you in the newspapers nor social media ever again.

This wasn’t something he really didn’t see coming. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if the canon knew this was what exactly would happen after your sister’s death. That you would just stop being the White Spider. That you would give it all up.

Fuck. Of course this would be the last straw. He knew you. He met your sister multiple times.

You weren’t like Miguel. You would not bounce back easily. That was never you.

He should’ve stopped it. He shouldn’t have let it get that far…

The fight on the train didn’t last for long. Like you had said beforehand, you hadn’t planned on fighting him. Only keeping him at bay so that Miles was given time to go back to his dimension. So you had gotten your licks in, getting to kick your man’s ass was something so refreshing and should’ve happened sooner if you were being honest.

You landed a few kicks at Miguel—his waist, face, and legs—before he grabbed you and threw you off the train. But you fell gracefully, knowing that you had done your part. So you entered your data into your bracelet, a portal appearing behind you.

“He’s just a kid, Miguel.” You called.

The last thing you saw was Miguel, an unreadable expression on his face as you disappeared through the portal.

Gwen had recruited you to help Miles a couple hours after you had gotten back to your dimension. Apparently, he had been sent to the wrong Earth so now it was your job to track him down and help him complete his goal. Helping him succeed at something that you couldn’t.

So before you started this long fight, the long journey ahead, you went to your sister’s grave. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were here. After the funeral, you weren’t sure you even came here alone yourself. Just to see her.

It hurt too much before. It only just kept reminding you how much you failed. Why you stopped being the White Spider. Why your relationship with Miguel could never quite be the same.

Your spine shuddered and you turned your head slightly away from your sister’s grave. “It’s kind of insensitive to do a sneak attack when I’m visiting my sister, O’Hara.”

Behind you, Miguel stood a little further away. His mask was off. You didn’t move from your sister’s grave and he didn’t move from where he stood. The two of you took to staring at each other for a long moment.

Since it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything first, you sighed, “Don’t act so surprised. I thought you knew me better than that—”

“I thought I did too.” Miguel scowled, though the harshness was mixed with something looser. Something that would’ve made you crumble on the spot.

You cleared away some of the dead rose petals from the last bouquet of flowers that were left here, “Is that what you came here for? To berate me  into changing my mind? I’m convinced already—”

“I’m not here to convince you. How can I do that when you won’t listen to reason?” Miguel hissed. “If you are willing to die over this, destroy another universe, then…” You looked at him fully then. Perhaps you were too far away to see, perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn his eyes were red. Not from his unique abilities.

The emotion in his eyes, god you wanted to look away. You didn’t want your resolve to fail again. Not this time.

This time was too important.

“Then what?” You asked him quietly.

Miguel never responded to your question. He ducked his head down for a moment. The words that left his mouth almost barely audible. “How many times will I have to lose you, Domino? How many times will you leave me?”

You stood and slowly inched toward the man. Cautiously, you gently grabbed his face once you were close enough and leaned your forehead against his. Your thumb caressed his cheek. His larger hands wrapped around you until his face is buried into your neck, practically inhaling your scent.

God, it was always like this. One moment you were in each other’s arms and in the next throwing each other off of trains or running until neither of you could run anymore. Moments like this, the gentle, the quiet. It never lasted.

In the next moment Miguel wasn’t in your arms anymore. You weren’t on your Earth anymore. Now you were flying about in search for Miles, hoping to find him before Miguel and his gang did. You were never sure when the two of you would ever find that semblance of peace again. Those moments were gone in seconds and you were back to the real world. That’s how your cycle went.

That was your canon.

[dandelions-143]

Do It For Me

Final Part

Parts 1 - 3 here : Chans Masterlist

All other members : Masterlist

Pairing: possessive bad boy, non idol Chan x Bratty fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Explicit sexual content, Strong language, Themes of possessiveness and control in relationships, Public sex

Word count: 2,396

A/N: This will be the last installment in Chans story. I wasn’t going to write another one but I felt like I needed a pretty happy entering without making it super fluffy because you all know that’s not my style. Currently working on a playlist for this series so stay tuned! Also if you have already read this just ignore!! Adding all saved tags to all of my works. If you wish to no longer be tagged just let me know.

You sank into Chan's plush leather sofa, your hands resting on your thighs and your bare feet crossed at the ankle. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you gazed across the room. Chan sat just a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on you like a predator eyeing its prey.

It had been a couple of days since Chan had whisked you away from the bar to his family home. Initially, you resisted his every move. You ignored or scoffed at his gentle touches and sweet gestures of affection. The only thing you welcomed was the rough sex.

Gradually, however, you began to warm up to his tender side—a side that seemingly only you got to witness. You stopped flinching when he pulled you close for an embrace. You started reciprocating his quick, spontaneous kisses.

You no longer mocked his affectionate gestures when he offered to cook for you, give you a foot rub, or simply lay with you to read or watch a movie. Slowly, you began to anticipate these moments, and before you realized it, you were opening up to him in ways you'd never done with anyone before.

"Come on, it's just a date. We've been hooking up on and off for years. Let me take you out," Chan said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he looked at you. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance, even as the prospect of a proper date with Chan made your pulse quicken. You didn't usually like feeling this way—you'd convinced yourself you weren't built for romance or relationships—but Chan was steadily dismantling the walls you'd built.

After much hesitation, you finally answered, "Fine, I'll go on one date with you, but you have to let me go back to Hyunjin's place to get ready properly. I'm tired of being cooped up in this mansion. I'm not your prisoner, Chan." His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching slightly. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his features. Finally, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing. "Alright," he conceded, "but I'm picking you up at 8, and if you're not ready or you try to slip away... I'll find you, and you won't leave my sight ever again."

Chan's possessiveness was overwhelming at this point, and it pained you to lack your own independence. Yet, you had no intentions of leaving him—you just didn't want him to know that. You nodded simply and stood up. "I should probably get going then. I need time to get ready." Chan licked his full lips and rose as well. "I'll have a car take you over."

Two hours later, you were gazing into Hyunjin's bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on your makeup. Your deep blue dress hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating your figure in all the right places. The neckline plunged just low enough to be alluring without being too revealing. You applied a final swipe of deep red lipstick, the color complementing the dress beautifully. As you stepped back to admire your reflection, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness for your date with Chan.

As soon as those feelings began to rise, you shook your head, pushing them away. "What the fuck... get ahold of yourself, Y/n." Just as you were walking out of Hyunjin's bedroom, his front door opened and in stepped a very tired-looking Hyunjin. "Wow, you actually do come home," you said as his eyes met yours. A soft smile spread over his lips. "I'm only here to grab some things. I'm going back to my other place."

You walked over to him, knowing how sad and lonely your best friend had been feeling since his breakup with his ex. Even though you agreed he had been a very bad boyfriend, you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. He was close to your heart, and you didn't like seeing him suffer. You embraced him in a gentle hug. "Are you okay?" you asked as you squeezed him a little, then pulled back to peer up at him.

Hyunjin gave you a weak smile, his eyes reflecting a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. "I'm... managing," he replied softly, his voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the weight of his emotions in those two simple words. Before you could respond, the sound of a car horn outside caught your attention, reminding you of your impending date with Chan.

You nodded, "You know I'm still your best friend and I'm here for you. Even if you just want to complain, I'll listen." Hyunjin was the only one who got to see your softer side. "Yeah, I know, Y/n." Hyunjin glanced out of his big bay windows, seeing Chan emerge from his car and begin walking up the sidewalk. "Are you and Chan finally expressing your love for one another?" he asked, surprised as he finally took in your dressed-up appearance.

You sighed heavily and shrugged, "I'm just indulging him." Hyunjin laughed softly and shook his head at you. "You know... we all see it. You love the guy, and it's clear he's obsessed and in love with you. He has been for years." You started to turn away to grab your small handbag. "Hyunjin..." you began, not wanting to hear this.

"Y/n, take it from me, who took advantage of someone that loved me unconditionally... you don't want to give that up." He looked down, trying to hold back the tears stinging his eyes. "Once you damage that and they give up on you... there's no going back. Nothing's ever the same." There was a soft knock on the door. "Let the guy love you... you deserve that."

You swallowed hard, letting his words sink in as you turned to face the door. Your heart raced, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through you. Hyunjin's words echoed in your mind, challenging your carefully constructed walls. As you reached for the doorknob, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead.

When you swung open the door, Chan stood there in all black. His suit fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist. His dark hair was styled neatly, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation as they took in your appearance. A soft smile played on his lips as he extended his hand towards you, his voice low and warm as he said, "You look absolutely stunning, Y/n. Are you ready?" His question seemed to hold more than just the simple meaning.

You took a glance back at Hyunjin, who nodded encouragingly at you. You gave him a soft smile and turned back to Chan. "Yeah, I think I am." You took his hand and walked out of the apartment with him. As you stepped out into the cool evening air, Chan's hand warm in yours, you felt a flutter of nervousness in your chest. The city lights twinkled around you, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk. Chan led you towards his car, a sleek black vehicle that matched his attire perfectly, and you couldn't help but wonder what the night had in store for you both.

The restaurant Chan chose was an elegant Korean establishment with a modern twist. Soft lighting and minimalist decor created an intimate atmosphere, perfect for your first official date. As you and Chan were led to your table, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbled up inside you. The aroma of sizzling bulgogi and freshly steamed rice filled the air, making your mouth water.

You couldn't help but notice the place was completely empty, save for the staff. As you settled into your seat, you glanced at Chan, looking more than handsome in the dim lighting. "What did you do? Rent out the place?" you joked. Chan's lips curved into a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling. "Maybe I did," he replied, his voice low and playful. A flutter in your chest surprised you at the thought of him going to such lengths for your date. You realized this evening might be more special than you'd initially anticipated.

The waiter arrived with Korean wine and asked if you were ready for your first course. You raised an eyebrow at Chan. "So you've had this all planned out?" Chan simply nodded to the waiter, who disappeared to fetch your meals, leaving your question unanswered.

As you sipped your wine, curiosity and appreciation for Chan's efforts washed over you. The intimate setting and carefully planned menu spoke of a thoughtfulness you weren't quite used to. You found yourself softening, your usual defenses lowering as you gazed at Chan across the table. His dark eyes met yours, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to truly let him in.

Chan leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his dark eyes intense. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice low and earnest. "Y/n, I know you've been guarding your heart for so long. But I want you to know that I'm here, ready to love you completely. I've been waiting for years, hoping you'd let me in. I'm not asking for everything all at once, but I want you to give us a real chance. Let me show you how much you mean to me, how much I care." You leaned forward, parting your lips to speak, but Chan cut you off, "And please don't turn this into me acting like a pussy because I'm weak for loving you."

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at his words, feeling a mix of amusement and warmth spread through your chest. Chan's vulnerability, his willingness to lay his heart bare before you, was both touching and terrifying. You found yourself at a crossroads, torn between the safety of your carefully constructed walls and the allure of the love Chan was offering. As you gazed into his eyes, you realized that maybe, just maybe, it was time to take a leap of faith.

When you didn't say anything right away, Chan continued, his face hardening slightly as the possessive man you knew pushed through. "And regardless of whether you want to be here or be with me... you're still mine. You always have been. You can't escape me. I don't need you to love me, but... I do need you with me."

A mix of emotions washed over you at Chan's words—a blend of frustration at his possessiveness, but also a strange comfort in his unwavering devotion. You took a deep breath, trying to sort through the conflicting feelings. Part of you wanted to push back against his claim, assert your independence, but another part recognized the truth in his words—there was an undeniable connection between you two that had persisted for years.

You leaned back in your chair as the food arrived. Waiting for the waiter to leave, you began eating before answering Chan. You couldn't help but test his patience. While you enjoyed riling him up, you were also growing fond of his sweet, vulnerable side. "Y/n..." he said under his breath, a warning for you to respond.

You took another bite, savoring the flavors as you considered your words. Finally, you met Chan's intense gaze, your voice soft but firm. "Chan, I can't deny our connection. But love... it's complicated. I'm not promising anything, but I'm here, aren't I? Let's see where this goes."

Your nonchalant response caused Chan's steely glare to falter. He seemed taken aback, having endured years of your rejection. Your words made him question if he'd been wasting his time waiting for and chasing you. Chan's expression softened, a mix of surprise and hope flickering across his features. He reached across the table, his fingers gently brushing yours. "That's all I'm asking for, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine emotion. "A chance to show you what we could be."

As the evening progressed, you found yourself relaxing more, genuinely enjoying Chan's company. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by shared laughter and lingering glances. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to imagine a future where you weren't constantly pushing Chan away. As dessert arrived—a decadent chocolate creation that made your eyes light up—you realized that maybe, just maybe, giving Chan a chance wouldn't be so bad after all.

As the night wore on, you noticed a heat in Chan's eyes as he watched you eat your dessert. "What are you thinking about?" you asked when you caught him staring at your lips as they moved around the spoon. A sly smirk painted his plump lips. "I'm imagining how that red lipstick would look smeared around my cock."

You felt a sudden heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and arousal coursing through your body. Chan's boldness never failed to catch you off guard, even after all this time. You leaned forward, your voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Maybe you'll get to find out later."

Chan shook his head. "There's no later... I want to see it now." Your eyes glanced around the room and then over to the now-quiet kitchen. "You mean here? Where people can see?" Chan's eyes darkened with desire, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "That's exactly what I mean," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "The thrill of getting caught only adds to the excitement, don't you think?"

You licked the remaining chocolate from your lips as Chan motioned for you to come closer. "Come here... I want you on your knees." Even though Chan had been confessing his love, the man knew what he wanted and always took it. You were his, and you would do as you were told... for the most part.

A thrill of excitement coursed through you at Chan's commanding tone. Without hesitation, you rose from your seat, the silk of your dress rustling softly as you moved around the table. Your heart raced as you approached Chan, fully aware of the risk of being caught but unable to resist the magnetic pull between you. As you sank to your knees before him, your eyes locked with his, silently acknowledging the power he held over you in that moment.

You could feel wetness nearly pooling in your panties as his warm hand caressed your cheek and slid over your jaw. His thumb swiped gently across your lips, smearing your deep red lipstick slightly. "So fucking beautiful," he breathed. Chan's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed down at you, his fingers trailing along your jawline. You shivered under his touch, anticipation building within you. Without a word, his hands moved to his belt, the soft clink of metal echoing in the quiet restaurant.

You had watched Chan do this many times, but after allowing him to tear down the walls you'd had up for years, it was as if you were seeing him with new eyes. The heat in the pit of your stomach intensified as you watched him slowly unzip his pants. Anticipation built with each passing second, your breath catching in your throat as you waited for him to reveal himself. You marveled at how different this felt—the same act, but with a new depth of emotion behind it.

Chan spread his thighs wider, the visible bulge in his pants drawing your gaze. You moved closer, your hands sliding up his muscular thighs. "Pull it out," he mumbled. You hesitated, hearing slight movement in the kitchen. "Eyes on me. I'm the only one here with you." He lifted your chin with a finger planted beneath your jaw.

Your eyes rose to meet his glare, filled not only with desire but with a softness you could only discern as love.

Your heart raced as you reached forward, your fingers gently brushing against the fabric of his pants before carefully freeing his hardened length. The sight of him, fully aroused and waiting for you, sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You licked your lips unconsciously, your gaze flickering between his intense eyes and his throbbing cock, ready to pleasure him in this thrilling, semi-public setting.

With a soft exhale, you leaned forward, your lips parting as you took him into your mouth. The taste of him, familiar yet somehow new, filled your senses as you began to move. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring the feeling of him against your tongue, before opening again to meet his intense gaze.

Chan's fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you worked your mouth along his length. The low groan that escaped his lips sent a shiver down your spine, encouraging you to take him deeper. You could feel his thighs tensing beneath your hands, a clear sign of his growing pleasure.

As you continued your ministrations, you could feel Chan's control slipping. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips beginning to buck slightly against your mouth. The thrill of pleasuring him in such a public place only added to your own arousal, your core aching with need. You redoubled your efforts, determined to bring him to the edge of ecstasy.

Chan's breathing grew ragged, his muscles tensing as he approached his climax. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully. Just as you felt his cock tightening and twitching between your parted lips, he pulled you up. His chest heaved as he glanced down at his cock, covered in your saliva. Your lipstick smeared all around the base of his shaft.

"Not yet," he said gruffly as he stood, bringing you to your feet with him. "I want to feel you wrapped so tight around me."

Chan's hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a fire within you. He spun you around, pressing you against the table as his lips found your neck. You gasped, feeling the hard length of him against your backside, your body trembling with anticipation. The thrill of potentially being caught only heightened your arousal, making you ache for more.

His hands lifted the hem of your dress, exposing your panty-clad ass. He yanked them down, letting them fall to your ankles. Chan gripped your ass in his hands. "You drive me insane," he growled.

You moaned softly as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your behind, your body responding eagerly to his touch. The cool air of the restaurant against your exposed skin sent a shiver down your spine, heightening your arousal. Chan's breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, "I've waited so long for this moment, to have you fully surrender to me."

And you were fully surrendering. In that moment, he could have all of you—your body, your mind, your heart. You realized how much you wanted this, wanted him, wanted his love. Chan spun you around, pulling you over to push you against the wall.

His strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate kiss. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his desire for you evident in every touch. As he pressed you against the wall, his hips grinding against yours, you knew that this moment would change everything between you and Chan forever.

Chan's hands roamed your body, his touch both possessive and tender. You arched into him, your body responding to his every caress. As his lips found yours again, you surrendered completely to the passion between you. "Please... fuck me, Chan," you could barely speak as you tugged at his shirt, pulling it up to slide your hands against his heated skin, feeling the muscles in his back move beneath his smooth skin.

Chan's eyes locked with yours, dark with desire and something deeper—a vulnerability you'd never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your core, the thin fabric of your dress the only barrier between you. "I'm going to make you mine," he growled, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

With a swift motion, Chan aligned himself with your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his length. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he slowly pushed inside, stretching and filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that made you cry out softly. Chan stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, "You feel so perfect, so tight around me."

As he began to move, you clung to him, your bodies moving in perfect synchronization. The risk of being caught only heightened your pleasure, every thrust sending waves of ecstasy through your body. You bit your lip to stifle your moans, your nails digging into Chan's back as he drove deeper, his pace increasing with each passing moment.

The combination of pleasure and the thrill of potentially being caught was intoxicating. Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the heat between you building to an unbearable intensity. You could feel yourself approaching the edge, your muscles tensing as Chan's thrusts became more urgent, driving you both towards an explosive climax.

As the tension built to a fever pitch, you felt yourself teetering on the brink of ecstasy. Chan's movements became more frantic, his grip on your hips tightening as he drove into you with renewed vigor. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sensation of your bodies intertwined and the impending release that threatened to consume you both.

Just as you were about to cum, you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled his head up away from your neck. You wanted to watch him cum inside you, to see just how good you made him feel. Chan's eyes locked with yours, his pupils dilated with desire as he neared his climax. You watched in awe as his face contorted with pleasure, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. The intensity of his gaze, filled with raw passion and vulnerability, pushed you over the edge, and you felt your own orgasm crash over you in waves of ecstasy.

Chan held you close as you both came down from your shared high, your bodies still trembling with aftershocks. As your breathing steadied, he gently lowered you to your feet, his hands caressing your sides tenderly. You looked up at him, seeing a mix of satisfaction and adoration in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"You don't have to say it back, but I love you." His Australian accent was even thicker as he came down from his high. You felt your heart racing, the words echoing in your mind. The intensity of the moment, the vulnerability in Chan's eyes, and the raw emotion in his voice overwhelmed you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you heard your own voice, barely above a whisper, "I love you too, Chan." The words felt right, natural, as if they had been waiting to be spoken all along.

Just as Chan's mouth fell open slightly at the words you had always refused to say to anyone, a crash of dishes came from behind him. You both looked over to see the waiter standing there with wide eyes and a mess of broken dishes on the floor.

Chan's face flushed a deep red, a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire evident in his expression. You couldn't help but stifle a giggle, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once. With a sheepish grin, Chan quickly adjusted his clothing and turned to address the stunned waiter, his voice a mix of authority and amusement as he said, "I believe we're ready for the check now."

Taglist:

@cashtonsbetch @katsukis1wife @hyunjinhoexxx @ihrtlino @breezy-simp @vixensss @yaorzu-blog @tirena1 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @chuuyaobsessed @doohnut @babigriin @iovecb97 @kpflyn @rylea08 @sheerfreesia007 @tsunderelino @cookiesandcreammy @rockstarkkami @moonchild9350 @syedazarintasnim @myflowercloud @143hyunes @luvyblossom @shecheatedwithme @antisocialties @akaligogrrr @thisaintredwine @rose-w-00-d @jisuperboard @velvetmoonlight @kayleefriedchicken @skzfelixlove

[cherry-titz]

HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!

some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!

content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!

word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D

This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.

A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.

Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.

Y/N doesn’t drink alone.

But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.

In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.

She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.

And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—

The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.

She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said. 

So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.

The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.

It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.

She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”

And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.

Or so she found out.

And he looks… the same. Of course he does.

Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.

All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight. 

And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.

Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.

She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.

The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?

“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.

She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.

His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.

The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?

…Did it matter?

It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.

And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.

The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—

“Sneaky little thing.”

Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.

“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.

When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”

Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.

Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.

It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.

Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”

And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”

It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”

Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones. 

Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.

So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?

Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”

She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.

Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.

But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.

“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.

Yes. She did.

But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.” 

It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest. 

He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.

He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.

“Shut up—”

“When you were cumming inside me—?” 

“—Shut the fuck up.”

Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.

“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”

He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.

It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”

“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”

Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).

“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”

“—It wasn’t a date—”

“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”

Something real? Something real?

“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry���s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.

She’s granted no such thing.

“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.

Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)

It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.

“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.

Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”

“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”

And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.

He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.

But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”

The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”

She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”

Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.

Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.

They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.

Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.

She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck. 

He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.

“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”

A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.

“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”

“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”

“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”

Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.

But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.

“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”

“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.

“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.

Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”

A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile. 

The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”

She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.

“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”

“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.

It’s not.

“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.

“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.

“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.

So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”

Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear. 

The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.

They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.

“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”

And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.

She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.” 

Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.

“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”

“—Mhm—”

He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.

“Ye-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.

He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”

Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.

“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.

Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.

His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.

“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”

She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.

Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”

“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.

A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”

It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.

“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.

He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form. 

One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.

“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming. 

“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.

He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”

“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”

“You’ll what, pet?”

“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.

“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”

“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all. 

“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”

No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.

“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”

A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.

“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”

She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.

The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.

He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.

He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”

Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.

He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.

But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them. 

Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.

“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.

His hips snap back into her.

“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat. 

It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.

“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.

“Don’t you?”

“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them. 

He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure. 

Her noises topple out.

Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”

The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.

He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”

And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way. 

Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.

This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all. 

Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers. 

And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.

But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.

“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.

“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.

He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.

“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.

She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.

“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”

Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.

And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.

It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.

“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.

Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.

“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.

She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.

“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.

Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.

“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.” 

He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.” 

Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.

Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”

It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.

It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.

He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone. 

Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.

“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.

“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.

He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.

“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.

But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.

Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat. 

He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.

“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”

Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”

Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.

She waits. 

The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.

He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better. 

Y/N never sees him again.

[mynameismckenziemae]

A Little Bit Stronger

Part 1

(next part here)

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x OFC

Summary:

Fear is the only thing Shae Williams feels after years of abuse at the hands of her ex-husband. After an encounter where he nearly takes her life, she’s finally free of him…until he finds out where she’s staying. Fear forces her to take the help of the only person who’s offered and is introduced to Bradley Bradshaw in the process.

The last thing Shae needs right now is a relationship and the fact that Bradley understands and respects her wishes makes him that much harder to resist.

Warnings: Just like everything else / write/post: this story is for 18+ only. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. It will contain smut, adult themes, situations and language. Please also note this story may be triggering due to the topic of domestic abuse (physical, emotional, sexual) violence-feel free to message me with any questions before reading.

*This is the Bradley from All of Me (Jake and Reese’s story). You should be able to be read as a stand-alone but it doesn’t hurt to start there.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

2 months prior.

“Why don’t you stay here for a few minutes,” Chad sneers, pushing his seed back inside you that’s beginning to leak out. He’s not gentle; it hurts, causing tears to prick at your eyes, but you refuse to wince, “give my swimmers a few extra minutes to find that egg,” he laughs.

They won’t. The Depo injection you got a few weeks ago at Planned Parenthood after Chad had found your hidden birth control pills will prevent that. It would be a cold day in hell before you brought an innocent child into this mess. The bruises from that beating were nearly healed now.

“Okay,” you reply, cold and numb.

“Dinner reservations are at tonight 6, so I’ll be here at 5:30 to pick you up,” Chad says from the bathroom as he starts the shower, “wear that black dress with the low back I like.”

“I will,” you lie.

If all goes to plan, you’ll be a few hours away by then, where he can’t find you.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You get up as soon as he leaves, wanting nothing more than to get out of this hellhole but needing to wash the evidence of his abuse off of your body.

Your heart is pounding as you pull your suitcases out from the bottom of your closet, already packed and ready to go. Your sweaty hands tremble, barely able to pick up your last-minute supplies to toss them in a tote.

You lift the mattress and reach under where you made a slit, locating the cash you’ve been hiding there and pulling it out before packing it too.

With that cash and the money you transferred into a secret account when you had been working, you should be set until you find a job.

You set your phone on the kitchen table and take a slow, deep breath before walking towards the door.

The handle turns as you reach out to open it; your stomach does too.

“I’m so fucking glad I installed those cameras last week when you were at Pilates,” Chad chuckles darkly as you drop the suitcase, backing away in terror.

He grabs your ponytail when you turn to run, and you cry out loudly at the burning pain in your scalp as he yanks you back. “You’re not going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever,” he seethes in your ear. Your stomach rolls in disgust as you can feel him hard against your ass; he’s getting off on this. “You belong to me.”

He pushes you into the table by the door, causing the flower vase atop it to fall and shatter.

“Stupid, ungrateful bitch,” he seethes, stepping over the mess before kicking your hunched form in the ribs, stealing the breath in your lungs from the sharp, searing pain as you land on the hardwood.

It only takes two steps before he’s on you again, gripping your shoulder and turning you to face him. His eyes are full of rage, his pupils dilated from the line he snorted in the car as he spits, “I thought you’d finally learned after the birth control incident. I should’ve known…”

Your head whips to the side and you taste blood when he backhands you, splitting your lip.

You can’t catch your bearings as you try to appease him with an apology; pain radiating from your cheek and there’s a deafening, high-pitched ringing in your ears, “I’m sorry Chad, let me explain-“

Pain explodes in the left side of your face a second later as he punches you as hard as he can before the world goes dark.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Shae?” says a familiar voice, sounding so far away. “Shae, honey, wake up.”

Your right eye slowly blinks open to the bright fluorescent lights; the left is swollen shut and pulsing painfully. The beeping of the heart monitor increases and the pain in your ribs makes itself known as everything comes rushing back.

The police officers arriving, the EMTs putting you on the stretcher, the chilling look in his eyes as you were rolled past, the favorite doctor you worked for giving you a sedative when you arrived in her ER panicking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Dr. Akins murmurs, putting her hand on yours, “he’s not here, he can’t hurt you.”

You slowly nod. “Where,” you croak, tongue feeling like sandpaper, “where is he?”

“Sitting in jail,” she replies.

“But-“

“For 24 hours,” she assures you, “even with his connections, he won’t be getting out early.”

You nod, still a little dazed and disoriented as you take a drink of the water she offers. “Thank you.”

“He’s why you quit, huh?” Dr. Akins asks. Not judging, just observant.

You nod again.

“What happened? Today I mean,” she clarifies.

“I was leaving,” you whisper, wincing when you look down from the pain in your eye from the movement. “He came home.”

“How did he know? Did you tell anyone?” She asks gently.

“No,” you reply, “not a soul. He said something about installing cameras last week.”

“That’s not legal in the state of California, Shae,” she says softly, stroking her thumb over your hand, “neither is beating your wife half to death.”

You nod once again, gasping from the pain in your ribs when you sit up, “I’ve gotta get out of here before he’s released.”

“Where will you go?” She asks.

“I’m going to rent an Airbnb in San Diego,” you wince as you try to smile, quickly reminded of the split in your lip, “My parents met there when my dad was in the Navy. I visited after college and fell in love. It was the first place that came to mind the…” you trail off.

“The what?”

“The last time this happened,” you whisper, “he found out I was secretly taking birth control since we started trying for a baby…he thought being a family man would help him get a promotion at work…as if that canceled out the alcoholism, drug use, and anger problems.”

“Oh Shae,” she replies. Your eyes fill as you look away when you hear the tears heavy in her voice.

She stands and gently wraps you in a hug, letting you cry for the next few minutes. She hands you a tissue before taking one for herself.

“So…you’ve got an orbital fracture that thankfully doesn’t need surgery, no concussion but you’re gonna have a helluva headache, 3 broken ribs, a split lip, and a few other bumps and bruises,” she says finally, not sugar coating it.

You close your eyes, knowing they’ll want to keep you overnight for another observation.

“There’s two officers from Sacramento PD waiting to talk with you,” she continues, “but I’ll get you discharged when they’re done. As a nurse, I trust you know what signs and symptoms to watch for?”

You open your eyes and nod, “Thank you.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You’re tight-lipped during the conversation with the officers with the entire police department in Chad’s back pocket.

You do ask for a restraining order, knowing it’s just a piece of paper, but it gives you a little peace of mind. You don’t press any further charges either; nothing will come of the ones already existing and you refuse to add fuel to his fire.

“Here’s your discharge papers,” Dr. Akins hands you the stapled stack after they leave, “and a little something from a few of the doctors here. We haven’t forgotten you, Shae.”

“Dr. Akins, you-“ you start but she interrupts.

“Just be safe, okay? My number is in there too, please let me know when you’re settled.”

“Okay,” you whisper, ignoring the shooting pain in your ribs as you pull her in for a final hug, “thank you.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You try not to, but you can’t help but cry when you open the envelope in the Uber that Dr. Akins ordered. A letters of recommendation from her and two other doctors you worked with also, and enough bills to make you feel light-headed.

“Here’s fine,” you tell the driver when he pulls onto your street and is a few houses from yours.

You feel paranoid, but knowing Chad, he’ll check the Ring as soon as he gets released. If he sees a man brought you home, you wouldn’t put it past him to look up the license plate and have his cronies at the police station pull him over; it doesn’t matter that it’s just the man’s job.

“You sure?” He looks skeptically over his shoulder at you.

“Yeah,” you sigh when you try again to smile, tasting blood again when you open the cut in your bottom lip, “thanks.”

Ed, your sweet old neighbor, comes running when he spots you gingerly getting out of the car. “Shae!” He cries when he reaches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, afraid to hurt you, “oh your beautiful eye,” he whispers, tears filling his eyes as he scans your face. “I happened to see him come home, and I knew he wasn’t happy the way he slammed his car door. I’m sorry I called 911, but I heard you yell and then a crash.”

“It’s okay,” you begin to cry too, hating how distressed he is. You’d had quickly befriended him and his wife, Jean, when you moved in. They reminded you so much of your late parents and that’s exactly why Chad put an end to the relationship. “I’m glad you did, Ed.”

“I’m so sorry about Jean,” you continue, guilt overwhelming you. “I wanted to go to the funeral so badly.”

She had passed away nearly a year ago from cancer. You earned a slap across the face when you asked Chad to go to her funeral.

“It’s okay, honey. She knew you loved her and she loved you too,” he replies, pulling you in for the most gentle, tender hug.

The gesture breaks the dam inside you and you begin to sob; body-shaking, from-the-soul sobs.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Come inside,” Ed asks when you finally relax, “Just for a minute. I’ve got a slice of apple pie with your name on it. You’ve gotten too thin.”

“Okay,” you whisper, letting him take your hand.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Do you have my number in your new phone?” Ed asks by his front door after he feeds you not one, but two pieces of his homemade pie. It was your favorite and yet another thing Chad didn’t let you have.

You insist Ed stays home while you get your suitcases, not knowing the whereabouts of Chad’s cameras. The last thing you want is someone else getting hurt, especially Ed.

You nod, “It was the first number I put it, I still have it memorized. Promise you’ll come to see me when things settle?”

If they ever settle. Your heart sinks with the thought that this mess will never stop; not until he’s in prison or one of you ends up dead.

“I will,” he kisses your forehead, and hands you an envelope from his pocket, “here honey, take this.”

“Ed, no. I can’t,” you argue, eyes widening as you feel the wad of cash inside, “Really, I’ll be okay. I’ve been planning this for a while.”

“It was Jean’s idea,” he smiles sadly, “she knew you’d get out someday and we both wanted you to have a cushion.”

“Ed,” your voice breaks and you start to cry again. Your head was pounding, your ribs screamed with every breath and you were getting more anxious as more time passed.

“Take it and use it,” he says, putting his hand in his pocket so you can’t hand it back, “hire a lawyer, get that dog you always wanted, take a nice vacation, whatever you want, honey. Besides, he can’t track cash like he can a card.”

That thought crossed your mind too before you finally nod. “Thank you,” you whisper, giving him a final hug and heading back to your former home.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You step over the drips of your blood and avoid the dead flowers and broken glass, feeling nauseous from anxiety and the pain pulsing through your body when you pick up your discarded bag and right your suitcases.

Your lip still quirks in satisfaction when the wheels of your suitcase drag the sharp pieces of glass over the floor, scratching the hell out of the hardwood he loves.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Ed watches from his front door as you struggle to get your suitcases in the back, but you discreetly shake your head when he opens the door to help. Chad is going to take his anger out somewhere, and you don’t want to make Ed more of a target.

You suppress your groan as you lift the floorboard in the trunk to find your secret cell phone hidden by the spare tire and turn it on after plugging it in while you fasten your seatbelt.

After typing in the address into GPS, you take a deep breath and pull out of the driveway, waving goodbye to Ed and starting your new life.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A few weeks later (current day).

“Friday at 11,” you confirm, “I’ll be there, thank you again,” you say before hanging up with the recruiter.

You smile softly; things are looking up. You have an interview scheduled for a nursing position with a general practitioner at the Naval Base, you secured a nice apartment that’ll be ready to move into in a few weeks and Chad would be served with divorce papers any day now.

With the money you saved, the generous gift from the doctors you worked with at the ER, and the downright obscene amount from Ed and Jean, you didn’t need to rush into finding a job. So you had taken a few weeks to find an apartment and hit the beach while you healed; physically at least.

Emotionally though, you were struggling. Most nights you woke up soaked in a cold sweat, shivering in terror from your nightmares. Loud noises made you flinch. You were constantly having to remind yourself that it’s okay to go out and do what you want.

Dr. Akins checked in with you twice after letting her know you arrived. Ed texted or called almost daily; it was so nice to be able to talk to him freely.

You decide to walk a few blocks to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant you discovered on your first week here for dinner.

Taking a different way back, you come across a large, brown, and white dog tied outside a clothing shop.

The sign in the window above him reads, ‘Dog is for sale. Inquire within’.

His big, fluffy tail begins to wag when he realizes you’re approaching him and he lifts his head when you kneel, “Hi buddy.”

“Hi,” an older woman with a kind smile comes out when she sees you, “are you-“ she cuts off with a sneeze when she gets close.

“Bless you,” you smile.

“Thanks,” she sniffs, “I was trying to ask if you’re interested in him?”

“Oh,” you say, “I can’t…” you trail off as you realize there isn’t anything stopping you. The Airbnb listing said pets were welcome; same with your apartment. “Well…maybe?”

She laughs, sitting on the bench by the door, inviting you to sit beside her. “His name is Hank, he’s a 2-year-old, Great Pyrenees mix. He belonged to my daughter but…she can’t take care of him anymore; she checked herself into rehab,” she sighs sadly, “and will be for a while; she asked me to find him a good home since I’m horribly allergic and there’s too many kill shelters around here,” she answers before you can ask.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, petting his big head when he rests it on your knee, “he’s so sweet.”

“He is,” she confirms before sneezing again, “he listens well, I’ve never heard him bark and I think he’s house trained-I’ve had to keep him in the garage at my house or I can’t breathe-but he hasn’t had any accidents there. I guess he’s a little leery of men too, but she wasn’t hanging around the best crowd either. I took him to the vet-in my car which was a terrible idea, I still sneeze when I open the door,” she laughs, “but they gave him a micro-chip and updated his vaccines. He was given a clean bill of health, I have his records in the store.”

He looks up at you with those big brown eyes; staring into your soul while tugging at your heartstrings.

“I’ll take him,” you hear yourself saying as you pull out your wallet and pull out all the cash you have in your wallet; around $500. She begins to refuse but you insist, “Please. I know the vet wasn’t cheap, and your daughter will need help getting back on her feet.”

Tears fill her eyes but she eventually nods, “Thank you.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

It doesn’t take long at all for you to fall in love with Hank; his personality is as big as he is. He just had one accident the first night and hasn’t barked a single time.

“How do I look?” You ask him, spinning in front of the mirror as he watches you from his spot on your bed. Dressing up felt nice, even if it was just for a job interview.

You did your best to cover the healing yellow bruise under your eye, but it was still noticeable in certain light.

He hops off the bed and nudges your thigh with his head before looking up at you in the mirror.

“Thanks, I think so too,” you smile down at him. “I’ll be back in a little bit, you be a good boy.”

He’s asleep on the bed before you shut the door.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Hi, you must be Shae,” the pretty woman greeting smiles as she offers her hand. “I’m Reese, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you reply.

“Please,” she gestures to the chairs across her desk as she sits, “have a seat.”

Your eyes squint when the sunlight catches your face as you sit before giving her your resume. “I also have letters of recommendation from my nursing instructor and a few of the doctors I’ve worked with,” your cheeks heat as you hand them over next.

Your stomach sinks as her gaze pauses on your concealed bruise before she scans the information given.

Your nerves settle as she asks questions and gives you different scenarios. Dr. Kerner is confident, witty and you get the impression she doesn’t take shit from anyone; which is needed when the majority of her patients are cocky men.

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” she smiles, “you can expect to from HR soon for the formal offer,” your heart soars and then sinks when her brow furrows slightly when she glances down again at her resume, “Oh, is this current?”

Your nerves come back full force and your hands twist nervously in your lap, “Yes, it’s current.”

“It’s okay,” she replies softly, picking up on your anxiety, “HR will ask why it's been 2 years since you worked last. What should I tell them?”

You feel yourself dissociate as you look out the window. “My husb-I mean, ex-husband…he didn’t want me to work.”

She nods, looking at your healing eye and piecing together where it came from. “Shae?”

You flinch slightly as you snap out of it, before meeting her eyes.

“I’m just going to tell them it was due to family reasons,” she says, watching as you sag in relief. “Are you safe though?”

“I am,” you reply, touching the slight discoloration under your eye, “I am now. He’s…a few hours away, and I have a dog now.”

“Okay,” she replies with a small smile, reaching for a pen and notepad. “Here’s my number if that changes okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, touched by her gesture. You had very few people in your corner, and they all lived hours away. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies, rising to her feet. “Hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so too,” you smile genuinely for the first time.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“HR will be in touch soon,” Dr. Kerner says as she escorts you from her office, smiling down the hall. “Have a good weekend.”

“Thanks, you too,” you reply, eyes following hers to two men approaching.

The blonde gives you a friendly smile before locking eyes with Dr. Kerner. While he’s attractive, it’s evident he only has eyes for her.

The darker-haired one with a mustache is downright hot. The way he gives you a quick, appreciative once over before flashing you a grin has you blushing like a virgin.

You quickly head outside, feeling an odd mixture of emotions; unnecessary guilt for looking at another man, excitement that someone so good-looking finds you attractive, relief that you can still feel attraction, and nervousness that you might/might not see him again if you get the job.

Once inside your car, you blast the AC to cool your heated cheeks as you make your way back to your temporary home.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A few days pass before receiving the call that you have the job and you agree to start the following Monday.

You hardly sleep the night before and arrive before nearly everyone.

“Ready for your first day?” Dr. Kerner smiles when she sees you at your desk.

“I am,” you answer, “I looked over your preferences while I waited. It all looks familiar so I shouldn’t have any problem getting caught up to speed.”

“I didn’t figure you would,” she replies, “let me give you a quick tour and we’ll get the day started.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

By lunch, you’re already getting the hang of things.

“I don’t know how I’ve survived this long without you,” Dr. Kerner smiles as she checks the time, “seriously, you’re doing a great job.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, flushing as you look down at your shoes, so unused to compliments.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, “I usually have lunch in here with Jake, my boyfriend, and Rooster, an old friend of mine. They’re both naval aviators.”

“Rooster?” You ask, looking up confused.

“Ah, sorry, that’s his callsign,” she laughs, “his real name is Bradley; you can call him either. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve gotta let my dog out. I haven’t found anyone to walk him yet; I’m pretty sure he’d be fine all day but I’m staying at an Airbnb until my apartment is ready in a few weeks so I don’t want to risk any accidents,” you reply. It’s the truth, but you’re still unsure and uneasy about a lot of things.

“Understandable,” she replies, “the offer stands if and when you want to.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile of your own.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Some friends of mine are having a get-together for the 4th at their house on the beach,” Dr. Kerner says at the end of the first day, “you’re more than welcome to come if you’d like.”

“You don’t have to answer right now,” she continues when you clam up, “and there’s no pressure, either. You can say no.”

The rising tension inside you falls when she gives you a choice.

“I’ll think about it,” you answer truthfully, “if that’s okay?”

“Of course. There’s no rush; Penny will be plenty of food and drinks either way,” she gives you a reassuring smile as she picks up her keys. “Have a good night, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks,” you smile back, “you too.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

The next few weeks pass quickly and June turns to July.

You were still in the rental and hadn’t had lunch with Dr. Kerner yet, but you could feel yourself slowly opening up to her.

“See ya after lunch,” she calls as you pick up your keys to head out, “tell Hank I said hi.”

“I will,” you laugh, “be back in a bit.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

Something is off when you unlock the door to the rental.

Hank, who’s normally asleep on the bed, is restlessly pacing.

“What’s up, buddy?” You ask, crouching to kiss him.

He’s distracted though, aggressively sniffing the welcome mat.

“Gotta go potty?” You ask, grabbing his leash, “Let’s go.”

He sits down right beside you when you get to the grass, sniffing the air and looking around.

“C’mon bud, go potty,” you coax.

He eventually takes a few steps to do his business but comes right back when he’s done.

“I’ll see you in a bit, okay? Be a good boy,” you murmur as you close the door while he stands there and watches, again so unlike him.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Hey,” Dr. Kerner says when you come back from lunch, looking down at her phone, “the last patient canceled, so we’ll be done early today. How was Hank?”

“Acting a little weird, but good,” you reply, brow furrowed, “he’s usually asleep when I get home, but he was up and pacing by the door. I thought he had to go potty really bad but he didn’t go without some coaxing. Who knows, probably just heard a squirrel or something.”

“Probably,” she agrees, her tone giving away that it doesn’t sit right with her.

It doesn’t sit right with you either.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

After saying goodbye to Dr. Kerner, you head home a few hours later.

Hank is again, or still, by the door.

You order food to be delivered while he eats his, sitting down on the couch with a beer while you wait.

You mull it over in your head before pulling your phone out to compose a text.

Shae: Hey Dr. Kerner, I’ve thought it over. I’d be happy to join you tomorrow if the offer still stands.

But there’s a knock at the door before you send it.

You rise to your feet, Hank gets up too, surprising you as he growls in your presence for the first time.

“It’s okay, just the delivery driver,” you coo before calling, “just a minute,” as you grab some cash for a tip.

“Wow, that was fast-“ you start to say as you open the door, but your head whips to the side. You hear the sharp slap to your cheek and eye before the pain can register.

The force of his backhand knocks you back a step and Chad follows you, gripping your arm so tightly you cry out in pain. He’s full of rage, his breath reeks of bourbon as spits in your face, “You think you can divorce me?! After everything I’ve done for-FUCK!”

Chad screams when Hank latches onto his clothed arm with a low growl. The force of his lunge pushes Chad back into the doorframe but you grab Hank’s collar to haul him off before he sinks his teeth into something more vital.

“Leave,” you say, voice shaking and barely audible over Hank’s snarls, “now.”

“This isn’t over,” he says, holding his arm as he takes taking a step back, “and that dog is dead.”

You slam the door closed behind him, locking it before falling to the floor with a sob.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Hank lays down beside you, setting his head in your lap as he senses your distress. “You’re such a good boy,” you whisper, stroking his soft fur.

But he starts to growl again a few minutes later when a loud knock startles you both.

“San Diego PD, open up.”

You hold Hank’s collar as you crack the door to verify. “Just a minute, I’m going to put my dog in the bedroom; he’s a little worked up.”

The host of the AirBnb shows up shortly after, holding the bag of your forgotten food.

Adrenaline wearing off, your face begins to throb in time with his fingerprints on your arm as you explain what happened to the officers. You feel numb as they take pictures of your injuries, but you don’t hold much hope when the officers say they’ll find him.

The Airbnb host gives you more bad news before leaving too.

You try to compose yourself as you start to pack but hopelessness of the situation begins to set in, and you feel suddenly feel completely overwhelmed. Your thoughts begin to race before you pick up the phone; feeling as if you have no other choice but to turn to the only person that might help.

Your heart races as the line rings.

“Shae?” she answers, “what’s up?”

There’s faint music in the background.

“Hi Dr. Kerner,” you say, trying to sound calm, “I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“Please, call me Reese,” she reminds you gently, “you’re not bothering me. Is everything okay?”

“No,” your voice breaks, “it’s not. Chad…my ex, he found me.”

“Where are you? Is he there now?” She asks, anxious now.

“No, he took off when Hank bit him,” you sniff, zipping one of your packed suitcases closed, “I’m still at the Airbnb, packing my stuff.”

“Okay,” she sighs, her relief evident until your last words sink in, “Okay. Packing your-wait, why are you packing?”

“The police came a few minutes after he left; one of the units heard the commotion. The unit owner came while I was giving my statement,” You answer, walking down the short hallway to the living room, “I guess the other tenants complained to him and are scared-understandably so-but said I needed to be out…tonight.”

“Oh Shae,” she says, “I’m so sorry. Let me come help you?”

“Okay.” Both of you are surprised when you agree.

“I’m at the Hard Deck-which is a bar-with Jake and Bradley. Oh shoot, I forgot we rode together. Hang one sec,” she pauses, “I’ll order an Uber.”

“They can come too,” you say, more anxiety setting in as you look at the clock, “if they want to, I mean. I…I think I need all the help I can get. I’ve got to be out in about an hour.”

“Okay,” she says, murmuring something before coming back on the line, “they’re happy to help, Shae. Text me the address, we’re getting in the truck now.”

“I will, oh…” you cringe when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror above the couch. Your right eye is bloodshot from the trauma, below on your cheek is puffy and still red, and his fingerprints already purpling your arm. It’s nothing compared to last time, but it’s still startling, “and Reese? I should warn you, I look…rough.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: Well…what do you guys think? Did everything make sense (especially for those who haven’t read All of Me).

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs! Seriously, feedback helps me more than you know.

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[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

A Visit

Note: A short one but filled with all the right amount of tension. (:

Your face scrunched up in determination as you pulled yourself up one more time, the burn in your arms mentally pushing you further. Just one more is what you kept telling yourself. You were 5 pull-ups from breaking your record and you’d be damned if the exhaustion kept you from achieving it. Soft rock music played in the background as you could feel the sweat beading down your back and forehead, the small basement windows didn’t do much to cool you down during your workout. Jethro had installed the pull up bars for you, saying something about load bearing beams and it was safer to install them down in the basement. He just forgot to tell you how hot it got down there.

You lifted yourself up one last time before dropping to the floor with a guttural cry of accomplishment. The cold polished concrete floor felt nice against your overheated skin. You took a minute to catch your breath before going over to turn the music up a little louder and begin some simple stretches.

Starting in the butterfly position on your yoga mat, you leaned all the way forward, your forehead almost touching your toes and counted to 10. You moved onto some hamstring stretches and then some hip crossovers when you spotted Jethro at the top of the stairs.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked from the floor with a smile.

"Not long enough," was his cheeky reply as he descended the stairs and stood over you. He was dressed in his work attire, making you wonder if he was just here for a visit or if he had yet to change into his casual clothes.

You sat up on your hands and crossed your legs in a sitting position, cocking your head to the side with a smirk.

"Here for work or pleasure?"

He kneeled down in front of you, his large hands resting on your thighs as he leaned in for a kiss.

"Why not both?"

You gave him what he wanted, sitting up so you could properly wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his short hair. Making out with Jethro was definitely one of your favorite past times. He always took his time, each kiss filled with love and his hands never stayed in one place for too long. Like in the moment, his hands moved from your thighs to cradle your face, fingers creeping towards the back of your neck, angling your head up for a deeper kiss, earning a small moan from you as his tongue met yours.

Just as you were about to really get into it, uncrossing your legs and kneeling on your knees so you were both at the same height, he pulled away, peppering kisses down your neck.

"As much as I'd love to continue this, I've got Torres waiting in the car outside for me. I just wanted to stop by and tell you that I might be late for dinner tonight. We're on our way to follow up on a lead."

You groaned at his words and threw him an almost pouty frown.

"You get me all worked up and then just leave me needy. Terrible."

He chuckled and looked down with a smile. "We're in the same boat sweetheart. I come home to find you sweaty and stretching in positions that'd have any man drooling. I can't even stand up right now."

You licked your suddenly dry lips while glancing down at the obvious bulge in his dress pants, before he gave you a warning look.

"I'll make it up to you tonight. I promise."

You rolled your eyes at his insinuation and answered him with a peck on the lips.

"You better."

It only took a few minutes for Jethro to gain control of his body again as you used the time to head upstairs and package some leftover homemade enchiladas for his team, spotting Torres through the window, drumming his fingers on the open car window, clearly becoming impatient.

You met Jethro at the front door, handing him the tupperware of food with a kiss.

"Be safe," you told him, just like every time he left for work.

"I'll try," he teased with a wink, walking out the door. You gave Torres a wave which he reciprocated, eyes lighting up when he saw Jethro headed over to him with food. You were sure the quickest way to his heart was a good home cooked meal.

You waited till they drove off, the car no longer in visibility before shutting and locking the door, headed back down to the basement to finish your workout session.

[frnkiebby]

Frnkiebby’s FellowWhore Appreciation Day(week) Installment Number Two:

“Are you sure you’re still up for this Frankie?” you ask. Frank was barely recovered from his latest bout of bronchitis and you really wished he would take things easier and just fucking rest.

“For the millionth time. Yes.” he said, his tone edging on exasperation now “We’ve had these tickets for *months* and I’m so fucking sick and tired of rotting on the couch.”

Frank moved to walk around you, placing a hand on your hip as he squeezed past in the narrow hallway of the front door. You let out a heavy sigh and finally took a pair of shoes from the rack in front of you.

“Will you at least wear a mask? We’re gonna be around a lot of people and I really don’t want you catching another bug. Your immune system isn’t back to full strength yet.”

Hearing a thump come from Franks direction caused you to drop your remaining shoe and snap your eyes to him.

“Yes, mother.” he said petulantly, lifting his head back from where he had let it fall against the wall in frustration.

“Frank…I’m sorry, I just worry. You’ve been getting sick a lot more frequently lately…”

Frank looked down and away. He knew that. He knew he’s been sick more often than not this fall, and if he was being honest with both himself and you, he was also worried.

“I know baby,” he replied softly “I’ll wear a mask. I’ll be okay.”

He stood and walked the few steps over to take your face in his hands. Brushing his thumbs across your cheekbones, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against your forehead.

“Let’s get outta here and go see your freaky exhibit already, huh?”

“Yeah, Frank, sounds like a plan.”

_______________

Before you got out of your uber you nudged Franks arm and passed him the mask you had shoved in your pocket. With a soft smile thrown at you he held it against his nose and looped the elastics around his ears. After thanking the driver, you both exited the car and started up the crowded steps into the museum.

Frank had teased you mercilessly for wanting to go to the exhibit. Called it gruesome and you a weirdo as if he hadn’t immediately gone into his phone to purchase tickets.

Once inside with pamphlets in hand, Frank was so excited that he was damn near insufferable. Pulling you from one display to another, chattering endlessly about the creepy history of each piece. It was honestly both adorable and a relief that he had so much energy.

“Oh my god, look-look-look!”

When you looked over to him, smile already on your face, you absolutely lost it. The look on Frank’s face combined with the ridiculous pose he struck had you laughing at a volume that resulted in more than a few glares from the other patrons.

“You absolute dork, don’t you dare move a muscle.” You weren’t even sure if he understood you with how much you were laughing.

“Don’t move a muscle, huh?” he teased “Like this guy?”

When you finally got the camera open on your phone, you nearly dropped it. Frank had escalated his pose to an even higher level of ridiculousness. God you fucking loved him.

After snapping more photos than necessary, you turned to show them off to Frank. The two of you broke out into more laughter, gaining even more glares. The night had went better than you expected, even with Frank’s laughter devolving into silent wheezes as he bent over trying to get control of himself.

Even though he would be exhausted for the rest of the night and likely tomorrow, you were glad he held firm and insisted on the exhibit. Every now and then Frank has to be right about something, you figured.

[toptierteaser]

Fatty Microchip

Imagine, fat boy...

Being unwittingly hooked to a Fatty machine.

A chubby ex-jock, dissatisfied by the layers of pudge he's accumulated onto his once-fit jock body, eagerly jiggling his way to have a microchip installed. A microchip supposedly meant to repress his appetite and encourage healthy living. Tiny cameras hidden at work, at home, in your car, to watch for any signs of fattiness…

But that's not what the microchip is for...that’s not what the cameras are watching for…not any longer, at least…

You see, each of you fatties, each of you lard asses has actually been implanted with a chip meant to CONTROL your weight, to CONTROL your appetite, your self-discipline, your motivation to exercise, your dignity...and considering the potential for the controls to so easily fall into the hands of a corrupted jock, a fit hottie with a vengeance, a muscle stud with a thing for fat boys...well, you could see how quickly the devices could become corrupted...

Now, after a few months of diet and exercise and self-control you were starting to see results. But something has changed. Something has altered. You've noticed you can't seem to be full, no matter what you do stuff yourself with! And you certainly aren't filling up on carrots (unless you count them when they’re in a cake!). No, it's cupcakes you're shoveling in, fat boy! Saucy burritos! Cartons of ice cream! Pancakes for breakfast, corn cakes for lunch, and cheesecake after dinner! Stuffed to the max every night!

What's worse, you have no motivation for exercise! You can't seem to get your lazy, larding butt up off the couch to do anything except to waddle to the fridge in search of more food! You're tubbing up, barely able to fit into your clothes! The buttons on your pants, your shirts are all getting tight! Bunching up and straining against the fat on your stomach and love handles and chest! You look like a tick about to POP, fatty!

But little do you know, as you stuff your face, bingeing as your eyes glaze over in front of the TV. Little do you know as you waddle around at work, as the guys laugh in the corner while you jiggle by, self-consciously stuffing yourself with another snack cake from the breakroom, that the men hired to watch you, to adjust your microchip when you’re feeling lazy or hungry, that they are the ones doing this to you. You had no idea that as you stuff yourself, shoveling in plate after plate at your favorite restaurant, glugging down milkshakes in front of your teasing friends, helping yourself to seconds, thirds, fourths of your buddy’s birthday cake—that behind the screens, a cluster of men are watching you, laughing their asses off as yours threatens to bust the seams of your pants!

You see, because you’ve become something of a guinea pig, fat boy. Their guinea pig. Whenever they see your appetite decrease, these workers flip a switch, dialing up your hunger, watching as you ravenously gut the fridge, cramming in whatever you can fit into your tubbing, insatiable belly! When they see the seams on your pants fighting to hold on for dear life, they press a button, sending your head into a tizzy as you immediately begin to gorge. When you go for a run, they twist your mind, making you doubt yourself, making you self-conscious. As if everyone is watching your juicy tits jiggle on your chest. As if the jocks who pass you easily on the trail can see the way your ass quivers and shakes!

And they keep feeding you, fat boy, making you feed yourself, helplessly ballooning in your own home! Crammed into briefs that will bust at any moment, mindlessly stuffing yourself! Unable to stop, to do anything but succumb, outgrow your clothes, become trapped by embarrassment as your body expands like dough! As you give whatever little control you had over to gluttony, contained and controlled and in the hands of jocks whose lone agenda is to make you thicken like a tubby butter ball. Like a fat, pathetic, remote-controlled toy!

[alpaca-clouds]

How to make a "world" more accessible

Let's talk a bit about accessible worldbuilding. I am thinking here first about Solarpunk worlds, but also about other scifi and fantasy worlds, that often do not think about this at all. Again, there is this nasty tendency to just assume that there are no disabilities in those worlds - and it leaves disabled people often feeling left out.

One of the most basic accessibility features one would expect to see in a world would be some sorts of ramps. And don't get me started with "oh, in my world wheelchairs fly!", which is something that actually not all folks reliant on wheelchairs want - as the actual hand-moved wheelchair often gives them a certain control.

It should also be noted that ramps help not only wheelchair users, but also people with baby strollers, and folks who might use other mobility aids like rollators. Heck, in my life ramps have also helped me, when I was travelling with a large trunk. Really, ramps make life easier for a lot of folks! Heck, if we think about a solarpunk world, where hopefully a lot of folks would get around by bike, ramps would help as well.

Of course, in some cases (if feasible in the technology level) there might also be a need for some sort of elevator. Again, not only wheelchair users will make use of that.

Another thing that should help, would be a wider usage of stuff like orientation systems for blind people. Currently those things are fairly spotty. Like some places have them, other places don't. And even where they are implemented, a lot of folks do not know what they are and will walk over it and park their cars on it. Stuff like that, which will once again make stuff more dangerous and inaccessible for blind people.

Then there should more accessibility accomondations for people who are deaf or hard of hearing. Those could mean to install visual signals for warning systems, which often currently are mainly auditory. It could also mean a wider usage of stuff like subtitles if possible in the world. And it also could mean that in the world people are more encouraged to learn sign language.

But those are the obvious disabilities. The stuff folks think off first when they hear "disability".

But there are other disabilities. Personally, for example, I do have some issues with my bowels. So what would be important to me is easy access to toilets whereever I move around. Which also is to say: Yes, dear public transport. Not having a single accessible toilet in your fucking train is an accessibility issue and ableistic.

Or the one accessibility aspect that has slowly been taken away recently due to hostile architecture: Benches and other places in public to sit down on. Because a lot of folks just cannot stand/walk for a long while. This is true for old people, and recently increasingly too for folks disabled through COVID.

There is also the need for shaded areas. As there are several disabilities that do not deal well with direct sunlight. Be it people who react allergic against sunlight, be it people whose eyes cannot deal with too much light, or be it people who might just struggle with their circulation when in the direct sun for too long.

And then there is allergic people. Which is also a big chunk - and in some cases can be quite debilitating. And I might remind people: In a fantasy or scifi world there might be people allergic to some of the worldbuilding stuff. Like in the Witcher Triss is allergic against magic, and in the nice sapphic webcomic Always Human one of the two main characters is allergic against bio-implants. Hence, ideally in an accessible fantasy/scifi world it would be easy to access what kinda stuff is in a potion and what not, to allow folks to be safe.

Lastly, of course, there are neurodivergent folks and... about that I am going to talk tomorrow.

Oh, and by the way: If you are disabled and have ideas of how the world could be more accessible for you... Please feel free to add!

[vanfleeter]

My Love: Chapter 1

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Sara Warnings: 18+ || Language. Gore. Blood. Drinking blood. Angst. Yelling. Anger. Slight physical violence. Self doubt. Brief allusions to murder. Smut. Foreplay. Fingering. Oral sex (f & m receiving). Penetrative sex.

A/N: Welcome (finally) to the first installment of Jaketober! We are beginning early as to not rush through this series within the 4-4 1/2 weeks of October.

I can hear the pumping of her blood as I near the mansion. Slow and calm, she must be asleep already. Parking the car, I slide out and into the cold, October air, wrapping my coat tighter around my body. Stalking up the walkway to the steps, I climb each one delicately and slowly as I listen to her heart still beating. It beats like a drum in my ear and her blood rushes through like a river flowing rapidly by. I clench my fists, willing the urge to go away.

I’ve been craving her all day, needing relief so I wouldn’t tear into an innocent person’s throat. She is my source, my lifeline and I seek to drink from her and her only. Unlocking the door, I push it wide open before stepping inside the large foyer and closing the door behind me. The candles that line the staircase are the only things giving the slightest illumination as I slip out of my shoes and shrug off my coat before placing it all inside the closet closest to the stairs.

I make the trek up the stairs to the second floor, her heart beat growing increasingly louder the closer that I get to our shared bedroom. I can feel my fangs piercing the inside of my bottom lip. The urge to not drink her blood growing increasingly harder with each step that I take getting closer and closer to her.

Gripping the door handle, I quietly push the door open and peer into the room. More candles are lit, the flames casting a warm glow. Her body is stretched over top the covers, the sheer nightgown leaving little to the imagination.

Quietly I move through the room and undress as I go, unhooking my necklaces and placing them delicately inside the jewelry box on my dresser and sliding off my rings and placing them neatly beside the chains. Next I work on sliding off my blazer and tossing it into the red, velvet chair placed strategically in the corner of the room, followed shortly by my trousers leaving me in only my briefs. My semi hard cock protruding ever so slightly beneath the fabric as I continue watching her sleeping reflection in the mirror. The way her chest rises with each breath she takes and falls gently as she exhales.

I have an inkling that she did this on purpose.

Looking away from the mirror for only a brief moment to close the jewelry box, I feel her hands slide over my hips and across the front of my abdomen. For a mere human, she’s quick and stealthy. I can feel her body radiating through the thin fabric of her nightgown. There’s a stark contrast between our bodies. Mine always being cold and hers always being warm. Warm and delicious.

“I thought you were asleep..” I say, keeping my head facing forward.

I hear her hum before she presses her lips to the back of my shoulder. “You and I both know that I was not asleep.”

“Your pulse said otherwise.”

“Hmph, guess I just got better at controlling it.”

My lips curl upwards and I place my hand over hers. “I see that I’ve taught you well..”

Grabbing her hands, I tug her back towards the bed. She straddles my waist when I sit down. She purposely moved her nightgown upwards around her hips, allowing her warm and soaked core to rub against the fabric of my boxers as she grinds against me. The friction is adding to the pleasure that’s building within me, making my cock grow impossibly hard.

“I’ve been so lonely here, waiting for you to come home.”

“Aw, did my baby miss me?” I say as I rub the pads of my thumbs into the skin of her inner thigh.

“Very..” She breathes.

Smiling, I stretch my neck upwards so I can press my lips to hers. Pulling her off of my hips, I turn her and plop her back down, pressing her back against my chest. Ever so slowly, I run my hands down her thigh and spread her legs. Our reflection in the floor length mirror does nothing but spur me on more.

“Is this all for me?” I say as I tease my fingertips over her center.

Her head falls back against my shoulder, fully exposing her neck. I lick my tongue over the protruding fangs, my eyes dialing in on the movement of her pulse beneath her skin. The sound of her blood rushing fills my head and the urge to sink my teeth into her skin is overwhelming once more.

“Do it..” I hear her breathe. “I trust you.”

Trust me, she does.

Sinking my teeth into her skin, the first few drops of her blood makes contact and the need inside of me is finally satisfied. One of her hands is wrapped around the arm that clutches her tightly to my chest. I must have abandoned her needy friend when I felt her own hand slither beside mine. Pulling away from her neck, I take in a breath before licking up the small amount of blood that escaped down her throat.

“Are we a little impatient?” I inquire as I guide her hand away.

She turned her head to look at me with a wicked look in her eyes. I chuckle and slowly drag my fingers through her folds and up to her cunt where I gently press against. She moans, her eyes fluttering closed as she lays her head back once again on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, my love, I will always satisfy you while you satisfy me.”

Sinking my teeth back into her neck, I use the timing of it to plunge my fingers inside of her. Her throat vibrates as she moans and she grips tighter to my arm. 

“Jake..” She moans.

I continue pumping my fingers at a delicious pace, her breathing becoming quick as her breasts brush against my upper arm. I glance out of the corner of my eyes towards the mirror, the sight before me utterly beautiful. I retract my teeth again and lick up the excess blood. Leaning away slightly, I watch her face with careful eyes as I bring her closer to her climax. Her bottom lip is tucked in beneath her teeth. Her eyebrows are so tightly drawn together, I can just tell that she’s closer.

“That’s it, love,” I say as I kiss her neck. “Come for me..”

“Jake, I–” But she cuts herself off with a loud moan, her body shaking within my arms. I can feel her release cover my fingers and sliding down to fill the palm of my hand.

“You did so good for me..” I whisper against the side of her face.

Removing my hand from between her legs, I bring it up to my mouth and I lick my hand clean of her release.

“It’s a good thing vampires require blood to survive..” I say as I tilt her head forehead. She looks at me with hooded eyelids, her pupils are blown. “Because if I had to live off of your release, I could have you coming over and over again.”

She smiles lazily and hums as he rests her head once more on my shoulder. “You already do..” She softly speaks.

I help her to her feet and guide her nightgown off of her shoulders. “Every little piece of you is so elegantly carved. Molds perfectly aligned with every piece of me.. As if you were made for me.”

Sliding the nightgown further down her arms, she pulls them free allowing the fabric to flow down her body and pool on the ground around her feet. I kiss down her neck and her shoulder and leave a trail down her collarbone and chest. I fondle her breasts, one in each hand as I slowly make my way down her torso. Her hands softly caress my forearms and slither down to my shoulders.

I move down to my knees in front of her and leave kisses around her now sensitive area. I peer up at her and she’s already watching me with lust filled eyes.

“One more for me?” I ask. She nods her head before she’s lowering herself down on the bed and spreading her legs once more.

If I weren’t already dead, this would definitely be the cause of my death. Oh what a way to go out it would be.

Shuffling closer to bed, I guide her legs over my shoulders and reach for her hips to pull her closer to me. I kiss the inside of her thigh and grow closer to her sensitive bundle of nerves.

I flick my tongue over her clit, the softest moan escaping her lips. I play around a little with it, licking it and sucking on it before thrusting my tongue inside of her. Her fingers find their place within my hair and tangle themselves in the locks. I love having my face between her thighs. Besides drinking her blood, this is the best meal that I have so far.

I don’t go easy on her as I fuck her with my tongue, her favorite thing that I do. So why not go a step further? Sliding my hand between her legs, I slowly insert a finger.

“Fuck.. Jake..” She moans above me. Her body moves and I glance up to see her body arching, her back lifting off of the bed.

Removing myself from between her legs, I continue pumping my finger inside and adding a second one to increase her pleasure. Her walls are already so slick but that doesn’t stop me from dragging my fingers down them ever so slowly. I know where her sweet spot is, and I know that she knows that I do. The fire in her eyes as she lifts her head to look at me. I simply smirk at her before thrusting my fingers back inside.

“Don’t tease me…” She whines. “Please…”

“But it’s just so much fun,” I say as I finally give her the need she’s been craving. The satisfaction that visibly takes over her body as I touch her sweet spot.

“Jacob, please..” Her hands claw at my arms, not having the same hold as she did on my hair.

I feel her coming close to her end as her walls clench around my fingers. I tease her some more by dragging my fingers down her walls again. My dick is throbbing, begging to be relieved but I’m determined to bring her to her second orgasm. I do just that.

“Jake.. I’m gonna..”

Retracting my fingers, I fall once again to my knees between her legs and she cries out as her orgasm finally washes over her. Her sweet release drains from within her and onto my tongue as I lap up every last drop she has to offer. Once I lick her completely clean, I stand back to my feet and snap my fingers. I point to the space between us and she rises up to a sitting position before lowering herself to the floor in front of me.

I soon feel her mouth wrap around me and take me full into her mouth. “Oh fuck..” I moan as I massage my fingers in her hair. My tip touches the back of her throat and she swallows me down, taking me further. She begins to bob her head, licking her tongue over every inch that she can touch. I can’t help but to start thrusting myself into her mouth and pushing down her throat again. I feel her gag and clench around me, causing my eyes to roll.

“Baby, I need to..”

Her hands hold tightly to the backs of my thighs as she continues her relentless assault on my dick. Soon she has me releasing inside of her, her throat constricting and loosening with every gulp she makes to swallow all that I can give.

She pulls off of me and stands to her feet. “You never fucked my mouth before,” She smirks. “Bet that felt good.”

“So, so good..” I breathe as I hold her face in my hands and draw her in for a kiss. The feel of her warm folds pressing against my dick makes me slowly start to grow hard again, the need for her is unbearable. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“You do, but I don’t know if it’s for my blood, sex, or if you really do love me.”

I chuckle and kiss her again. “Of course I love you.” I go to kiss her again but she presses her index finger to my lips preventing me from kissing her.

Her eyebrows rise and she cocks her head. “Do you really?”

“Do you not believe me?” I run my hands down her sides and to her hips where I grip them. “Do you not know how much I love you when I’m buried so deep inside of you?” I see the pink hue color on her cheeks. “You’re not just my blood supply, even if your blood does taste so good..” Bringing my hand up to her head, I tilt it to the side and start to leave kisses down her throat. “I have loved you before I tasted any part of you,” Abruptly I move her head back up and look her in the eyes. “Don’t you ever question how I feel the way I do for you. My heart may not beat like yours does, and my blood may run colder than yours, but my emotions are still the same as they once were when I was human–just…heightened.”

I pull her back into me and press my hardened dick against her body.

“This is just the cherry on top.” I whisper against her lips.

In a split second, I have her laid out on the bed on her back and I’m resting in between her legs.

“Though sometimes I question if you love me..” I say. “How could you ever love a monster like me? I drink human blood to survive… I have killed, and yet you still stay with me, you still let me love you–even if I do have the capability of killing you.. I have not forced you to stay, yet you do. Why?”

I feel her fingers trace the length of my upper body. “I love you.. And I trust you.”

“I could kill you..”

“But you haven’t..” She brings a hand up to caress my cheek. “And you won’t..”

“And even though I can’t give you a family, you still choose to stay with me?”

“You have given me a family,” She says as she traces her finger over my lips. “You and your brothers.. I don’t need a baby to have a family.” I feel her hand travel to my hair and she yanks my head to the side. I hiss at the slight pain.

When did she become so strong?

I like it.

Her eyes stare back into mine with the same intensity. “Don’t ever question how I feel the way I do for you..” She repeats the same words I uttered to her just moments ago before releasing my hair.

I move my head back and suck in my bottom lip. Fuck.. If I wasn’t so turned on already, I would be by now.

Reaching my hand in between us, I line myself up with her entrance and slowly push inwards. Her light gasp fills my ear as I watch myself plunge deep inside. Her arms wrap around my body, holding me closely as I make the most tender love that I have to give her. Each thrust is filled with passion and love, a love that I have not been able to give for fifty years. I have not been able to love another like I have loved her, and continue to do so.

She thrusts her hips up to meet mine, pressing our bodies together as if wishing they could meld together like molten gold. A fine and rich gold that is so rare that you can only find it within the walls of this room.

“Why did you stop?” She asks, her chest quickly rising and falling as she tries to calm her body down.

“I just want this to last..” I say as I rake my eyes over her body.

She shakes her head and reaches her hands out towards me. “Do not torture me, Jacob.” She moves to sit up and wraps her arms around my neck before dragging me back to the bed. “Must I always beg? Do you enjoy it when I do?”

“Very..” I say as I nip at her bottom lip. I draw a bit of blood and I suck at it, slowly running my tongue over the wound. “Though you don’t have to beg, because you know that I will give you everything it is that you ask for.”

I ease myself back inside of her and find that rhythm again. “Tell me you love me,” She says in a breathless tone.

“I love you,” I say as I bring my face close to hers, my nose brushing lightly against the skin of her cheek.

“Say it again..”

“I love you.”

“One more time..”

I chuckle and press my lips into the backside of her earlobe. “I love you.. I love you.. I love you..” I hit the sweet spot inside of her, making her head fall back into the pillows as her back arches off the bed. “I will continue telling you that I love you until my last dying breath.”

I feel her cheek rise against my face, that sweet laugh she emits. “Death does not touch you..” Her limbs tighten around me, her feet pushing against my ass and driving me deeper inside of her. “Death is you.”

A loud moan escapes her as she throws her head back again against the pillows. Her fingers claw deep into the skin of my back, no doubt leaving those marks. I ride it out with her until we’re both a sweaty and panting mess.

Pulling out of her, I pushed my body off of her and I lay on the bed beside her, my eyes fixated on the vaulted ceiling.

Death is you.

Her words ring true in my head. Death simply cannot touch one, if one is death itself. Death has touched me once in life, and that was what it took to seal me in this death trap for all of eternity. I am to live as this creature, in a human shell, while she will grow old and die a rightful death. A rightful death that I was not granted.

I would give her anything she would ask of me, except for the death that was bestowed upon me. I love her, I love her with every fiber that still lives within this body; but I cannot take away the very thing that I so wish to have again. I cannot sentence her to an eternal life that will never end. She has asked me once before if I would change her, but I never gave her an answer. Since then, she hasn’t asked again for she knows the answer that lies before her.

She is my love, the love that I have searched for again for fifty years, but I cannot–and will not–subject her to the same agony that I deal with every day. I will love her for as long as I can. This will be the love that I will freely give away and not one that is taken from me. At least then the pain won’t hurt as much as it did the first time.

“Jake..” I hear her say. Turning my head to the side to look at her, I see her propped up on one of her elbows, her hair draped delicately over her chest. “What are you thinking about?”

I hum with a smile and reach my hand over to her face and gently rub my thumb over her cheek. “I’m only thinking about how much I love you.” I turn over onto my side to face her and prop myself on my own arm. “You say that you want nothing more in this life–that what I can’t give you doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t,” She says.

“But why?” I ask. “You know that I will not–”

“I know–”

“So why do you still want to stay with me? When you will grow old and die a human death, I will still be stuck like this, and never growing old.”

“I love you, Jake, and I will continue to do so with whatever time that I have left with you–because I know you will willingly give me up so I can live a human life.” She shifts her body and moves to sit on her knees. “But how many times must I tell you that I don’t want that?”

I shake my head and climb out of the bed. “I told you, I will not do that to you.”

“But Jake–”

“No! I will subject you to this horrid life!” I go over to the velvet chair and grab my clothes. “I have told you once and this time will be the last.” I drag on my pants and begin to button them. “I will not be selfish and create a monster like me–”

“You are not a monster..” I am in front of her in a blink of an eye, my hand tightly wound around her neck. My eyes are piercing into hers, my jaw clenched. “You have no idea what I am capable of.. Do not assume that I am not a monster, because I am.. That is what I am. A monster.” I feel her pulse quicken, the fear overtaking her body. I release her from my grasp, her body dropping to the bed as she gasps for air. “If I didn’t love you the way that I do, so hopelessly in love with you, I would have killed you a long time ago.” Turning back around I grab my shirt and throw it on before sliding on my jacket and leaving the room, the door closing harsher than it ever has before.

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